Gad, how did it end?
I wasnt. My heart and prays to all of you.
I should report that I too was molested. Basically when I hit adolescence, my father stopped beating me and switched to trying to screw me.
He moved right after my 9th birthday. Went to Nevada, to live with his son (or so he claimed). It was very sudden, with little forewarning. Don’t know exactly why it was so sudden…I’ve read that child molesters often move from place to place, trying to evade the authorities, but can’t be certain if that’s the reason why he left so quickly.
Didn’t tell my dad until my 30’s, he asked me why I didn’t tell him at the time. Mostly because I was a scared little girl and I knew he would have killed the man, and I didn’t want to lose my dad.
In retrospect I think there was someone in my childhood who tried to groom me as well, I was 10 and he was a coach at my swimming club, always buying me small treats, always inviting me to his house or come on a camping trip. But one day my mom removed me from the swimming club, claiming we couldn’t pay for it anymore( a plausible excuse at the time)
A few years ago I heard from a friend who stayed at the club that, shortly after I left the club, the man was barred from working from with underage pupils.
the man even had volkswagon van……
Yes, but it wasn’t as bad as some of the stories here.
I was about ten or eleven, riding my bike in front of my apartment building, just doing figure eights and like that. A guy, I still remember black hair, pimply face, red T-shirt, came walking up from across the street.
“Hey, little girl, c’mere. I wanna ask you something.”
Not being the suspicious type, I followed him behind a van parked in the alley. I got off my bike and left it there.
He pointed at the house in front of us, “Do you know who lives there?”
I was about to tell him when I noticed he had my hand and was running it over something. I looked down, and his dick was sticking way out of his pants and he’s rubbing my hand over it. I snatched my hand away and backed off.
He turned away and started going to the rear of the van telling me to follow him. I grabbed my bike and took off down the alley. I never saw him again after that.
I rode around for awhile until I thought it was safe to come home, and washed my hand with every cleaner under the sink. My hand really felt dirty.
I was going to say no, but I remembered a male PE teacher from a gymnastics class I took who was notorious for “accidentally” feeling up girls’ breasts while spotting them, especially on the trampoline. Everybody knew it, and nobody did anything about telling anyone, or something. Back then, it wasn’t unusual to be grabbed at by assholes. If you wanted to be able to use the trampoline, you learned to just shove his hand away as soon as you felt it on you. Or else you went home.
Yeah I know the feeling. My dad was alcoholic, randomly abusive, and a sport hunter. He had already threatened my mom with his large firearm collection on multiple occasions; most seriously, holding a loaded gun to her stomach when she got pregnant with my little sister and refused to have an abortion. 
Keeping mum started out as a survival mechanism for myself and my mom (since I didn’t know what would happen to me if she wasn’t around, but it wouldn’t be anything good). But even after they later got divorced, the shame (for waiting so long) had kicked in. I was going to take the secret to my grave but she actually guessed it based on my deteriorating relationship to him, the fact that I acted out a lot more than my sister in my teens, and the fact that a cousin of mine had been abused by him at about the same time.
Jeez, this thread is eye-opening. I don’t know any of you personally, but just from reading your posts over the years, it brings tears to my eyes to hear about these experiences. What a f’d up world we live in! How the hell can someone do that kind of stuff to kids? And when the parents/guardians are involved or turning a blind eye, kids have almost no options and are basically sex slaves.
Yeah, ditto. I was trying to find the words, but you said what I’m thinking.
I put no, although one of my babysitter’s pre-teen sons tried to get me to touch his penis as part of a game once. It was only the one time and I wouldn’t really consider it molestation.
Define " molested" ?
I saw my share of exhibitionists; none of them were particularly aiming at me (except one in the train when I was 29)
When I was ten, I was cornered in an empty public bus (waiting by a train station for the bus driver to arrive) by an adult guy who, in retrospect, must have had bad intentions. He sat right next to me in an empty bus, blocking my way out, and started chatting me up. I got out by diverting the conversation to my history books, and finally, just getting up and pushing past him, to go sit in the front seat. A few minutes later the guy left the bus, not looking at me.
I was grabbed in my crotch, hard, in the communal swimming pool, by a boy a couple years older then my nine year old self; it hurt like a bitch. I didn’t see him coming and by the time I got above water again I couln’t tell what boy it had been;
My bother and his best friend undressed me when I was eight, very much against my will. Especially because it was in a public spot, behind some buildings where people could have seen us, and I would have died with shame. My brother did it because he wanted to show his friend some “female parts”. His brother had a kid sister too, but apparently she was better protected. They both weren’t very impressed with what they saw, and wandered off, leaving me on the ground with my pants down and very ashamed and angry.
When I was 13, that same brother showed me how he masturbated, but at that time I was mostly curious and I didn’t feel coerced.
And one ass-grabbing by drunken students when I was nineteen, but I rather took that as a compliment.
So I would say, not molested in the classic sense.
nm
You might say not molested in the classic sense, but I’d say these two incidents qualify. Your brother had no business doing either of these.
Yeah, I used to feel quite sorry for myself until I took a class in child welfare. There are things that happen to children that are beyond comprehension. I’m not saying what I went through didn’t hurt, but that class put some shit into perspective mighty quick.
It’s been about 25 years and I’m only now coming to terms with the guilt that he’s still out there somewhere, doing it to others and I didn’t stop him.
Oddly enough, this is pretty much the only regret I do not have. I’ve actually had people attempt to guilt-trip me in this regard (on this message board, believe it or not). It’s not the victim’s responsibility to prevent other victims from being molested. It’s the molester’s fault for molesting them! End of story. (of course the intellectual understanding of this fact doesn’t prevent people from feeling guilty about this. it’s fucking complicated) Filing charges about shit like this (or hell, even just telling your family) tends to garner a melting pot of unwanted reactions–pity and disbelief among them. I get really angry because my mom brings it up sometimes when all I want to do is forget about it. Especially the one time she brought it up and seemed angry that I didn’t tell her about it when it was happening. Fuck you, I was 11 fucking years old. No 11 year old has any fucking sort of “duty” when it comes to (what feels like) betraying a parent that way.
I struggle more with guilt over not putting a stop to it sooner (since once I got the balls to speak up and say I didn’t like it instead of lying there like a paralyzed cold fish, it DID stop).