I lurked here for a couple of days before I decided to join. Some of what I've read is so sad and horrifying that it makes me wonder if I really belong here. The reason is because almost all of the sexual contact that I had as a boy/teen was kind of my choice. I'll try to be as succinct as possible here.
There are only two incidents which stand out in my mind that I feel comfortable calling abuse. The first is when I was fellated as a 9 year old several times when my adult male friend thought that I was asleep. I remember being scared and confused as I didn't understand what he was doing to me or why he was doing it. I was very naive about all things sex. Prior to that he made up games which involved our penises. I don't think that was abuse because I choose to participate.
The other incident that I consider abuse is when I was kind of raped when I was in a Boys' Home shortly after I turned 16. I had stupidly agreed to try anal sex with a man that used to fondle me as he measured me for clothes. I agreed to let him try it on me. I'm really ashamed to admit that I agreed to do it for money. Almost as soon as it started, I asked him to stop. He didn't and told me that I wanted it because I had an erection. I remembering it hurting really bad and I was crying and screaming, begging him to stop. After he was done, he told me that I liked it because I ejaculated. I didn't mean to. I tried not to. My body betrayed me.
I was so ashamed and felt so dirty. I took many baths and showers but I couldn't shake that dirty feeling. He told me that it was my fault for wanting to try it and that he couldn't stop once he started. I ended up in the hospital for several days after this incident. The doctors suspected that I was assaulted but I wouldn't tell them anything. I was very ashamed and felt so dirty - nobody could know. I didn't want the other boys to know that I had agreed to try anal sex either so I never told anybody about it. The man never even paid me. I tried to avoid him as much as possible for the rest of the time that I was there even though I was so angry at him that I wanted to hurt him like he hurt me.
It was partially my fault though. I shouldn't have ever put myself in the position to have that happen. I was stupid and I've paid for it over and over again in my mind.
For some reason, I thought about that incident a couple of weeks ago and it really bothered me. I hadn't thought about it in many years. I thought that it was behind me. What really bothered me is that I ejaculated when he raped me. I must have enjoyed it on some level, but I sure as hell wish it never happened. God, I was so stupid to get myself into that position.
Starting from when I was 8, I went looking for surrogate fathers because my own hated me and told me that he wished I had never been born. My home life was filled with mental, emotional, and physical abuse as my parents were alcoholics and drug users and they also neglected their children. I remember eating out of trash cans as a kid and wishing that I was in a family where I was loved by my father.
The first surrogate father was so good to me that I went looking for others. Many of those relationships ended up having a sexual component to them. After the 1st described above, I complied with most of the things that I was asked to do or have done to me. See, I could have said no. I chose not to, mostly because either I didn't want to lose the friendship of the men or I felt that I owed them for all the good things that they did for me. Often I was numb or just not there when those things occurred. I learned to expect it and that was the price that I was willing to pay for their friendship. I'm embarrassed to admit that I enjoyed some of it, really embarrassed and ashamed especially after reading stories here where I've found that most did NOT enjoy any of the things that were done to them or what they did to others.
I also started "posing" nude, some pornographic when I was 12. Later, the same people that I allowed to photograph me started to film me, mostly with other boys, though there were some filmed with men. Some were actually published in legal boy porn magazines. I know that it sounds stupid, but I was actually proud to be in a magazine the first time. It made me feel special and happy because somebody thought that I was good enough to be in one. I was also kind of pimped out to men by these people. I didn't have to do it; I could have said no. I chose to. I didn't really enjoy doing anything with the men, but I chose to do it and don't know if I consider it abuse. I suspect that the stuff bothered me on some level as I started bed wetting when I was 13 and it continued until I was 17. It stopped after I stopped doing sexual stuff with men. Doing those things made my men friends happy and I wanted to please them. I also needed them. I really needed the hugs and cuddling that I got from them. I needed to have an adult male listen to me and talk to me. I needed so much from them.
Why am I here? I'm not sure, but lately a lot of my past has started to preoccupy my thoughts at times. I haven't thought about that stuff for 20 years. I've also had nightmares about some of the stuff. I think that my trust issues may stem from my past, though I'm not sure. I've also started to have flashbacks to things that I've long buried. Some I wonder if they happened at all or if my mind made them up.
I suppose that I should mention that I have attempted suicide several times in my life, starting with my first attempt at 16. I've been hospitalized in a psychiatric facility 4 times, twice as a juvenile and twice as an adult. The last time was around 20 years ago. I only talked about the stuff I did with men as a juvenile while in the psychiatric hospital. That was a mistake on some levels. It resulted in horrible police interrogations and my being put into the Boys' Home where I was kind of raped. I could not talk about it as an adult - too ashamed and embarrassed. I've talked about a limited amount of the stuff as an adult with only two people as an adult, other than therapists. I have blogged a little about my experiences though. That has helped me as I don't feel like I have to keep all those secrets from years ago any more. When I write about things, sometimes it makes me feel like I've been set free. Other times, it makes me anxious and depressed for a while.
It was a therapist that first put into my head that most of what I did as a child and teen was abuse. I'm still not sure because I agreed to do the stuff or was complacent with it. This made him angry. He tells me that I am stubborn in my belief that I refuse to call it abuse because I chose to do it or didn't complain about it. I feel like he is trying to make me believe something just because he believes it.
Sorry for the long winded intro, but I feel it necessary in order for others to see where I'm coming from. I still don't know where I'm headed, but I hope that I end up happier and less confused about my conflicted feelings towards my past.