When we were children Bob was the playmate of Beth and me. I remember when I was four he showed us the difference between boys and girls. We were playing under the house, digging a cave, when he just opened his pants and said,

"Look at mine!"

Beth stared with curiosity and was impressed.

I was disinterested. And when he tried to capture my interest, by forcing me to touch that part of hist body, I slapped his face.

As I was crawling out from under the house, I heard him coaxing Beth,

"Now

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show me yours." you

I heard them both giggling as I went into the house. Later I never asked Beth what had happened after I left her and Bob alone together. I didn't care. And she never told me. But I could guess.

My Mother had the idea that Bob was such a "nice little boy". I saw him as a pest and nasty-tempered. Although Beth liked him, she admitted if he couldn't have his way he would often do something sneaky and mean to get even with us. But she always managed to for give him, no matter what he did. And she would take his side against me anytime.

According to my recollection the earliest trouble Bob caused me happened when I was only five. He got angry because I played with my new doll in preference to playing marbles with him. That afternoon while, I was taking my nap, Bob crept into my room and took my doll.

When I awoke I began searching for I found her outside in the yard.

my

doll.

Sobs spilled from me when I saw what had happened to her. My beautiful doll was mutilated, arms off, legs off, head bashed in. I gathered the scattered parts and held them tenderly in my arms. I sobbed heartbrokenly. Then Bob came swaggering up to me. (Even as a

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child he swaggered.) If I live to be a hundred years old I'll never forget the sound of his little-boy voice as he boasted, "I did it, Melba. I did it because you wouldn't play with me when I wanted you to."

The next incident of Bob's thirst for revenge occurred when I was ten.

Beth and I had a playhouse made of wood. I remember it was a very windy day, and we were staying in the playhouse instead of the yard. We were sitting down on turned over orange crates, and had our checker board spread over a small table. We'd been playing for about ten minutes. Suddenly Bob slammed the checkers to the floor.

""This old game's no fun!" he said. "Let's play doctor.”

"What if" Beth began, looking toward the door. "Don't be a fraidy cat," Bob mocked. "Nobody'll come in here. If anybody wants us, they'll call us. Like they always do. Come on, let's have some real fun."

Beth wriggled up from the orange crate, and stood there in front of Bob. I could see she was willing to play doctor.

Bob took hold of my arm.

"You're the patient, Melba." He grinned. "Beth's the nurse, and I'm the doctor." He snickered.

Then he told me to lie on the floor and pull down my panties.

"No," I said, angrily. "I don't want to."

He was furious.

"Let Melba be the nurse, and I'll be the patient,” Beth suggested, starting to lift her skirt.

I grabbed her hand.

"Don't play doctor with Bob," I said. "Mother'll be baking soon, and she needs you to help." Beth dropped her skirt.

"That's right. I forgot, today's cinnamon roll and

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