My Story.

Although I thought that remembered much of my childhood, despite having spent most of the past 30 years purposefully not thinking about it, I only recently realised that the memories were only the 'remembering' of the hundreds of stories that I had relayed to myself a thousand times over, and in great detail. In reality, I recently discovered that I do not remember much of my childhood at all. I don't remember what is was 'like' to be a child.

You would think that I would only block out the "bad" events, the ones that you really don't want to remember, but they are the only ones that I do remember, I can recount them to you step by step, I can relay what was said, what was done, how it was done, who did it, where and when. I can tell you the tone of voice used, and even the smells. The only thing that I cannot do, is put myself there.

With recent therapy sessions, I have been working hard trying to recollect the feelings of being fondled, touched under the covers, having oral sex… being raped. The only contact I have with these events are these "stories" that I have told myself over and over. But they still do not make sense. The only feeling that I have when recounting these events is usually one of emptiness, as opposed to pain, anger, rage and complete shame.

The anger seems to come through different areas, when I am having difficulty completing a task, trying to explain something to my partner, or just feeling guilty about not doing something properly. At these times I am known to fly into a rage and lash out at whoever is closest (usually my partner). When I was in my 20's I would truly rage. This would result in smashing anything in sight, scream at the top of my lungs, and lash out at anything. I put many dents in my motorcycles when they refused to start, smashed many possessions, destroyed a great deal of foliage and put my fist through many walls. As I grew older, I managed to control the total rage, but it still occasionally leaks through the cracks.

As I to try and piece my life together, I can only start by looking at what I have lost due to abuse. I know that I will find this very difficult, because except for a few addictions, that are mostly under control, the rare violent outburst, and the constant dull ache throughout my head, I have a great life. What I have to do now is to look at what it could have been. What it would have been like to have real friends, not just drinking buddies, drug fiend friends, bike riding mates and many casual associates. I have never been alone, but I have spent most of my life lonely. If it were not meeting the 'most amazing girl in the world' 14 years ago, I know that I would be totally lonely. She saved my sanity.

When I was a child, I had a number of really good friends, but one by one, these friendships fell apart due to my "inappropriate" behaviour. I am now told that this was "acting out", but at the time, I did not know what I was doing. Sounds like a cop out, but I really did not know what was going on. The last friend I had was when I was 15, although we still hung out a fair bit until I was 17, we just became drinking and drug buddies. We were born 2 days apart in the same hospital and lived 300 meters apart for all our childhood. I started to be his "best" friend when we were about 8. Rodney did not go to the same school as me, but we spent many weekends and after school afternoons playing. He was effectively an only child because his 3 older siblings had already grown up and left home. Scott was another great friend for a couple of years, and Jonathan was a really good friend when I was younger, but I will have to tell you more about the breakup of our friendship later.

I did though have one extremely good friend, my brother. 'A' was only 16 months older than me and we grew up more like twins rather than older / younger brother. We did everything together (so I am told by everyone who knew us, and by himself). Even though I don't really have too many memories of us together as children, nearly every memory I do have includes a strong sense that he was always there. We grew up together, we fought together, we explored together, we played together, we did everything together.

I realise that I never had a 'normal' inner self. I have always been aware of being different. When I was very young, I always felt that I was different, but I never knew why. But what my family saw was a vibrant kid who was full of life.

The relationship with my father could not really be called a relationship. He was a good, gentle kind man. He was totally destroyed by his experiences during the second world war. The only thing that I can think to say about his experience of war was that it was so bad that he did not ever speak of it… ever… not to anyone, not even my mother. The result of his trauma was to effectively be very distant from his children. I do have at least two memories of my father talking directly to me, once when he took me to buy my first bicycle when I was 11, the other when he gave me a lift into town after the police had just raided my bedroom looking for drugs when I was 17. Dad stated that he could not understand "why was marihuana illegal when alcohol was not". I was a little confused and unsure if he meant that the consumption of alcohol should become illegal, or marihuana should be made legal, but he never did clarify this for me. It was also a difficult question for me to answer because my father never ever drank a drop of alcohol in his life. I worked out later that his total aversion to alcohol was probably due to being raised in a hotel. He never spoke of the topic of drugs or alcohol to me ever again.

