The first time

As a child, I loved stories being read to me, Enid Blyton, the secret Severn or, the famous five,
These stories, I read as a child, from the age of 5, forward,
The magic tree, I adored, a fairy tale, I could escape in, A world I loved.

I recall my bedroom as a 6 yr old, My little pony wallpaper, my little pony bedding,
My cabin bed, my teddies that gave me comfort,
A shelf unit at my head, a lamp, my juice,
My bedroom walls full of shelves, the memories surround me,
The smell, the sounds, the emotions have never left me.

Leaning against the side of the bed,
Excited to get a bedtime story, choosing the book from my shelves,
I sit up, my back leaning on the adult beside my bed,
He holds my chosen book in his left hand,
He asks me to turn each page as his right hand rests on my knee,
A young 6yr old, I feel comfort at attention from an adult,

he brings his hand down my thigh, claims he is cold,
I grab tatty bear tighter,
I say OK,
I suck my thumb harder,
I mumble OK,
I assume this is OK,
As his hand slides to the top of my thigh,

He tells me this is OK,
Yet not to tell others,
He tells me I am just keeping his hand warm,
I agree, unsure but trusting,

He tells me story is over,
He tells me tomorrow more will be read,
Until then, sleep well, nothing to fear,

he tells me all is normal,
I smile, say good night,
Say I love you as expected and needed,
I close my eyes, snuggle down,
no longer thinking of that hand,
No longer thing how close it came,
No knowing how wrong it was,
Not understanding<
this was normal,
This was life to become.
I just didn’t realise it yet.