*** TRIGGERS ***
I don't know if this matters, I guess it matters to me, since I'm going to share it...I'm going to share some back history, or whatever you would consider it [I'm not the best at words].
I grew up in what some would consider a "normal" home. My Father was a cop and my mother was a Nurse. But what some would consider normal, I would consider Hell. My Father had a horrible temper, and more often than not, when his temper got the best of him, my brother and I were the unlucky "punching bags" for his fists, and if he only hit my older brother, I would get fallout from that later on from my brother afterwards. So I was always getting hit by someone..for "something". I can't remember a time as a child, that this wasn't so. And my Mother didn't help the situation any. I remember several times that my mom and dad would fight, I can't remember about what, but I remember my mothers tone, and the suitcase she would pack every time she would scream at my father about this that and the other. I always worried who I would get stuck with if they were to separate. Would I end up with Dad, since my brother was more of a "punching bag" than me? This...to me...was too much stress for a young child to deal with, and it seemed like it was the norm for 3 or 4 days of the week. BUT!! They provided me shelter, put food on the table, I had clean clothes, they seemed to care for us, but it never felt genuine to me. We "lived" together, but I never really felt we were a "family" growing up. I guess I really don't have anything to base that assumption on. I guess it could have been worse...
So, knowing my somewhat volatile home situation. I would find reasons to be outside and away from the house. One of these times playing or doing whatever little boys do outside with their free time is when I met Bea and Bill, our next door neighbors. I started talking to them, when they would walk down their driveway to get their mail for the day. I talked...A LOT... maybe too much, and at home, I always seemed to be ignored or told to go away with my "chatterbox". So when Bea and Bill were around, I would talk to them. I never once remember them telling me to go away... or felt ignore when I was around them. They seemed like a nice older couple that didn't mind talking to a lonely boy. I started visiting them on the backside of their house maybe when I was just about to turn 6. It was pretty neat at first, Bill had trained a squirrel to eat peanuts from his hand. I was fascinated by that spectacle, and I would try to go over there after school at every opportunity. I remember their laughs when I would become overly excited about something. I knew them for at least a year, and I really felt like they cared. I would help them bring in their groceries, pick up sticks in their yard before they mowed. Go fishing in their pond with Bill showing me the do's and don'ts of the trade. They had a nice paved Half circle driveway that was ideal for riding my bicycle. I remember stopping by their home for the 4th and shooting those tank things and sparklers, I remember Halloween and the "Trick or Treat" visits.
I don't understand why it had to change...I really looked up to them, admired them, I would daresay, I even loved them. Maybe as a child would love an Aunt or Uncle. So ends the happy part of my story.
In one of my normal visits over there, I had been talking to both of them while leaning on my bike. They were both seated in their outdoor chairs on the backside of their house close to their back porch. I recall Bea getting up and going inside to get something. It was shortly after the back door had closed, that Bill reached out, in a very unfamiliar way, at first I had thought there may have been something on my pants that he was trying to brush off, but than came the question I would hear so very often from that moment on...."Does that feel good?". At barely 7, I had no knowledge of anything sexual, and literally had no idea what he was talking about. I assume from the expression on my face at that first encounter, he stopped. Things went on as normal for a couple of days, and the opportunity repeated itself. Bea would go inside for something, and I had sat down in her chair to continue my "chatterbox", when again, he reached, and began to touch me through my cloth shorts, and again the question was asked..."Does that feel good?" I was still not sure what he meant by the question, and wasn't sure why he was doing it. That 2nd attempt went further as he bypassed the cloth of my shorts and my underwear, and began to ...touch me...I..he asked the question a 2nd time, and I didn't answer, something was definitely happening, there was a sensation, and his fondling increased, and the feelings...it felt...really really good, but I didn't know why [Disgusted with myself for saying this..] I had never done that to myself before, and when I finally climaxed, I thought I had wet myself. The good sensations slowly subsided, and as I came back to my senses, I wasn't sure how I should feel about what just happened. I remember Bill leaning in and asking "That felt good, didn't it?" and telling me that should be "our little secret". And so this continued for several months. I can see how he manipulated me with this action.
He would introduce new things along the way. Eventually he had me....touch him in the same manner he had touched me. Sometimes it was just him or me doing the touching...sometimes it was both us. I'll never know how Bea never found out what he was doing to me...what I....was doing with him...but....I never questioned him, I never said no, and what's worse, I continued my visits over there...why? I'll never know...I know I'll probably get some flack for saying this, but I think I was just a stupid little boy, too trusting... too innocent (well.. he stole that from me), too naive..
