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story time...
12 years ago
so, even as early as i can remember there were things that were...different...about me. One of my earlier childhood memories was of the times visiting my closest cousin, in terms of emotional attachment. she was wonderful, we were like two peas in each other's pod, or something... i'd play with her barbies and she would play with my action figures... as she put it "you were the first boy to not look up barbie's skirt" and even nowadays she tells me she thinks i would be happier if i underwent gender reassignment... i'm not convinced she is wrong... however, thats background, and the rest of this story doesn't involve her...it involves a different relative. one that before i was 10 had bashed my head open with a rock because i was tired of playing...on a seperate incident he had shot at cars with a 22 and even though i was smart enough to know his odds of hitting any at the range he was going for was almost nil I still chastised him and tried to leave but he got the idea and stopped...
switching gears just a bit, before i was 10, i'd made a new friend, and looking back i think he was a kindred spirit. we'll call him JAS because those are his initials... J A Shaw, if by some stroke you see this and remember those cute little games of truth or dare with me in that lil home-made "tent" in my bedroom...im sorry and i hope you are happy... moving forward here, in case you can't tell he was more or less my first lover, although we never went all the way. "hot dogging" was the closest we ever came... but at some point between 10 and 13 my relative with anger problems [we will call him rock from here on, in honor of the permanent scar on my forehead] , rock, found out about me and JAS, i cannot remember how but based on the psychological quirks i have im guessing i said the wrong thing and it was 2+2=queer... well, i cannot remember (or have repressed that extremely well) when it started but after rock found out, he wanted in on the fun, and since he had a sort of...mental dominance over me because he had a history of violence toward me...i ended up relenting even though i'd never particularly wanted it...
I don't recall specifically saying anything outright against him though... until one time we were at church camp, and the two of us were alone, and he decided he wanted me to blow him... I had finally had enough, and I didn't want to do it... I said no, I said I wasn't doing it... I SAID NO... but he chastised me, he talked down to me, and he threatened to OUT ME to the people from church... he threatened to tell them about me and my best friend...it wasn't just me he was threatening, it was JAS as well... not a threat of violence, but a threat nonetheless...and i knew he was capable of doing just that, and more... with that fear planted in my head, i hesitantly scooted across from my spot and bent over, and serviced him while he played with my tail... that was the first time the idea of self-hatred was placed in my mind. I didn't know I was gay, I was honestly blinded and sheltered, i thought what me and JAS were doing was practice for girlfriends...or something... I was stupid and young, but rock was stupid, young, and a violent & manipulative asshole...
from that point on, until sometime in my late teens... I was rock's fuck-toy... anytime he was around, I was almost guaranteed to end up on my knees for him to either use my muzzle, or play with my ass... my pleasure wasn't his priority. at some point i stopped hesitating, or offering even token resistance... because every second that i wasn't "getting it over with" was more of a risk of my parents catching us...catching me... i'm convinced if it had happened he would have told everyone that I came onto him... eventually he decided to take it up a notch...
sometime in my mid-teens, this event happened... he came over, i was home alone and there was no threat of anyone coming home for a few hours... he decided today was the day he was going to take my virginity...because i'd never been mounted, and so after some genuine concern and worry about it, he assured me that it wouldn't hurt, he would be careful, etc etc... finally i relented and he had me face-down leaning over a pool table. I don't remember if he used any lubrication...if so it would have only been spit... but i do remember what he called "spearing" which was just making sure it was pointed in the right place and then ramming it home...again, convinced he only did it to hear me yelp and feel me squirm... i cried, but i stifled my anguish as best i could because of fear or ridicule or worse, him being rougher because i was being a pussy...or something... (a later non-sexual incident in a similar vein, in his truck he was doing like 80 down the road and i didn't say anything because i figured if i did he'd smart off and go faster...) after i finally relaxed and the pain started to subside, he fucked me until he was finished, and congratulated me in one of those...nasty...ways... like me getting fucked that way was a rite of passage or something... after that point though, since he knew i could handle it that was mixed into the routine...
