Chapter Twenty: Babysitter Rape
Dory recovered, and shortly after she returned home, she and my father went away on 'vacation' for several days. It was then that my babysitter moved in to take care of the house and keep an eye on me.
The babysitter was a 21-year-old local college student named Ron and, according to my dad; he was something of an athlete and a star of his college swim team.
Things went pretty well for the first few days. Ron did his thing (beer drinking), and I mostly ignored him. When not ignoring Ron I hung out around the apartment's cloudy bleach smelling swimming pool flirting with a sunbathing girl about my age named Amber. I was pretending to get a suntan when in truth I just wanted to be close to her. The first stirrings of puberty were at work.
Amber was a petite girl with moderately developed breasts and a slim figure. She had a natural tan and a beautiful smile and looked fantastic in her red bikini. She seemed amused by my abysmal attempts at flirting.
I was too shy and tongue-tied to say anything that imperiled Amber's innocence. I did manage to sneak a few quick glances down her bathing suit's top, my reward was a fleeting glimpse of what I think was a nipple.
A burning sensation on my back told me I had overdosed on UV and needed to call it a day or find shade. I stopped for the day, packed up, retreated to our air-conditioned apartment, and headed for the shower.
I lowered the water temperature to tepid and stepped under the spray. I relaxed in the relief of water cooler than the forest fire burning on my back and neck.
When my toes and fingers started to look like dried prunes, I stepped out of the shower just as my babysitter came into the bathroom. Ron took one look at me and said, "Dennis, you got too much sun today. That is a severe burn."
"Awe, I’ve had worse it only stings a little," I lied as I wrapped a towel around my waist.
"I’ve got just the thing for sunburns. We use it on the swim team when we get too much sun. Come into the bedroom, and I'll put some on you. However, first I’ve got to take a quick shower" he said.
I grabbed a New Yorker magazine off the coffee table, went into my father’s bedroom, and lay down. I found New Yorker cartoons to be fascinating insights into the mind of adults. I got about a third of the jokes; I think I got most of the other third of the humor but the final third left me utterly baffled.
A couple of minutes later the sitter walked in drying his crew cut with a towel. Another towel wrapped around his waist.
"Let me see what I can do about that sunburn," he said as he dug through his gym bag and produced a bottle of location.
He sat down next to me, opened the bottle, and poured a splash of oil into the palm of his hand. He began to rub it onto my sunburned back.
I had not realized how much I was hurting until I started to feel better. The cold lotion felt very soothing on the heat of my sunburn.
Ron complimented me on my physique telling me I could become an excellent athlete if I worked out and developed my natural ability. I felt a rush of pride at his praise.
"Becoming an athlete means learning how to take care of your body, he explained.
Again I felt pride and very grown-up talking about 'man things.' Getting treated, as something other than a child by an adult is a pretty heady experience for a boy of twelve.
We talked about my stepmother’s recent suicide attempt. Ron was very understanding, thoughtful, and considerate. It felt good to have a real conversation about current events. My dad had become preoccupied and distant while brushing the whole thing to one side as if it was a minor event not worthy of note.
Ron patted the bed and said, "After everything that has happened to you it is not surprising that your muscles are tense. Lie down Dennis, and I'll give you a special massage to help you relax."
I lay in the center of the bed and rested my head on the pillow. I was curious about the "special massage."
Ron, the sitter, liked young boys, and his "special rub" was just another name for rape.
As I remember the events of that day, I can recall my baby sitter's body in great detail. I can hear the sound of his voice. I can remember everything except Ron's last name and his face. In my mind, he is a nameless and faceless shadow.
As Ron stood up, the towel around his waist dropped to the floor. Seeing my look of surprise at his sudden nudity, he laughed and said, "Don't worry. There are no girls around, and it's just us guys. Nothing we have not seen before."
The way he said it made everything seem cool. It felt good to be one of the guys instead of just a kid.
Ron chatted away as he climbed onto the bed and straddled my back with his knees on each side of me. He began to massage my shoulders. I relaxed as his warm hands spread the soothing oil across my body.
Taking his time he worked his way down to my lower back and paused saying, "Dennis, we are going to have to get loose that towel. It is getting in the way."
Before I could respond, he pulled the towel away, and I was naked. He began to spread oil on the cheeks of my ass. No one had touched me there since I was out of diapers and his hands sent a thrilling tingle through me, which is hard to describe. I felt a sense of uncomfortable pleasure at being naked and exposed. After caressing the cheeks of my ass for several minutes, he shifted position, and I could feel his private parts rubbing against my bare bottom as he began to massage my shoulders. Not knowing what to say, I said nothing.
After rubbing my shoulders for several minutes, he shifted position again and returned his attention to my exposed bottom. His soft hands traced circles on my ass and the sides of my thighs. With each pass, he slid his hands further and further under my hips. I could feel his fingers reaching for my private parts. I tensed up.
Ron must have felt my discomfort. He stopped rubbing me, and with a laugh and a quick slap on my ass, he said, "Dennis, there's no need to worry. It is all part of the personal massage athletes get. Just relax and enjoy it."
Although the sensation of his hands massaging my back and bottom was pleasant, it was also kinda creepy having a man's private parts resting between the cheeks of my ass.