After maybe 6? months, I guess he finally built up enough...."courage" to attempt to escalate this situation. I'm sure he had planned it this way, but one of my visits over there, he had gone to the garage for whatever reason, and since he had sufficiently brainwashed me at that point, I don't know what else I'd call it at that point since I continued to visit, sometimes looking forward to our "feel good" encounters...[I feel awful for saying that, but ...there it is...]. I had found him urinating in the garage...of all places...and he asked to come closer, he than asked me "to kiss his penis". I wasn't sure, this was definitely different than just touching each other. Why would I want to kiss it, but assuming he saw the doubt on my face, he "encouraged" me by arousing me as he did so often, and I'm sadden to say, that when I was in that state, I no longer was thinking clearly, only about the build up and sensation of it. That was the first time...of many that I would perform oral on him. But that first time was different from the rest. I didn't like the taste or the smell, and I began to withdraw...and from that moment...I no longer felt like a participant in "our little secret", I felt like an object...and as I tried to stop, he grabbed my head with both of his hands and kept me from retreating, at that time he began to...to..orally rape me. I fought for him to let go of me, but he wouldn't, I remember him hitting me to stop fighting against him, I remember the gagging sensation I had, the difficulty breathing, the fear I felt, as I couldn't free myself, I couldn't get away, all I could do, was wait and hope it would end. When he had finally finished...gasping...I quickly left the garage...grabbed my bike and went home. I probably brushed my teeth and rinsed my mouth out over 100 times that first week after that happened. After that first event, I isolated myself to my room, only to come out for school and food. I finally built up the courage to go outside again after several weeks of confining myself to my house. I don't know what my logic was back then to thinking it would possibly be "safe" to return to Bea and Bills home in hopes that things would go back to "normal". That was my single biggest mistake, if it wasn't true before...it definitely was now...I was a STUPID little kid...I returned. They were outside as usual. And I remember them being happy to see me, and asked if I had been sick. It was shortly after, maybe a few days later, that once again, Bill managed to get me alone, but no longer was it "our little secret". He yelled at me for my absence, and told me he knew why I was staying away, and that he wouldn't allow it. And that if I continued to avoid him, that he would kill me, he said it wouldn't be that hard, and besides he knew where my room was...and as a young child, I was terrified when he said that..I believed him, I knew he would carry it out if I disobeyed...... and that is when my HELL started. I went from what I felt ...a participant...to an object that was used however and whenever there was a need. I eventually learned it was better not to fight, it was better to give in, to lose...the fight, and give him what he wanted. Sometimes he would give me oral after I gave it to him. I'm sure it was another way to control me, as it was a powerful new sensation for me. After many more months went by, he added another act to our list of crimes. But this is when it got really bad from my end. He started to take me into his home. This normally only happened when Bea would leave for errands or groceries. He would take me into his bedroom...his bed..and basically he did whatever he wanted to me. I don't necessarily want to say much about what he did to me in that bedroom, but it broke me, when he was done with me, I felt like a piece of shit, like garbage...FILTH!!! I still feel that way more times than not. I had found a way to "check out" during this part of my abuse, it was the only way I could cope. I don't know why I never told my parents, maybe I assumed they knew and just didn't give a shit. Maybe I didn't trust them, because of all the physical and emotional shit me and my brother had to put up with. But I never told a soul, not for over 30 years. Somehow...I had blocked it out for that time... my therapist says its all something to do with "Fight or Flight"..whatever...but somewhat thanks to it, I was able to remain sane. But now whatever kept it at bay, is no longer working. And now I'm plagued with Nightmares of what he did to me, the betrayal of what a "good" person that I looked up to, admired, and trusted!!! can do to a little child. He didn't give a shit about me, and yet, somehow I still feel like it's partially my fault. Damnit, I walked out my front door, across the street, into the arms of a monster.....willingly...I don't think I can hate myself anymore than I already do. Why me?!? Why did you have to fuck up something like what we had, you were the nice next door neighbors that gave me the time of day...Why did you think you could do that to me Bill? You stole my innocence, you stole my childhood, I didn't get to discover anything naturally as a normal growing child. You took everything away from me....and I ...I let you...
I imagine the abuse would've continued...but shortly before I turned 10...he committed suicide....I guess the guilt was too much for him...but...I never got an apology...I never got justice. But now I have to figure this stuff out, I have to pay for his crime. He used me, He abused me, and I don't think I can ever forgive myself.
I didn't understand death at the time that they told me, I only knew that he was gone...
Edited by ModTeam (06/16/17 09:36 PM)
Edit Reason: Trigger warning added.