Abuse and Regrets
Polar Bear
New Registrant
Introduction
This autobiography may be difficult for some to read. It discusses the unpalatable topics of incest and child molestation. But it also outlines survival and ultimately how good can prevail. The details are exactly how I remember them. Some memories are stronger than others. Names have been changed to protect everyone involved.
I dedicate this story to the victims of child abuse that could not overcome the horrific things that happened to them and took their own lives. I also dedicate this to the survivors that have gone on to lead “normal” lives and the mental health professionals that helped them rationalize what happened to them. I also want to acknowledge the work of law enforcement officers, district attorneys, and child protective service investigators that work hard to keep children safe and put child molesters behind bars.
My First “Sexual” Experience?
Summer was always my favorite time of year when I was a child. One reason was our annual trip to see my favorite uncle who lived near the Jersey shore. My aunt and uncle lived only a few minutes from Asbury Park and the beach. We would spend the day exploring the shops on the boardwalk and splashing in the surf at the beach. If I behaved, I was rewarded with a grape snow cone – my favorite. At night we would ride the rides at Asbury Park.
One summer when I was about six, my other uncle that lived in Illinois flew with his family to my hometown in New York. They would then ride with us to my other uncle’s house in New Jersey. This was the first time I met my uncle and his family. He never came home to visit so I was newly introduced to my two younger cousins (a boy and a girl). The girl cousin was about a year or two younger than me and her brother was two years younger. I just remember thinking how cute she looked. Her name was Tabitha. The six of us loaded into my father’s Oldsmobile Eighty-Eight, which resembled a brown boat on wheels. My father drove with my uncle next to him up front while the remaining four of us occupied the spacious back seat. My aunt and I took ownership of the window seats leaving the middle for my smaller cousins. The six-hour ride was boring with not much to do but stare out the window. At some point Tabitha asked me if she could look out the window with me and she climbed onto my lap to get a better view. The feeling of her warm, soft little bottom against me sent sensations through my body that I had never felt before. The only comparable thing I could think of then was how I felt on the tilt-a-whirl ride at the fair. I honestly don’t recall if I got an erection. If I did, it would have been hardly noticeable, and I doubt she would have even felt it.
I used to look forward to the few stops we made on the long ride, but this time I did not want my cousin to leave my lap. I made sure she resumed her perch when we started back on the highway. After a couple of stops my aunt took note of my insistence that Tabitha resumed her viewing spot on me and made her move to her side of the car. My aunt gave me a dirty and disgusted look. I had no idea what I had done wrong, and I immediately hated the aunt that I had just met. I did not talk to my aunt for the rest of the trip and as far as I know she never said anything to my father.
After the trip they went back to Illinois, and I never saw Tabitha again. My uncle came back alone a couple times when my grandmother became ill and when she passed.
Play Time Takes on a New Meaning
The marriage between my parents was the second for both. My father did not have children with his first wife, but my mother had two. Vicky, who is twelve years older than me, and James who is seven years older. During the fall of the summer Jersey trip described before, my half-sister Vicky married an Army officer and moved away. The next spring my parents divorced, leaving my mom, James and I alone in our house. My mother worked the second shift, meaning she left for work about 3pm each day and did not get home until after eleven at night. James was responsible for looking after me, which he resented because he could not play school sports and/or hang out with his friends.
I do not recall the exact start or how James approached it with me, but after school James would have me join him in his bedroom for what he referred to as “play time.” We would both remove our clothes and put our bodies together in various positions, most often with our genitals touching. He would perform oral sex on me, causing a small erection. I was too young to ejaculate, but the oral stimulation felt good. Again, I had no idea this type of play between siblings was wrong. I thought all brothers played this way.
One afternoon I remember him giving me a sucker at the beginning of play time. After a minute or so, he took the sucker from my mouth and rubbed it on the head of his penis and told me to lick the head of his penis like I licked the sucker. James’ penis I learned later was of average size, but for my youthful mouth it seemed huge. I could barely fit the whole tip in my mouth and mostly resorted to licking around it. It always amazes me how we remember smells and tastes so well. I distinctly remember the cherry taste of the sucker mixed with the saltiness of the liquid coming from his penis. Later I learned that this liquid was called pre-seminal fluid. I also remember the odd faces he made when we played the sucker game and the silly moaning sounds he made. Eventually he would ejaculate on his belly.
One time he spent extra time performed oral sex on me which caused me to have a full erection, he then coated my penis in baby oil and laid on his stomach. He instructed me to put my penis in his butt. I followed his instructions and played the new game. I remember his butt being warm and tight. It felt better than his oral stimulation and I liked the feeling. He instructed me to slide my penis in and out of him. Not being old enough to ejaculate made my erection almost painful. We only stopped when he ejaculated.
I do not ever recall James trying to have anal intercourse with me. He may have tried but my tiny sphincter probably did not dilate widen enough for him.
Our play sessions went on for a couple of years until new people entered our lives. I never told anyone about what we did. I learned later in graduate school that brotherly incest is often the first sexual experience for boys. I also wondered how James got the idea to use me as his sex toy. Did something happen to him? Or was this simply a case of opportunity? He was going through puberty, and I happened to be there. Remember, this was long before the internet. James is still alive, but we no longer speak so I will never know the answers to these questions.
The Kaminski Family
When James was sixteen, he started dating a girl that lived at the end of our street named Kara Kaminski. She was a beautiful blonde-haired girl. She was tall and thin and seldom wore a bra. Her ample breasts would sway under her t-shirts in a hypnotic rhythm when she walked. Do not ask me what color eyes she had; I barely remember her face! I was jealous of James. One specific memory I have is being at the Kaminski house and being chased down their hallway by Kara’s pet ferret. I loved animals but that crazy thing liked to bite. Kara was sixteen like James and had two older brothers: Richard twenty and Peter twenty-five. Peter converted the basement of their house into his own bachelor pad. He was a base player in a local cover band that was destined to go nowhere. Peter’s room smelled like a horrible mix of marijuana, incense and sweat. The Kaminski parents drank heavily and could even be seen having a drag with their children. Kara and her brothers did whatever they wanted. James told me once that he had sex with Kara in her bedroom with the door wide open!