Part of me knew that what was happening crossed every boundary of regular babysitting. I had never been naked with another naked person since I stopped taking baths with my sister when I was eight years old. I was starting to feel uncomfortable and aroused at the same time. Half of me wanted to run away, and half of me was curious and wanted to explore the new feelings starting to stir within my body.
Abruptly he climbed off me, lay down on his back, and said, "OK Dennis it is your turn now. Give me a massage."
I turned on my side and looked at Ron. He was flat on his back, and he was as erect as a church steeple. I must have been a bit wide-eyed.
Again my babysitter laughed and said, "Dennis, don't worry about it. Guys often get hard during special rubs. It is one thing that makes them so much fun. Besides, you have a little stiffie of your own."
I had never seen an adult male with an erection. Ron was a mature man and more developed than I was. I was about three inches long and about as big as a hot dog, Ron, by comparison, was about five or six inches long and was about the size of a stick of pepperoni.
"I do not need my back massaged just do my chest," he instructed.
He then poured lotion on his chest and motioned for me to sit on him.
Following his instructions, I straddled him and found myself sitting with his erection resting uncomfortably between my legs. As I sat on him, he began to move his hips, and I could feel him sliding back and forth under me. It felt more than a little bit awkward, so I pushed off of him and said, "That's OK - I'll do it from here."
As I lay next to him, I continued to spread the oil across his torso. His chest was hairless; he said swimmers shave their body hair to gain speed, and the lotion spread smoothly.
Mr. Babysitter complimented me on the great job I was doing and directed me to do him "all over" and not miss a spot. I spread the oil across his flat stomach. When my fingers reached a point close to his pubic hair, his body jumped and twitched. Special or not I just didn't feel right with what was happening. I stopped rubbing Ron’s torso, pulled my hands away, and started to sit up.
"Dennis, we need to finish this now!" Ron said in a hoarse voice. He turned me on my side and pulled my behind close to his body.
I was too surprised to say anything besides, "Hey!"
My thoughts were racing, as I felt something hard on slide between my thighs. Ron pulled me closer and held me tight.
For the longest time, he slowly rocked back and forth moving between my legs. When I started to protest and tried to squirm away, he jerked me into position and whispered in my ear, "Shhhh Dennis, don't move. Just stay still, and I let me finish. It will only be a few minutes."
He held me tight and continued to rock back and forth. I could feel something warm and stiff between my legs. I didn't know what was happening, but I didn't like it. I twisted my body to one side, and Ron slid out from between my thighs.
"Damn it, kid! I told you not to move, “Ron snarled as he turned me on my side and tried to reposition himself. When he did, I made a break for it. I twisted away and scrambled to the edge of the bed and the freedom which lay beyond.
I was fast, but he was faster. As I rolled, he lunged, and before I could get off the end of the bed, he was wrapping one arm around my chest as he slid his other arm between my legs and lifted me into the air and returned my bottom into his groin.
The strength of his grip frightened me as much as his anger. I was powerless to resist. What had been a strange new game suddenly became something deadly serious. I was at his mercy, and it frightened me that I was completely under his control. His grip was like iron as he pinned my body against his in a spooning position. Ron held me tight and slid between my legs.
"Dennis, you little twerp! I told you not to move," he scolded and started to hump me slowly. A tidal wave of fear swept any feeling of arousal away. I froze in position. It was very strange. My mind seemed to leave my body, and I was standing beside myself and watching a naked man hump me. I had become an observer, and it was as if it was all happening to someone else.
A distant part of me registered a razor burn on my neck from the unshaved beard on Ron’s face as he nuzzled my neck while pushing himself between my legs, I could smell a whiff of Old Spice and hear him panting and huffing as he breathed.
After a just a few more minutes, Ron grunted and let out a deep moan. I felt his body grow rigid as a flood of wetness spread between my thighs. A few more thrusts and he lay still.
He sat up, grabbed a towel from the floor, and tossed it to me saying, "Clean up. I'll order us a pizza."
I wiped myself dry and went to the shower. Under the stream of hot water, I tried to scrub away the feeling of the gunk Ron had left between my legs.
The next day while I was watching TV my babysitter sat on the couch next to me. Ron put his arm around my shoulder and asked me, "Dennis, do you want to play with me in the bedroom again?"
I shook my head and said, "Not a chance." I then changed the channel.
The remainder of the time I was in his so-called care we never spoke of the incident, he never touched me again, and I never told anyone else. I was too embarrassed and ashamed. I did not even want to think about it.
I decided to treat my time with Ron the same way I treated bad dreams.
After every bad dream, I didn't fight the memories. Instead, I moved them to one side and left them alone in the corner of my mind. Life with my mother had taught me the necessity of building locked memory rooms.
As a child, I had learned that the harder I pushed away troublesome memories the harder they pushed back. The best way to fight them was not to fight them at all.
Instead of feeding the memories with resistance, I starved them with acceptance. I denied them the attention they demanded. I refused to give my mother, Ron, or anyone else, that kind of power over me.
Playtime with Mr. Babysitter was a new form of memory, and he was a different kind of shadow monster. The last thing I wanted wandering about in my mind was the memory of my babysitter raping me. There was no room for images of a naked shadow man dancing in my head.
Stuff happens, and I shoved the crappy memories to one side. The monsters under my bed would be there by invitation only.