Does anyone wonder what became of the photos an abuser took?
Does anyone wonder what became of the photos an abuser took?
- Thread starterPerkins
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TXRed
Registrant
From my conversation with them yesterday they have to contact law enforcement and make a report. It's not the NCMEC that looks into finding the photos. They basically facilitate that portion of reaching out to the law, and the law takes it from there. I'm not sure what questions the officers will have for me, but there's no obligation (to my knowledge) to disclose anything you don't want to. They will notify you if they find anything or don't. I only mentioned my soccer coach because he's on the registry for CP possession. It might narrow down their search. Or if those images/videos never made it online they might find it still in evidence. But in any case the state gets a report with your name and information attached. If they have to contact a suspect they keep your information confidential.
None of it was nice to talk about.
I would imagine that anyone who was involved with me is probably dead but even if not, I don't think that I could ever mention my abuser's name (papasan). Even though he must have rented me out a few hundred times he was like a father to me. More of a father than my stepparent was. I don't think I could ever tell the police about him.
Those memories will always be there. We just have to learn how to control them. Not an easy thing to do and not always possible.
Truth. ((((lapchinj))))
Well... I did make initial contact with NCMEC and I'm waiting for a reply soon... the weight became unbearable. I'm not expecting much, and I don't want to waste precious resources for those who really need them, but I also needed a feeling of completion - I've basically done what I can do.
Tableau in Stasis
Registrant
You are one of those who needs them, and one who those resources are made for. I'm glad that you're contacting them even if nothing for than closure. They'll tell you if they've found and removed anything of you, and if they ever do so in the future.
I'm really sorry ((@Silly )) that you're still being haunted by the photos and shit taken of you. I hope it goes easy on you if they find some. Do you know how many photos would be down there? I hope you can find closure even if they find one.
I personally wouldn't bother doing that because nobody would recognize me and if they did they shouldn't be there. I would guess that perves would have their own "portfolio" and a low life would come to browse around like a supermarket. I couldn't go down there looking for my shit. I'm sure that if I found some of the bad ones I would be back on coke and Jack Daniels especially if they were with my friend Lanny. If they would find and have to check with me the photos they found that I would have to look at, I don't think I could do that. I left that life in '75 and have no intention of having a reunion. Let them choke and get arrested with some of my pics. Each of my photos should get a low-life arrested. Even if they got a thousand hits the world is still full of fucked up shitty scum.
There were thousands of photos taken of me for boy magazines, the sexual ones ended up in the boy magazines that you could only buy under the counter. They were traded, you could buy drugs with them and just sell them to whoever wanted to buy them. Practically every good-looking street kid was taken for photo shoots. At every beach, a guy with a camera would come looking for a boy to photograph. Take him up behind the dunes or if the beach wasn't crowded have the kid drop his bathing suit, shoot away, and get some action shots also. There were photogs where A kid could make a dollar to drop his suit. or $5 for a session behind the dunes. That was real money back then. I did that many times.
At Jones Beach on Long Island, NY they had a special walled-in area with no roof and a shitload of shower stalls that could hold 4-5 11 or 12-year-old kids. Those days kids and adults used to strip down naked to wash off the salt from the ocean. The showers had a few hundred stalls (no doors). You had guys walking around with cameras. he would walk up to a stall and tell the kid to "get it on" and if the kid knew the game he started jerking off. Then you just had guys walking around naked looking for boys to give them a BJ or to rape the kid. No money in that, just a big guy who would grab your arm and threaten to break your arm if you didn't bend over. I made some money there, but I also got raped and had to give free BJs. I doubt the showers are still there.
I'm sure there are a shitload of my photos down in the depths of the internet. I had to make hundreds of movies for the "movie people" (aka mafia). I would hate to be the one who has to check the photos and videos of stuff that gets taken away when some perv is arrested. I would hate to go and look for my photos and movies, some of them were really gruesome.
I personally wouldn't bother doing that because nobody would recognize me and if they did they shouldn't be there. I would guess that perves would have their own "portfolio" and a low life would come to browse around like a supermarket. I couldn't go down there looking for my shit. I'm sure that if I found some of the bad ones I would be back on coke and Jack Daniels especially if they were with my friend Lanny. If they would find and have to check with me the photos they found that I would have to look at, I don't think I could do that. I left that life in '75 and have no intention of having a reunion. Let them choke and get arrested with some of my pics. Each of my photos should get a low-life arrested. Even if they got a thousand hits the world is still full of fucked up shitty scum.
