The eve of our Big Trip

I’m not really sure why or how I became “prey”.

I was tall, skinny and pretty. I always looked really young. I saw video of myself at 30 and I looked 12. I got carded well into my 40’s. But that in itself doesn’t make me prey. It’s a predator that makes me prey. Maybe I have the characteristics that make me a target.

So I looked pretty, and young. In addition to being attractive, I think I am seen as vulnerable. I don’t know. I once had a pedophile after me, when I was in my thirties. Some asshole at work kept asking me out and I kept saying no. He was very persistent. Pestering me over and over trying to wear me down. My boss told me he was a pedophile.

I figure the boy (P.H.) whose prey I became  back then must have become obsessed over me somehow. I was oblivious of any attention he paid me. If he asked me out, I said no. I wasn’t interested in him. My mother tells me that at one point, he thought he was my boyfriend. I don’t know where he got that idea. She said he once refused to go on a family trip because of me. I don’t remember anything about this. He was nothing to me.

My sister tells me I agreed to go bowling with him once and made her go with me so I wouldn’t be alone with him. I don’t know if this was before or after our trip abroad. But I know if he pressured me into going out with him, (as he must have, because I didn’t like him) I must have sensed something that made me drag her along. Instinct?

But the night he raped me, I was in no position to do anything about it. He knew this and planned it that way.

—–

We were so nervous and excited the night before our Big Trip we could hardly sleep. We had to sleep, though, because we were getting picked up at 5:30 am to go to the train station. The train was taking us to New York City. In New York, we were getting on a ship for a nine-day journey to our destination in Europe. Meticulous planning and no allowance for deviation because it was all paid for.

Getting up early is a problem in our family. We are champion sleepers. My mother claims napping as her hobby. We relish sleeping-in and have always considered ourselves to be night people. We cannot understand those who are morning people. But we had to be up early! So in order to get to sleep, I took dramamine. My mother and sister probably took it, too, but I don’t remember. My mother probably gave it to me with her blessing. I can’t imagine I would have done this on my own.

The night before our departure the beds were stripped in preparation for the tenants who were going to live in our house for a year. We slept on the floor in sleeping bags. Our dog was boarded out until the tenants were to arrive—the arrangements were that they were going to take care of him. He wasn’t there that night, though.

On the eve of our Big Trip, I woke up in the middle of the night in a panic. P.H. had broken into our house and climbed into my sleeping bag and was fucking me.

It’s difficult to describe what went through my mind as I realized what was happening. I began to struggle but we were in a sleeping bag and there was no room to move. I was no match for an older male who was stronger than me. As I realized what was happening he put his hand over my mouth to quiet me and I realized that I had to be quiet, so I just went away in my mind. I essentially closed my eyes and pretended it was not happening. I…went away.

I had realized several things in that instant. I realized that if I raised the alarm and woke up my mother, the trip would be in jeopardy, because I understood that these things have a law enforcement component that is a time-consuming process. I realized the police would come, the train would leave without us, the boat would leave without us and the trip would be ruined. Everyone would find out what happened. And even though it was not my fault, keeping my mouth shut was something I had to do to save the trip.

So I made sure he got out without waking my family. I had to do that to save the trip.

I stuffed that memory away and turned it into something else. I got up the next morning with his cum in me and no time to shower. I got on that train with his cum in me. I got to New York and saw the Rockettes and Oliver with my family with his cum in me. And I got on the boat with his cum in me. Each mile we traveled took me further and further away from him and his shitty deed.

I left my old life behind in many ways that night.

That event became the weird dream I had where P.H. psychically raped me. For forty years I really thought it was a dream. I really thought he had psychically raped me. For forty years I had a different “first time” sexual experience story to tell my girlfriends. Now I’m too old for those conversations—the ones that younger women have to bond with one another and share their first time. Now if I ever share my first time again, it will probably be in a therapist’s office or group therapy.

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