At 22 I was far too old for him to be interested in me. When 16-year-old Julie told me, as we girls sat on the beach in front of his house, that her parents had sent her to spend the summer here on this tropical island for the summer, in his care, because after all they were friends and they trusted him -- I knew what his intentions were. She was going to be the summer girl.
At 22 however I was still very naïve. I didn’t know what “under-age” rape was, nor had I ever heard the word “pedophile”.
I had been touched in private places by male friends of my mother’s as a child of maybe 10, 11, 12, and knew it was wrong. But no one ever explained any of that stuff to me. It drove a wedge between my mother and myself for decades afterwards.
On that night, on the beach, on that island when he appeared nude with sagging skin on his slim frame and shouted: “Skinny dipping!” – all five of us tossed our bikinis onto the sand and followed him into the dark ocean. The stars, I remember were glittering inside the black sky and the moon looked fat and wide.
2019 Copyright Kirby Sommers
Excerpt: ‘The pedophiles in our lives’ by Kirby Sommers