It has taken me a very long time to tell the details of my rape. Twenty-three years, in fact. My husband is the only one I have ever fully told. But I can not live with the silence anymore. It is eating me up inside.I was thirteen and babysitting for a family friend. My mom dropped me off that evening. I brought a night gown with me. I was wearing a green turtleneck, and big bulky sweater with jeans that zipped up the left side instead of the front. I definitely was not dressed to draw attention to myself.

When I got there his wife was working in the kitchen, cooking fish and washing dishes. I was holding the baby. HE had been getting ready in the other room. He came into the living room and came over to me and the baby.

He played with the baby while I was holding him and that is when he kissed me. I don't know why I didn't say anything. I was in shock and worried about upsetting his wife. Then he decided to run out and get gas. He wanted me to ride with him, but I refused. He kept bugging me until finally his wife told him to leave me alone and go get gas. So he left for a little while. She got ready and I continued to play with the baby. When they left for the concert, I called my Mom and begged her to come and get me when they got back instead of having me spend the night. I didn't tell her why. She said she was not going to get up in the middle of the night when I could just stay where I was. I am not sure what I thought would happen if I told her, but it doesn't really matter now.

That night when I got ready for bed I decided not to put on my gown. Instead I slept in my jeans & turtleneck on the couch. I remember lying on the couch and hearing someone in the bathroom. I could see the bathroom light go off and heard him walking towards me. I can still remember my heart pounding in my ears.

He was behind me, touching, kissing, and started searching the front of my jeans for the zipper. He tasted like chewing tobacco. Crying, I rolled away from him onto my left side to try and hide the zipper. That is when he pulled away. At first I thought that was it, he was going back to bed. But instead he came around the couch and faced me. He found that damned zipper & readjusted my position on the couch. I pleaded with him to stop. I just remember saying over and over, "Please don't do this, please, no. Please." I was bawling.

He leaned into my body and again told me to just go along with him and it wouldn't hurt. Then he kissed me harder than I have ever been kissed and pushed himself between my legs. I felt a searing, ripping pain as he put himself inside of me. I cried out. That is when he put his hand over my mouth.

I tried to push him off, but he was so strong. The more I fought, the rougher he got. So eventually I stopped struggling. Once I stopped fighting he kissed and played and had his way. When he finished he kissed me and said, "See, it wasn't that bad." He left me there alone to cry the rest of the night. I don't know how his wife did not hear what happened, maybe she did. I have no idea.

I never babysat for them again. I have seen him twice. Once when a family friend got killed in a car accident and he was at the funeral, and once when I was out to eat with my husband. I have not spoken to him or had anything other than eye contact with him in all these 23 years.

He tried to contact me through Facebook this past spring. Of course I blocked his ass, but it just brought back all the Hell he put me through.

I am now trying to get past all of it. I am much stronger now than I was when I was 13 and he will not win this battle. I am going to continue to be the extraordinary person I am, despite what he did. He may have stirred up some terrible memories for me, but I will not let him hurt me again.


Kimberly writes at After Silence, and tweets as @AfterSilence.