Blog Post: Molestation Station, Occupant Me.

So, recently in the news, there have been multiple reports and arrests about people who either directly, or indirectly injured a child or children via methods of sexual exploitation. One of these people I even knew, via a social outlet that I no longer make use of, and god bless his mother, for the hell that he has put her in to. I myself and a victim of sexual exploitation, though, I didn't always view it that way. It took oh, about 26 years, and i Think 5 therapists for me to wrap my head around the idea that in all truth and honesty, a 12 year old, even one who thought he was as wise as I did, has the mental faculties to decide to get involved in a sexual relationship of ANY nature with anyone, much less someone much older and by much older, i mean anything over 18. For me, the first person to really abuse me, was 28, and I was simply 12. It’s odd to say how these situations arise. For me, some folks might ask if this is what “Turned me gay”. Honestly, no. I always was, always will be. Even remembering back to earlier times, I can remember being attracted to men, notice I said Men, and not Boys. As a young person, I’d find myself staring in awe at my friends fathers, I didn't understand what it was, I just knew that I wanted to be in the same space as them. It’s not like I'd do something so crude as to stare with lust, or try to initiate body contact or anything so dreadful. I was simply enraptured by what I can only describe as “manliness”. Even today, the type of men I choose to be around and with, for me, encompass what I consider “manly”.

Now, I want to be Very Very clear here, no child, or teenager (child to me now that I’ve crossed 40) has any right to be put into situations where predatory behavior can be enabled and or overlooked. For me, it was overlooked by so many for so long, simply because of who they believed the person was, and not for who they really were.

The initial contact happened at the birthday party of an adult sister of a friend. Here I am, confused and surrounded by people I barely know on a social level, and here is someone who fits my “idea” and is actually willing to pay attention to me. As a kid, I feel, I never really got much attention from adults that was in any way positive. Folks who know me may or may not agree, and I don’t really care. In talking to other gay men, who I've met socially who Also happen to have been victims of child molestation (sort of a burning badge around these parts) this is almost a common factor. Now, this is strictly speaking of those of us who thought we simply had “older boyfriends”. There are many men, both gay and straight who were forcibly molested and victimized and that’s a whole other brutal can of worms. Anyway, on with my story. I was always nervous around people I didn't know as a kid, Especially adults, but here was one, tall, bearded and with a Honda Scooter (hey, Grace Jones was advertising for them) that was offering to give me a ride on the back. So Wow, I thought, an adult, paying me attention, with a cool gadget (Love gadgets to this day), and a chance to get away from this crowd of people that i barely knew, it didn't’ get much better than this.

So we rode around, around town, and across the river to the neighboring town where his place was. We stopped the ride (my face was numb from smiling) and stopped into his place “to relax for a minute”. My eyes instantly fell on the bottle of root beer schnapps, as I’d been drinking off and on from about age 7 and hey, who doesn't like root beer? Of course, people like animals, when predatory, have a very good sense of what’s going on, and noticing my eyes flying to the liquor offered me a drink. I think if I could explode from overstimulation, my head would have painted his walls. Everything I thought i could want was all coming around me, and all at the same time, it was all simply too much for my 12 year old mind to process, but as I imagine, for a 28 year old predator, it was probably all too easy. Of course, being me, I simply couldn't “sip” a drink (mixed awesome with new at the time, Siera Mist). I had to slam one, then another, then a 3rd. By this time, I was well past legally drunk and moving into sloshed territory. So, what does any good predator do? Why, they move things along of course. Pulling out a pack of cards, he asks if I’d ever played poker, or any other card games. Now, I will up until this moment, maintain that I may have had some innocence left, but I mention that I’d played War, and Old Maid a few times, and my brother and I often play spades, but he proceeded to explain to me how to play “5 card draw” poker, but instead of betting money, the loser lost a piece of clothing, and “socks don't count as one each”. Fuck, what’d I care, I'm drunk, I'm high on adrenaline and excitement. What’s some cards and potential nakedness at this point, shit, I'm all in. Of course, again, there is NO way that Anyone, as far as I'm concerned, under 21 should be in this position, and then only with their spouse or partner. Also, anyone who is, has been or is the parent of a 12 year old boy knows, once things start flowing, well, certain things come “up”. So I got to add That embarrassment to my list as well. 