Background Information: James never had a positive male role model in his life. My mother’s first husband, the biological father of James and Vicky, was an alcoholic and would get violent. One story is that he flipped the refrigerator over after coming home drunk and not finding anything to eat. My mother escaped his abuse and divorced him. My father was a positive influence on James until I was born. My father wanted a son to carry on our last name and once I was born James and Vicky were just in the way. His distain for them never registered with me. Years later Vicky shattered the ideal image of my father when she recalled his behavior towards them. This was why she married at the first chance she had, seeking to leave the toxic environment.
Peter Kaminski learned about James’ lack of male guidance and the pending divorce of my parents. Peter started interacting with James more while at the Kaminski house. He invited him into his lair and showed him his base guitar. Peter encouraged James to bring me around more often. Soon James was in the company of Peter more than Kara. This led to their breakup and more time spent with Peter. Peter was very charismatic, and people seemed to instantly like him. He was always ready with a joke or a compliment. James finally had his male role model he so desperately longed for, and Peter used it for his own sinister desires.
Peter made James his roadie and took him to gigs. He provided James with large amounts of alcohol and drugs. Peter encouraged James to drop out of high school and manipulated my mother to support it. Peter also asked James to bring me down to the Kaminski house on a regular basis. I was included in outings, such as fishing and camping trips. I can positively recall two specific events. Once when we went fishing in an isolated area, I said I had to pee, so Peter offered to take me into the woods. After I peed, Peter stopped me from pulling my shorts up then knelt in front of me before putting my penis in his mouth. I froze not knowing what to do. It felt good, like it did with James, so I did not try to stop him. I still had not experienced puberty and was only releasing a small amount of pre-seminal fluid. Peter stopped after several minutes, and we rejoined James at the river. Another crystal-clear memory I retain was while camping. Peter, James and I shared a tent. After we all fell asleep, I felt something wet on my penis. It was Peter’s mouth. He performed oral sex on me and after he was satisfied, he looked me in the eyes and said that he needed to give James some attention too. I have a faint memory of putting Peter’s penis in my mouth, but I can’t recall where or when. I do not have any memories of giving or receiving anal sex with Peter.
James fell under Peter’s control, and did whatever he wanted him to do. It was like Peter brainwashed him. Peter was like a God to James.
About a year later, James obediently moved to Florida with Peter. Peter had some far-flung business idea that he swore would make them rich. The alcohol and drug use intensified while in Florida and after several “domestic” incidences between Peter and James, James finally fled Peter’s control.
James went on to have three unsuccessful marriages that produced two children following his break from Peter. Eventually James made his way back to New York where he currently lives. He continues to abuse drugs and alcohol, which is the main reason Vicky, and I no longer communicate with him.
Years later I confessed to my mother what Peter did to me. She could not believe it. She felt horrible and asked me to forgive her for not protecting me. I explained to her that Peter had fooled everyone. I learned that pedophiles are master manipulators and often likeable. Now looking back, it is easy to see how Peter used James’ vulnerability to groom him and gain access to me.
Another quick note. James was an amazing artist when he was younger. He probably could have been accepted into a top art school if he had stayed in school and someone took notice of his talent. I wonder how much better his life could have been. It may sound crazy, but this makes me sad. He wasted a gift that could have provided a good life for him
Junior High and High School Years
After Peter and James left for Florida, I was just entering puberty and trying to understand my bodily changes. I grew taller and gained weight. I also started having erections for almost no reason. The hormones mixed with my previous sexual experiences with James and Peter had me confused beyond belief. I enjoyed the play sessions with James, but did that now mean that I was gay? I was attracted to girls and even an occasional guy, so was I straight or bi-sexual? In junior high and high school, I dated a few girls. I had my first sexual experience at seventeen with one of my girlfriends when she let me touch her breasts while making out in the backseat of the car. About a year later I was riding in the backseat of my friends car with a different girlfriend. We were meeting other friends out that night. It was dark and I slipped my hand down the front of her pants. I wasn’t sure what I was touching but she swung her head towards me and started ravenously kissing me. I learned later what the magic button was.
I was mostly attracted to girls, but occasionally I would notice a guy. I was also still curious about having a post-pubescent sexual experience with a guy. I devised a plan to lure in one of my best friends. Sam drove his mother’s car to school every day and one day after school a group of us planned to meet to play basketball at a town park. I wanted to change before going, so Sam agreed to drive me home and wait until I changed before we headed to the court. No one was home at my house and Sam headed downstairs to our family room to wait for me. I went up to my room to change. I went up to my room and removed my clothes but before putting on my basketball shorts, I called for Sam to help me with something. Sam came to my room and found me sitting on the edge of my bed naked with the start of an erection. He stopped in his tracks. I asked him to come sit next to me and give me “a hand.” After begging him to join me, he reluctantly sat next to me. He would not put his hand on my penis, so I guided it to me. He slowly started to slide his hand up and down my penis. I rubbed his penis through his shorts and asked if I could jerk him off – he declined. After a few short minutes I ejaculated. I cleaned myself up and we headed to meet our friends.
Sam and I never said anything to each other about the hand-job. A couple of months later a group of friends were crashing at my house. After everyone fell asleep, I woke Sam and had him come with me into our laundry room. I closed the door and pulled his shorts down. I started performing oral sex on him. I liked the idea of making a friend feel good. After a few minutes I removed my clothes and had him lay on top me. We pressed our genitals together and started dry humping each other until we both finished between our bellies. I grabbed a towel from the laundry basket and wiped us clean. That was the last time Sam, and I had sexual contact. Years later I wondered if my actions with Sam would have been considered rape. I basically forced myself on him. That thought makes me ill. He was one of my best friends and I would have died on a hill for him. We lost contact after high school, and I have no idea where he is today. I hope he has forgiven me for my actions.
