How it started continued. Major Trigger Warning.
If anyone is triggered by graphic detail, please please scroll on by. Do not upset yourself.
I am not posting this for pity from anyone. I just need to get it out there. There are many people in this world that suffered far worse abuse than I ever did. My heart goes out to them. I am so sorry for the abuse all of you suffered. My hope is that some of you, that went through a non-violent abuse such as myself, can relate and perhaps know that they are not alone.
My story may not seem to focus much on healing, since these memories and flashbacks just recently started happening. I really have no benchmark for my healing process. My first flashback came to mind on August 9th 2024 at the age of seventy. If it wasn't for the loving kindness and support I receive daily from my beautiful wife of 47 years, I couldn't get through this. She has lived through all of my emotions with me. She has held my hand through it all. She has cried for me when I couldn't. I am truly blessed to have such a soul mate. I am a new member of this group. I have never seen a therapist.
I was sexually abused by the same man for almost 14 years of my childhood. He was 42 years old when the abuse started, I was 5 as far back as I can remember. I was nearly 19 years old the last time he and I were together. I shared some of the beginning earlier and this part will be a summary of it all.
My typical day with him at the cottage was like this, wake up about 3:30 am to go fishing, get to the pier (which was closed til 4:30am) and give him a blowjob in the pier parking lot, to get my breakfast. I was so little I could lie down on the front seat of his station wagon, so no-one could see what was going on. I've seen some beautiful sunrises over the Atlantic on mornings like this. Return from fishing about 7am and head to the shower under the cottage, we called it the box. I remember being lathered up and sitting on his lap, being stuffed to the max. I remember that some soaps burned like hell. With the shower now over, we would head upstairs for a proper breakfast with the rest of the family. Rest, perhaps play like a child until noon. Lunchtime and immediately afterwards would be a 1 1/2-to-2-hour nap time for everyone.
I have a theory about that I'll share later. This freed up our playtime cause everyone else was sound asleep. Deepthroat him til he was rock solid hard, a little Vaseline and away we would go. He would fuck me in every position you can think of. I vividly remember whispering in his ear to fuck me harder. Slam it in there I would say. I loved it. Pain and pleasure at the same time. I have absolutely no idea how best to "heal" from those memories. It happened, I re-lived it, so now I move on.
Then off to fish some more for the afternoon with an occasional blow job from me while sitting on a sand dune watching out over the Atlantic. Return from fishing and head to the box for a much need shower to wash off the sand and salt spray from the ocean. Another round in the butt or many times another blow job while in the shower. Dinner, a little card playing and then everyone went to bed early about 7pm. That's when the real fun began. A 4-5 hour long session of sucking, being fucked, rest for a few minutes or so and do it again. I'm serious he had stamina like he wasn't human. After being fucked and having his load inside me, I would have to squeeze my butt tight as I could and hold my hand over it, like a cup, while I snuck quietly into the bathroom, to sit on the toilet. Sitting there in the dark, cum squirting out my ass thinking to myself, wow we are going to have some more fun tonight, since this was only time number 2 or 3 and 5 or 6 times of being fucked was the normal night, every night, for weeks on end sometimes for the entire summer vacation from school.
Wow, vivid flashback just happened while typing this last part. I remembered smiling at him as I returned from the bathroom, gleefully jumping up in his bed and begging for another go-round of play. He would look at his watch and say "just a few more minutes of rest time and I'm going to fuck you so hard", all the while he was smiling. I was delighted to hear that break time was almost over and we can get back to playing. I really was his toy, his little animated fuck toy robot. I think he took some kind of drugs to be able to get it back up so quickly. It seems there was an 18 - 20 minute break for rest time, before he would be able to do it again and he always looked at his watch, so he knew it was time to start again.
