Thanks new and woodenshoes.
To explain somewhat ...
perp #1 ... got me in his car.
perp #2 ... got me in a car that was always parked in a dark corner of my Father's garage business.
perp #3 ... He was #2's little brother and they looked very much alike except
the older one had a tanner skin and blondish hair on his fingers and arms and the younger had freckles and redish hair.
The younger one got me in an outhouse more than once ... either theirs or ours. (we were also neighbours ... in a tiny community in the late 50's)
#1, #2 and #3 were cousins.
None of them were my blood but in a tiny community they may as well have been.
perp #4 ... was a young seminarian in the Catholic college ... and from what I understand friends with #2 and #3.
He took me on a hot summer day across the field near our house to the picnic grounds where there was a community kitchen and dining room.
perp #5 .... He was my priest. He was also a close family friend who ate often at our table and was at family fucntions.
I loved getting up early in the crisp winter air or the cool of a summer morning to walk across the silent village to serve his low early mass.
After mass when I pulled the sutane over my head to change it pulled the shirt out of my pants. He said 'Let me help you'.
He pulled me close and shoved his hand down my pants and underwear fondling me and began to rub himself against me.
I probably would have gone along with it ...
but he was my PRIEST! ... and in his 50's and not like the young others.
I wrenched myself free and ran.
That is the only whole and entirely accurate memory of my abuse. I was 9 and remember everything clearly.
I later realized that it was the end of my abuse ... and the beginning of the loss of my faith.
I was between 3 and 6 with the first 4 men ... and then 9 with the priest.
I've left out stuff ... the poem was meant to be an outline only.
Experience is a brutal teacher.