Freshman and Sophomore College Years
I was still a virgin when I started college. I hated having it hanging over my head and just wanted to know what vaginal sex felt like. During my first semester I started a relationship with a girl in my psychology class named Jill. She was nerdy and very cute. She had a great body and small perky breasts. She lived near campus and commuted each day while I lived in the dorms. The weather was bad one day, and I suggested that she stay with me. We had not approached the subject of sex yet and I was in no rush. She was amazing and I did not want to jeopardize our growing relationship. That night we slipped into my single bed together and she offered herself to me. I was not expecting it and still being a virgin, it made me terrified. Needless to say, I could not perform. I had a gorgeous naked girl lying beside me and I could not get an erection. She was sweet and said it was probably nerves. We stopped seeing each other a short time later. She transferred to another college, and I never saw her again. I have tried searching for her on the internet, but I came up empty each time. I have a picture of her in my arms at a bar we frequented that a friend took. I regret losing her and wonder what she looks like today. I hope she is well.
The summer between my freshman and sophomore years was extremely warm and my growing sexual frustration did not help. I needed sexual contact and masturbation was not helping. One night a male friend and I went to shoot pool at a pool hall in the next town over. On the way home I asked him to take the back roads where there were no streetlights. As we left the lights of the town behind us, I reached over and started rubbing his penis through his shorts. I unbuckled my seatbelt and positioned my head in his lap. I popped the button of his shorts and unzipped them. His hardening penis sprung out. As he tried to focus on driving the winding dark back roads while I gave him a blow job. He was worried we would end up in a corn field, so he pulled over to finish. When we arrived at my house, we went to my bedroom, and he reciprocated the act. We found ourselves taking the same route home a couple other times that summer. We alternated drivers to keep it fair. It kept us both from going insane.
I was still a virgin the following summer between my sophomore and junior years in college. I wanted it over with and was ready to pay for a hooker if needed when an unlikely alternative became available. One afternoon my best friend Jessie and I were watching movies in my bedroom. I was whining about still being a virgin. Jessie had recently come out as a lesbian, even though our big group of friends already figured it out. She was a big girl, probably approaching 250 pounds. She was also still a virgin and decided to let me have intercourse with her. I was not going to turn away the opportunity. She was my best friend, and I was not nervous with her. I put an old towel on my bed in case she bled, and she laid on her back. I climbed on top of her and guided my penis past her hymen. She let out a whimper of pain as I pushed forward. After all of the build up to this point, it did feel really good. I was on a temporary high afterwards until she looked at me and said that having sex with me confirmed that she was a lesbian. At least the monkey was finally off my back.
Junior and Senior College Years Up to Graduate School
During my junior and senior years of college I dated a handful of different girls. I liked meeting new people, even if they were not exactly my type. This resulted in a lot of relationships limited to two or three dates. One person that I saw for a few months was the sister of a coworker. She liked rough sex and told me to pull her hair. She also had the habit of digging her sharp nails into my back and raking them when I was finishing inside her. It was an odd experience but one that I am glad I had.
During the fall semester of my junior year a friend of mine introduced me to a new transfer student named Sadie. She was six feet tall and had long blonde hair. I typically preferred brunettes, but Sadie was breathtaking. And she was highly intelligent – something I preferred. I learned she was the valedictorian of her high school and received a full academic scholarship to a very prestigious college, but she burned out after one year and transferred to my school. She was enrolled in a global studies program that took her to campuses around the world. She was actually studying to be a journalist. I fell for her and every time she left to go abroad it broke my heart. In November of 1995 Sadie was at a bus stop in Israel trying to get to the peace rally that Prime Minister Rabin was assassinated at. I feared for her life while she was in Israel, with her long blonde hair she stood out. Random power outages while she was in India interrupted our weekly emails to each other adding to my frustration of not being able to hold her in my arms. We spent a day together the summer after we graduated. It was like old times, and I fell in love with her all over again. I told myself that the next time I saw her I was going to propose to her so she could not keep leaving me, but I never saw her again. I wonder how she is and what far off land she is visiting now! Sadie is another one of my regrets.
Another unusual relationship I had during this time was with the married mother of twin boys that I taught gymnastics to. I am not proud of having an affair with a married woman, but this would not be my last. Shelly was the perfect balance of cute and sexy. She could look nerdy if she wanted to or doll it up and have the men staring. I liked the fact that she was six years older. I tried dating women my own age and they seemed immature. The sex with Shelly was incredible and we could not get enough it. Her husband never found out and eventually I left to attend graduate school in a different city. I hope she and the twins are well.
Graduate School Years
After starting graduate school in another city, I was not in a rush to start a serious relationship. I wanted to date and meet new people. I went on a bunch of dates with classmates and coworkers from my part-time job. I also got hooked up with a girl that lived in the apartment above mine. She was cute and pediatric sized. I liked bouncing her on top of me. We had a way of finding each other when we became sexually frustrated. “A glass of wine?” text translated to “I need sex now!”
The second married woman I dated was the secretary for my graduate program. She looked up my phone number in the school’s computer system and called me! She was separated from her husband but technically still married. She had two early teen children, so finding time to meet was not always easy. She was very beautiful with shoulder-length dark hair. She was also eleven years older than me. I fell completely in love with her. I learned a lot from her about life and how to forgive. She gave me a copy of the book “Bridges of Madison County” which remains one of my favorite novels. What doomed our relationship was my immaturity. Jackson Browne sings “I’m just a few years and a couple of changes behind you in my lessons at love’s pain and heartache school.” It was not the age difference that hurt us, it was my lack of life experiences. She went through my stage in life already and she did not want to relive it again with me. I was devastated when we ended our relationship. I was preparing to be a stepfather to her children. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. I saw her in a store about fifteen years later. We almost collided with each other, but she did not recognize me. A marriage and divorce rapidly aged me. She looked exactly the same. I sat in my car for a while before I could drive, my heart was still racing. The regret of letting her slip away crashed on me like a tidal wave. I debated on whether or not to go back into the store and try to find her. I listened to the Garth Brooks song “The Dance” over and over that night. I laid in bed thumbing through the copy of “Bridges” she gave me. She is at the top of my list of life regrets with along with Sadie and Jill.