I would do anything I thought or knew he liked. He was especially fond of me licking his parts and pieces while he was resting, as I tried my best to tease him into getting hard so we could start playing, and stop wasting time. After all, we only had all night. I remember lying in bed on my stomach as he would grind away, looking out the window perhaps on a moonlit night, feeling the cool ocean breeze and loving all the sensations I was feeling. He could be so gentle but sometimes he would rough it up a bit, step the pounding up a few notches, for his own desire, even if I begged him to stop. He would just whisper "you have to be quiet". Those 5 words I heard hundreds of times, whispered words in an otherwise silent night, except for the occasional whip-o-will calling or the relentless sound of the waves crashing on the shore. He would stop only when he was satisfied.
I was a trained little cock sucking, butt fucking machine at his beck and call. If he didn't initiate another round, I would. I so desperately needed to feel either my throat or my tight little butt being stuffed for my pleasure as well as his. Once again, I have no idea how to heal from that. I just know that I quit when I was almost 19 and forgot about it until recently.
This went on for almost 14 years. Some have said I didn't really enjoy it or I got nothing from it. That is not true, and I call bullshit. I loved it. Yes, I loved it and I can finally admit that to myself now all these years later. The 5-year-old me may not have loved it at first but the 8-year-old through 18-year-old me surely did.
Sometimes we were at the cottage for the entire summer and the above is just one typical day. That doesn't include being at home or riding in the car or staying over at his house or whenever or where ever. It never stopped until I gave him that last breakfast blow job at 18. Never could figure out why he stopped with me. Just realized a few days ago that my sister's son turned 5 that year, so I guess he found a new toy. I am saddened to think my nephew may have had to endure what I did, especially if he didn't enjoy it. I hope he was spared the abuse, if not my hope is that my cousin was as gentle with him as he was with me most of the time. If only I had told someone when it was happening to me, perhaps the cycle could have been broken. In all honesty though I feel that no one would have believed me. He was just too well respected in our family and the small town we lived in.
Have I fantasized about our times together? Haven't had a chance to really. All these memories just started flooding back just a few weeks ago. It's all so real. I allowed myself to re-live one, without trying to stop it, for 30 minutes last night after turning out the lights. I sucked him, keep in mind I initiated it this time, I threw off the sheets covering us and sucked him until he exploded in my mouth. I recalled swallowing 5 huge mouthfuls. Swallowed every single drop. I was so proud, so addicted, groomed, trained that I loved every moment of it. Funny thing is, he never even touched me that time. For relief I had to jerk off myself onto my own stomach, which I was immediately made to wipe it off with my fingers and swallow it as well. I was about 11 at that time. Yes, it may be said I was perverted in the eyes of some. To me it was sex, the only sex I knew, raw sex, no love, just sex and I loved it then. Since joining this group, I had a dear friend suggest he just "sighs" when he has memories such as these. So now I just "sigh" it's working fabulously for me now. The peace that washes over me when I allow them to be re-lived and just sigh. That's healing.
I desperately want these memories to stop flooding in, I think... but honestly don't know how to stop them or truthfully if I want them to stop. I'm so confused, re-living being face fucked and butt fucked because most of it was so damn enjoyable. I guess it's from knowing what I went through as well as my openness of admitting I enjoyed it, pain and all. My openness of admitting I enjoyed it is healing to me, for the first time in my life. I don't expect to ever be able to say, I'm over the abuse, forget it and move on. I do expect that I will be a survivor forever though.
Nap time theory. He was a 42-year old son of a pharmacist in our local town. Actually, the only pharmacist we had for years. Sometimes I guess he helped his dad at the pharmacy. I believe he concocted some drugs to add to drinks causing people to become sleepy and take a nap. At home my dad never took a nap, not ever, only at the cottage. My two aunts always did. I actually think my entire family was fucking clueless to our sex, he was just such a charmer to them. Everyone looked up to him. I know I looked up, as I was on my knees sucking him. He loved it and would always smile when I made eye contact with him while he was in my mouth. He never gave me anything to make me sleep, he needed me wide awake for his pleasure. At the time I was 5, my dad was in his mid-fifties and his two sisters, my aunts, were in their mid to late sixties. That's the extent of the family that was there. Three older people and him and I. At lunch time my abuser would always be the one to fix everyone's drink. Sweet iced tea was the predominate drink of choice. He always said he would do it because the ice trays were so hard to crack. So, I think he worked out the timing of the drugs, so he knew he had 1 1/2 to 2 hours of no interruption from them, to be with me. Seems so logical now.
