Authors Note:
This story begins in my childhood, and proceeds to post high school.
This story is not meant to be perfect. I am going to forget everything that I have learned about writing. I am going to write this the way I remember it. This is the story of my life. This is the story of all the good times, and all the dark horrible times that I must force myself to revisit. It is a story that could belong to any one of us.
I am not at all sure if I will ever let anyone read this, or for that matter if anyone would have any interest in doing so. With that in mind, it is important for me to explain that, although, this is my story, some of the names have been changed to protect the identity of people who I completely convinced would like to remain anonymous.
I hope that in the event that anyone reads this, they will be able to look at there own lives and try to see their pasts as honestly as I am trying to do, and realize that we can all be victims of our circumstances, or we can rise above them and be what we were meant to be.
This story will contain some graphic scenes which are not for everyone, but must be included.
Chapter 1- The Beginning
I cannot claim that I have a clear recollection of me childhood. In many ways I think that the good memories of my past have been covered over by more painful experiences that came later. But, I will make an attempt to price together what I do recall.
First of all, I am the first of three children. I am also the only male child. When I was born, I was the pride and joy of my family. I had light blonde hair, and very pale skin. This was odd in my family, as most of my relatives share the more traditional dark colored skin and hair of the Hispanic race. It should have been evident then that I was going to be different.
Almost immediately I rejected the role that my family had set for me. I detested authority. I detested almost all the things that boys were supposed to be attracted to. I would much rather spend time with my mother or grandmother than to follow my father and cousins around trying to emulate them. I was just never comfortable with doing the things that they were into doing. This did not go over well with my father, who tried to push me into more masculine things like basketball and other sports. It is not that I didn't try, but I always stood out like a sore thumb. I was awkward and somewhat afraid of being hurt. I guess that some people are just built for things like hard work and sports, I however, was not. At least not mentally. I was never a small child. I was about average size, if not a little over average. I can still remember my grandfather telling me how I was going to make great football player. I cringed at this statement every time it came out of his mouth.
When I was younger, I don't think that I really distinguished between my male and female playmates. I think at that age (around6-8) we are all basically the same mentally and physically. I was always the kind of person that wanted to be surrounded by others, though I would abandon the company of those my age for that of adults as often as I could. As you can imagine, many adults humored this for a while, but were soon annoyed with having an eight year-old trying to voice opinions. This was really the first time that I had faced rejection from those I was trying to impress. This was sad. Really sad.
Anyway, about the time I was in 5th grade, I had started to notice something very strange about myself. It all started when my father sat me down for a little talk. He asked me something with I found to be greatly disturbing and somewhat erotic at the same time. He asked me if anyone had ever tried to touch me improperly. At first I didn't quite know what to make of this, and I asked for clarification. He asked my f anyone had ever tried to touch me, you know, down there. I told them that no one had. He went on to tell me that if anyone ever did, that I should tell him right away.
After this little conversation, I overhead my mother telling my father that she thought he might have scared me with his "little talk". His response was one that startled me. He told her very plainly that there were a lot of "perverts" out there and that his worst fear was that they might turn his son into a "faggot". He went on to say that he prayed every night that none of his kids would be "jotos" (Spanish slang for gays). If he would have known what the effects of that night would have been on me, how much it hurt and frightened me to think of my father hating something so much, then maybe he would have thought twice about saying it. I hope that anyone who reads this realizes the effect their words can have.
At the time I knew what pervert was. I had heard horrible stories about one of the neighbor kids who had been raped by her cousin. However I had no idea what this word "faggot" that my father hated so much actually implied. Needless to say, this word came to the forefront of my thoughts from then on. I soon found out what it meant. I was told at school, that "gays" were men that had sex with men.
At that time, I was still under the impression that sex was kissing and touching in the private regions of the body. After all, I was only about 9 or ten at the time, I could not be expected to understand the gravity of what sex really was. It is still hard or for me to comprehend that at this young age something as small as a word could change my perception of the world. And change my world it did.
It started very slowly. The first thing that caught my attention was a boy in class. His name was Dominic. He had been in school with me since kindergarten. He had always been there, but now suddenly in the days after "the talk", he became the center of attention for me. I would catch myself staring at his face, and the smooth skin of his arms. I would stare at his lips and wonder if they were soft. Things like that started to preoccupy my thoughts. The strange thing was that anytime I actually had to interact with him, I would lock up, not out of attraction, but out of fear. I was terrified that he could tell that what I was thinking. I was terrified that he would tell others and it would get back to my father. So I did the only thing that I could really do. And that was to avoid any contact with him. This meant a lot of changes for me. The boy, who had once lived to be the center of attention, had to go into hiding. I no longer wanted to be noticed. The people around me were no longer my friends and classmates, they were the enemy. They could destroy me. So I avoided them as much as was possible. I fell into a depression. I no longer wanted to go to school. I no longer wanted to do anything. Not even go to the store with my parents. This stigma that I had applied to my self was only the beginning. I learned to live in fear. In fear that people would hate me for thinking the way I did. I became utterly embarrassed to be me.
I started to think about other reasons why people would judge me. This list included the fact that my father was an alcoholic, and that we were not very well off. I didn't want to be seen with my family. In my way of thinking our old used car was not a Dodge, it was the chariot that was going to take me to my demise when others saw me in it. Many other little things were just as absurd, but just as real to me. And all this started with my insecurity about being mesmerized by Dominic.
