He was also a drunk. Every time I saw him he had a beer or other alcoholic drink in his hand. He drank every day. But I never saw a side to him that wasn't good.
After I got my driver's license, I would visit my grandparents, or my aunt and uncle. It got me out of my own house, and gave me some time with family that really loved me.
So, one summer day, just after my 17th birthday, I went to see my uncle. He was recovering from surgery to remove a spot of cancer on his lung. He was far along in his recovery, but he hadn't gone back to work yet. My aunt was working that day.
He invited me in, and gave me a big hug. Then he offered me a beer. I hesitated but he smiled and said, don't worry, I won't tell your parents. So I took one.
He went back into the living room, and sat on his couch. Then he patted the spot next to him, and invited me to sit and tell him what was going on with me.
I sat next to him, and we talked for a few minutes while we drank beer. I asked him how he was doing and he said fine. He turned to the TV for a minute, and we watched the game that was on. Then he put his arm around me, and rubbed my arm.
He said it was so good to see me. We sat quietly, watching the TV. Then I felt his arm move down a little, and he grabbed my breast.
I said what are you doing, and moved his hand away. He just said ssshh, like he was comforting me or something.
I started moving away from him when he grabbed at my breast again. I turned toward him and said don't. My words were cut off when he kissed me. That feeling immediately came back to me. I wanted to crawl out of my skin. Suddenly everything was all wrong. I pushed him back, and told him to stop. Then I tried to get up.
Everything seemed to happen so fast. He pulled me back down on the couch, and grabbed my breast again. I told him to stop, and tried to push him away, but he grabbed my wrists up over my head with one hand while he forced his other hand into my top. He said sssshh, it's OK. Then he was on top of me.
His hand moved down to my skirt. That's when I froze. I remember being desperate to get him off me, but I couldn't move. He started rubbing me through my panties, and I just lay there. I felt paralyzed. He kept saying ssshh. Then he said, that's a good girl.
All I could do was stare at him. I felt his fingers move my panties aside, and felt him touching and rubbing me. My skin crawled. I felt sick. I felt like I was going to pass out. I felt like I was floating outside myself, and the only thing holding me there was him telling me what a good girl I was, and how good he was going to make me feel.
He pulled my top up, and put his mouth on my breast. My wrists were numb. All I could feel was his breath and his mouth on me, and his fingers touching me. But I still couldn't move. I didn't make a sound, or anything. I just lay there, letting him do what he wanted. Then he stopped, and let go of my wrists.
It was when I heard his zipper that I unfroze. I pushed at his chest, and must have caught him off balance. He fell back, and I ran. I don't think I've ever moved faster than that day. I got away from him.
I drove about a mile from his house before I pulled over. Then I just sat there by the side of the road and cried. Eventually I got home. I took a shower, then went to my room and lay on my bed, curled in a ball.
I tried to make sense of what he'd done, and tried not to think about what could have happened. None of it made sense to me, how he could change, just like that, from someone so good and close to me, to some kind of monster.
I fell asleep for a while. When I woke up, I was full of hate for him. He took my trust, and became just one less person I could turn to to be safe.
I still feel some of that hatred for him. And I still feel sick when I think about what he did.
The next time I saw him was when my family went down to his house for dinner and a swim. I was so horribly uncomfortable with the idea of him seeing me in my bathing suit, so I didn't take mine. When I first saw him, I could tell by the look on his face that he was terrified that I'd say something. But I couldn't.
Such a huge part of me blamed myself. The way I just lay there not fighting him. Going there in the first place when he was alone, taking a beer from him. It was all my fault. I let him touch me, put his mouth on me.
Once again, I felt so dirty, filthy. Even though I got away from him, there was that part of me that was disgusted with myself because in some way I was responsible.
I think the only thing that saved a part of me was the fact that I got away from him. But it brought up all of the memories and feelings from what my mother had done to me. Just before I turned 17 I had my first bouts with suicidal feelings.
After my uncle tried to rape me, those feelings kicked into overdrive. And it was at that point in my life that I first began to SI.