I remember my earliest visions of my father naked standing along the bed that I was put on. There was a towel underneath me. My clothing had all been removed. A light blanket covered me loosely.
Dad called his stick like thing "Woody". Then he proceeded to rub woody harshly against me.
It was physical pain confined to one area of my body. Enough to make me split, leave my body.
It felt like I was right in front of a massive horn, like on a big ocean liner, and someone pulled the chain and this immense horn, two or three times bigger than me, blasted constant loud so. So loud, not stopping, like a huge, round wall stabbing against me, that I could not stay in my body even if I wanted to. Blown away by the pain, immense pain.
My dad on top of me. Why I was not smothered to death? In some ways, dad was careful to not injury enough to get caught.
His body warm, hairy, moving, blocking out the light. In a kind of dad flesh darkness. He made sounds.
I didn't know. Just felt the physical hurt was aware of.
And then, the other little me off to the left, once dad was off and left for the washcloths.
Left was there. We hold hands. She make it okay. Even with that much hurt, it okay because left was there for me.
Being an infant, a toddler and getting sexually assaulted is immensely physically painful.
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