I don't remember when it finally stopped, although im not convinced it actually has. I no longer live anywhere near him, and only see him at family events, but if we were ever alone together I worry he would want something, and I worry about how I would respond, not that I would say yes or do anything he wanted, but what his response would be to my refusal...nobody in our family knows but he and I...And I think i'm going to keep it that way because if my parents found out, my father would outright kill rock, and end up in jail... rock's family would blame the whole thing on me, and that would basically end up nuking what little "cohesion" that my extended family still has...
I didn't feel like i could talk to my family because after the church camp incident i internalized my fears...I started to, as a very dear loved one told me, develop stockholm syndrome in a way... and i punished myself for being the way i was... i felt like the bad things that happened to me and my family were divine punishment for being such a filthy nasty sinful child, and even into my early 20s those repressive fears and that self hatred persisted... my grandfather died because of me...my kid brother got cancer and almost died because of my lusts...and eventually my baby brother (different younger brother) did die because of my sin... I am very lucky because at one point the anguish over my baby brother's death drove me to come home from school one day...go to the gun closet...get out a 9mm pistol, load it, just one round...and i ended up kneeling in the kitchen floor holding it to my temple sobbing with my finger on the trigger, begging God to just "let me be selfish...just this once...please...just this once..." but thankfully I couldn't put my family through burying me...
the scars cut deep, i have permanent marks on my arms, the larger ones did heal, but i have smaller ones that i look at from time to time to remind me how far I have come out of the darkness... I lost the ability to perform sexually to some degree, and wrote it off as just having performance anxiety when topping anyone (I have trouble maintaining an erection during penetration because my brain goes nuts and i worry about hurting people the way I was hurt my first time...and because there were incidents where what rock wanted was for me to top him, because he liked things in his ass, and it caused me issues because of the anxiety of the situation). I am only now struggling to fix those anxiety issues... I still love sex, probably because i sexualized a lot of the trauma i've experienced in my life, but... I want to be able to make love with my entire body instead of just my muzzle and tail... I am lucky, in a way, because i feel that to some degree God protected me from being completely broken and shattered...
This is my story... and I am a survivor... please don't apologize to me for what you did not do... but look around you, and find someone that needs a loving, gentle touch... and give them a hug and tell them...it will be alright someday...and it will get better... there will be days where you smile the full 86,400 seconds... but even if you don't smile once, that day won't be the end of the world. Tomorrow is another sunrise, and tomorrow is yours... tomorrow...today...today is mine, not rock's...
if you or someone you care about is a survivor of sexual abuse or assault... please check the link in my profile...
switching gears just a bit, before i was 10, i'd made a new friend, and looking back i think he was a kindred spirit. we'll call him JAS because those are his initials... J A Shaw, if by some stroke you see this and remember those cute little games of truth or dare with me in that lil home-made "tent" in my bedroom...im sorry and i hope you are happy... moving forward here, in case you can't tell he was more or less my first lover, although we never went all the way. "hot dogging" was the closest we ever came... but at some point between 10 and 13 my relative with anger problems [we will call him rock from here on, in honor of the permanent scar on my forehead] , rock, found out about me and JAS, i cannot remember how but based on the psychological quirks i have im guessing i said the wrong thing and it was 2+2=queer... well, i cannot remember (or have repressed that extremely well) when it started but after rock found out, he wanted in on the fun, and since he had a sort of...mental dominance over me because he had a history of violence toward me...i ended up relenting even though i'd never particularly wanted it...
I don't recall specifically saying anything outright against him though... until one time we were at church camp, and the two of us were alone, and he decided he wanted me to blow him... I had finally had enough, and I didn't want to do it... I said no, I said I wasn't doing it... I SAID NO... but he chastised me, he talked down to me, and he threatened to OUT ME to the people from church... he threatened to tell them about me and my best friend...it wasn't just me he was threatening, it was JAS as well... not a threat of violence, but a threat nonetheless...and i knew he was capable of doing just that, and more... with that fear planted in my head, i hesitantly scooted across from my spot and bent over, and serviced him while he played with my tail... that was the first time the idea of self-hatred was placed in my mind. I didn't know I was gay, I was honestly blinded and sheltered, i thought what me and JAS were doing was practice for girlfriends...or something... I was stupid and young, but rock was stupid, young, and a violent & manipulative asshole...
