SEXUAL ASSAULT AWARENESS Month- Mr. Billy

The second time I was sexually assaulted.

“No human being has permission to ever touch your body. Allah gave you that body. I will kill somebody over you.”- Uncle Khalid

I was thirteen years old with a woman’s figure. My body was curvaceous, thick legs shape like tree trunks, a video vixen booty, thin waist, and gullible. I hated my body because it attracted unwanted attention by grown men. Two years prior, I was molested by my mother’s boyfriend who called me Jezebel. I wore sweat pants, rarely combed my hair and look like a bum, and didn’t care. I was in protective mode of ever being called a Jezebel.

I returned from Harlem and moved into safety at 561 Gates Avenue. My home. My family who would never let harm come my way. Aunt Cookie, Uncle Hack and my favorite uncle Khalid protected me. Familiar faces, friends, next door neighbors Mrs. McCloud and her 45-year-old son Billy. He had a George Jefferson haircut, light complexion, wore these brown open toe slippers, and sat in the house all day.

Mrs. McCloud a thin woman, who sang like an angel, and went to church every Sunday was sweet and kind . I love Mrs. McCloud because she paid me to do her shopping and clean her house. Billy would just stare at me and say,

“You are so pretty and got a big ass.”

I put the groceries up and he would stand behind me and press his body against mine. He would hit me on the butt and kiss my neck. I would leave and go next door, but he’d always followed and talk to Aunt Cookie for hours just to make sure I didn’t say anything. I would sit in the bathroom until he would leave and cry. I would stop washing up because if I smelled he wouldn’t touch me. That didn’t stop him and he fondled me every time I went over. He’d put his hands in my sweat pants and touch me on my vagina. I beg him to stop but he wouldn’t. I felt like it was the Jezebel in me causing him to do it. It was my fault.

He would call having me going to the store more often for his mother who was now sick. My Uncle Khalid who was attending college picked up on it. He’d argue with my Aunt Cookie.

“Why the fuck would a grown ass man keep calling a child to go to the store? I don’t trust that motherfucker.”

“They always send her to the store and pay her. It is nothing wrong with that and they give her five dollars. Billy loves her as a niece and would never harm her. We are family.”

Every time he would touch me, feel on my breasts, kiss me and I’d push him away. He’d kissed me and pulled out a butcher knife whispering in my ear, “I will call Child services and have you in foster care. Your crack head mother leaving you here without her. ” My biggest fear was to be placed away from my family. It would be my fault all over again and I would be the big mess up.

My Uncle came home and Billy must have left the door open. He took me in his room and he took off his clothes . I kept thinking it is my fault and the previous person who raped me was right. He pushed his penis towards my mouth and said,

“Suck it or I will kill you.”

My Uncle Khalid yelled,

“No motherfucker, I will kill you. Get the fuck away from my niece.” He pointed the gun behind his head. I sat crying, embarrassed, and ashamed.

“My advice is for you to be gone before I make good on my promise.”

He took me by my hand and we went next door. I sat in his favorite chair crying and he was furious.

Why didn’t you tell?

Fear is powerful and Mr.Billy instilled that in me. I was ashamed and the idea lingered I did something wrong. My grown woman body was the reason this happened all over again. I was being a Jezebel.

My Uncle Khalid sat in front of me crying asking why I didn’t confide in him.

“I was scared please don’t tell.”

“Did he rape you? Did he put his thing in you?”

“No.”

He didn’t but he touched me, kissed, and felt on me. He did this for two months straight and as secure as I was being with family I couldn’t tell. I thought my grown woman body would be the cause of being taken away. I thought I provoked him. I didn’t want to be in foster care and have my brother separated from me.So for months, I self destructed I stop bathing until I got a beating. I was teased and humiliated, but I rather have that happen then be raped. I didn’t care how I looked because in my mind I was never going to touched again. I was never going to called a Jezebel.

“Tamyara, I will always protect you and no one will touch you again.”

My Uncle did have the brothers of the Nation beat the hell out of him. I never saw him again, but the memory still lives in me.

Sexual Assault is touching, kissing, fondling without permission. It is why I am sharing my story. I hope to remind every teenager, woman, and child that no one has permission to touch your body without your consent.

Dear Survivor,

It is not your fault. It is not my fault. You didn’t deserve this.

Love,

Tamyara

Please share and recommend. No matter what people may think fondling, kissing, and touching is sexual assault. Please don’t be ashamed to tell. Break the chains of Silence and tell your story.