First Attack

The first time my father hurt me was when I was about three years old. My mommy, sissy, brother and I had just come home from church on Sunday (Daddy seldom went with us). My mom tied on an apron over her church dress, but she didn't want me or my sister to play in ours. She asked my daddy to help Sissy and me into our play clothes and put our church clothes away. I didn't want to take my church dress off. I was finally proud to be "potty trained" and had my "big girl" panties on with the ruffles on the bottom. At first Daddy was very patient and playful during my little rebellion. I remember him tickling me and holding me upside down while I giggled with glee. When he turned me upside down my dress fell over my face, "Daddy, I can't see." He buried his face in my lacy panties. It tickled and I laughed again. One of my hard patent leather shoes hit him in the face while I was upside down, but Daddy didn't act mad. He turned me right side up, set me down gently on my crib mattress and said, "Come on, I'll show you how to keep your good shoes really shiny."

As I sat on the edge of the bed, with my feet dangling over the edge, Daddy helped me unbuckle my black shiny shoes (I still had trouble unbuckling them). I remember him placing my tiny foot on his thigh, just like the man in the shoe store did when I tried my good shoes on for the first time. After unbuckling my shoes and placing them next to me on the bed, Daddy reached for an old cloth diaper and a jar of Vaseline that were sitting on top of my dresser. "See, you just rub a little bit of this on your shoes and then use a dry part of the cloth to buff out the smudges," Daddy said. I was happy. My shoes never looked so shiny. I started to jump up and down on my mattress clapping. Daddy said, "No jumping on the bed. Come and get your play clothes on." I knew his tone was serious now, so I stopped jumping and plopped down on my tummy atop the crib mattress. Daddy said I needed to save my lacy panties for church, so he slid them off me and before I knew what was happening, something hard and slippery was in my bottom. It hurt like when you wait too long to go poop. "Oh no!” I thought. I was having an "accident" and Mommy would make me wear diapers again. That was the only possibility I thought of. I had no idea what was actually happening to me. Just then, I heard Mommy coming down the hall saying, "Mitchell, quit playing with the girls and get them changed. I don't want them eating dinner in their church clothes."

Quickly and painfully, Daddy swung me up and around to where I was sitting on his lap and he was sitting on the crib mattress with his feet on the floor. My pretty church dress fell back in place and I heard my mom's high heels clicking down the hall's hard wood floors. As soon as Mommy entered the bedroom, I heard her say, "What's this Vaseline doing out? Who's been using so much?" My dad pipes up, "Look, Fran, I taught the girls how to polish their patent leather shoes, but then Hope here thought she was going to have an accident, so I'll take her to the potty."

I don't remember verbalizing those fears. How did he know what I was thinking? Daddy held me close from behind. At the moment, I thought he was my hero, making sure the poo poo didn't come out, make a mess and get Mommy mad enough to put me back in diapers. When we were in the bathroom with the door closed, Daddy turned me around and set me on the potty, but no poo poo came out. I looked down into the toilet, but there was nothing there. My bottom still hurt and when I wiped, only a slimy white stuff came out with a little bit of blood. I had skinned my knees, stubbed my toes and had other assorted boo boos already in my young life to know what blood looked like, but I was puzzled by the white slime on the toilet paper. Daddy offered no explanation and left me alone saying I needed my privacy.

After flushing the toilet and washing my hands, I returned to my room and changed into my play clothes. Mommy and Daddy were no longer there and Sissy had gone outside to play before dinner. While I struggled to get my clothes on the correct way, my mind struggled with what had just taken place. I certainly had no idea what really happened: I had been sodomized by my own father and he was so aroused by his tiny daughter that he ejaculated quickly and acted as if nothing unusual had happened. All I knew was that I was in physical pain. Was I being punished for not "minding" my parents when first asked to change my clothes? I had received spankings before on my bare bottom when I was a "bad girl." My mother's favorite weapon was her thick wooden yard stick she used during sewing projects. This was the first time I had been "punished" by my father. Maybe this was just a different kind of punishment. I remember thinking that I had better do what Mommy and Daddy say from now on or I can be sure to feel pain on my bottom, one way or another. Since I could not reach the hangers in my closet, I gently laid my church dress and lacy panties on the crib mattress and smoothed out the wrinkles with my tiny hands. I was ashamed for being punished, so I did not tell Sissy what had happened, I just joined her outside and said nothing.

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