Big Sister

I believe it was 1984, making me 7 years old. I was now living in Naranja, Florida with my foster parents. Because there were so many (8) of us, we had to be separated. A younger sister lived with me and around the corner, was another of my younger sisters. Our foster mothers were sisters. The remaining 5 were disbursed amongst three other women, including the niece of my foster mother.

Life was seeming ok. Our foster parents were not elderly but they definitely were not spring chickens. I want to say they were both in their early 60s. She worked for Good Will. You know, the person who sits on the back of the truck collecting items. That was her. And he worked as a garbage man. They were very pleasant people. She would always carve out the nicest donations from the truck and bring them home to my sister and I. For the first time, I felt like a child. I had a bicycle, skates, dolls, pretty dresses and the freshest curly perm you could imagine. There was always a supply of “World of Curls” spray moisturizer and gel available.

Our foster parents had children of their own. Living with us, there were two young men and a teenage girl. I believe she was a senior in high school. She enjoyed having me around. We would hang out at the mall, at the movies and she would even take me on dates with her and her boyfriend. Everything seemed normal until she started asking that I sleep in her room. Initially, I thought it was innocent. Something like a little sister sleeping with her big sister. But there was one particular night I noticed her behaving very strangely. As I was attempting sleep, I heard her making noises, sort of like moaning noises. As this was not her usual behavior, I began to stare at her to see what was going on. I got a closer look, and noticed her hand in her underwear moving back and forth, up and down. Although I was a young girl, I understood what she was doing. I had seen my biological parents behave in this way on numerous occasions.

She continued to rub herself and before I knew it, she had taken my hand, coaching me to do what she had been doing. Although I did not understand why she was doing this, I honestly did not feel like she was an untoward person. I just laid there and did what I was asked. She would eventually instruct me to grab styling gel from the dresser so that I could use it as a lubricant.

This went on went on until we left the foster home. I was never inclined to reveal what was going on between she and I. Not because I was afraid of her and not because I felt like she was doing something wrong. I never said anything because I was afraid of being sent back to my parents to face even greater dysfunction. I would be sent back to a place where I was not allowed to be a child.