There were thousands of photos taken of me for boy magazines, the sexual ones ended up in the boy magazines that you could only buy under the counter. They were traded, you could buy drugs with them and just sell them to whoever wanted to buy them. Practically every good-looking street kid was taken for photo shoots. At every beach, a guy with a camera would come looking for a boy to photograph. Take him up behind the dunes or if the beach wasn't crowded have the kid drop his bathing suit, shoot away, and get some action shots also. There were photogs where A kid could make a dollar to drop his suit. or $5 for a session behind the dunes. That was real money back then. I did that many times.
At Jones Beach on Long Island, NY they had a special walled-in area with no roof and a shitload of shower stalls that could hold 4-5 11 or 12-year-old kids. Those days kids and adults used to strip down naked to wash off the salt from the ocean. The showers had a few hundred stalls (no doors). You had guys walking around with cameras. he would walk up to a stall and tell the kid to "get it on" and if the kid knew the game he started jerking off. Then you just had guys walking around naked looking for boys to give them a BJ or to rape the kid. No money in that, just a big guy who would grab your arm and threaten to break your arm if you didn't bend over. I made some money there, but I also got raped and had to give free BJs. I doubt the showers are still there.
I'm sure there are a shitload of my photos down in the depths of the internet. I had to make hundreds of movies for the "movie people" (aka mafia). I would hate to be the one who has to check the photos and videos of stuff that gets taken away when some perv is arrested. I would hate to go and look for my photos and movies, some of them were really gruesome.
Tableau in Stasis
Registrant
They're getting better at reducing the secondhand trauma from the job by using digital pattern recognition and only involving human eyes when/where absolutely necessary. Plus good support systems, mental health care ect.
That's great, but I wonder how long they can do that shit before they fizzle out. I would guess that looking at my stuff was like having a coffee break but even I saw shit that will never leave my head. I'm sure they saw snuff photos, movies, and videos of it. When I was still in hiding, I thought I saw the worst of the worst. But what I saw wasn't even the bad of the bad shit.
My wife was both a mother and father to our kids. She did a beautiful job. Kids were never touched, four out of six are married with their own families and the youngest two are happy with their life and jobs. I fucked up, I couldn't hold them while they were growing up, I couldn't play with them. What I was forced to do to kids younger than ten is sick. I was never hit or beaten in front of the kids. If I fucked up in a movie they got beaten not me. I was always beaten at a different time and room. The word got around to the other kids were terrified of me. I could see it in their eyes. I better stop here otherwise I'll start crying and fuck up the day tomorrow.
I have no idea how many photos were taken of me and ***** As for something like the 8mm stuff, maybe a day's worth of reels? I think that only happened the one day. It's possible this shit bag developed his own stuff.
The last time Chris raped me he DID break my arm.
If it was B&W then he could do it himself in his darkroom. If it was color film, I think even in your time a lab was needed and they were run by the mafia. My friend Lanny's sister developed all the photos she took in her darkroom. Because she took most photos for the boy magazines sold on the corner newspaper stand. Back in my time, you were allowed to post pictures in magazines if they weren't sexual. That happened with a law in 1958 so that magazines like Playboy should be able to show nude girls. So that allowed magazines to show children nude if it wasn't sexual.
Did he do that on purpose or did things get too heavy?
Yeah, the showers at Jones Beach on Long Island, NY were a pervert's dream world. If someone saw a kid giving a BJ or getting raped, people just walked past like nothing was happening. I remember many times I was down on my knees and the guy was just holding my head. People were stopping and watching. I saw people standing and watching I even had some guys join in raping me. It would have been over in a couple of minutes if it was just that guy. But when one guy would hold me in front with his dick in my mouth and another guy raping me, that was a fuck fest, I was only 11 years old. It happened another 2(?)times that summer and I was done with the showers for the summer. The problem was that once it started a bunch of guys came over and blocked anyone else from passing by and they all took turns raping me. One guy held his dick in my mouth while the others took turns raping me. When they were finished, they left me lying on the floor of the shower and they took my bathing suit. I'm glad that they didn't get my friend and do him also. We just sat there for a while because it hurt too much to walk. so we sat there as men and kids walked by. They said and did nothing, just stopped, looked, and went on.
when I came back the next summer the same thing happened. I don't know if someone recognized me or it just happened. After that we left and went further out on the Island to Gilgo Beach. There were no showers there or buildings selling shit. Just a bunch of guys surfing. I wasn't there for the next year because I had left home and moved to the village in the city. It was a lot safer there.
Triggery content:1) all of the Polaroids were color for sure. In his basement he had this really elaborate train set and a small room with a red light - I can only assume a developing room.
