I don’t wear nightgowns

I can't wear nightgowns at home.
It all began when I was in the second grade.
I only began to understand what was going on two years later.
I don't remember all the details, but I remember there was a lot of touching and rubbing, almost on a daily basis, until I was in the seventh grade.
There was an 8 year difference in age between us.
It went on from second grade until seventh grade: that’s around 6 years.
I was young, and I didn’t understand that this wasn't normal.
All I knew in life revolved around home and school.
The only indication that something wrong was going on was how quickly everything stopped when someone walked in, and how he told me to not tell anyone.
I used to always listen to him because he was older than me.
The more I thought about it, the less normal it felt.
I told mama when I was in the fourth grade: “He touches my breasts and my behind, and sometimes, he takes off his pants. Is that normal?"
She got angry and told my baba, who gave him a beating.
Everyone at home hated me because they knew I was the reason he was beat up. They didn’t know why, though.
I wanted to tell them that he deserved a much worse punishment.
Baba never came to talk to me about it. Neither did mama.
I still knew very little at the time. I only learned about masturbation when I was a college freshman!
Things stopped for about 4 months after baba beat him. Then they started up again, bit by bit.
He would come to me when everyone was asleep and I was watching TV, and he'd stealthily touch me.
It wasn't as bad as before, but the fact that it kept going on made it hard.
When he finally stopped, I felt relieved, but at the same time, frustration started to creep in. No one had protected me from him all those years.
After he stopped for good, we avoided each other for two years. We didn't even exchange good mornings.
We still barely talk now. I am never comfortable when he's around, and I don't like talking to him or hearing him speak.
If I'm wearing something short around the house, and he happens to come in, I go change.
Not because something could happen, but because, when I’m around him, I feel the way I do when I’m out in public, and I don’t dress like that in public.
I felt like everyone had moved on with their lives except me.
I never told anyone else, even though it still upsets me.
Sometimes, I feel like telling one of my close friends. I’m not sure how that would help, but I wish it could.
I don't trust anyone, and I'm scared to talk. Especially, seeing as, growing up, I was constantly told that everything was either improper or inappropriate.
He now treats me very well and does everything I ask of him.
I don't know if it’s because he's trying to make amends with me, or if it’s because he's grown up now and changed.
But how come he gets to move on and live his life, and I can’t?
It really hurts. How can a person wrong you so much then just move on? How can they see you every day, go out with you, and not feel remorse for having violated you one day?
He's moved on with his life. He has a successful career. Many connections.
This torments me because it makes me feel I can never speak up now. I’d ruin the image he built and worked so hard for.
I wanted him to be punished for what he did.
If I understood what was going on then, would I have been able to stop him? I don’t know.
Usually, when it’s someone older, they have more power and control over you. But then again, given the way I was raised, it would have been impossible for me to understand anything anyway.
I still see him every day. We talk at times. Sometimes, we even laugh.
He’s moved on with his life, but I don’t know how to move forward with mine.

Warning The stories on our story archive could contain potentially sensitive and/or triggering material. If a story causes you discomfort or pain, please remember to breathe and check in with yourself before continuing or stop reading completely if necessary.