It was a Wednesday, and it was in the fall, and we girls had been dropped off at the boys' home. We were warned not to go into their room. Instead we were ushered into the playroom to hang out with the younger children, ages 3-5. I should never have went into that room.
It started easily enough. Paul and John welcomed us into their room and shut the door. We watched Sesame Street and talked about how 'adult' we were. Paul started touching me, and at first I was so confused. it felt good, but there was this accompanying sense of fear. I ended up on my back, his weight crushing me, and my voice lost. I couldn't scream. I didn't say anything, even when John grabbed Tish and wrestled her to the floor.
It began with a French kiss. It quickly escalated. The next two years were so horrible that I expunged them from my memory after they were over. The acts themselves were depraved and frightening, but their eyes told me that this was absolutely acceptable, that I didn't have a say. I had regular flashbacks every night for three years. Tish and I dealt with the situation in unhealthy ways, often miming what was happening to us. No one knew.