My name is Morgan and I have emailed Emma for help.
I loved life, growing up in a Christian home, everything was so great. I had two older brothers and older sister, a younger brother as well as loving parents. But I also have a dark, dark secret.
My dad touches me and I want him to stop.
I was eleven years old the first time.
I remember it well, too well in fact. I was in the backseat of my dad’s car on a Saturday morning. He dropped off my brother at a friend’s house. I just tagged along with dad because I had nothing better to do.
Sometimes he would stop at a hardware store or something and I would hopefully be allowed to buy some candy in the checkout isle.
Sure enough, we stopped at the gas station, he gave me a dollar and I ran inside and bought some Mentos.
I sat in the backseat again, because sometimes dad rubs my leg when I sit up front. I don’t really like it and today I am wearing shorts, so it would make it a little worse. Dad doesn’t say anything as he hops in.
Leaving the gas station I notice we weren’t headed straight home. I ask dad where we were going. “On a little tour,” he says, “why don’t you come sit up front with me?” I didn’t really want too, but I didn’t want to upset him.
I climbed over the seat, dad awkwardly helping me as he put his hand on my butt.
I hate it when he touches me there, but I don’t say anything because he is my dad.
My dad touches me in places I know he shouldn’t.
As soon as I am seated dad’s hand is on my bare leg. I immediately start regretting my decision to even go along today.
Dad has been having wandering hands lately. But I was hoping for some candy, mom never lets me have any since I have braces. Dad gives in all the time, so why not go with him.
Dad drives out into the country, further and further from our house. His hand is stroking my leg the whole time.
My heart is beating faster. I am nervous with the way dad is acting today. He is very quiet, not saying anything at all. I wish I was home.
“Where are we going dad?” I ask almost upset with him for not saying anything. “Just for a little ride, that’s all, why don’t you lean closer to me so I can rub your back Sweetie?”
I do as I’m told, looking down at my Mentos, almost half gone already. “You have such a bony back don’t you,” dad says as I just nod my head as I feel his hand go underneath my shirt.
Again my dad touches me.
This is new; dad never gave me a back rub that I remember. His hand begins rubbing more than my back; he is rubbing my neck, and even my stomach.
Something is not right
Something is not right
Why are we going away from the house? I feel dad’s hand inching down the front of my shorts. I want to yell, “Stop dad!” I cannot say anything, I am afraid he will get mad.
Before I know it he is rubbing me in my underwear.
I stare out the window, straight to my right. I want him to stop, but he doesn’t. I am about ready to cry, but I don’t want to cry. Why is he doing this to me?
“Doesn’t that feel good Sweetie?” He asks me in a very pleasant voice, here is my chance, I think to myself.
“No dad, I don’t like it,” I say, almost choking back tears.
All of a sudden he removes his hand, the car is slowing down, yup, we are stopping for some reason. “Why don’t you get out and walk home then, Morgan!” Dad says, furious with me.
“No I am not walking, it’s too far dad,” I plead. “Then you shut up, and enjoy what dad is doing!”
I don’t say a word, as dad starts driving again, his hand going right back where it was, inside my shorts.”
I am sorry; I cannot go any further with my story. It’s just too overwhelming for me at this time. I hope you understand. My dad touches me and I want him to stop but I don’t know how to make him stop.
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