First Marriage
My first marriage was almost doomed from the start. A sudden family death caused my happy fiancé to turn dark and depressed. I am not sure if she ever fully grieved the loss. Nothing made her happy and everything I tried to do was wrong. She did not enjoy sex and claimed she was allergic to male bodily fluids. I am not saying the divorce was all her fault, I am sure I could have been a better husband. We were together for seven years and married for five. I would say I regret the marriage, but we have two wonderful children as a result. She never dated after our divorce and will probably live out her life alone.
My Soul Mate
While going through my divorce I became good friends with a coworker named Marie that worked a few offices down from mine. She had gone through her own divorce a couple years prior and was able to provide me with useful advice. Other coworkers thought we were having an affair because we talked a lot. The last thing on my mind was getting into another relationship while dealing with my divorce. The health and safety of my children was my main priority. What were our coworkers thinking? I was a depressed guy going through a tough divorce with two small children – not exactly the best catch in the sea!
I had a strong group of friends that were there for me during my divorce, and I leaned on them heavily. But they always took my side. Marie gave me unbiased advice, which I needed to hear sometimes. After my divorce I stayed with my best friend and his wife for a while, but they were expecting a child and the room I slept in was being turned into a nursery. I needed a place to live and with my ex-wife taking most of my income, I was in a bind. Marie offered me the extra room upstairs in her house. She bought a small house after her divorce but was struggling with the mortgage payments. She was looking to add a roommate anyway. So, I rented the upstairs bedroom, and we commuted to work together each day to save on gas.
Our friendship grew as we spent more time together. I was still re-learning who I was and what made me happy. Marie took the time to get to know who I was at the core, and we became best friends. I still was not sure if I was ready for a relationship, my focus remained my children. Over time our friendship morphed into a romantic relationship. It was not like we agreed to start a relationship, it just happened naturally. We provided each other with unconditional love and support and still do to this day seventeen years later. We eventually got married after twelve years because she needed my health insurance. We accept each other’s idiosyncrasies and make each other laugh. She has been supportive of my career decisions and my attempt at writing. We have made plans to retire to New Hampshire and look forward to spending more time together. I think of the Mary Chapin Carpenter line “Grow old along with me, the best is yet to be.”
New York's Child Victims Act (CVA) of 2019
The motivation to write this started in 2019 when New York passed the NY Child Victims Act to extend the statute of limitations for childhood sexual abuse victims and created a one-year lookback window for victims who had previously missed the deadline. I figured if anything, it might give me some closure. I did not have high hopes and figured it was a long shot at best.
I started by simply searching for Peter’s name online. I was stunned when the first response listed was from the Florida Department of Corrections. He was convicted of two counts of sexual battery by an adult to a victim under 12 years old and one count of lewd or lascivious battery to a victim 12 -15 years old and sent to prison. I took about a week to digest this information. A thought that came to mind was that he should never see the outside of a prison ever again. I decided that I wanted to be at every one of his parole hearings to share my story. The information online was limited by public record laws and did not give parole dates, so I contacted the district attorney’s office for the county he was convicted in. I told the assistant who took my call why I was calling, and she seemed genuinely empathetic. She stated that the Assistant District Attorney that prosecuted Peter’s case was in court for the next two weeks with limited availability, but she would make sure she received my message. Three weeks went by with no call, and I gave up hope. The next day I received a call from her. She said she remembered the case but did not have the parole information. She instructed me to contact the Scheduling Coordinator at the prison he was assigned to and gave me the prison phone number.
I called the prison and asked for the Scheduling Coordinator. I was told he was not in, but his assistant might be able to help. I told the assistant why I was calling, and she said that they list parole dates in their system as potential release dates. She put me on hold while she checked their computer system. When she returned, she sounded a little confused. She asked me if I was told that he was given the option of parole, because no release date was listed. I told her I did not know and just assumed he was. So, I asked what no release date meant. She looked at a different screen to see his conviction and sentencing information. She said he was sentenced to life in prison without the option of parole. She said that he would die in prison. Her statement took my breath away and I started to cry. I thanked her and sat in silence for about an hour.
I was so happy that justice was finally served, but then I started thinking about Peter’s other victims. I became filled with guilt. If I had just said something when I was a child, I could have spared all of his victims after me. I could have stopped him if I had known better. If someone would have protected me better. That night in bed I prayed for the forgiveness of the victims after me. I hoped they were alright. I then started to wonder if there were victims before me. I could only assume there had to be. And I wondered if Peter was a victim himself.
I started researching what causes people to sexually assault young children. Are their brains just bad? Is it a learned behavior? Do victims go on to victimize other children? I am not a monster, and I have chosen professions that help and advocate for children. It made me think of Maya Angelou’s “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings.” I know it sounds odd, but I can understand why a pedophile would be drawn to a pubescent teenager, their bodies are developing, and they look like young adults. I do not understand what draws a pedophile to a young child. Finally, can a pedophile be reformed? Or is the only option to keep them separated from society? I do not know if we will ever know these answers in my lifetime.
The Past and Future
I used to like living in the past and would frequently look at pictures from long ago. As I have aged the pictures just remind me of how naive I was then and of the regrets I have. I have stopped looking at the pictures and searching for old acquaintances. I am not on social media which has aided in my decision to only live in the present and turn my gaze to the future.
I share my story to give other victims hope. I have lived a productive, happy life. I have two impressive children, and I found my soulmate along the way. Knowing that Peter will never enjoy a cold beer again, enjoy a walk on the beach or see a colorful sunset makes me value simple things even more!