The earliest memories that I have of my childhood are somewhat sketchy, but one always stands out. I remember my mother making a stern statement that I should stop playing with my penis. I think that I was about 4. I had been walking around the house playing with it for some time, and manipulating it rather vigorously, because if felt good. "Stop playing with it or it will fall off" She finally said very sternly. I remember being very 'off put' by this statement as I was not the only one who played with it. If it was ok for 'them' to play with my penis, why couldn't I. It was about this time that I have vague memories of it being a rather novel game in being shown how to play with my penis through the gap in the front of my pyjamas, without having to undo them.

Around this age I also sitting out on the back step, in the cold, for a long periods of time, just being lonely and confused.

One more memory at this age was when I have is walking up the hallway past the 2 oldest brothers bedroom and seeing one of them laying on the bed singing along to the Beatles song "Hey Jude". This scene intrigued and fascinated me… but I do not know why. I say this because these are nearly the only memory I have.

The memories from there become very confused… I have a strange half memory of an event that I cannot put my finger on, but I have extremely intense physical reactions whenever I get close to the actual memory. It has something to do with "A" and myself playing the bedroom of 4 of us children. We were there during the day, and our parents were out. We were making forts out of bedding. I think that we had some help that day from some older brothers, because the use of bedding and mattresses was far greater than children of our age could have achieved. The only real memory that I have is an extremely intense feeling of fear and extreme anxiety anticipating our parents arrival home. The were some vague flashes of memory which included two of my older brothers being naked, but nothing of which I can be sure. I think that I must have been about 5 or 6.

One of my "stories" was when I was about 7 or 8 when one of my older brothers decided that he was going to assist "A" and myself having a bath. I watched as he soaped up "A" all over, making sure to clean from head to toe, and everywhere in-between. It then came to my turn, where he proceeded to soap up and down my legs, all over my body, and then thoroughly cleaning my penis and testicles. The weird part came when he explained that my anus had to receive special attention and had to be particularly clean.

I think that I must have been about 9 when one of my older brothers was laying in his bed, one of 4 in our bedroom, and asked me over to help him. The help consisted of me tickling under his testicles while he masturbated. I found this particularly disturbing, could not watch, but I did obey when asked to 'keep tickling". I don't know if this only happened once or many times.

I have been told that I was always the one to be saying, "Lets go do this' lets go explore that" and "lets go have some fun" I have been told by everyone who knew me as a child that I was the most "full of life" and "fun loving" young boy. My sister has told me this on many occasions. She has only recently found out the full extent of my childhood abuse, and is having a very hard time seeing how this could have happened as there were not any symptoms. My brother "A" has said that I was the one who always got us into mischief. If there was any trouble to be had, I caused it… all in the name of fun and excitement. I am yet to really quiz "A" on this to find out what things we really got up to.

I carried the fun loving on into young adulthood by always going out and having as much 'fun' as possible. I always was having a party, drinking, smoking, hitting up amphetamines, eating magic mushrooms, taking acid, unknown pills, anything at all to have more fun. This fun nearly killed me so many times. I often wished that it would. The fun did not stop at partying, I would always make sure that my day was filled with fun things to do, I always had motorcycles, riding them very, very fast, such fun. If there were no fun things to do, I would just get extremely intoxicated with a combination of drugs and alcohol, and just have the 'fun' in my head.