A little background of myself. My Mom was diagnosed with uterine cancer shortly after I was born. She suffered greatly with the cobalt radiation treatments and hospital stays. I was farmed out to stay at his house numerous times as a young child while Dad would be with her in the hospital. Sadly, she passed when I was 9. That was the most trauma, for me big time. Something I really never got over, the devastation of losing my Mom. Thanks to my wife, we just found out that he also lost his biological Mom when he was about 4 years old. I stayed in his trophy room/spare bedroom across the hall from his bedroom upstairs, both doorways faced each other. I was trained to sneak quietly across the hall at night whenever he would motion for me to do so. I was so little I could stand on the floor and suck him while he laid in bed, without bending over. I did this for him hundreds of times. I know I was 5 but I think younger but can't remember any further back so far. I know I was 5 because I had a friend that lived down the railroad tracks from my house and that's when I showed him how we could suck each other's tiny little parts and pieces. My friend moved to the other side of our farm when we turned 6. I almost fell into the trap of sharing my new found knowledge with others. Was I being trained to be the next generation of cocksuckers and child groomers? Now, I think I was. Thankfully I didn't molest any other friends. Realizing I didn't ruin some other child's life is at least a part of my healing.
I was addicted to sucking cock for many years. I so loved that head of his causing my larynx to slightly make a popping sound as it slid by. I was actually excited when he would ejaculate directly in my throat, we both worked and trained so hard on the timing of it. I could hold my breath long enough for it all to shoot down my throat without me gagging. I became a master of it by 8 years old, in my opinion as well as his. Proud of myself so much for being able to do it. Admitting to myself now, remembering back to how proud I was is mind boggling. Let's face it, I should have been proud of hitting a home run for the team and winning the game, but instead this is what I was trained to be proud of. I just remember I adored the praises I received for a job well done. The small token gifts such a new fishing rod or a new reel or a yearlong pass to the pier was my compensation.
I have a theory about those massive loads as well. I think he had access to some drugs, keep in mind this was the 50's and 60's, that not only gave him the stamina but also made him ejaculate an excessive amount. Supposedly the average guy shoots 1/2 - 1 teaspoon any given time. He shot at least 4 tablespoons full or more. I remember it being much more myself but I used the 4 tablespoons to work out how much I have swallowed in my life. I did the math, I have swallowed an estimated 150 gallons in my life. Yes, that's right gallons perhaps even more. Can't tell me I didn't love it. 50 years later, I can still taste it right now. If I am going to be honest here, I have to admit something to you, I loved every single drop of it thinking back now, even my own. How do you heal from something like that? I have no clue but honesty prevails in this situation, I can't deny what happened, the math doesn't lie so why should I?
His member was a wedge-shaped. Kinda smaller head that just tapered to an ever widening at the base. At least 10 inches long that I grew to love so much. Looking back now I guess his base was about the size of a pop can. I know it stretched me sometimes with almost unbearable pain when I sat on him or when he was slamming me, as I often begged him to. I'm pretty sure he was fucking me probably around 6 or so. I do know I could easily take all of it in my ass when I was 8 years old and vividly remember begging for him to thrust harder and deeper. Sore ass for sure after 6 or 8 times in a day but I never let that stand in the way, I just remember bearing with the pain cause the pleasure I got, far outweighed a little pain. A little Vaseline was used at first but once I got addicted to it, most often no lube was required. Yep, that's a part of my healing there, admitting that I was addicted to it and loved it then.
It's probably for the best that I don't have a therapist. They would think I'm just a crazy old man. I don't think you can ever begin to explain what having your young butt stretched almost to the breaking point by a big fat cock feels like, to someone that has never experienced it. Like I said the memories, flashbacks have just been pouring out over the last couple of weeks. So much information to try to wrap my head around. Someone recently asked if I see a therapist? We don't even have one in our hometown, so I would have to drive 60 miles to the nearest city to even find one. Rural South Dakota, where I currently live, is famous for having pretty much nothing near you.