This autobiography may be difficult for some to read. It discusses the unpalatable topics of incest and child molestation. But it also outlines survival and ultimately how good can prevail. The details are exactly how I remember them. Some memories are stronger than others. Names have been changed to protect everyone involved.
I dedicate this story to the victims of child abuse that could not overcome the horrific things that happened to them and took their own lives. I also dedicate this to the survivors that have gone on to lead “normal” lives and the mental health professionals that helped them rationalize what happened to them. I also want to acknowledge the work of law enforcement officers, district attorneys, and child protective service investigators that work hard to keep children safe and put child molesters behind bars.
My First “Sexual” Experience?
Summer was always my favorite time of year when I was a child. One reason was our annual trip to see my favorite uncle who lived near the Jersey shore. My aunt and uncle lived only a few minutes from Asbury Park and the beach. We would spend the day exploring the shops on the boardwalk and splashing in the surf at the beach. If I behaved, I was rewarded with a grape snow cone – my favorite. At night we would ride the rides at Asbury Park.
One summer when I was about six, my other uncle that lived in Illinois flew with his family to my hometown in New York. They would then ride with us to my other uncle’s house in New Jersey. This was the first time I met my uncle and his family. He never came home to visit so I was newly introduced to my two younger cousins (a boy and a girl). The girl cousin was about a year or two younger than me and her brother was two years younger. I just remember thinking how cute she looked. Her name was Tabitha. The six of us loaded into my father’s Oldsmobile Eighty-Eight, which resembled a brown boat on wheels. My father drove with my uncle next to him up front while the remaining four of us occupied the spacious back seat. My aunt and I took ownership of the window seats leaving the middle for my smaller cousins. The six-hour ride was boring with not much to do but stare out the window. At some point Tabitha asked me if she could look out the window with me and she climbed onto my lap to get a better view. The feeling of her warm, soft little bottom against me sent sensations through my body that I had never felt before. The only comparable thing I could think of then was how I felt on the tilt-a-whirl ride at the fair. I honestly don’t recall if I got an erection. If I did, it would have been hardly noticeable, and I doubt she would have even felt it.
I used to look forward to the few stops we made on the long ride, but this time I did not want my cousin to leave my lap. I made sure she resumed her perch when we started back on the highway. After a couple of stops my aunt took note of my insistence that Tabitha resumed her viewing spot on me and made her move to her side of the car. My aunt gave me a dirty and disgusted look. I had no idea what I had done wrong, and I immediately hated the aunt that I had just met. I did not talk to my aunt for the rest of the trip and as far as I know she never said anything to my father.
After the trip they went back to Illinois, and I never saw Tabitha again. My uncle came back alone a couple times when my grandmother became ill and when she passed.
Play Time Takes on a New Meaning
The marriage between my parents was the second for both. My father did not have children with his first wife, but my mother had two. Vicky, who is twelve years older than me, and James who is seven years older. During the fall of the summer Jersey trip described before, my half-sister Vicky married an Army officer and moved away. The next spring my parents divorced, leaving my mom, James and I alone in our house. My mother worked the second shift, meaning she left for work about 3pm each day and did not get home until after eleven at night. James was responsible for looking after me, which he resented because he could not play school sports and/or hang out with his friends.
I do not recall the exact start or how James approached it with me, but after school James would have me join him in his bedroom for what he referred to as “play time.” We would both remove our clothes and put our bodies together in various positions, most often with our genitals touching. He would perform oral sex on me, causing a small erection. I was too young to ejaculate, but the oral stimulation felt good. Again, I had no idea this type of play between siblings was wrong. I thought all brothers played this way.
One afternoon I remember him giving me a sucker at the beginning of play time. After a minute or so, he took the sucker from my mouth and rubbed it on the head of his penis and told me to lick the head of his penis like I licked the sucker. James’ penis I learned later was of average size, but for my youthful mouth it seemed huge. I could barely fit the whole tip in my mouth and mostly resorted to licking around it. It always amazes me how we remember smells and tastes so well. I distinctly remember the cherry taste of the sucker mixed with the saltiness of the liquid coming from his penis. Later I learned that this liquid was called pre-seminal fluid. I also remember the odd faces he made when we played the sucker game and the silly moaning sounds he made. Eventually he would ejaculate on his belly.
One time he spent extra time performed oral sex on me which caused me to have a full erection, he then coated my penis in baby oil and laid on his stomach. He instructed me to put my penis in his butt. I followed his instructions and played the new game. I remember his butt being warm and tight. It felt better than his oral stimulation and I liked the feeling. He instructed me to slide my penis in and out of him. Not being old enough to ejaculate made my erection almost painful. We only stopped when he ejaculated.
I do not ever recall James trying to have anal intercourse with me. He may have tried but my tiny sphincter probably did not dilate widen enough for him.
Our play sessions went on for a couple of years until new people entered our lives. I never told anyone about what we did. I learned later in graduate school that brotherly incest is often the first sexual experience for boys. I also wondered how James got the idea to use me as his sex toy. Did something happen to him? Or was this simply a case of opportunity? He was going through puberty, and I happened to be there. Remember, this was long before the internet. James is still alive, but we no longer speak so I will never know the answers to these questions.
The Kaminski Family
When James was sixteen, he started dating a girl that lived at the end of our street named Kara Kaminski. She was a beautiful blonde-haired girl. She was tall and thin and seldom wore a bra. Her ample breasts would sway under her t-shirts in a hypnotic rhythm when she walked. Do not ask me what color eyes she had; I barely remember her face! I was jealous of James. One specific memory I have is being at the Kaminski house and being chased down their hallway by Kara’s pet ferret. I loved animals but that crazy thing liked to bite. Kara was sixteen like James and had two older brothers: Richard twenty and Peter twenty-five. Peter converted the basement of their house into his own bachelor pad. He was a base player in a local cover band that was destined to go nowhere. Peter’s room smelled like a horrible mix of marijuana, incense and sweat. The Kaminski parents drank heavily and could even be seen having a drag with their children. Kara and her brothers did whatever they wanted. James told me once that he had sex with Kara in her bedroom with the door wide open!