It was probably when I was about 12 when my oldest brother came home for holiday from the army. I really looked up to him. He came into my room after I had gone to bed, sat on the floor beside my bed, put his hand up under the covers and played with my penis for some time. He was talking very softly, kindly and reassuringly all the time. If asked "what was I feeling at this time", I really would not have an answer, the memory "story" is real, the feelings are blank. What I do know is that it did not feel at all like the first time that he had done this. He came home every year for holidays, and every year I had my penis played with. He was so totally impressed when once when I was 15 and I already had an erection… he was so excited. During these years he did nothing but play with my penis… that I remember.

I think that I was still about 12 when I was around at my best friends place, Jonathan. We had been friends for about 3 years. We played lots together around near his place, which was about 1.5 klm from home. One time he showed me down to the closed off area under the house, We went in through a door which he latched from the inside. He then went over to a box which had a number of pornographic magazines under it. We looked through them for a bit, then Jon suggested that we take our clothes off. We got naked and then he asked if I could put my penis in his anus. It took a fair bit of doing as I was not very hard. If felt strangely nice, but it did not really do anything for me. He then said that it was his turn. He put his penis in me and then started to pump it, effectively simulating a full sexual act, but again, he was not very hard, and it did not result in anything. We eventually got dressed and that was one of the last times I saw Jonathan. Nothing was said, but it was not long after that he was kept back a year at school and I never really saw him around at all.

Scott was also a good friend, who also knew Jonathan. I spent a lot of time that summer with Scott. I really liked him… a really nice guy. I was staying over at his place one night and I was trying very hard to get him to come outside after everyone else had gone to bed, so that we could run around naked. I got naked and was running everywhere. I asked him if he knew what me an Jon got up to the summer before, and he said yes, he bummed you, you bummed him… now go to bed. That was the last time I hung around with Scott… but I really liked him.

When I was 13 my mother was sending 4 of us boys to a religious studies organisation. It was here that an older boy took an interest in me. It started with him tickling my lower back while in the classes. Then one time outside at night, we were wrestling about and he started to put his hands down my pants. He was standing in front of me with his arms around me, put his hands down my pants, then he proceeded to fully kiss me on the lips. I jumped back and yelled, "what are you doing". He apologised and the proceeded to just tickle my bum. After a couple of weeks tickling my bum he got me to go with him under some bushes where he pulled my pants down, brushed bits of leaf off my thighs, and then started to suck my penis. He continued with this for about 20 minutes. I still did not have a full erection… but I suppose it felt good. He proceeded to take me under the bushes about once a week for about 2 months, sucking on my penis for about 20 minutes each time. He then approached me one day and offered me a lot of money if I would do something with him… I was not sure what he meant, but I was sure that I did not want to do it. We had a verbal fight about it and he left me alone after that. the next week I noticed him tickling the bum of another boy. I let him go for it.

It when I had just turned 15 when two of my brothers, a friend and myself were in one of my brothers cars which had a CB radio. We talked to many people, mostly other kids playing around. Occasionally we would meet up with people that we would meet on the radio. One day we went off to meet up with a man up the road who surprised us by saying that his age was 76. So old, who would not trust him. He invited us up to his place and while we were all there, he went into his bedroom and came out with a dildo hanging out of his pants… it made us laugh, but we did not think anything more of it.

