Broken – The Prologue (Uncle Bill)

BROKEN - THE PROLOGUE (UNCLE BILL)

Copyright © Ufuomaee

"The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit" (Psalm 34:18).

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It was probably the worst day of my life, the day my Uncle Bill got married.  I was just fifteen years old at the time, but knew so much more than my age.  Bill had been my initiator into womanhood, and now my teacher in the hard knocks of life.  He had not only stolen my virginity; he had also stolen my heart.  And now, he was moving on, leaving me to pick up the pieces.

Of course, no one knew of our intimate relations.  He had been my favourite uncle since I was a little child.  I remember that I used to run to him, whenever he visited us from Lagos.  He would bring gifts for me and my siblings, and would carry me on his lap to tell us his tales from living in the big city and working as a Teacher at the University of Lagos.  Even then, everyone knew I was his favourite.

So the day I stayed home from school, after spraining my ankle from falling off the tree in the backyard, he offered to stay home with me.  I was only nine then, and couldn't be left on my own.  My mom was pleased, because she had just started on a new job as a Receptionist at one big firm in Ibadan, and didn't want to disappoint them.  My dad was hardly ever around, because he worked as a live-in driver for a rich man, which enabled us to afford a decent existence compared to a lot of my classmates.

I was happy when I learnt Uncle Bill would be staying home with me.  With the epileptic electrical supply in the country, I knew I couldn't count on television for entertainment.  I hoped to hear more of his stories, and play our usual games of Connect 4, Snake and Ladder, Ludo and the rest.   But I soon learnt that Uncle Bill had other ideas for our time together that day.

He came into the room I shared with my brother and sister, to check on me after everyone had gone to school and work.  He brought Vaseline to rub on my ankle, and help ease the sprain.  I enjoyed the foot massage.  But he didn't stop there.  His hand went up and down my right leg, as he decided he would give me a "full body massage".  After he had massaged the second leg, his hand lingered around my thighs, and then my crutch, where he gripped me.

He asked me if I liked it.  I didn't really know how I felt about his touch, but I knew that something was wrong for him to be holding my private part.  I was a little scared, because I didn't know what he was doing, but I didn't want to offend him by being ungrateful for the massage.  I told him it was uncomfortable.

Instead of removing his hand, he slid his finger past my pants, and then began to stroke my vagina.  He told me that I was becoming a woman, and that my body was beautiful.  He asked me if I knew I was his favourite niece, to which I simply nodded.  Then he slid his finger into my vagina and I gasped.  He smiled and asked if it was painful.  I nodded and wriggled under his touch and asked him to stop, that I didn't like what he was doing.

He didn't stop.  He went deeper and told me it would be okay, that I'd get used to it, and soon I would like it.  He said that this is how grownups play.  He asked me to touch him too.  I shook my head.  At that point, I wanted him to leave my room, and I would have screamed, if I thought someone would hear me and come to my aid.  But we lived in a small bungalow that was surrounded by thick bush.  If I screamed, I was sure it would only make him angry.

"Please Uncle, stop," I pleaded with him instead.

At last, he took his finger out and showed it to me.  It was wet and slimy.  He told me that meant that I liked it.  He then took off my pants, and began to lick my private part with his tongue.  After a while, he raised his head and asked me if I liked it or whether I still wanted him to stop.  It was a strange feeling, and I didn't know what to say.  I felt dirty and bad.  My lower body was squirming under his head, because the sensation was somehow ticklish.  But it wasn't painful.

When he was done, he told me that it was my turn to touch him, and he pulled out his penis for me to touch.  When I did, he rewarded me with noises, and told me that he liked it.  He told me I would make a good lover, and that he loved me.  He held my hand on his penis and showed me how to stroke it, until it became hot and hard.  It was then that he kissed me on my lips.  I kissed him back, and he ran his hands all over my body.

He said, "I want to make love to you.  I don't want to hurt you; I just love you so much."  So I let him.

I screamed in pain the first time he thrust into me with his penis and cried throughout.   Even though he was gentle, it still hurt badly.  It went on for so long, before he finally screamed out in satisfaction.  By then, my body was exhausted, my legs ached and my vagina was sore and torn.  But he didn't let me go.  He held on to me and told me he loved me.  That I was a "big girl" for letting him make love to me.  He said "thank you", and it made me feel good.  It took away the shame and made it feel special.  I believed he loved me, and that I loved him too.

After our first time together, I looked forward to more "alone" times with Uncle Bill.  We shared secret touches and smiles, and I craved his attention more than ever before.  Our sexual encounters grew more adventurous, and I became more free with him, doing whatever would make him excited and happy.  He was my lover, and I was addicted to his sex.

So when I heard from my mother that Uncle Bill was engaged to be married, I was hysterical.  Naturally, she thought it was just jealousy from being his pet, and laughed it off.  For many weeks after, I was depressed.  He didn't come around anymore, and I wasn't to see him for almost three months.  I cried a lot, I ate little and slept restlessly.

The Introduction and Wedding ceremonies were held in Lagos.  His bride was from a well to do family, so he was moving on up.  We all went down for the White Wedding.  I was in mourning.

When I saw the bride, I understood why the rushed ceremony.  Her little bump was showing, but she still looked beautiful in her white dress.  I hated her.  But it wasn't her fault.  She probably didn't know about me, and for the first time, I began to wonder if there were others like me in his life.

The man showed no remorse, no guilt, no shame.  He was a happy groom, smiling and laughing as if he had won the jackpot.  He hardly acknowledged my presence.  He did not appear to remember that he once told me he loved me.  Nor did he appear to remember the many intimate moments we shared...moments that I can never forget.  Moments that left me used and broken, never to be the same again.

To be continued...

Photo credit: www.pixabay.com

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