Background Information: James never had a positive male role model in his life. My mother’s first husband, the biological father of James and Vicky, was an alcoholic and would get violent. One story is that he flipped the refrigerator over after coming home drunk and not finding anything to eat. My mother escaped his abuse and divorced him. My father was a positive influence on James until I was born. My father wanted a son to carry on our last name and once I was born James and Vicky were just in the way. His distain for them never registered with me. Years later Vicky shattered the ideal image of my father when she recalled his behavior towards them. This was why she married at the first chance she had, seeking to leave the toxic environment.
Peter Kaminski learned about James’ lack of male guidance and the pending divorce of my parents. Peter started interacting with James more while at the Kaminski house. He invited him into his lair and showed him his base guitar. Peter encouraged James to bring me around more often. Soon James was in the company of Peter more than Kara. This led to their breakup and more time spent with Peter. Peter was very charismatic, and people seemed to instantly like him. He was always ready with a joke or a compliment. James finally had his male role model he so desperately longed for, and Peter used it for his own sinister desires.
Peter made James his roadie and took him to gigs. He provided James with large amounts of alcohol and drugs. Peter encouraged James to drop out of high school and manipulated my mother to support it. Peter also asked James to bring me down to the Kaminski house on a regular basis. I was included in outings, such as fishing and camping trips. I can positively recall two specific events. Once when we went fishing in an isolated area, I said I had to pee, so Peter offered to take me into the woods. After I peed, Peter stopped me from pulling my shorts up then knelt in front of me before putting my penis in his mouth. I froze not knowing what to do. It felt good, like it did with James, so I did not try to stop him. I still had not experienced puberty and was only releasing a small amount of pre-seminal fluid. Peter stopped after several minutes, and we rejoined James at the river. Another crystal-clear memory I retain was while camping. Peter, James and I shared a tent. After we all fell asleep, I felt something wet on my penis. It was Peter’s mouth. He performed oral sex on me and after he was satisfied, he looked me in the eyes and said that he needed to give James some attention too. I have a faint memory of putting Peter’s penis in my mouth, but I can’t recall where or when. I do not have any memories of giving or receiving anal sex with Peter.
James fell under Peter’s control, and did whatever he wanted him to do. It was like Peter brainwashed him. Peter was like a God to James.
About a year later, James obediently moved to Florida with Peter. Peter had some far-flung business idea that he swore would make them rich. The alcohol and drug use intensified while in Florida and after several “domestic” incidences between Peter and James, James finally fled Peter’s control.
James went on to have three unsuccessful marriages that produced two children following his break from Peter. Eventually James made his way back to New York where he currently lives. He continues to abuse drugs and alcohol, which is the main reason Vicky, and I no longer communicate with him.
Years later I confessed to my mother what Peter did to me. She could not believe it. She felt horrible and asked me to forgive her for not protecting me. I explained to her that Peter had fooled everyone. I learned that pedophiles are master manipulators and often likeable. Now looking back, it is easy to see how Peter used James’ vulnerability to groom him and gain access to me.
Another quick note. James was an amazing artist when he was younger. He probably could have been accepted into a top art school if he had stayed in school and someone took notice of his talent. I wonder how much better his life could have been. It may sound crazy, but this makes me sad. He wasted a gift that could have provided a good life for him
Junior High and High School Years
After Peter and James left for Florida, I was just entering puberty and trying to understand my bodily changes. I grew taller and gained weight. I also started having erections for almost no reason. The hormones mixed with my previous sexual experiences with James and Peter had me confused beyond belief. I enjoyed the play sessions with James, but did that now mean that I was gay? I was attracted to girls and even an occasional guy, so was I straight or bi-sexual? In junior high and high school, I dated a few girls. I had my first sexual experience at seventeen with one of my girlfriends when she let me touch her breasts while making out in the backseat of the car. About a year later I was riding in the backseat of my friends car with a different girlfriend. We were meeting other friends out that night. It was dark and I slipped my hand down the front of her pants. I wasn’t sure what I was touching but she swung her head towards me and started ravenously kissing me. I learned later what the magic button was.
I was mostly attracted to girls, but occasionally I would notice a guy. I was also still curious about having a post-pubescent sexual experience with a guy. I devised a plan to lure in one of my best friends. Sam drove his mother’s car to school every day and one day after school a group of us planned to meet to play basketball at a town park. I wanted to change before going, so Sam agreed to drive me home and wait until I changed before we headed to the court. No one was home at my house and Sam headed downstairs to our family room to wait for me. I went up to my room to change. I went up to my room and removed my clothes but before putting on my basketball shorts, I called for Sam to help me with something. Sam came to my room and found me sitting on the edge of my bed naked with the start of an erection. He stopped in his tracks. I asked him to come sit next to me and give me “a hand.” After begging him to join me, he reluctantly sat next to me. He would not put his hand on my penis, so I guided it to me. He slowly started to slide his hand up and down my penis. I rubbed his penis through his shorts and asked if I could jerk him off – he declined. After a few short minutes I ejaculated. I cleaned myself up and we headed to meet our friends.
Sam and I never said anything to each other about the hand-job. A couple of months later a group of friends were crashing at my house. After everyone fell asleep, I woke Sam and had him come with me into our laundry room. I closed the door and pulled his shorts down. I started performing oral sex on him. I liked the idea of making a friend feel good. After a few minutes I removed my clothes and had him lay on top me. We pressed our genitals together and started dry humping each other until we both finished between our bellies. I grabbed a towel from the laundry basket and wiped us clean. That was the last time Sam, and I had sexual contact. Years later I wondered if my actions with Sam would have been considered rape. I basically forced myself on him. That thought makes me ill. He was one of my best friends and I would have died on a hill for him. We lost contact after high school, and I have no idea where he is today. I hope he has forgiven me for my actions.