Phil, the 76 year old man, asked if I would like to assist him in the garden the next day. I had worked since I was 11. I had done daily paper rounds, mowed lawns, and assisted in other chores for money. This request did not seem any different. I went back the next day and he took me out to the back garden where we commenced some gardening work. We had only been doing this for about 10 minutes when a man came up to fence adjoining the back of the yard. He abruptly spoke to me saying "get away, go while you can, he's a fucking pedophile". I was very confused, I had not heard this word before and had no idea what it meant. The man left, I turned to Phil with a questioning look. "He has no idea what he is talking about, just ignore him" Phil said. I had never heard anyone talk like that before and therefore I was more inclined to take notice of the kind talking old man, rather than the loud, rude, strange talking man over the fence. It was only about 2 minutes later Phil asked me if I masturbated wet or dry… being very unsure what me meant, I said "wet" thinking that means that I would cum when I masturbate. Seconds later he invited me inside to show me something. He lead me to his bedroom… I felt strange, but oddly privileged to be invited into someone's personal space. Phil pulled out a large dildo, the same one that he had used the day before, hanging it out of his trousers. He gave it to me. I held it. He then asked how the size of it would compare to my penis. I was intrigued. I turned around so that he could not see, and pulled my penis out of my pants. The act of holding dildo, and pulling penis out of my pants was enough to make me erect. I was able to roughly compare the size of the dildo to the size of mine, it was a bit larger. I then started to put my penis back into my pants when Phil asked if he could see the comparison. He asked in such a matter of fact manner that it did not seem like a strange request. I turned around and rather tentatively to show him. He looked at it with admiration and then reached over and touched it, rather firmly. This was the first time anyone had touched my penis in an erect state… I was just about to zip up my fly when Phil asked if I had ever tried using KY Jell. I said "no". He then asked if I would like to try it. Again, this was asked in such a calm and non intrusive manner, that he made it sound like it was a completely normal thing to ask. I did not really have time to think about it when he just said, look, just pull your pants down a bit, "I won't do anything you don't want to" he said… I did not quite get what he meant by that. He then grabbed a magazine and gave it to me to look at while he ducked out of the room for something. I think he went to lock the doors of the house. The magazine he gave me was a book of dozens of naked boys, all about 10 to 13 years old. He asked me to look and see if there are any boys I would like. I looked at them, but I could not say that I liked any of them. He came back and got me to lay back on the bed.

As I lay on the bed, he got the KY gel and commenced rubbing it on my penis. This was the first time I had felt such a feeling like this. He continued to masturbate me very slowly. I have no idea how long, but I could probably guess at least 40 minutes. He was a true professional when it came to masturbating a boys penis, I think that he had many many years experience. He finally said "you might just be a bit nervous to do it now so let's leave it at that and finish it another time". Again, he said this with such authority and calm that I just agreed, pulled my pants up. He then led me out to the back door and said "you are welcome back any time you want, anytime, just come and knock on the door". He did ask me to "not talk about this to anyone, many people would not understand. There was no chance I was going to tell anyone. I then left his house and walked the 500 metres home. For the next 24 hours I nearly had a permanent erection. I was so totally stimulated. I still had not experienced an orgasm, or had never ejaculated.

I finally gave in to the feelings and headed back up to Phil's house approximately 48 hours after the last visit. I knocked on the door and when he opened it the look of surprise and pleasure of my arrival was significant. He quickly invited me in and asked if I could use the back door next time "it's a bit more discrete". He led me into his bedroom and started to undo my belt, this was enough to get me erect, I was so stimulated. he got me to lay back on the bed where he then commenced masturbation. He slipped my T shirt up over my head stating that we don't want to make a mess of it. He continued to slowly masturbate me for quite some time. I laid there with my hands above my head, eyes closed. He had been going for a rather long time when I eventually noticed the feeling changing and getting more intense. He noticed it too. He slowly pulled my jeans down a bit further past my knees so that he could spread my legs apart, caressing down my inner thighs and then my bum. He was still continuing to rub my penis while doing this, and as the excitement built up to the point where my whole middle section of my body, from my waist to my lower thigh was nearly in a total spasm, he then put a finger just into my anus and gently wriggled it. At this moment I had an orgasm, my first and most significant. The mess that I made was significant. "you liked the finger in the bum didn't you" he said at this time. What could I say. I giggled like I was on drugs. He pulled up a towel and started to clean up my mess. I pulled up my pants and giddily walked out of the room, he showed me to the back door and let me know that I was welcome back any time at all to do it again. Anytime.