My little 2-inch toy, at that time, was nothing in comparison to his. I couldn't even get my fingers all the way around his once I reached his mid length but boy it didn't stop me from trying. Once I grew, he spent countless hours sucking mine but funny thing is he never grasped the concept of how to do it as well as I could suck. The master had trained me to be better than the master. I still have no gag reflex at all to this day. I remember something else; he did not like to do a 69. In my healing process now, I suppose he liked to give or receive but not simultaneously.
The number of times I ached for him to least touch mine while he was fucking me or while I was sucking him, but most often he never did. In time, as I grew but was still childishly flexible, I remember he loved to slowly fuck me, with me on my back, and bend me over so far, he had me lick the end of my own little toy. He would stretch it out towards my mouth and push me into an ever-tightening ball until I could lick it. No wonder my aunts were always rubbing my back and neck. I had to tell them I must have strained it while fishing. Yeah, I was fishing alright, fishing for those droplets. Damn it hurt so fucking bad but was so exciting at the same time. Him jerking me off, so I would shoot my own load directly into my mouth. He would look me right in the eye as I did it and smile. Soon afterwards I could feel him erupt in me. Kinda wish I was still that flexible today but the years of back abuse in construction have taken their toll on me.
You know what's funny, I had suppressed those memories for over 50 years and I don't even know why. He was never violent with me although he would throw a damn fit if I let some of his cum get on the sheets. In my short venture of healing thus far I have come to the realization of one thing, that fucker smiled a lot, I wonder why?
I was a trained little cock sucking, butt fucking machine at his beck and call. If he didn't initiate another round, I would. I so desperately needed to feel either my throat or my tight little butt being stuffed. Once again, I have no idea how to heal from that. I just know that I quit when I was almost 19 and forgot about it until recently. I don't even know what triggered the flashbacks to begin.
Why on earth did I suppress all those times for so long? Hell, I feel now such a great relief from just re-living them. Just to re-live those moments and "sigh" I guess that's healing. That took great effort and willingness for me to endure and yes for me to enjoy at the time. Is it so wrong to remember those times? Should I abandon them to just somewhere in time and space? Throw them out, as if they were the garbage or hold them dear knowing they defined me for who I am today. Asking myself these questions now is somewhat of a confusion to me. I realize that my healing is far from over, perhaps will never occur. I don't think of myself as a bad person for... I just don't know so many things, after all I'm only 5 or am I.
I am so confused by all of this, especially the feelings I have now at this moment. Here is another recent memory. He loved for me to crawl on top of him, facing him, and for me to reach around to stick it in. All the while making eye contact as I slowly sat completely down on it. Then I would slowly rock back and forth, just back and forth slowly doing it to myself. I can feel things being pushed around inside me. He would never thrust while I did this. He just lay there and smiled, loving every moment of me being "forced" to fuck myself. I hated every minute of it, yeah right, I loved knowing it pleased him so much. Boy was I well trained.
He chose me because I was the youngest. My older brother was in college when all of this started. My older sister got married right before my Mom died so I was the only "child" in the immediate family. He was single, never even dated a woman to my knowledge in his entire life. Never knew him to even have any male close friends. He lived with his step Mom and Dad until his Dad passed away, then it was just him and his step Mom, my aunt. He was a real estate appraiser as a profession, so he took much of his work with him to the cottage. Every now and then he would drive back home to attend to his business but always returned to the cottage that evening. The Outer Banks was only a 2-hour drive from home.
Prior to starting this with me, he had been a district Scout counselor for our regional Scout association. That's where I think he practiced and learned so much of how to teach me things. He left Scouting when they asked him to move to DC to become a national Scout counsel leader, or so the family was led to believe. Who knows. With the history of abuse that came to light with Scouting, it's very possible he stepped down to avoid persecution.