This bit of history chronicles just 1 day of what would go on for over 4 years. Repeating a pattern of abuse, and alcoholism, and twisting the views of a young person and how adult situations are handled. This also just reflects one person. I'd love to say that this was an isolated incident, or an isolated person, or well, isolated anything. What this did however, was convince me, as a teenager, that this sort of behavior was not only acceptable but rewardable. I soon found myself in the hands of other abusers, both via the first and seemingly random happenstance. I say seemingly random, as I feel that those who are predatory can sense someone who either has been abused, or is in a situation that makes them more plaint to the tactics of an abuser. I would continue my teen years, to nearly the end of high school putting myself into more and more dangerous situations. As far as I knew, it was all perfectly normal, as all of the adults I came into contact with were perfectly fine with the situation, and often looking for their own slice. For me, my story happens to have 2 happy endings. One, I managed to not only survive, but to, in my opinion thrive, simply based on who I am, and how I happen to be built. and the second, when someone finally came along, saw the situation and removed me from it, thus turning my life around and showing me that not all adults were predators. If you take anything from this, let it be that all children need our protection, no matter how strong or strong willed they seem to be. Let it be known, that there are people out there, looking to do harm, and it is our responsibility as adults to not only prevent this, but to stop it where ever we can.
This sort of behavior is not limited to male on male interactions as we see with the thankful recovery of kidnapped female children long thought lost to us. The damage that is done can be irreparable, but the person, with time can be healed.

Possibly the worst outcome of these situations are that the abused, who go on to live a life of shame, through the shadows cast by a damning society live in fear that they can one day become an abuser themselves. I know that I for the longest time found myself afraid to be around friends children. Not because I had any interest in them, but simply because I felt that i was in some form “broken”. It wasn't until around age 38 or 39 that I realised that I am not the problem, I am simply one of the victims, who needs to learn what was does not have to be what is. I am not a predator of anything but opponents in video games and a good meal.I am however, a strong man, who’s willing to speak my peace and let those be damned who would doubt my words.

Mom 1.0

First, not every one us going to like this post. Tough shit. Second, reserve judgment, there's more to come.

My Mom, the Overachiever:

This goes out, with fondest memories, for my mom.
Now, initial reaction may be, why not “goes out with love”, or “Missing You” or some such stuff.
We didn’t work that way. Love was a four letter word, and it was one of the only ones not thrown around my house repeatedly. I remember being at a neighbor’s house as a kid, they were off to bed (the kids) and we were leaving, and they hugged both parents and said “I love you”. My PTSD addled brain just kind of exploded in WTF moments. I was kind of Gary Coleman in a “Whatchu talkin ‘bout Willis” kind of thing.
You went to bed, without being threatened with an assbeating if you didn’t do it soon enough. There were hugs and this “love” stuff? What The Hell?
In talking to my mom’s sisters, when my mom had one goal in mind in finding a potential mate. She wanted to find a man So ugly, that “no other bitch would try to take him away”. So, yeah, seems that in addition to a splash of crazy, insecurity runs in my family as well. To say that my mom accomplished this goal is to make the understatement of the century. My mom didn’t set a lot of goals for herself that I remember, those that she did, she accomplished with pride, but this shit? This, find the ugly-motherfucker? She went SO over the top on this one that she could have won the ugly-motherfucker olympics. That, in a nutshell is my “dad”. You won’t hear me use the term father, because that at least implies some level of “give a shit”. This troll, for lack of funnier word at 9AM on a Monday stood at 5’6 and was So full of himself that you’d think he was 6’3 and a pro-baller. Fortunately, at least in my opinion, myself and all 3 of my brothers favor my mom, and my mom’s family, ‘cause if we had his bits, well, it might require elective surgery. We Did have his ears at first, which pretty much sucked. Imagine being a super scrawny kid with ears that stuck out so wide you could almost catch flight, and you just knew you weren’t getting out of a haircut without at least 3 bleeding knicks to each ear. Anyway, back on track, this “man”, and that’s a gender identifier only, was ugly on both the outside And the inside. One of the things that my mom probably wouldn’t passed on, if she could have seen how it’d end up, was his alcoholism. The guy was an asshole on a Good day. Add any type of booze, (Usually PBR or Old Milwaukee, and no, he was not a hipster) and the shit started Really hitting the fan, and my mom, and my brothers, and me.... you see where this is going.
My dad is short, I’d guestimate at about 5’6, probably less now that he’s old and broken (silent cheer) but he definitely had “short man's syndrome” he had to be the biggest badass around, well, if by around, you meant around women and children. I can’t think of a time in my life, up until I moved out of my parents house at 17 that he wasn’t trying to drunkenly kick the everloving shit out of someone. Usually my mom, and then she’d get boring, and he’d turn towards one of us, only to have my mom jump back in the fray, to try to keep us from getting beat down. Though, the next day, she’d remember, and well, shit rolls downhill. I do remember trying to put a stop to all this stuff once. He was on one of his nearly daily drunken tirades, it was about 9pm, the neighbors had already called the cops twice by this point, but I’d had enough. I ran down stairs, grabbed my mom’s favorite “big knife” as she called it, and called the asshole out.I wanted nothing more than to split him wide open, and have his blood and viscera all over me.