It took about 3 days before the desire to have it again became strong. I went back up the road, headed straight to the back door where Phil was again very happy to see me. He took me straight into his room, I pulled my own pants down, pulled my shirt up over my head. He commenced to masturbate me. After a short time he said he had to get something. He went over to a drawer and pulled out a rubber stall. He put this on his finger and covered it with Ky Jell. He then continued to masturbate me and put his finger inside me. He continued to masturbate me very slowly, making sure that it took as long as he could possibly make it last before finishing. After a long time, I eventually finished. I apologised for making a mess of his pillow, but he brushed it off saying it was nice to have a friends cum on his pillow. I did not think that I was his friend.

Over the next few days, this scene was repeated nearly exactly the same, a stall on his finger, with me then having extremely intense orgasms. On the 4th visit, he started the usual process but before getting the finger stall on, he pulled out the dildo and asked if I would like to try this… Again he asked it an such a matter of fact manner that it just seemed normal to shrug my shoulder and a agree to try it. He covered it in Jell and then inserted it in my anus. It was stimulating. This again lasted for as long as he could possible make it last before allowing me to finish. Again, the orgasm was significantly intense. Phil was pleased and again invited me back anytime I wanted.

The extreme intensity of the orgasms was just far too much to resist. I was a now a 'drug addict' addicted to penile and anal stimulation with the result of phenomenally powerful orgasms at the hands of a 76 year old man. I had just recently turned 15. I was not gay - and still am not.

It would have been somewhere on the 4th or 5th visit that Phil lifted my legs up in the air off the side of the bed so that he could lick my anus. It felt strangely good, yet so very wrong. He never did that again, I think that I must have reacted badly. He also took his false teeth out on one of these visits in order to suck on my penis. Somehow did not compute. He asked if I liked that and I said "no... He never did that again.

I am unsure of the actual number of visits that I went for before he asked me to go camping with him. I am guessing at about 8 or 10. The events sometime proceeded with just the finger in the anus, but usually the dildo, each time with more and more explosive orgasms. I was addicted. There were a number of times during these visits that Phil had asked if I would like to try a real penis instead of the dildo… I declined each time. There were also a couple of times that Phil used a mirror to show me how I looked with dildo inserted in me.

Phil asked my mother if it were ok if I were to go camping. My mother thought it would be a good idea considering I had never done anything like that with my father, and I never did have a grandfather. So Phil picked me up one day in his mini van. He drove me for about an hour out of the city until we finally came to a driveway with a locked gate. He got out, unlocked the gate, got back in the car, drove though, got back out, closed and locked the gate again. He continued to drive down this 'track' which came out to a beach. We drove along the beach to the other end. We then pulled up to a camp site, where there was a large tent and a 'kitchen' setup between the trees. Phil explained that no one ever goes to this beach except for one other man who comes there with his 'girls' (it took me many years to realise what he meant by "girls").

This is where my memory gets sketchy. I remember getting there and Phil saying that there was no need for clothes at all here. It was late afternoon by now so I think that he proceeded to masturbate me nearly straight away. He explained that he did not like travelling with the dildo or the finger stall, so I did not get any anal stimulation. He continued to masturbate me through the evening, only stopping for a meal break.

The next morning we woke up and he explained to me that during the night he had woken up with a very hard erection. I could not see why he wanted to tell me this. He then commenced to masturbate me, still naked. There was a small dog that came down from a house that was from the main house on the property. the dog came into the tent and Phil said "watch this" and proceeded to masturbate the dog. Phil thought that this was great fun. The dog left and Phil continued to masturbate me throughout the day. At one time he suggested that I go for a walk out on the beach, to the waters edge, naked. He had now masturbated me for a number of hours without letting me finish. This proved to enhance the excitement. As I walked back toward the tent, I noticed that Phil had been watching through the tent flap… It did not feel right, I thought this was for me, not for him.

I climbed back into the tent where he again continued to masturbate me. This continued until dinner time when we stopped to eat. I ate naked, with an erection. I still had not cum after about 10 hours of interspersed masturbation and stimulation.

