Free Do Tampons Take Your Virginity?: A Catholic Girl's Memoir by Marie Simas

Beatrice. They were identical twins, both redheads. I could never tell them apart. Even now, if I had one of them in front of me, I wouldn’t be able to tell you which one it was.
    We visited them often. I was always bored at Aunt Beatrice’s house. Her husband Mario hated my brother and me. Actually, he hated kids in general. Mario yelled at us, and told us not to touch anything. He was such a prick.
    I asked my father if I could stay home, but he insisted on dragging me there all the time. Usually, I brought a book when I was forced to go there.
    “Dad, please let me stay home. I’m so bored over there.”
    “They’re family! Nothing is more important. What are you going to do, sit at home in front of the boob tube?”
    Father always referred to TV as the “boob tube.” That’s because our TV was one of the old models with a dial on the front. It had glass tubes inside, which my father replaced often. Very old school.
    When I became a teenager, my father continued to take me over to Beatrice’s house. Amazingly, the once-sour Mario started becoming friendlier toward us and hugged my brother and me when we came over. It was nice. He even invited us to watch TV in his bedroom. So we did. It was a respite from the endless boredom of adult chatter in the living room.
    Then, when I was sixteen, I went over to Beatrice’s house without my little brother. Father was in the living room and I was watching TV in the bedroom. Mario came into the bedroom and sat down on the bed next to me. He started touching my hair.
    Mario was an old man, at least sixty-five. He was thin, dark, bald, and covered with liver spots. He looked like Mr. Burns from The Simpsons . He continued making small talk and eventually he closed the door. Still, I didn’t suspect anything was wrong.
    He asked me for a hug. I got up and hugged him. Instead of hugging me, he turned me around. Mario jammed his erection into my butt. He kissed my neck, grabbed my breasts under my shirt, and cupped my vagina. He tried to shove his hand down the front of my pants. I was frozen... what the hell was happening? Wasn’t this asshole related to me?
    “ Shhhh! Shhhh! Don’t say anything! This is our secret!” Mario whispered, his bony finger pressed to his lips. I heard my father’s laughter in the living room.
    I was so shocked, I didn’t say anything. I didn’t even say no. I broke away and ran into the living room, heart pounding in my chest.
    As I ran out of the bedroom, I heard him hiss, “Oh, you’re going to be like that , eh? Little bitch.”
    I sat next to my father, who was still talking to Beatrice like nothing had happened. I asked if we could go home and he blew me off. The rest of the night, Mario stared me down, daring me to say anything. I just looked at my feet. Hours later, we went home.
    I didn’t say anything to my father. I was so ashamed. I begged my father not to take me back over to Aunt Beatrice’s house, but I didn’t tell him about the assault. He dragged me over there again and again. I sat right next to my father the whole time.
    Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I confessed to my Father in the kitchen. My little brother was there. I was crying—my father was planning another visit to Beatrice’s house.
    “I’m not going back over there!”
    My father stared at me. “What’s your problem ?”
    “Aunt Beatrice’s husband tried to have sex with me! H-he grabbed my boobs and—he grabbed me down there .” I sobbed.
    My father looked down for a minute. He frowned.
    “All right,” he said. He took my brother over to Beatrice’s house. I stayed home. That was the end of the conversation.
    My father never stood up to Mario and he never told his Aunt Beatrice that her husband tried to sexually assault me in their own house.
    I never understood it. Father was such a conservative hard-ass. He always said that all child molesters should go to the electric chair. I guess that rule only applied to pedophiles that weren’t