He lied to me about me about everything. I was so young, and trusting that I believed him.
I also feel bad about what everyone else said. They didn’t outright lie, but what little they told me wasn’t very useful. Little girls were warned about “Strangers,” and “The Big Bad Wolf,” but not what could happen to you, if you let someone in.
He was tricky, his name wasn’t even Johnny, but he asked me if my brother was home. Of course not, he just got some new skates, and a Hockey helmet. So, mom, and dad took him out to the ice-skating rink to practice, all day.
“Johnny” showed up right after they left. I even remember, I barely had the TV turned on before he knocked. I might have mentioned that he just missed him, I don’t remember, but he didn’t look surprised when I told him about the new ice skates.
He asked me if he could come in and wait, so I’d let him in. I knew he’d be gone all day, but I was there all by myself, and I liked the company. Then, he asked me if I liked Hockey, so I said “Not really.” So, he asked me what I liked, and I probably said some girl stuff.
He asked me who my favorite Princess was, and I said “Cinderella.” Probably because of her mouse friends, and their adventures with Lucifer the cat. Maybe he asked me what my favorite movie was instead, but he knew too much.
Way too much about little girl’s movies, I told you he was slick. He asked me if I liked to dance, and I think I shook my head? I wanted a mouse for Christmas, but I didn’t get one. I probably wouldn’t have taken care of it if I had, but I wasn’t too broken up about it. Cinderella had mice that dressed up in clothes, so I imagined making clothes to dress her up in.
Then, he changed the subject to “My favorite is Sleeping Beauty,” and why. He told me the story, or his version of it, but he left out a lot of things like Maleficent. I didn’t ask him who put a spell on her, or locked her up with thorns around her, so she’d sleep for a thousand years. He told me what a spindle was.
Then, of course he wanted to play Sleeping Beauty with me. That was his plan all along, but I said “I’m not sleepy.”
“Let’s pretend, where do you like to sleep, out here?” I shook my head. “In bed?” I nodded, so he asked me “Where’s that?”
So, I’d take him back to my bedroom, and show him. Then he asked me if I slept in those? I didn’t have pajamas on, so I told him “No, pajamas.” He asked me where I keep them, so I’d show him, then he helped me get undressed to put them on.
His hands went all over my body. My legs too, but also my back, and tummy. He didn’t tickle, but he touched my nipples, and rubbed them to make them hard. “That feels nice,” he said a lot, but he didn’t ask me. He told me, “You like that,” and “It makes you feel good.”
Then, he got down to my underwear, but I pulled them right back up, and grabbed my PJs to put them on. “Let me help you,” he said that a lot, for an excuse to help himself. He did the buttons wrong on purpose, so he could do them over, and over again. First one side too low, then too high, so he wound up doing them 3 times, but all the way up.
He didn’t stop touching me, and telling me it felt good. I said “I feel tired now,” and fake yawned. Since I knew that I was going to play Sleeping Beauty, even this early in the morning. I didn’t know what I was feeling, but it certainly wasn’t “Uncomfortable.”
You know, that’s what adults used to say to children, when they didn’t want to say anything Sexual. “Did he touch you in a way that made you feel uncomfortable?” No, he made sure that I felt very comfortable, and told me that it felt good.
I don’t actually remember what I felt like at that point. I suppose if anyone had asked me, he sure didn’t. I might have said “Funny,” or “Weird,” but not bad. He told me it felt good, so I never thought it was bad.
Then, I lay down the way I usually did. Face down, with my head turned to the side, and closed my eyes. That’s when he really started to feel me up. Back and forth on my back with one hand, but the other one going between my legs, and all over my bottom.
“You’re hot.” He told me, at some point, but I started losing track of time. He felt me like that for a long time, before he told me I was hot, and “Turn over.” So, he could unbutton my top again, and feel me all over the front.
I looked up at him, but he didn’t look me in the eyes. Then, he said “You’re supposed to be Sleeping, Beauty.” So, I’d close my eyes, and fold my hands over my heart. As if clutching a rose, like Snow White.
I hadn’t actually watched Sleeping Beauty, the movie yet. maybe the Ballet, I’d sure seen The Nutcracker every year, but that was traditional. I knew the story from storybooks, but they all run together, because that’s how they’re written. Especially Snow White, and Sleeping Beauty, because they’re both basically a beautiful princess, that’s drugged unconscious by a jealous older woman, so they can find “True love” when they’re kissed by a total stranger. Only one’s a Blonde.
So, looking back at that, I’m a little pissed off at what a fucked up thing that is to teach little girls. That’s “True Love.” It’s okay if he’s Charming. You know he’s Prince Charming, because that’s his name, and a big bonus is he’s a Prince!
He never kissed me. He knew that was the end of the game, or at least I knew that ment I could wake up, it it certainly wasn’t 100 years. He took a long time to get his hand in my pajama bottoms. Then, he slipped it back out a long time later, to pull out my panty waist, and slip his bare fingers in there.
They felt very warm. I remember that, how gently he touched me, and how slowly. He moved incredibly slowly, patiently, and honestly that ruined me for boys for a long time after that. Yes, I know he molested me when I was too young, and innocent to know what was going on, but I didn’t care.
I thought it was Love. That’s what I was told it was, and the stories didn’t say anything about what Prince Charming did before he woke her up. Either one of them. It did feel good, long after he told me to feel good. Enjoy it, how nice it was, and I liked it. He told me I liked it, and then he didn’t stop, long after I did.
He didn’t jerk off. He didn’t even open his fly, or I don’t remember hearing the zipper. If he rubbed it hard in his pants, he couldn’t have done it very long, because the vast majority of the time, he had both hands on me. He never stopped feeling my legs through my pajama pants, until the family came home.
Then, he left, went back out, and I sighed. “Hmn!” I just enjoyed the feeling of “Love.” I’m sure it was just immature sexual arousal. I barely got any pleasure out of him rubbing my nipples with both hands. It was just an overall feeling, beyond where he had his hands at any given time. Warm, soft, and comfortable all over.
Ironically, as comfortable as I ever had been, but he told mom, and dad that I’d let him in. He knew when my brother would come home (Even there was no way anyone would know when he’d get tired, because he’d never admit that. He’d keep skating until he collapsed from exhaustion, or whatever it was he happened to be doing. He was in denial that fatigue was something he could experience, as if he had infinite energy.)
They told me later what he’d said. “She was taking a nap, so I woke her up. She let me in, and then went right back to bed.” That’s the story I got from everyone, but I didn’t think to ask Who he was until I started wondering why he never came back.
I suppose because 1, he’d gotten what he wanted, some boys are like that. 2, he was clever enough to return to the scene of the crime, and possibly, he didn’t get as good a chance again. I wasn’t left alone all day that often, and my brother never told his friends about going to practice on his new skates tomorrow.
By the time I asked him about his friend, it was over a month later, and he’d forgotten the visit completely. “Your friend, Jonny?”
“I don’t know anybody named Johnny. Lots of Johns, but none of them like being called that.” I wanted to ask if he would be my Valentine, and finally bugged my brother for months until he took me to meet everyone he knew named Johnathan, Jonah, or similar names until I gave up.
I never saw him again, after that. I even forgot about him, except for sometimes around the holidays. Usually between Christmas, and New Years, though sometimes before Valentines too.
I’ve never met anyone who was so gentle, loving, and patient since, either. Of course, he’s a child molester, so I’m probably too old for him now, anyway.