After dinner, and a bit of a break, we climbed back into the tent for some more masturbation. Phil had only been going for about 10 minutes when he asked if I would like to try a real penis. I said "no". Phil then commenced a monologue consisting of terminology which made me feel extremely guilty for getting "all the pleasure" while he got nothing. I owe it to him and I would be a really bad person if I did not let him use his penis. I succumbed to the pressure and guilt, and allowed him to do what he wanted. Before I knew it he had removed his shirt and his pants were pulled down. I did not see (or try to look at) his penis. He asked (in the usual matter of fact manner) to put my legs up on his shoulders. This is while laying on my back. There was a gas lantern alight in the tent, but I did not see anything at all after putting my legs on his shoulders. I closed my eyes, turned my head to the left, had my arms above my head, and allowed him to do what he wanted. He continued to masturbate me while I could feel his penis inside me. This continued for some time. I then felt him cum inside me. This was the moment the world stopped. The world had changed, my world had changed… I have no visual memory of this, my eyes were still firmly shut, but I knew the world had changed. The loss of my childhood was complete, and I felt it.

He stayed inside me while he continued to masturbate me and lay down on me. He stoked me harder until I eventually I came. He then got up and said, "see, skin on skin is what made you cum, it is really good, isn't it?" I did not answer. He then apologised for not having a very hard erection for me. I do not remember going to sleep that night, I do not remember the rest of the trip, I do not remember going home.

About a week later, phil was driving past my house, stopped and knocked on the door. I answered the door. He asked me to come down to see something. I went with him to the car where he opened the back door (mini van) revealing a 14 year old boy, laying there with his legs apart and his hand on his erect penis in his jeans. Phil said that they were off camping, and said good-bye.

I still had not learnt to masturbate myself. The frustration was building. It must have been about 3 or 4 days after that that I saw that Phil's car had returned and I needed sexual release. I went to his house were we proceeded to have a usual session. He put his finger in my anus. About half way through he again apologised for not having a hard enough erection when he had his penis inside of me while on the camping trip. He then pushed hard up against my prostrate with his finger, saying if his penis was fully erect, it would have pushed here like this. He pushed his finger too hard and it really made me jump. Once I had finished, which was not the usual explosive orgasm, Phil said "just between you, me and the fencepost, the boy who had been in the back of the car said that he would like to do things with you. I could leave the room and let you two have some fun together. Will I let him know that you would be happy to do this"? I gingerly said yes…. left his house, 'and never went back'. On the next day, I went up to the paddock behind our house, in the long grass, pulled my pants down, and learned to masturbate myself. I no longer needed Phil.

It was not long after that when my mother told me that Phil was in hospital, and it did not look good. She strongly urged that I should go and see him before he dies. I was a good boy, always would endeavour to do the right thing, so I went to the hospital. Phil was extremely happy to see me and said that "it is so good to have 'one of my boys' come to see me, it means so much". I felt so used and dirty . I never went back. I think that it took many months, but he eventually died. At that time I was angry that I could not ever take retribution. It took about 4 years to really sink in what actually happened to me, I became so very angry.

It took me a long time to realise that the sexual intensity that I was receiving was not real. It was a construct of an old pedophile sex addict who took great pleasure in fucking up little boys.

There is more to my story which I am not yet ready to open up about.

I am now 46 and it is finally time. I need to face up to what really happened. I have unfortunately been extremely successful in dissociating from these events. As you can see, I can relay the details in great detail, but I cannot feel them. I know extremely well how much damage this has done to me, and is still doing to me. Such powerful, such intense, such overwhelming pain, boiling below the surface. I am desperate to release the pain, the anger, the shame. I need to purge myself of these extremely destructive forces in my head, to enable me to start to build my emotional self. I need this.

I know that many people have experienced much worse abuse, and to you, I truly wish you the best with your healing. My heart goes out to you.

Thank you for reading my story.


Edited by pufferfish (10/04/11 04:15 AM)