My story isn't very easy to tell. Then again, none of the really serious ones are. Some people are scared of anything too personal.

It all began more than ten years ago...



My five year old butt sat perched on my Grandfather's knee, in the rocking chair. The chair wasn't very steady, with missing springs and a matching tattered cushion, but that didn't matter. He kept a firm hand on the armrest next to him, and more importantly, one around my waist.

One of those really boring talk shows was on the television before us. But he wasn't really watching it, so I didn't think he would mind much if I turned the channel. My favorite show, 'Rugrats', was on, and I didn't want to miss today's episode. Even if Grammy wasn't there to put it on for me.

I reached for the remote control at his feet, resting on the worn stool, but he caught it before me, holding it above my head and out of reach.

"Haha."

"No! I want it!" I whined.

"No! Mine!" Grandpa mocked me, with a fake baby voice.

We wrestled over it for a while, until finally, he gave up.

The television was turned to Nickelodeon, and I was satisfied.

While dragging my favorite doll, I crept to the couch, and laid down on my favorite pillow. It wasn't a huge pillow, and it wasn't the fanciest but it held my head perfectly.

Closing my eyes a little, I neglected to notice Grandpa, taking a seat at the end of the couch, next to me.

"Cold? Why don't you grab a blankie."

I smiled, and took the red blanket above his head.

But before curling up inside it, I snuggled against the pile of pillows with my thumb in my mouth.

My Grandfather's hand slowly grazed my leg, then my thigh and then down into the seam of my little girl jeans.

I began to feel really sleepy, as he moved his fingers inside me; groping me.

My legs began to feel really wet, and sticky. But it felt nice. Grandpa was touching me because he loved me.

When he was done with mine, he grabbed my hand and pulled it towards his own pants. Placing my hand right above his crotch, before unzipping his pants and moving my fingers on top of it.

I pulled my hand back as if I had touched something sharp. I knew it was wrong. This was a forbidden place, especially for little girls like me.

"Go ahead, scratch it." He whispered.

I shook my head no and my eyes returned to the screen.

"Scratch it. Come on." His voice rose an octave on every word. Insisting that I do as he said, He gripped my hand once more, and placed it on top.

I decided to leave it there, like it said, but I wouldn't touch it. I didn't want to. It wasn't right, was it?

Just then, the heavy scent of something burning filled the air.

"Shit! My egg!" He cursed.

He had forgotten his scrambled eggs on the stove in the kitchen, and now they were burning.

I stood up from the couch, my pants around my ankles; my face flashing a look of warning.

"Oh shit. Oh shit." He chanted.

Then I heard the loud clang of the garage door opening. Grammy was home from her hair appointment.

Quickly, I stepped back into my pants and re-buttoned them. As I listened for the door. The plan was to appear as if nothing had happened, when she walked in.