Infant and Child Sexuality: A Sociological Perspective - Ipce

All three of us were delighted with his suggestion.
“Doctor” had always been one of our
favorite games. In fact, my sister and I were
particularly adept at making the Vicks Vapo-Rub
solution that was commonly used as medicine in
our neighborhood games. We asked about such a
mixture, but my cousin told us it wasn’t necessary.
He had other paraphernalia that would serve
his purposes even better.
I was to be his first patient. I was the oldest
and proud of that fact. I would serve as a
model patient and a shining example for my two
younger siblings.
He latched the door securely behind us while
my sister and brother waited outside. There were
no windows in this small shed and the latch was
too high for me to reach. There was a work table
along one wall and a small storage bin filled
with straw in the back. He said that this was a
perfect “doctor’s office,” complete with “operating
table” and “bed.”
The medical examination began, and the “doctor”
went through all of the necessary motions.
He peered into my ears and eyes. He inserted a
tongue depressor of some kind into my mouth and
checked my throat. I remember that my heart
didn’t sound very good, and that an operation was
necessary.
He had a table knife to perform it with, but
first I was to remove all of my clothing and
climb onto the operating table. I started to get
worried. We’d never played “doctor” quite like
this before. I did take off my shirt, determined
that that would be all! I just knew that taking
my pants off in front of a man was wrong, and
that I shouldn’t do it under any circumstances.
He was just as determined that my pants should
come off. He kept insisting that there was nothing
wrong with it; doctors did it all the time.
He handled the situation very tactfully and
psychologically so as not to frighten me any more
than I already was. He offered to help and
started to do so, but I would not let go of them.
I called for my sister; I knew I was trapped. He
told me to be quiet or that they couldn’t hear me
or something.
He turned his back and said that he wouldn’t
look at me. That didn’t make any difference.
Something in the whole situation was very wrong
as far as I was concerned. I felt that the only
person who could save me was my mother, but I was
afraid to tell her. I knew that what I was doing
was wrong, and I feared possible punishment for
my part in the situation.
With his back to me, he said, “If you take
your pants down, I’ll take mine down too.” I kept
insisting, “No, no!” Then he turned to face me,
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