I Was Afraid


I was 6 when it happened. My parents and I were at their friends’ house for dinner. I had finished my meal before everyone so instead of sitting at the table, I went to the living room to watch TV. At that moment, my parents’ friends’ son came home. He had already eaten so he joined me in the living room. He was a lot older than me, maybe a high school senior. He seemed very kind and indeed he was. He saw me glimpsing at his PSP and let me play with it while he read a book next to me. There’s nothing unusual about this right? Yeah, I thought so too. But suddenly he sat a bit closer to me and placed his arm around my shoulder. His thigh was touching mine and his hand slowly slid down to my thigh then back up to my butt. I didn’t know what to do. I was afraid.

I remembered that only a few days before that, my parents had warned me about sexual harassment and that if anyone were to touch anywhere near my private areas, I had to tell them. But I couldn’t do that. It wasn’t that simple. My parents were in the room next to us talking with his parents. If I had told them right then and there, I would also be telling his parents that their son was a molester. I was afraid.

My anxiety wasn’t very helpful. I hated being the center of attention, and I knew that if I were to tell them, I would not only be the center of attention but also the talk of the week. So, all I could do was question myself. Which is worse, being the center of attention or him groping me? Isn’t telling them the right choice? But, what will all of their reactions be like? What do I do after I tell them? What if he tells them that I wanted to make him look bad? What if this ruins my parents’ long-time friendship with his parents? What if his parents think I’m lying? What if my parents think that I’m lying? I was afraid.

In the end, I wasn’t able to get over my anxiety so I just sat there for the rest of the evening. I was 6 and now I’m 17. It has been 11 years but I can still remember the feeling of his thigh touching mine, his hand sliding down my arm and grabbing my arse; the constant squeezing and fondling of my arse. There are times when I regret not doing anything but, even now, if this were to happen to me again, I still wouldn’t know what to do. I’m still afraid.