Familial Years I Would Wish on No One
last updated on Tuesday, June 14, 2005 at 5:48:09 PM CST

regarding events somewhere about 10 October, 1984

WARNING!  The following text is rather graphic in nature, and continues to deal with the years of sexual abuse that I began to tell in The Beginning of the Darkest Years of My Life.  As I stated in the other entry, I will try not to go into overly graphic detail, but sometimes it's more important to convey what happened than to try to pretty up what were some rather ugly years.  That said, that which follows is not intended for younger or more sensitive readers, and I advise anyone who might not be able to take what is about to follow to please turn back now.

I really can't tell you the exact moment that things went downhill.  I had spent part of the summer between 5th and 6th grade visiting with my grandparents, and then at least a month-and-a-half staying with my Aunt Edie in Joliet.  Someday I'll tell you about the fun that I had there with my cousins, and all of that, but for this tale, all you need to know is that I was about a half-month late starting my sixth grade year because of my mother.  You see, she had received a promotion at the massage parlor in the LaSalle/Peru ara, and was being made manager of the Danville, Illinois massage parlor owned by the same owner.  For those of you not familiar with the area around here, LaSalle/Peru is about 80 miles (and round about an hour-and-a-half) or so west/southwest of Chicago.  Danville is approximately 4 to 5 hours south of Chicago, almost on the Indiana Border.

Someday too, I'll tell you about the good memories I have of living in Danville.  My schooling, my friends, even the fun I remember of living in the house.  However, intertwined, inexorably, between those good memories are the memories of what else happened in that house.  The "private" side, the "darker" side that our neighbors, my friends, my teachers... None of them would have guessed what really was going on.

Before I go too deep into Danville though, I should relay to you what the night of strip poker and having been blown by my step father had done to me.  Over the summer, I hit puberty.  I was only ten years old, but it I'm certain it puberty had set in, because well before I went to stay with my Aunt Edie, I had "liquid proof" that puberty was setting in.  It all started with my first orgasm.  I had been laying in my bedroom at my grandparents' house one evening after having been over visting some of my grandparents' friends.  It had been some church-related cookout or gathering or something, and a bunch of us kids were all playing together.  I hung out with the kids my age, but I remembered seeing this guy who was probably 15, 16, maybe even 17 or 18.  He lived there.  I remember thinking how cute he was, and how I wanted to see him naked, how I wanted to be with him.  Well, of course, I didn't actually follow through on that, but, that evening, laying in my bed while my grandparents were downstairs, I masturbated until I had an orgasm.  I can still remember the feeling to this day, starting down in my toes, and suddenly shooting through my entire body.  Soon after that, I was fantasizing about all kinds of guys I'd see, or Spider-Man, or He-Man, or whatever else popped into my head as slightly erotic.

Yeah, I understand how fucked up all of this sounds.  All I can say is that I'd been pushed into motion by having had a blowjob way too young, and being way too curious.  That one night had been enough to push me right on over the edge, and right on into puberty, and into masturbating at least once a night, sometimes two or three times, depending on whether or not my imagination had worked the fantasy in my mind to conclusion.

Well, we moved to Danville, and I started school.  I hadn't even given second thought to that night in question.  I'd never approached Brian about it, and he never mentioned it.  It was pretty much as if it had never happened.  Except for my constant need to masturbate.  Well, one night, sometime in October (probably earlier into the month than later), my mother was working late, my sister was at her dad's, and the whole situation set itself up again.  In retrospect, Brian was probably high or drunk at the time, not that I'm going to accept that as excuse for his actions.  Well, he asked me again if I'd like to play strip poker, and well, now, not only had I liked what had happened before, but I was a raging ball of hormones.  So I said, "Yes."

We started playing strip poker again, and this time, when I lost a hand, Brian took off the piece of clothing I'd lost.  I still wasn't really comfortable taking anything of his off.  Still, I remember quite well when he got to the point of taking my pants off.  His hand massaged my crotch for a couple of moments before he unzipped them, and by the time I was sitting there in my Fruit of the Looms, I had quite an erection.

Now, here's where I wonder what was going through his mind.  He ended up sitting there in his red bikini briefs again (ironic that it was the same pair of underwear), and then I lost the last hand, and he pulled my underwear off.  At this point, I was just little more than eleven years old (my birthday's in September).  I remember many years later, he told me how big my dick had gotten.  I won't go into graphic detail about that, but, well, frankly, it had to have been pretty small at the age of eleven.  It certainly hadn't grown to full size yet.  So, thinking back on it, him taking it into his mouth just makes me ill.  Of course, at the time, I sat there, and moaned a little, liking the feel of it, and then I said, "Wait.  I thought you won."

