6 Years Old
Probing the edges of my white panties, Lisa outlines dozens of the tiny blue flowers before sliding her hand inside the cotton. I close my eyes and count to 20 over and over again. “Hold the picture up!” she snaps as she shifts her body for deeper penetration. That is my job; I turn the pages of my father’s thick, sticky porn magazines, while my 14-year-old babysitter acts out each scene inside me. She is always the man, and as she’s told me many times, I must be a better woman.
My parents are either at school or one of the three jobs they each have. My older sisters and brothers are gone, as usual, and Lisa has just put my baby brother down for a nap in the tiny bedroom that the five of us share. Per tradition she has dragged me to my father’s broken down orange van, where a pile of blankets hide his stash of violent porn. I do not enjoy Lisa’s games but I am grateful that her fingers do not resemble the terrifyingly huge phalluses from which she takes her inspiration.
Before bed, it is my eldest sister’s job to give me a bath. She scrubs mercilessly at the ever-black stains that cover the entirety of my knees. “I swear to god, Liz”, she snarls, “I don’t know how you get so fucking dirty…”
Return to your mentor
Memory of eight years old