from that point on, until sometime in my late teens... I was rock's fuck-toy... anytime he was around, I was almost guaranteed to end up on my knees for him to either use my muzzle, or play with my ass... my pleasure wasn't his priority. at some point i stopped hesitating, or offering even token resistance... because every second that i wasn't "getting it over with" was more of a risk of my parents catching us...catching me... i'm convinced if it had happened he would have told everyone that I came onto him... eventually he decided to take it up a notch...
sometime in my mid-teens, this event happened... he came over, i was home alone and there was no threat of anyone coming home for a few hours... he decided today was the day he was going to take my virginity...because i'd never been mounted, and so after some genuine concern and worry about it, he assured me that it wouldn't hurt, he would be careful, etc etc... finally i relented and he had me face-down leaning over a pool table. I don't remember if he used any lubrication...if so it would have only been spit... but i do remember what he called "spearing" which was just making sure it was pointed in the right place and then ramming it home...again, convinced he only did it to hear me yelp and feel me squirm... i cried, but i stifled my anguish as best i could because of fear or ridicule or worse, him being rougher because i was being a pussy...or something... (a later non-sexual incident in a similar vein, in his truck he was doing like 80 down the road and i didn't say anything because i figured if i did he'd smart off and go faster...) after i finally relaxed and the pain started to subside, he fucked me until he was finished, and congratulated me in one of those...nasty...ways... like me getting fucked that way was a rite of passage or something... after that point though, since he knew i could handle it that was mixed into the routine...
I don't remember when it finally stopped, although im not convinced it actually has. I no longer live anywhere near him, and only see him at family events, but if we were ever alone together I worry he would want something, and I worry about how I would respond, not that I would say yes or do anything he wanted, but what his response would be to my refusal...nobody in our family knows but he and I...And I think i'm going to keep it that way because if my parents found out, my father would outright kill rock, and end up in jail... rock's family would blame the whole thing on me, and that would basically end up nuking what little "cohesion" that my extended family still has...
I didn't feel like i could talk to my family because after the church camp incident i internalized my fears...I started to, as a very dear loved one told me, develop stockholm syndrome in a way... and i punished myself for being the way i was... i felt like the bad things that happened to me and my family were divine punishment for being such a filthy nasty sinful child, and even into my early 20s those repressive fears and that self hatred persisted... my grandfather died because of me...my kid brother got cancer and almost died because of my lusts...and eventually my baby brother (different younger brother) did die because of my sin... I am very lucky because at one point the anguish over my baby brother's death drove me to come home from school one day...go to the gun closet...get out a 9mm pistol, load it, just one round...and i ended up kneeling in the kitchen floor holding it to my temple sobbing with my finger on the trigger, begging God to just "let me be selfish...just this once...please...just this once..." but thankfully I couldn't put my family through burying me...
the scars cut deep, i have permanent marks on my arms, the larger ones did heal, but i have smaller ones that i look at from time to time to remind me how far I have come out of the darkness... I lost the ability to perform sexually to some degree, and wrote it off as just having performance anxiety when topping anyone (I have trouble maintaining an erection during penetration because my brain goes nuts and i worry about hurting people the way I was hurt my first time...and because there were incidents where what rock wanted was for me to top him, because he liked things in his ass, and it caused me issues because of the anxiety of the situation). I am only now struggling to fix those anxiety issues... I still love sex, probably because i sexualized a lot of the trauma i've experienced in my life, but... I want to be able to make love with my entire body instead of just my muzzle and tail... I am lucky, in a way, because i feel that to some degree God protected me from being completely broken and shattered...
This is my story... and I am a survivor... please don't apologize to me for what you did not do... but look around you, and find someone that needs a loving, gentle touch... and give them a hug and tell them...it will be alright someday...and it will get better... there will be days where you smile the full 86,400 seconds... but even if you don't smile once, that day won't be the end of the world. Tomorrow is another sunrise, and tomorrow is yours... tomorrow...today...today is mine, not rock's...
if you or someone you care about is a survivor of sexual abuse or assault... please check the link in my profile...
Thank you both for the courage it took to create such a haven.