When I was around 5, I got my first Barbie doll. One of my fathers friends took at look at it, pulled down it's top and said "these things have boobies and everything"

When I was 7, a male babysitter (he must have been a kid) beat off on my bed and touched me in the genital area. My younger sister, knowing no better, sat on her bed and laughed. When our father found out, I believe he would have killed the kid--he never found him.

(I was always told I was "the pretty one", and was 'Daddy's' favorite, which mostly meant going places with him listening to his sexist, racist monologues -- there was actually a neighbor who told me "you took the pretty pill and your sister took the ugly pill"--this might have been because of her behavior-- she took absolutely no shit and was always getting into fights----((she's a ruined woman now, on drugs and full of self hate, she reminds me of those early feminists who fought until they couldn't fight anymore. No, she would never claim to be a feminist, more's the pity))--which horribly hurt and damaged my sister-- who of course developed severe acne as a teenager. She never got to be 'the pretty one')

Anyway, A year or so later, we had the 'neighborhood pervert' he was always trying to touch girls. I had a skirt on and he put his hand up my shirt, I went and put pajama bottoms on, because I wanted to play with the other kids. He swung me up in a tree and started rubbing my thighs and asking me "does that feel good?" I was embarrassed and left. It finally stopped when he pulled down the bathing suit of another little girl. Someone called the police.

And we girls? We little girls? We thought that was the way it was. Not that it was"ok" but it just happened sometimes.

Because of this, For most of my life, if you asked me if I had been molested as child, I'd tell you 'no' and I'm still not sure

There were many other small incidents as a preteen. (as a teen, most of us could write a book) When I was 12 my father-- who has has own and many, problems, was almost proud when he told me his friend was ogling me as I walked down the street saying how much he'd like to fuck me. My father relayed this to me as soon as possible with great delight, because he told him "that's my daughter, Bob" embarrassing the man, and reinforcing my status as "someone's daughter"

ON the other hand, Women generally feel 'safe' around my husband, not immediately of course, but he has the most non-perv presence of any man I've known, even his flirting is gentle. He tells me our sex life is sacred, taught me that sex could be sacred, not in the religious meaning, but in mutual respect, and reciprocal pleasure.

And how many men whose eyes and whose "locker room talk" discussed me not as a human being, but a collection of body parts to be evaluated, an object to be obtained as conquest, I'll never know.
How many unsolicited sexual comments I've gotten minding my own business, I'll also never know. Too many to count.

You're too painfully correct - most of us could write a book. I could write a few volumes myself.

The luckiest of us simply don't remember