help.............
michaelb,
I'm another man who at five years old knew the way and pleasure of oral sex. From memory. This is a fact. Exactly WHO introduced me to sex is not 100% certain in my mind. I always beleived I knew, I was certain I knew without a doubt, from very soon after the fact. I remember this man, his face, his strength, his smell. I remember running to him and being thrilled to be in his arms.
I always beleived it was him. But time passed, and I learned things which made me doubt it was him.
When I was about 22, I walked into a room that I had not been in since I was 2 years old. There was a painting on the wall, done on black velvet, no less, which brought a flashback. Not a violent flashback, but real. I felt emotions and body feelings which were exciting and terrifying at the same time. For a moment I could see the painting as if I were lying down under it, on a bed, and it was so far, far away it was a dream place, and I was experiencing sensations which were overwhemling and so deliciously pleasant and joyful I could never ever express them.
And then I remembered the man who had slept in that room, and I realized how much he looked like the man who I always thought the one.
And I doubted. And as time went on, I began to doubt that anything had ever happened to me. I started to beleive that I had invented this to explain or justify the sexual feelings I always had about other males.
I was so out of whack, I never tried to explain or justify the sexual feelings I always had about females.
In college, I finally had the chance to explore these fellings - all of them, but I could not. Sex was still forbidden, absolutely and unequivocally.
So back to the drawing board. What is wrong with me ??????
What to make of the early, early knowledge of sex? Or, of the body memories and dreams of sex that I had when I was 4, and 5, and 6, and 7, and 8, and....? How do you explain how a four year old tells his parents "I know what you're doing in there". Explain a child who is constantly playing Doctor with any other child he comes in contact with.
Well, I was 5 years old in late 1957. In those days, this kind of behavior wasn't treated, it was repressed. More and more harshly, and destructively as time went on.
You see Roy, you questioned why a person would "find sex very disgusting". Consider what I have just said. My parents (mostly my Mom) did what they thought was best to protect me from the perceived stigma and damaging effects of being a child who needed treatment.
I have no doubt that they were also afraid of what would be thought of them; what they had done to me. I know this is so because I have heard this from their own mouths. I have heard the story of the school psychologist, when I was in kindergarten who suggested to my parents that therapy was needed, not only for me, but for them as well.
This story was told at family gatherings, and I would get furious and humiliated, but I had to stand there and listen, and not pout, and laugh at my expense. The thing is I would have laughed if they had told the whole truth, but always, always, parts were left out. The sexual behavior was never mentioned. The agony and misery of that 5 year old was never mentioned.
I am also very afraid that they might have kept silent to protect another family member. (I will explain that just a bit further on.)
So the silence was kept, but there was a cost, a heavy price I had to pay. That price was my sexuality; a natural, more normal development of this essential part of my humanity; My Birthright.
They made me believe sex was dirty and wrong, and just unthinkable for me. I believed that for 40 years. 40 years.
Was I abused? Yes. Was it the man I think? Maybe. Does it matter? No. Think of it this way. A bank is robbed. There are 20 people in the bank who are forced to the floor almost immediately. There will be 20 descriptions of what happened, of the robbers. Can they all right? Can they all be wrong? Doesn't matter. The fact is, a crime was committed
And so it is with me. A crime was perpetrated upon me. I don't know anymore who it was.
When I talked with my mother and told her what I remembered, the first words out of her mouth were, "Who did that? Your brother, P.?"
Imagine that reaction. I was stunned and another doubt was planted. I said no, and she then said, "Uncle B.?" Again the answer was no. After that I could not tell her who. She did not ask me, other than to ask if it was those two.
Later in our conversation, she related a story about when I was two years old. She went to the hospital to give birth to my brother and I was left with a neighbor. I then proceeded to cry and scream for 5 hours until this woman's husband came home. I ran to him, and stopped crying and he put me to sleep.
More doubts. Was it him? A new clue. Maybe I was a gay two year old, who could only be comforted by a man if Mom wasn't available?
Maybe I just didn't like her perfume.
Look michael, I'll be 50 years old in two weeks. I haven't had a sex partner since 1986 - LAST CENTURY. And when I did have partners, it was always under some influence, and hit and run, one hour or much much less events. And always, always, a greater or lesser re-enactment of painful, abusive emotions and scenarios.
But, today, at work, I asked out a woman I was madly in love with 20 years ago, but could never even kiss. I was momentarily crushed to learn that there is a "he" in her life now. To think, there wasn't just 3 months ago, but I was not ready.
But let me tell you this. I see a picture of Jennifer Aniston and Brad Pitt, and I think, "I wouldn't say no to either one of them".
The thing is, I would only ask her. But if he did ask (as IF), I'd go. And so what? If no one is being harmed and two human beings can give each other pleasure and joy, what can possibly be wrong with that? And don't forget, as our friend abcd, said, "life is so preciously short. We have to enjoy it while we are in it."
Michael, you will figure YOU out. The past will become history; biographical details. It is not the whole story, and it really doesn't control anything.