Freshman and Sophomore College Years
I was still a virgin when I started college. I hated having it hanging over my head and just wanted to know what vaginal sex felt like. During my first semester I started a relationship with a girl in my psychology class named Jill. She was nerdy and very cute. She had a great body and small perky breasts. She lived near campus and commuted each day while I lived in the dorms. The weather was bad one day, and I suggested that she stay with me. We had not approached the subject of sex yet and I was in no rush. She was amazing and I did not want to jeopardize our growing relationship. That night we slipped into my single bed together and she offered herself to me. I was not expecting it and still being a virgin, it made me terrified. Needless to say, I could not perform. I had a gorgeous naked girl lying beside me and I could not get an erection. She was sweet and said it was probably nerves. We stopped seeing each other a short time later. She transferred to another college, and I never saw her again. I have tried searching for her on the internet, but I came up empty each time. I have a picture of her in my arms at a bar we frequented that a friend took. I regret losing her and wonder what she looks like today. I hope she is well.
The summer between my freshman and sophomore years was extremely warm and my growing sexual frustration did not help. I needed sexual contact and masturbation was not helping. One night a male friend and I went to shoot pool at a pool hall in the next town over. On the way home I asked him to take the back roads where there were no streetlights. As we left the lights of the town behind us, I reached over and started rubbing his penis through his shorts. I unbuckled my seatbelt and positioned my head in his lap. I popped the button of his shorts and unzipped them. His hardening penis sprung out. As he tried to focus on driving the winding dark back roads while I gave him a blow job. He was worried we would end up in a corn field, so he pulled over to finish. When we arrived at my house, we went to my bedroom, and he reciprocated the act. We found ourselves taking the same route home a couple other times that summer. We alternated drivers to keep it fair. It kept us both from going insane.
I was still a virgin the following summer between my sophomore and junior years in college. I wanted it over with and was ready to pay for a hooker if needed when an unlikely alternative became available. One afternoon my best friend Jessie and I were watching movies in my bedroom. I was whining about still being a virgin. Jessie had recently come out as a lesbian, even though our big group of friends already figured it out. She was a big girl, probably approaching 250 pounds. She was also still a virgin and decided to let me have intercourse with her. I was not going to turn away the opportunity. She was my best friend, and I was not nervous with her. I put an old towel on my bed in case she bled, and she laid on her back. I climbed on top of her and guided my penis past her hymen. She let out a whimper of pain as I pushed forward. After all of the build up to this point, it did feel really good. I was on a temporary high afterwards until she looked at me and said that having sex with me confirmed that she was a lesbian. At least the monkey was finally off my back.
Junior and Senior College Years Up to Graduate School
During my junior and senior years of college I dated a handful of different girls. I liked meeting new people, even if they were not exactly my type. This resulted in a lot of relationships limited to two or three dates. One person that I saw for a few months was the sister of a coworker. She liked rough sex and told me to pull her hair. She also had the habit of digging her sharp nails into my back and raking them when I was finishing inside her. It was an odd experience but one that I am glad I had.
During the fall semester of my junior year a friend of mine introduced me to a new transfer student named Sadie. She was six feet tall and had long blonde hair. I typically preferred brunettes, but Sadie was breathtaking. And she was highly intelligent – something I preferred. I learned she was the valedictorian of her high school and received a full academic scholarship to a very prestigious college, but she burned out after one year and transferred to my school. She was enrolled in a global studies program that took her to campuses around the world. She was actually studying to be a journalist. I fell for her and every time she left to go abroad it broke my heart. In November of 1995 Sadie was at a bus stop in Israel trying to get to the peace rally that Prime Minister Rabin was assassinated at. I feared for her life while she was in Israel, with her long blonde hair she stood out. Random power outages while she was in India interrupted our weekly emails to each other adding to my frustration of not being able to hold her in my arms. We spent a day together the summer after we graduated. It was like old times, and I fell in love with her all over again. I told myself that the next time I saw her I was going to propose to her so she could not keep leaving me, but I never saw her again. I wonder how she is and what far off land she is visiting now! Sadie is another one of my regrets.
Another unusual relationship I had during this time was with the married mother of twin boys that I taught gymnastics to. I am not proud of having an affair with a married woman, but this would not be my last. Shelly was the perfect balance of cute and sexy. She could look nerdy if she wanted to or doll it up and have the men staring. I liked the fact that she was six years older. I tried dating women my own age and they seemed immature. The sex with Shelly was incredible and we could not get enough it. Her husband never found out and eventually I left to attend graduate school in a different city. I hope she and the twins are well.
Graduate School Years
After starting graduate school in another city, I was not in a rush to start a serious relationship. I wanted to date and meet new people. I went on a bunch of dates with classmates and coworkers from my part-time job. I also got hooked up with a girl that lived in the apartment above mine. She was cute and pediatric sized. I liked bouncing her on top of me. We had a way of finding each other when we became sexually frustrated. “A glass of wine?” text translated to “I need sex now!”
The second married woman I dated was the secretary for my graduate program. She looked up my phone number in the school’s computer system and called me! She was separated from her husband but technically still married. She had two early teen children, so finding time to meet was not always easy. She was very beautiful with shoulder-length dark hair. She was also eleven years older than me. I fell completely in love with her. I learned a lot from her about life and how to forgive. She gave me a copy of the book “Bridges of Madison County” which remains one of my favorite novels. What doomed our relationship was my immaturity. Jackson Browne sings “I’m just a few years and a couple of changes behind you in my lessons at love’s pain and heartache school.” It was not the age difference that hurt us, it was my lack of life experiences. She went through my stage in life already and she did not want to relive it again with me. I was devastated when we ended our relationship. I was preparing to be a stepfather to her children. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. I saw her in a store about fifteen years later. We almost collided with each other, but she did not recognize me. A marriage and divorce rapidly aged me. She looked exactly the same. I sat in my car for a while before I could drive, my heart was still racing. The regret of letting her slip away crashed on me like a tidal wave. I debated on whether or not to go back into the store and try to find her. I listened to the Garth Brooks song “The Dance” over and over that night. I laid in bed thumbing through the copy of “Bridges” she gave me. She is at the top of my list of life regrets with along with Sadie and Jill.
