Monster, Grandpa or both
This is going to be a hard one for me to get through, and probably difficult to read. Over the years I've taught myself to look at things from my childhood as just facts. But I feel if I'm going to be able to properly share any stories I have to allow those emotions to take over again. It's been hard. I'm going to talk about specific and very uncomfortable things. Part of me wonders why I'm sharing this and maybe you'll wonder why I'm getting so detailed. If I'm going to continue this blog then I need to remove all filters and tell it like it was. I don't want to sugarcoat it. Drew didn't start out too strong with the things he did. He'd rub my nipples through my shirt or caress my butt. After a while he'd take off my shirt. He'd ask if I wanted to take my pants off. I was used to running around in my underwear at home so I was fine taking them off. If I was playing with toys while this was happening he'd just watch me. If I was watching a cartoon I was most likely sitting on his lap, and he'd start to rub my vagina through my underwear. Then he'd suggest we go take a nap. Once in the bedroom he'd take my underwear off so I could be more comfortable, which is why his were off too. We'd lay there for a bit then he'd ask if I wanted to look at his penis. (Please keep in mind I was really young and had no idea this was wrong.) So I'd say sure and look at it. I thought it was the weirdest thing I'd ever seen. He was usually erect and it was kind of scary looking. I didn't like to look at it. He asked if I wanted to touch it then guided my hand to it. I didn't want to touch it. But he was being so calm and nice while talking to me so I didn't put up a fight. He'd ask me to grasp it and hold it tight. Then he'd move it up and down until he was finished. He would tell me that it felt good when I did that, gave me a big hug and said thank you. And as confused as I was I was happy I'd made him feel good. He'd get dressed and pick out an outfit for me, then we'd go to lunch or shop for a toy. I was delighted because I'd done this thing to make him happy and now I get special treatment. I don't know how long it took for him to start touching me naked, but it was done in the same calm way. He'd caress me and I would start to fall asleep. I felt him start to touch my vagina and I'd open my eyes. He'd reassure me he wasn't going to hurt me so I'd relax and he would put his finger in a little and play with my clitoris. It was a strong feeling and made me feel strange. I didn't fight because he wasn't hurting me, and eventually it started to feel good. As I got a little older he'd rub his penis on my body. He would straddle me and masturbate, then finish on me. Then he'd say he was going to "eat my belly". By this time I'd started to feel wrong about it and ask him to stop. He would tell me it's too late to stop, and make sure I don't tell anyone because I'd get in trouble, and that I'd enjoy it so relax. So I laid there. The first time he went down on me was such a confusing moment. It made me feel sick. I knew he wasn't supposed to be doing it. I didn't want to feel anything he was doing. I fought off the urge to do what he wanted me to, but my body reacted to it despite how hard I focused on not succumbing. But my body betrayed me that day, and hundreds of times after that. I'd fight every time. As I got older and stronger I'd try to fight him off but he'd pin me to the bed and spread my legs and I couldn't move. I would fight the inevitable just so he wouldn't get what he wanted but it just meant he wouldn't stop until I gave in. So I would. He'd stop and walk away. I'd lay there crying. Sometimes he'd try to console me but mostly he told me to just get dressed and he kept his distance. I felt so used and helpless. Scared and lonely. He was the only man I had in my life and despite the horrible things he did, I still needed to feel loved and secure with him. So if he was angry I'd go apologize for fighting him. He forgave me and things were fine again. He was back to being my grandpa and I was happy that he wasn't mad anymore. He still would take me shopping and bribe me with things. Eventually I started demanding specific things. I figured if that was how it was going to be, I could be demanding somewhere. It made me feel like I had some control. The night after I found out he died Brandon and I were in bed and I just started bawling. I'm still having a hard time with it. I know he wasn't a good man. But what's hard for me is that when he wasn't being horrible, he treated me like a princess. He made me feel special and loved. He never punished me and he'd buy me anything I wanted or felt like I needed. He'd defend me if my neighborhood friends were being mean. He was the man of my childhood, my protector and comfort. I understand that it was all part of his plan. He needed to keep me quiet and happy so we could still have our secret. Even knowing this is how it was, it's hard to not feel sad for losing that part of him. I've clung to the special moments, the times I felt like I meant something to him. Having to come to terms that I didn't mean anything to him is really hard.