I saw this in a movie the other day. I know I don't have the words exactly right, but here goes:
Donald
I'm another man who at five years old knew the way and pleasure of oral sex. From memory. This is a fact. Exactly WHO introduced me to sex is not 100% certain in my mind. I always beleived I knew, I was certain I knew without a doubt, from very soon after the fact. I remember this man, his face, his strength, his smell. I remember running to him and being thrilled to be in his arms.
I always beleived it was him. But time passed, and I learned things which made me doubt it was him.
When I was about 22, I walked into a room that I had not been in since I was 2 years old. There was a painting on the wall, done on black velvet, no less, which brought a flashback. Not a violent flashback, but real. I felt emotions and body feelings which were exciting and terrifying at the same time. For a moment I could see the painting as if I were lying down under it, on a bed, and it was so far, far away it was a dream place, and I was experiencing sensations which were overwhemling and so deliciously pleasant and joyful I could never ever express them.
And then I remembered the man who had slept in that room, and I realized how much he looked like the man who I always thought the one.
And I doubted. And as time went on, I began to doubt that anything had ever happened to me. I started to beleive that I had invented this to explain or justify the sexual feelings I always had about other males.
I was so out of whack, I never tried to explain or justify the sexual feelings I always had about females.
In college, I finally had the chance to explore these fellings - all of them, but I could not. Sex was still forbidden, absolutely and unequivocally.
So back to the drawing board. What is wrong with me ??????
What to make of the early, early knowledge of sex? Or, of the body memories and dreams of sex that I had when I was 4, and 5, and 6, and 7, and 8, and....? How do you explain how a four year old tells his parents "I know what you're doing in there". Explain a child who is constantly playing Doctor with any other child he comes in contact with.
Well, I was 5 years old in late 1957. In those days, this kind of behavior wasn't treated, it was repressed. More and more harshly, and destructively as time went on.
You see Roy, you questioned why a person would "find sex very disgusting". Consider what I have just said. My parents (mostly my Mom) did what they thought was best to protect me from the perceived stigma and damaging effects of being a child who needed treatment.
I have no doubt that they were also afraid of what would be thought of them; what they had done to me. I know this is so because I have heard this from their own mouths. I have heard the story of the school psychologist, when I was in kindergarten who suggested to my parents that therapy was needed, not only for me, but for them as well.
This story was told at family gatherings, and I would get furious and humiliated, but I had to stand there and listen, and not pout, and laugh at my expense. The thing is I would have laughed if they had told the whole truth, but always, always, parts were left out. The sexual behavior was never mentioned. The agony and misery of that 5 year old was never mentioned.
I am also very afraid that they might have kept silent to protect another family member. (I will explain that just a bit further on.)
So the silence was kept, but there was a cost, a heavy price I had to pay. That price was my sexuality; a natural, more normal development of this essential part of my humanity; My Birthright.
They made me believe sex was dirty and wrong, and just unthinkable for me. I believed that for 40 years. 40 years.
Was I abused? Yes. Was it the man I think? Maybe. Does it matter? No. Think of it this way. A bank is robbed. There are 20 people in the bank who are forced to the floor almost immediately. There will be 20 descriptions of what happened, of the robbers. Can they all right? Can they all be wrong? Doesn't matter. The fact is, a crime was committed
And so it is with me. A crime was perpetrated upon me. I don't know anymore who it was.
When I talked with my mother and told her what I remembered, the first words out of her mouth were, "Who did that? Your brother, P.?"
Imagine that reaction. I was stunned and another doubt was planted. I said no, and she then said, "Uncle B.?" Again the answer was no. After that I could not tell her who. She did not ask me, other than to ask if it was those two.
Later in our conversation, she related a story about when I was two years old. She went to the hospital to give birth to my brother and I was left with a neighbor. I then proceeded to cry and scream for 5 hours until this woman's husband came home. I ran to him, and stopped crying and he put me to sleep.
More doubts. Was it him? A new clue. Maybe I was a gay two year old, who could only be comforted by a man if Mom wasn't available?
Maybe I just didn't like her perfume.
Look michael, I'll be 50 years old in two weeks. I haven't had a sex partner since 1986 - LAST CENTURY. And when I did have partners, it was always under some influence, and hit and run, one hour or much much less events. And always, always, a greater or lesser re-enactment of painful, abusive emotions and scenarios.
But, today, at work, I asked out a woman I was madly in love with 20 years ago, but could never even kiss. I was momentarily crushed to learn that there is a "he" in her life now. To think, there wasn't just 3 months ago, but I was not ready.
But let me tell you this. I see a picture of Jennifer Aniston and Brad Pitt, and I think, "I wouldn't say no to either one of them".
The thing is, I would only ask her. But if he did ask (as IF), I'd go. And so what? If no one is being harmed and two human beings can give each other pleasure and joy, what can possibly be wrong with that? And don't forget, as our friend abcd, said, "life is so preciously short. We have to enjoy it while we are in it."
Michael, you will figure YOU out. The past will become history; biographical details. It is not the whole story, and it really doesn't control anything.
I saw this in a movie the other day. I know I don't have the words exactly right, but here goes:
Stay in touch Michael, tell us how you're doing. I'm thinking about you, sending good vibrations out to you. Look for them.
Donald