He always wanted to kiss me and tried many times but he smoked a pipe and cigars. I just couldn't get into it. Oh, he took great pride in me when I was able to get that big thing of his all the way down my throat. He would constantly give me advice on what to do and how. He has always gentle and never forceful with it. Just like my butt training, it was slow and a little at a time. Rest for a moment allowing me to relax, stretch some more and then continue. I think he fucked me with just a small portion of his junk for quite some time before I could take it all. Just like deepthroating, it took many many training sessions before I could get it to go past the back of my mouth and into my throat. I have been face fucked with me on my back, head leaning over the edge of the bed, numerous times with spit and snot and cum running out of my nose while learning to take it all the way, Those times he would put a towel on the floor to absorb the mess I made. That in itself is a weird sensation, cum running out of your nose while your head is upside down basically. Training to deepthroat was a long thing to learn. Overcoming that fucking gag reflex took some time but as per his advice, once I learned to stick my small hand in my mouth and gently rub the back of my throat it became easier and easier to do. He could just slide it in. In my healing journey, is this something I should try to forget about? I no longer do it, admit I have done it but what's next? I'm so confused about what's next. Once you remember something it's so hard to forget again. Those memories just seem to playout over and over in my head constantly. I feel as if I am being consumed and wonder if I am being tugged back into that lifestyle. That's not going to happen, trust me.
Yeah, he constantly whispered words of encouragement and advice while I was sucking him or when he was fucking me. He was very gentle until I begged him to be rougher and slam it in harder and deeper. I loved the mixture of pain and pleasure it seems. My favorite position was always missionary and sometimes I hooked my feet over his back as I got older. He really loved for me to put my legs on his shoulders. His favorite position was me lying on my stomach, legs together and him behind me. He would get it in me, lie down on top of me and slam it home. That position seemed to allow one of the deepest penetrations somehow. Doggy fashion was always a favorite to me as well, something about him grabbing my tiny hips, pulling me backwards towards him as he thrust forward, slamming it in over and over. Actually, I guess I learned to love all of the positions. I loved leaning against the wall of the shower (the box) while we were both standing and having him fuck me from behind. It's funny but no one came downstairs to see why the showers were taking so long. If Dad would have just come down, he could have easily seen our feet and legs since the (box) had sides that were up off the ground a bit. If Dad would only have taken the time to check up on me, he would have seen me on my knees between his legs, he would have known what was going on, but alas my abuser was a saint in everyone's eyes. He was trusted to be my everything.
He had access to me anytime he wanted, whether it was when I was at my home, his home or the cottage. Hell, even a short trip to the grocery store allowed me to suck him really quick and get a load. Boy, I now realize I was so trained and I must have really loved that cock. That's it. I realize I loved it and I can say it out loud to the world without fear and shame. I'm healing, in my own eyes and I feel good about that. I feel fine now knowing that I can say I was a good little cocksucker, not by choice but by coercion from a devious perverted adult.
I was so proud of myself for being able to take it all no matter which end was being used by him. So proud that I could give him so much pleasure that he would ejaculate. I guess I just wanted to make him cum not for himself but for me. I so desperately wanted to be special to someone. I wanted to be the center of someone's attention. I wanted him to praise me for it. I wanted him to be happy with the pleasure I was so willing to give him. I never turned down any request he had, never whined at trying something new. I knew he was going to offer things I would find to be exciting and so damned pleasurable too. He never let me down on that. It grew to where I didn't even have to be touched at all, I would literally explode as he rammed into me, whether up my ass or down my throat, it was so pleasurable to me I just couldn't hold off.
All of my life I knew we had done "things" together but I always thought of myself as being a child when they took place. Recently, seeing a scrapbook from many years ago, I realized I was nearly 19 years old and still seeking sex with him. Yeah, I was almost 19 and by then he was 61. I screamed out in anger at him, screamed out at myself, at the world but mainly myself though, I couldn't have been that old. Not 19, not an adult myself, this can't be real, I was a child when this happened. Sadly, time stamped photos from the 50's, 60's, and 70's don't lie, just like the math.