First Marriage
My first marriage was almost doomed from the start. A sudden family death caused my happy fiancé to turn dark and depressed. I am not sure if she ever fully grieved the loss. Nothing made her happy and everything I tried to do was wrong. She did not enjoy sex and claimed she was allergic to male bodily fluids. I am not saying the divorce was all her fault, I am sure I could have been a better husband. We were together for seven years and married for five. I would say I regret the marriage, but we have two wonderful children as a result. She never dated after our divorce and will probably live out her life alone.
My Soul Mate
While going through my divorce I became good friends with a coworker named Marie that worked a few offices down from mine. She had gone through her own divorce a couple years prior and was able to provide me with useful advice. Other coworkers thought we were having an affair because we talked a lot. The last thing on my mind was getting into another relationship while dealing with my divorce. The health and safety of my children was my main priority. What were our coworkers thinking? I was a depressed guy going through a tough divorce with two small children – not exactly the best catch in the sea!
I had a strong group of friends that were there for me during my divorce, and I leaned on them heavily. But they always took my side. Marie gave me unbiased advice, which I needed to hear sometimes. After my divorce I stayed with my best friend and his wife for a while, but they were expecting a child and the room I slept in was being turned into a nursery. I needed a place to live and with my ex-wife taking most of my income, I was in a bind. Marie offered me the extra room upstairs in her house. She bought a small house after her divorce but was struggling with the mortgage payments. She was looking to add a roommate anyway. So, I rented the upstairs bedroom, and we commuted to work together each day to save on gas.
Our friendship grew as we spent more time together. I was still re-learning who I was and what made me happy. Marie took the time to get to know who I was at the core, and we became best friends. I still was not sure if I was ready for a relationship, my focus remained my children. Over time our friendship morphed into a romantic relationship. It was not like we agreed to start a relationship, it just happened naturally. We provided each other with unconditional love and support and still do to this day seventeen years later. We eventually got married after twelve years because she needed my health insurance. We accept each other’s idiosyncrasies and make each other laugh. She has been supportive of my career decisions and my attempt at writing. We have made plans to retire to New Hampshire and look forward to spending more time together. I think of the Mary Chapin Carpenter line “Grow old along with me, the best is yet to be.”
New York's Child Victims Act (CVA) of 2019
The motivation to write this started in 2019 when New York passed the NY Child Victims Act to extend the statute of limitations for childhood sexual abuse victims and created a one-year lookback window for victims who had previously missed the deadline. I figured if anything, it might give me some closure. I did not have high hopes and figured it was a long shot at best.
I started by simply searching for Peter’s name online. I was stunned when the first response listed was from the Florida Department of Corrections. He was convicted of two counts of sexual battery by an adult to a victim under 12 years old and one count of lewd or lascivious battery to a victim 12 -15 years old and sent to prison. I took about a week to digest this information. A thought that came to mind was that he should never see the outside of a prison ever again. I decided that I wanted to be at every one of his parole hearings to share my story. The information online was limited by public record laws and did not give parole dates, so I contacted the district attorney’s office for the county he was convicted in. I told the assistant who took my call why I was calling, and she seemed genuinely empathetic. She stated that the Assistant District Attorney that prosecuted Peter’s case was in court for the next two weeks with limited availability, but she would make sure she received my message. Three weeks went by with no call, and I gave up hope. The next day I received a call from her. She said she remembered the case but did not have the parole information. She instructed me to contact the Scheduling Coordinator at the prison he was assigned to and gave me the prison phone number.
I called the prison and asked for the Scheduling Coordinator. I was told he was not in, but his assistant might be able to help. I told the assistant why I was calling, and she said that they list parole dates in their system as potential release dates. She put me on hold while she checked their computer system. When she returned, she sounded a little confused. She asked me if I was told that he was given the option of parole, because no release date was listed. I told her I did not know and just assumed he was. So, I asked what no release date meant. She looked at a different screen to see his conviction and sentencing information. She said he was sentenced to life in prison without the option of parole. She said that he would die in prison. Her statement took my breath away and I started to cry. I thanked her and sat in silence for about an hour.
I was so happy that justice was finally served, but then I started thinking about Peter’s other victims. I became filled with guilt. If I had just said something when I was a child, I could have spared all of his victims after me. I could have stopped him if I had known better. If someone would have protected me better. That night in bed I prayed for the forgiveness of the victims after me. I hoped they were alright. I then started to wonder if there were victims before me. I could only assume there had to be. And I wondered if Peter was a victim himself.
I started researching what causes people to sexually assault young children. Are their brains just bad? Is it a learned behavior? Do victims go on to victimize other children? I am not a monster, and I have chosen professions that help and advocate for children. It made me think of Maya Angelou’s “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings.” I know it sounds odd, but I can understand why a pedophile would be drawn to a pubescent teenager, their bodies are developing, and they look like young adults. I do not understand what draws a pedophile to a young child. Finally, can a pedophile be reformed? Or is the only option to keep them separated from society? I do not know if we will ever know these answers in my lifetime.
The Past and Future
I used to like living in the past and would frequently look at pictures from long ago. As I have aged the pictures just remind me of how naive I was then and of the regrets I have. I have stopped looking at the pictures and searching for old acquaintances. I am not on social media which has aided in my decision to only live in the present and turn my gaze to the future.
I share my story to give other victims hope. I have lived a productive, happy life. I have two impressive children, and I found my soulmate along the way. Knowing that Peter will never enjoy a cold beer again, enjoy a walk on the beach or see a colorful sunset makes me value simple things even more!