His name was Chris and he’d lead me into his room, holding my hand as if we were best friends. Shutting the big, white wooden door behind us, I still remember the creaking sound it would make. There was a basketball hoop that hung on the backside of the door and I used to hope that we might actually play that instead of what we would normally play when he took me into his room. Just shy of turning 4, I never really understood Chris’ game.
It would always begin with him laying me down on his bed and putting music on. His favorite most of the time seemed to be the Steve Miller Band but sometimes he’d put on Fleetwood Mac. He’d take the 33” out of it’s sleeve, and blow on it before putting the needle on the record. Then he’d turn the volume up.
Time keeps on slippin’ slippin’ slippin, into the future.
Chris would flip his dark hair out of his face and smile at me. There was something odd, yet comforting, about his crooked smile. He’d stand there and just stare at me for a minute or two.
“I love your dark eyes,” he’d say. “You’re so pretty. Do you know you’re so pretty?” Every little girl loves to be told she is pretty.
I don’t remember ever saying anything in reply. I’d just lay there and watch the hoop and wonder where the basketball was as I never saw one in his room. Maybe next time I came over I’d bring one of my own. I had to tell my mommy to buy me one.
Chris would hurriedly take off all his clothes, except for his white tubes socks with the colored stripes at the top. His “thing” flopped around and his curly hair down there made me want point and laugh. One time, I did laugh, which only lead to Chris tickling me so I would laugh more. I hated being tickled and it really hurt, but the smile on my face suggested I was having the time of my life. It felt like my body was betraying me.
I want to fly like an eagle to the sea. I want to fly like an eagle, let my spirit carry me.
“This won’t hurt. I promise,” Chris would say as he’d remove my little canvas Keds, then my clothes, until I lay there in my diaper. It’s then that he would get a flushed look on his face as if he was about to unwrap the biggest gift on Christmas morning. He’d unfasten the tabs on my diaper, lick his lips, and then climb on top of me.
“Don’t worry, this won’t hurt,” he’d quickly remind me again. Not knowing why, something about it made me feel queasy inside as I watched him rub his penis against my little thighs and then slowly move it up and down them. And he was right, it never really hurt, though it didn’t feel good either.
Time keeps on slippin’, slippin, slippin into the future.
Chris’ game would never take too long as his sister, Patty, our babysitter, would be yelling about something from the other room. He’d quickly put a new diaper on me, put his clothes back on and let me know we’d play again later. I never really understood Chris’ game.