Almost 14 years of my childhood was stolen from me for his own sexual pleasure. What a shame we live in such a perverted world. So much tormenting perversion that an adult has to treat an innocent child this way. Looking back now, 65 years have passed since it all began, I guess I was trained to not be so innocent, after all I'm only 5.
Many thanks guys for taking the time out of your lives to read my story about my abuse. I just hope and pray someone can relate to this, someone can begin their own journey of healing, someone can find the peace that I am now experiencing with sharing my life with you all. We are Survivors and damn proud of it, Avalon
I am not posting this for pity from anyone. I just need to get it out there. There are many people in this world that suffered far worse abuse than I ever did. My heart goes out to them. I am so sorry for the abuse all of you suffered. My hope is that some of you, that went through a non-violent abuse such as myself, can relate and perhaps know that they are not alone.
My story may not seem to focus much on healing, since these memories and flashbacks just recently started happening. I really have no benchmark for my healing process. My first flashback came to mind on August 9th 2024 at the age of seventy. If it wasn't for the loving kindness and support I receive daily from my beautiful wife of 47 years, I couldn't get through this. She has lived through all of my emotions with me. She has held my hand through it all. She has cried for me when I couldn't. I am truly blessed to have such a soul mate. I am a new member of this group. I have never seen a therapist.
I was sexually abused by the same man for almost 14 years of my childhood. He was 42 years old when the abuse started, I was 5 as far back as I can remember. I was nearly 19 years old the last time he and I were together. I shared some of the beginning earlier and this part will be a summary of it all.
My typical day with him at the cottage was like this, wake up about 3:30 am to go fishing, get to the pier (which was closed til 4:30am) and give him a blowjob in the pier parking lot, to get my breakfast. I was so little I could lie down on the front seat of his station wagon, so no-one could see what was going on. I've seen some beautiful sunrises over the Atlantic on mornings like this. Return from fishing about 7am and head to the shower under the cottage, we called it the box. I remember being lathered up and sitting on his lap, being stuffed to the max. I remember that some soaps burned like hell. With the shower now over, we would head upstairs for a proper breakfast with the rest of the family. Rest, perhaps play like a child until noon. Lunchtime and immediately afterwards would be a 1 1/2-to-2-hour nap time for everyone.
I have a theory about that I'll share later. This freed up our playtime cause everyone else was sound asleep. Deepthroat him til he was rock solid hard, a little Vaseline and away we would go. He would fuck me in every position you can think of. I vividly remember whispering in his ear to fuck me harder. Slam it in there I would say. I loved it. Pain and pleasure at the same time. I have absolutely no idea how best to "heal" from those memories. It happened, I re-lived it, so now I move on.
Then off to fish some more for the afternoon with an occasional blow job from me while sitting on a sand dune watching out over the Atlantic. Return from fishing and head to the box for a much need shower to wash off the sand and salt spray from the ocean. Another round in the butt or many times another blow job while in the shower. Dinner, a little card playing and then everyone went to bed early about 7pm. That's when the real fun began. A 4-5 hour long session of sucking, being fucked, rest for a few minutes or so and do it again. I'm serious he had stamina like he wasn't human. After being fucked and having his load inside me, I would have to squeeze my butt tight as I could and hold my hand over it, like a cup, while I snuck quietly into the bathroom, to sit on the toilet. Sitting there in the dark, cum squirting out my ass thinking to myself, wow we are going to have some more fun tonight, since this was only time number 2 or 3 and 5 or 6 times of being fucked was the normal night, every night, for weeks on end sometimes for the entire summer vacation from school.
Wow, vivid flashback just happened while typing this last part. I remembered smiling at him as I returned from the bathroom, gleefully jumping up in his bed and begging for another go-round of play. He would look at his watch and say "just a few more minutes of rest time and I'm going to fuck you so hard", all the while he was smiling. I was delighted to hear that break time was almost over and we can get back to playing. I really was his toy, his little animated fuck toy robot. I think he took some kind of drugs to be able to get it back up so quickly. It seems there was an 18 - 20 minute break for rest time, before he would be able to do it again and he always looked at his watch, so he knew it was time to start again.