AS time went on, I stayed to myself. One of my favorite things to do was to pretend that I was somebody else. While others my age pretended to be firemen, or policeman, I was locked in my room, lost in my delusions about being royalty or being famous. While others went played basketball, I locked myself away rewriting, in my head, the ends of movies that I felt were not what they should be. I became my own bet friend. When my confidence failed, my creativity took over. For example, when I was laughed at for something in school, I retreated into fantasy. I wasn't really poor; I was just pretending to be, so that my secret identity would remain so.
I wasn't always alone though. I did have a few friends, who I selected from among the ranks of the other outcasts. You know the fat kid, the smelly kid, etc. And of course my cousin, Joseph.
Chapter 2- Joseph
Yes, Joseph. Where to begin with that monstrosity? Well, I guess that I might as well get this over with. Remember that it is not easy for me to remember this, even though the events I am going to recount are as vivid in my mind as the day they happened.
Joseph, as I said was my cousin whom, obviously, I had known all my life. Now Joseph was on a whole other wavelength of reject from me. I think everyone hated him. "Everyone" sometimes included his parents I think. But, that s neither here nor there. Even though I was slightly ashamed to be seen with him at school, he did live across the street from me, and well that made it convenient to visit each other whenever we could. Though I would have never admitted this to anyone at the time, I was rather happy to have him around. We were what I guess you could call pals.
Okay, here comes the part I was dreading.
It all started one summer afternoon. I remember that I had begged my mother to go over to Joseph's to play in the sprinklers, after all it was hot. I remember it quite vividly. I was sweating by the time I got to his house. He was already waiting for me on the lawn. We soaked ourselves, and then decided to go inside and get dressed. I remember walking into the bathroom, and removing my clothes and stepping in to the shower. I was letting the warm water stream down my body, when the shower curtain and stepped in. Joseph stepped in to the shower and started to wash himself. I had never showered with anyone, and quickly pointed this out to him.
"Boys can see each other" I remember how casually he had said it.
For some reason this caused me to look at his naked body. The first thing that caught my eye was that his cock was different than mine. It had more a strange skin covering the head. He must have noticed that I was looking at him, because he stopped washing himself and stood to face me. His breath was sour. I turned my head to avoid it.
"Have you ever practiced having sex?"
I was speechless. I shook my head, no.
"You have to practice if are going to be ready for girls, at least that is what my dad says."
His dad? Did I hear him right? I was confused.
"Let me show you." As he said this I could feel my self tense up, a mixture of excitement, disgust, and fear. I wouldn't let him touch my cock. It was hard. I was embarrassed. He took my hand and placed it on his hard cock. He moved my hand up and down slowly. I jerked my hand away. He told me not to be scared. I was. He told me that I would be the girl this time. What the hell did that mean? I tried to leave the bathroom, saying I had to go.
"If you leave I'll tell my mom you touched me in the shower"
I froze. NO!! Please don't. All I could think of was my fathers face when he heard from Joseph's mom that I had tried to do that. I was paralyzed with fear. He was suddenly so much bigger than me. I was afraid of him. Terrified. "Get on your knees." I slowly did as I was told. I was face to face with his cock.
"Suck it".
That was all he said before he brought it to my lips. I didn't want to, but I did. I put it in my mouth. It tasted gross, like sweat and piss, or a combination of the two. I couldn't get very much in my mouth. I gagged. After a minute he seemed to be satisfied with this.
"Stand up" I did, thinking that it was over. It wasn't. "Turn around".
I did so slowly. I was shaking. His fingers were in my ass crack. I closed my eyes as tightly as I could. I felt something slippery on his hands; I can only imagine that it was soap or shampoo. I felt the finger enter me, hard. I screamed with pain.
"Shut, up do you want them to catch us in here?"
I silenced myself through the pain. He spread my cheeks, and I felt something trying to get in. It was thicker than the finger, I knew what it was. I remember the burning, the pain that wouldn't end. After a minute or so, he pushed himself away from me, and continued to wash himself, then stepped out of the shower.
I just stood there, the throbbing pain still deep inside of me. I rinsed my hair quickly and dressed.
As I was leaving, he called back at me,
"See you tomorrow, remember what I told you."
As I turned away from him, I noticed how he no longer looked like the cousin that I had always played with, but rather a monster, much bigger and stronger than me.
I walked home in silence. A million things were running through my head. I was still in pain. I hated him for what he had done to me. I wanted to run screaming and tell m mother. But the thing that overtook any fear I had, and hurt that I felt was the premonition that if my father ever found out I would be dead. I would lose him. I would lose my family.
I vowed at that moment that I would never let anyone find out. I would endure it for my father, for me. The thing that I could still feel really deep down, under the pain, under the fear, under the anger was the fact that in some way the whole incident had excited me.
Looking back, I can't believe that I was more worried about my father finding out than the fact that I had been assaulted. That fear was in my mind the whole evening, as I ate dinner, as I got brushed my teeth, and even as I hid my bloody briefs at the bottom of the trash bag.
This is just the beginning of the story I wish to tell. Feedback is very important to me. Please let me know if you would like me to continue.
Copyright Aaron S. aaron102182@yahoo.com