2) When he was finished he just pushed off of his junk and onto the dirty floor of his shed. I remember I was sobbing. I told the him I couldn't do it anymore 'cos it hurt to bad (not that I had a choice whether he'd do it or not). I was used up... so stop or im going to tell. He got furious calling faggot and shit then he twisted my arm behind my back and pushed until it snapped. The whole time his lips on my ear threatening me... blaming me... lying that I was complicit. I never told, but he never touched me again. This was shortly before my 14th birthday.
First off (((Silly))) mega hugs.
The pediatrician who made sure we were "clean" had a sweet two track train set that ran through his entire office including tunnels through the walls.
The "broker" (sounds better than pimp) my primary abuser (Thomas) loaned me to made sure I was left with no marks. I swear he labeled me "treat like glass." When a client broke my back molar with a ring gag, everyone including the pimp panicked. The john had his ass kicked and I never saw him again. Thomas had it covered, the dentist he took me too extracted the damaged tooth. Mom didn't even question his ridiculous story about me "falling" while playing with his kids.
Yeah, a Polaroid camera was used by a lot of johns because they wanted photos of me and they didn't want the hassle of getting involved with the mafia labs.
Yeah, train sets, I knew them well. I had more than a few johns with train sets that weren't married or had their kids. That's where kids like me came in. It seems to have been a thing with rich child lovers. They really thought that they could have a love affair with boys. The rich guys like doctors and lawyers would have cabins in the mountains usually secluded on some lake. Nice setups they had. Usually, the first thing they did was take my moccasins (I never wore socks) and leave them locked up in the car. When we would get to his cabin, he would take my clothes and lock it up in his car so I couldn't run away. Little did they know that I would have walked naked into Grand Central Station if I had been scared. The moccasins were a problem because you couldn't walk through the woods on bare feet or even on dirt roads. I had guys take my moccasins and toss them out the car window. I had one guy who would take me up to Lake George in upstate NY with his plane. He would make me get undressed in the airplane then buckle myself into the other front seat. I was told to play with myself. We would fly over some mountain and forest and throw my clothes out his door. He would make me sit on his lap after he took his pants off.
The train sets were very elaborate and beautiful. You could run two separate trains with each one of us having control of one of the trains. When finished he would raise the whole thing to the ceiling. Cool.
I had one guy take me up to his cabin and after we took his stuff in he threw a rope over a branch of a tree near the lake. He tied my hands above my head and pulled me up till I was on my toes. He went into the cabin, and I was yelling where he was going. He came back out with a jar of honey and smeared it on my stomach and all over my junk and between my legs and all over my ass. I had no idea what he was doing. He took a few donuts and put them at my feet. He told me that bears love honey and donuts. He went inside his cabin, and I was crying and pleading with him to take me down and into the cabin. He left me out there for hours. Finally, he came out and let me down and told me to go into the lake and wash myself off. Get all the honey off, even between your legs. As he walked back into the cabin, he yelled over to me that bears are great swimmers, so you better get the honey off you and come inside. Cold water doesn't really wash off honey. I must have been out there for hours trying to get the honey off me. When he let me back into the cabin, he told me to take a hot shower because I was sticky.
I was about 11 years old
did you ever go out with that guy before? He really was rough with you. He probably didn't care how you felt. If he could break your arm then he couldn't give a shit about you
That was a mistake to tell any of these guys if you were alone with him. You save things like that for a busy street corner. You're lucky he didn't kick the shit out of you after he broke your arm. I don't think that I ever told anyone that if the guy doesn't stop what he's doing I'll tell.
damn man - that just so reminds me of what was done, by his big ass dog. I was seated in a lawn chair, he held my arms behind my back and poured maple syrup in my lap and made his dog lick it of - torture plain and simple. I was crying and begging for him to make it stop but he just laughed at me. I peed all over myself I was so scared... that would be about 11 years old.
I never "went out" with him. Chris started abusing me when I was 9 years old until I was 13, just before my 14th birthday. He was 19 when he broke my arm.
Yeah, hindsight... he'd beaten me up many times before. Simply put - he didn't make threats, he just did what he wanted and when he wanted. What i wanted or didn't want wasn't part of it - For him I was just a couple of holes to be played with, filled, or fucked.
Wow, I can imagine how you felt and reacted. That's some sick shit. I hope you weren't naked.
do you have any idea why he stopped? You weren't 11 years old anymore, was he scared of you at this point? You were only going to be 14 he could still keep you under his thumb for a couple of more years. Did breaking your arm make him quit?
He seems to be a very violent person. more than I thought. He really didn't give a shit what he did to you in order for him to get turned on using you however he wanted.
I think that for me the ages of 10 to 12 were when anyone would have been able to take total advantage of me.
They were very sensitive and very helpful in my experience.