I would do anything I thought or knew he liked. He was especially fond of me licking his parts and pieces while he was resting, as I tried my best to tease him into getting hard so we could start playing, and stop wasting time. After all, we only had all night. I remember lying in bed on my stomach as he would grind away, looking out the window perhaps on a moonlit night, feeling the cool ocean breeze and loving all the sensations I was feeling. He could be so gentle but sometimes he would rough it up a bit, step the pounding up a few notches, for his own desire, even if I begged him to stop. He would just whisper "you have to be quiet". Those 5 words I heard hundreds of times, whispered words in an otherwise silent night, except for the occasional whip-o-will calling or the relentless sound of the waves crashing on the shore. He would stop only when he was satisfied.
I was a trained little cock sucking, butt fucking machine at his beck and call. If he didn't initiate another round, I would. I so desperately needed to feel either my throat or my tight little butt being stuffed for my pleasure as well as his. Once again, I have no idea how to heal from that. I just know that I quit when I was almost 19 and forgot about it until recently.
This went on for almost 14 years. Some have said I didn't really enjoy it or I got nothing from it. That is not true, and I call bullshit. I loved it. Yes, I loved it and I can finally admit that to myself now all these years later. The 5-year-old me may not have loved it at first but the 8-year-old through 18-year-old me surely did.
Sometimes we were at the cottage for the entire summer and the above is just one typical day. That doesn't include being at home or riding in the car or staying over at his house or whenever or where ever. It never stopped until I gave him that last breakfast blow job at 18. Never could figure out why he stopped with me. Just realized a few days ago that my sister's son turned 5 that year, so I guess he found a new toy. I am saddened to think my nephew may have had to endure what I did, especially if he didn't enjoy it. I hope he was spared the abuse, if not my hope is that my cousin was as gentle with him as he was with me most of the time. If only I had told someone when it was happening to me, perhaps the cycle could have been broken. In all honesty though I feel that no one would have believed me. He was just too well respected in our family and the small town we lived in.
Have I fantasized about our times together? Haven't had a chance to really. All these memories just started flooding back just a few weeks ago. It's all so real. I allowed myself to re-live one, without trying to stop it, for 30 minutes last night after turning out the lights. I sucked him, keep in mind I initiated it this time, I threw off the sheets covering us and sucked him until he exploded in my mouth. I recalled swallowing 5 huge mouthfuls. Swallowed every single drop. I was so proud, so addicted, groomed, trained that I loved every moment of it. Funny thing is, he never even touched me that time. For relief I had to jerk off myself onto my own stomach, which I was immediately made to wipe it off with my fingers and swallow it as well. I was about 11 at that time. Yes, it may be said I was perverted in the eyes of some. To me it was sex, the only sex I knew, raw sex, no love, just sex and I loved it then. Since joining this group, I had a dear friend suggest he just "sighs" when he has memories such as these. So now I just "sigh" it's working fabulously for me now. The peace that washes over me when I allow them to be re-lived and just sigh. That's healing.
I desperately want these memories to stop flooding in, I think... but honestly don't know how to stop them or truthfully if I want them to stop. I'm so confused, re-living being face fucked and butt fucked because most of it was so damn enjoyable. I guess it's from knowing what I went through as well as my openness of admitting I enjoyed it, pain and all. My openness of admitting I enjoyed it is healing to me, for the first time in my life. I don't expect to ever be able to say, I'm over the abuse, forget it and move on. I do expect that I will be a survivor forever though.
