I remember the first time I was touched. I didn’t know that what was happening was wrong. He was a member of my family, and I was raised to always respect my elders.
It was a friendly touch. A small caress on the cheek. I felt safe, secured, loved. He told me that he would always protect me, and that I should trust him.
He would give me hugs. A hug is a kind gesture. After all, my parents constantly hugged me. It was normal.
The first time I felt something was off was the day I was riding the exercise bike for fun, while my brother was playing video games. The boogeyman decided to ride the bike with me. I was laughing and it was messy – we had a hard time both fitting on the bike.
Then, I felt his hand touching my behind. Rubbing it. Squeezing it. Caressing it. I have never been touched like this before. Why was he doing this? He looked at me, deep in my eyes, got off the bike, and left.
I resumed pedaling as if nothing happened.