The Day I Was Sexually Assaulted By A Mentally Retarded Girl

After enduring a long and strenuous train ride home on the TTC, I had a flash back to a painful [yet seemingly hilarious story to everyone I tell] memory of the day I damn near lost my innocence to an overly-aggressive and freakishly strong girl with down syndrome named Amanda.

Usher says confession is good for the soul, so I will tell this story in public and hopefully never think of it EVER again…

So, it was a cold and windy friday morning during March Break except there was no sun, warmth or signs of Spring today. That should have been an ominious forewarning for the ol’ BULLSH*T that was about to go down that day. My mother [in typical West Indian fashion] would be DAMNED if she left me and my sister home alone, so she did the one thing she didn’t want to do – drag us to work with her.

I had always been a little weary of her work place because she, like my grandmother, works specifically with mentally challenged people, and though I got accustom to being around them, sh*t was still unpredictable and could get hairy at times [i.e. me and my father having to do the Lethal Weapon police roll to evade some used toilet paper one of the patients had wiped his a*s with and figured he was gonna play dodgeball with itahhh, good times]. But there was a TWIST today – my mother decided she would bring us to their cottage because they were all having a CAMPING ADVENTURE.

Now, even as the young boy I was around these times, I was never SOLD on camping because it seemed like a waste of time specifically designed for white and/or old people. The day got off to a rough start as the patients were unusually agitated and over-stimulated. I went to one of the other workers who looked like Bob Saget from Full House and said “Is there a TV here? I wanna watch the Blue Jays play later” to which he calmly replied “I don’t know sonny boy, but I will look into that for you and we can both watch” followed by his magical White man smile. I finally felt comfortable in this damp, strange, cold-a*s piece of wilderness – until I heard my mother scream at me “LINCOLN! GET AWAY FROM HIM AND STAND OVER HERE!” As I turned back around Bob Saget morphed into Rampant Autism guy at the snap of my mothers fingers which freaked me the hell out – he almost caught me slippin’.

At that point I got tighter than Termite nani, because I realized I would have to stay on my toes and I was doing a good job – up until my mother introduced me and my sister to Amanda. Amanda was a short, Blonde down-syndrome girl with Bottle-Cap glasses and a wild overbite. She lumbered over to me winching at me through her glasses like the monkeys that jump on your car at African Lion Safari. Amanda wanted to play and she needed someone to play with so I looked over at my sister like “Hold Dat!” thinking that the natural pair would be the two young girls – but my sister just “magically” managed to trip over her shoelace and “twist” her ankle and my mother told me “go play with Amanda while we look after your sister.”

Damn.

Amanda got happy-as-hell and grabbed my hand and led me up to her bedroom and all I could ask was “Why yo’ damn hand so sticky?” At that point in my life, the only young girls room I had ever been in was my sister’s so needless to say I was uncomfortable as all hell. Amanda got right up in face [because she was a “close-talker”] and asked me if I wanted to see her funhouse. PRAYING that that wasn’t a euphemism for something else, I reluctantly agreed and murmured something under my breathe about her breathe smelling like “sour a*s and onion” [which made me laugh out loud in my mind] and she quickly uttered “HUHHH?” I straightened my face and said “Nothing Amanda, can I see your funhouse now please?” and here’s where sh*t got outta hand.

Her: “We aren’t dressed nice enough to go in yet”
Me: “Word up. Ah well maybe next time”
Her: “NOOO we have to change – me first”
Me: {F*^K!the first time I ever remember cussing to myself in my life}
Her: “I have a pretty blue dress with diamonds – wanna see?”
Me: “Mommaaaaaaaaa….Mummmaaa…Mommmyyyy”
Her: “Sit on the bed and watch me!”
*Grabs my hand with the force of the Ultimate Warrior and flings me down face first in the bed*
Me: *choking back tears* “Time out. Pause. You don’t need to change into the new dress homie, show me a picture. Yeah, that’ll do”
Her: “YAY!”

So she pulls out a HUGE picture album [You damn kids nowadays don’t know about those with your damn digital cameras and newfangled technology] and as we are flipping through the album [with her sticky hand conspicuously on my right knee] I’m seeing a lot of black and white photographs which is confusing as hell to me. So I ask..
Me: “Are these pictures of your mom?”
Her: “NO!”
Me: “Hol’ up, how old are you?”
Her: “3 + 4”
Me: “On the real, you look a little older than 7”
Her: “I’M THIRTTTTTTTYYYYYYY-FOOOOUUURRRR! YAY!”

Nigga, I ran out that room like someone yelled FIRE. Ol’ aggressive a*s Amanda with the vice grip hands was a GROWN-A*S woman and I didn’t even have a spec of hair anywhere on my body except my head. I will admit I hit a Patti Labelle octave when I ran out and she grabbed me by my jean jacket and I screamed like a little bee-yotch but damn that was some scary sh*t.

Well ThisIsYourConscience readers, I say we are like family, so there is my painful childhood memory posted here for your reading pleasure. But as a grown a*s man sometimes I do wonder – maybe Amanda might have been a freak.

just playin…ohhhh you so sensitive…

When Lincoln Anthony Blades is not writing for his controversial and critically acclaimed blog ThisIsYourConscience.com, he can be found contributing articles for Uptown Magazine. Lincoln wrote the hilarious and insightful book "You're Not A Victim, You're A Volunteer: How To Stop Letting Love Kick Your Ass". He is also a public speaker who has sat on panels all over North America and the Caribbean.

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