Next thing I know, I'm looking down at his penis, and he's like, "Let's go into the bedroom."  He lays down, and my curiosity from over the summer got to me.  I laid down next tom, and started sucking on the head of his dick.  I was sort of afraid of it, but curiosity got the best of me, and there I was giving him head.  It also ended up being the first time I tasted sperm, because without any warning, he shot a load right into my mouth, and I almost gagged.

Well, that was the beginning of us having sex probably four or five times a week.  It would start out as a game of poker, or later, a dice game that we made up where you had to do whatever you rolled (lose an item of clothing, have something done to you, do something to the other person, et cetera).  Sex had officially become a game to me.

Now, i want everyone to understand this clearly.  I want you to keep in mind that I was eleven years old, and rushed into puberty, and being molested by my step father.  This all had happened at a point in my life where I barely new what sex was, and suddenly it was there whenever I wanted it, and it felt good.  Some people think this abuse might be why I'm gay.  I don't think that's the case.  I think I was always gay, and Brian just happened to be able to take advantage of that fact.  You see, the more he and I had sex, the more I started staring at my classmates in school, checking out the guys, trying to catch sight of their packages in gym class.  So, while this may sound strange, understand that it was a base, animal desire that I really didn't understand was wrong yet.  Eventually it wasn't just Brian initiating the sex.  Sometimes, I'd be the one asking if we could do it, because I'd pretty much been trained that if I wanted to get off, I could, and I was in overdrive.

This may also be the strangest admission I'll make, but it was me who initiated anal sex between the two of us.  He had these magazines laying around in his bedroom.  One of them is a bisexual fantasy rag known as Options.  Sometimes it was about lesbians or threesomes with bi sex in them, but most of the time, it was about two guys, and most of the time, it ended up with anal sex.  I was curious.  I knew how much I liked oral sex, and I wanted to find out what fucking was all about.  Well, one day, Brian asked me, "What do you want to do?"  I turned and looked at him, and said, "I want to fuck you."  You see, I'd finally figured out how to fit my Bo and Luke Duke dolls together.  The first time I asked, he said he wasn't sure about that.  I know now that he was probably very nervous, and perhaps this was all getting to be too much for him.  But the next time we had sex, he let me do it.  I remember the feeling, how good it felt, and how it was probably a total of five thrusts, and I was done.

Well, that opened up a whole new ball of wax, because he wanted to fuck me too.  It didn't happen that first night, but a couple of nights later, we were out on the couch, and he fucked me.  It hurt like hell as his penis entered me.  I remember asking him to stop, I remember crying out in pain as he continued to push in, ignoring my cries, telling me just to relax.  Then he pulled out a bit, and slid back in, and I cried out in pain again.  Tears were rolling down the side of my face, and he just fucked me.  Of course, he was used to having sex, and this was far from his first time, so it was a hell of a lot more than five thrusts before he collapsed on me, spent.  I think probably the sickest part is that after the hurting stopped, and my dick started getting hard (this is natural because of the prostate gland), that suddenly I wanted more.  I started telling him to fuck me harder, probably because I'd seen some girl do it on Playboy.

Of course, I suppose the part that disturbs me more is that he's the only man who's ever done that to me.  I've had sex with other men later in life, all consentual, and I've only had one try to fuck me, and it didn't go over well.  It's a strange thing, and something that bothers me from time to time, because while I'm very into oral sex, it's like I'm saving the anal sex for someone special.  It's almost the last piece he holds over me.

Back to the events at hand, though.  See, next thing I knew, not only were we playing sex games, but now, suddenly, the "grand prize" was that whomever won got to fuck the other person first.

I know this all seems bad, graphic, and a bit surreal.  I'm sure I've admitted more about myself than I probably should, but I figure that if I'm going to tell this, I should tell it all.  And if anyone else who is going through something similar should read this, I want them to know and understand that while they might feel like enjoying what's going on means that they're equally at blame for being molested, that's simply not true.  Sex is an animalistic urge.  It's supposed to feel good.  That's why people do it.  But there is nothing to this that makes it okay for someone who is nearly 30 years old to have sex with an eleven year old.  Nothing at all.  So perhaps in the openness of each part of these years of my life, someone else may understand it's not their fault.

And, as I've said before, at first, I didn't know this was all wrong.  All I knew was that it was a big secret between the two of us.  He'd told me I shouldn't tell anyone else what was going on, that it was our fun, and our game.  Well, that secret was about to become much less of a secret...

Part One • Part Three