As An 10 Yr Old, This Is How I Fought Against Sexual Abuse

As An 10 Yr Old, THIS IS HOW I Fought Against Sexual Abuse: I was 10 years old. I remember it specifically.

I lived with my parents in our family building, a house that was spacious and had enough rooms that many times we rented out a room or two to anybody. This is how he, the abuser, got the entry into my house. He was 20-22 years old and had rented a room in our house on the terrace, and was a student at the university where my father was a professor. He was our distant relative, and this made him a regular visitor to our house. I used to call him maternal uncle. The first time when he caught hold of me was when I was playing hide and seek with my 8-year-old brother in the house. Innocently he asked if he could join us in our game, and more innocently, we agreed. After all, in a game of hiding and seek, the more, the better!...

He was playing with us now and then asked my brother to give him two minutes so that he could find a place to hide along with me. My brother went to the other corner of the building, and this 😈 devil took me inside the bathroom and locked it from inside. I assumed he did so to hide both of us.

Inside the bathroom, he came near me, held me by my shoulders, and made me lie down on the floor... When I asked him why, he replied, 'let us play our own game.' I didn't understand at all what he meant by it, but I thought maybe it was a part of our game. He laid on top of me and started kissing and licking me all over my face and lips. I felt weird, but this all happened so suddenly that I didn't know what to do. Thankfully, my brother realized we were in the bathroom, and he began banging on the door, 'I have found you two.

Come out...oooπŸ˜€ I have caught you.' The 😈 devil opened the door, and we came out. Soon he announced that he didn't want to play anymore. He said, 'you guys play; I have to work.' My brother and I went inside our room immediately as it had got dark outside. I didn't mention the incident to anyone. Not even to my parents. But I kept feeling disgusted about it. I thought of confiding in my dad, but I didn't because I was scared, and I thought my parents wouldn't let me play after knowing of this incident.

Moreover, I thought maybe my maternal uncle did it by mistake. Days passed by, and I forgot about that incident. I had come to believe that it all happened as a mistake until it happened once again. This time he asked my mom for the day's newspaper. My mom, since she didn't know of anything that had happened, asked me to go inside and give the newspaper to him. I went inside and knocked on his door. As soon as he opened it, he dragged me inside and pushed me on his bed. He repeated the same thing again, only a little more forcefully and to a step ahead...This time he tried to remove my clothes and put his manhood inside😒 Since he was on top of me, I couldn't push him away despite my best efforts...He started touching me all over and kissing me forcefully. I wanted to get away from this situation as fast as I could, but under his body, I couldn't even move. Suddenly, my mom called my name, and he let me go. I immediately went outside and wanted to tell my mom about what had happened, but this time also, I couldn't. As soon as I decided to tell her, mom scolded me for being careless and taking the time to deliver a newspaper.

The agony inside my heart remained there only. I couldn't utter a word to mom about it. But this time, I had made up my mind – what he did to me wasn't a mistake by any standard. My maternal uncle wasn't innocent and what I underwent wasn't pleasant.

Since then, I maintained a safe distance from him, but still, he found me one unfortunate day! His father had visited us along with a few guests. All were having dinner while my brother and I were busy with homework. It was 9:30 pm, and I suddenly realized that I needed a 12-inch scale urgently. Mom was busy in the kitchen, dad was busy with the guests, and it was very dark outside, so I knew there was no way to get the scale from the store. The abuser somehow learned of our situation and offered to lend his scale, which was there in his room. He asked me to come inside and take it, and I refused, saying, 'my brother will bring it.' He replied, 'you need the scale, so you need to come. I won't give it to him.' Poor me, I had no option. I went inside but decided not to enter his room. He got the scale but noticed that I wasn't entering his room. Upon seeing my insistence on remaining outside his room, he forcibly pushed me into his room, locked it from inside, and threw me on his bed. I blamed myself for being foolish to come inside. I was in tears as I knew this time; neither my brother would come knocking on the door nor my mom would realize that I was trapped there. I asked him to stop, but he wasn't any less than a monster. I prayed to God to save me from this torture, but nothing seemed to help. Suddenly, I felt his hand under my skirt. As he slid his hand inside my skirt, I looked at him angrily. My heart was burning with anger and my eye with tears of pain. He saw my eyes and tried to kiss me, and I SLAPPED HIM and kicked his manhood. I vividly remember my emotions, my fury, and his expressions at that moment.Β 

First, he was shocked to see my courage and anger, but then he dismissed it as an accident. He thought I had slapped him by mistake. So he held me more again, and that is when I slapped and spit on him again. I SLAPPED HIM AGAIN AND HARDER this time. The shameless fellow didn't stop even then. Not even after being slapped, kicked, and spit on by a 10-year-old! I said, 'look here,' and he looked at me. I SLAPPED HIM AGAIN for the third time! He was stunned. He hadn't imagined it from me. He asked, 'did you just hit me?' and I said, 'Yes, many times if you repeat it.' I think he had understood it then. He got up. Gave me the scale and let me go. I opened the door, rushed to the sitting room, and went straight to the dining area, where everyone was having dinner. I wasn't wearing my pant, and my clothes were loose and hanging on my body. The scale was in my hand. Looking at me, my dad asked me, 'what happened, Esther?' Daddy thought maybe I had a fight with my brother inside; I looked at the abuser's father and said, "maternal uncle did it.' By that time, my so-called maternal uncle had also come outside to the sitting room.

He looked worried. Mom came out of the kitchen. Dad asked me to go inside. I went straight to my homework and was crying till I finished drawing the necessary lines that I needed the scale for. I could hear some shouting and loud discussion from behind the closed door. After a few minutes, my mom came inside to hug me and check me up. I told her that I was fine and I had slapped him. She congratulated me on my courage, and by then, my work was finished, so I threw away the scale. All I now remember is that by the next morning, that man was gone, forever! Today, as I am 20 years old, I feel proud of myself for dealing with it on my own. I wish I had done it the very first time it had happened to me. But nevertheless, it was never too late to do the right thing. I am no more timid or shy. I am determined and confident. That night, with that 😈 devil, I was no less than a young Goddess but easy in another. My writings are my story and my fate.

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