Unfortunately(or not) that’s when the police showed up and we we were shuffled off, once again to either some relatives house or some shelter for a few days while he “cooled down” in a holding cell.
This may be the first, but certainly not the last of my “Mom” posts. If I’d understood then, what I understand now, looking back with the eyes of understanding. My opinion of my mom would have been worlds different. The only thing I can do now, is to move forward, understanding in hand, and allow it to reshape those memories.

Being Me: Early On

Being me, as a kid sucked. I’m not talking about not getting a desired toy or something for a birthday, or perhaps, not getting the shoes you wanted vs the shoes you ended up getting. I’m talking about beatings, hunger, rage, hate and other not so fun things. If I wasn't getting my ass beat by my dad, I was getting my ass beat by my mom or either of my 2 older brothers, or even a random half-assed attempt by my younger than me, but larger than me brother.

I remember always being hungry, or if not hungry, always Wanting. Some of that was me. I feel, with the honesty of 40 years looking back, that I was a self-entitled greedy little shit sometimes.

I stole stuff all the time. From stores, friends, family, random people dumb enough (read: kind enough) to let me into their homes. I’d take food, money, food stamps, anything that I could that would feed the need. I learned how to ride a bike, on my own, by stealing it from someone’s back yard. I remember stealing toys from porches that I’d pass walking down the street, and giving them to my younger brother so that he’d have something to play with. But mostly, I remember being hungry.

There never seemed to be enough to go around, and what there was, was kind of terrible. My brothers and I weren’t family, we were warring nations. Always fighting for a shared resource, never caring who got what as long as “I” got “Mine”. It didn’t matter if it was a big ass pot of mashed potatoes, or a piece of overcooked meat. If it was there, we fought for it. It didn’t dawn on me that this wasn’t normal until I was about 8 or 10, and started hanging out with other kids. Their parents would (sometimes begrudgingly) ask if I’d like to stay over for lunch or dinner or something and it’d be as if a choir of angels just lit off in my head. Here were people that had not just enough for them, but for me as well. What is this sharing shit, and how do I make it work for me.

I’ve also sort of always been a manipulator. I’ve always been bright, and up until about “middle age” been kind of a dick. This still goes back to the warring nations theory. I learned early on that if I played my words right, I could get stuff, and sometimes get More stuff, from people that I either knew, or barely knew, and sometimes didn’t know at all. There was nothing I wouldn’t do, if I felt it would get me what I wanted (at that time). This behavior obviously led to some very bad, and actually dangerous situations throughout my younger life. I’ve teetered on the edge of So many things, that I simply won’t list Just yet, until I’ve warned some of my family members to either be ready, or to not read this at all.

In addition to the hunger, there’s the rage. I as well as my siblings all have this. Again, warring nations. I have a theory, and it’s pretty easy to comprehend. Poor people will fight, for anything, over anything. Take a group of people, who have little to nothing, then, try to take it from them. They will fight you tooth and nail to keep it. Now, take some of those same people, and teach them greed and jealousy and they will fight That much harder, sometimes for even less gain. For example, Mid 1990s we have shootings and riots all over South and East L.A., but none in Beverly Hills. Same area geographically but not financially. When’s the last time you heard of a group of rich white kids rollin’ up on another rich white kid and beating him up for his Polo jacket. Now, flip that over, 1990s, Air Jordans, google search Air Jordans, shootings, and 1990s. Shit’s fucked up.