Nap time theory. He was a 42-year old son of a pharmacist in our local town. Actually, the only pharmacist we had for years. Sometimes I guess he helped his dad at the pharmacy. I believe he concocted some drugs to add to drinks causing people to become sleepy and take a nap. At home my dad never took a nap, not ever, only at the cottage. My two aunts always did. I actually think my entire family was fucking clueless to our sex, he was just such a charmer to them. Everyone looked up to him. I know I looked up, as I was on my knees sucking him. He loved it and would always smile when I made eye contact with him while he was in my mouth. He never gave me anything to make me sleep, he needed me wide awake for his pleasure. At the time I was 5, my dad was in his mid-fifties and his two sisters, my aunts, were in their mid to late sixties. That's the extent of the family that was there. Three older people and him and I. At lunch time my abuser would always be the one to fix everyone's drink. Sweet iced tea was the predominate drink of choice. He always said he would do it because the ice trays were so hard to crack. So, I think he worked out the timing of the drugs, so he knew he had 1 1/2 to 2 hours of no interruption from them, to be with me. Seems so logical now.
A little background of myself. My Mom was diagnosed with uterine cancer shortly after I was born. She suffered greatly with the cobalt radiation treatments and hospital stays. I was farmed out to stay at his house numerous times as a young child while Dad would be with her in the hospital. Sadly, she passed when I was 9. That was the most trauma, for me big time. Something I really never got over, the devastation of losing my Mom. Thanks to my wife, we just found out that he also lost his biological Mom when he was about 4 years old. I stayed in his trophy room/spare bedroom across the hall from his bedroom upstairs, both doorways faced each other. I was trained to sneak quietly across the hall at night whenever he would motion for me to do so. I was so little I could stand on the floor and suck him while he laid in bed, without bending over. I did this for him hundreds of times. I know I was 5 but I think younger but can't remember any further back so far. I know I was 5 because I had a friend that lived down the railroad tracks from my house and that's when I showed him how we could suck each other's tiny little parts and pieces. My friend moved to the other side of our farm when we turned 6. I almost fell into the trap of sharing my new found knowledge with others. Was I being trained to be the next generation of cocksuckers and child groomers? Now, I think I was. Thankfully I didn't molest any other friends. Realizing I didn't ruin some other child's life is at least a part of my healing.
I was addicted to sucking cock for many years. I so loved that head of his causing my larynx to slightly make a popping sound as it slid by. I was actually excited when he would ejaculate directly in my throat, we both worked and trained so hard on the timing of it. I could hold my breath long enough for it all to shoot down my throat without me gagging. I became a master of it by 8 years old, in my opinion as well as his. Proud of myself so much for being able to do it. Admitting to myself now, remembering back to how proud I was is mind boggling. Let's face it, I should have been proud of hitting a home run for the team and winning the game, but instead this is what I was trained to be proud of. I just remember I adored the praises I received for a job well done. The small token gifts such a new fishing rod or a new reel or a yearlong pass to the pier was my compensation.
I have a theory about those massive loads as well. I think he had access to some drugs, keep in mind this was the 50's and 60's, that not only gave him the stamina but also made him ejaculate an excessive amount. Supposedly the average guy shoots 1/2 - 1 teaspoon any given time. He shot at least 4 tablespoons full or more. I remember it being much more myself but I used the 4 tablespoons to work out how much I have swallowed in my life. I did the math, I have swallowed an estimated 150 gallons in my life. Yes, that's right gallons perhaps even more. Can't tell me I didn't love it. 50 years later, I can still taste it right now. If I am going to be honest here, I have to admit something to you, I loved every single drop of it thinking back now, even my own. How do you heal from something like that? I have no clue but honesty prevails in this situation, I can't deny what happened, the math doesn't lie so why should I?
His member was a wedge-shaped. Kinda smaller head that just tapered to an ever widening at the base. At least 10 inches long that I grew to love so much. Looking back now I guess his base was about the size of a pop can. I know it stretched me sometimes with almost unbearable pain when I sat on him or when he was slamming me, as I often begged him to. I'm pretty sure he was fucking me probably around 6 or so. I do know I could easily take all of it in my ass when I was 8 years old and vividly remember begging for him to thrust harder and deeper. Sore ass for sure after 6 or 8 times in a day but I never let that stand in the way, I just remember bearing with the pain cause the pleasure I got, far outweighed a little pain. A little Vaseline was used at first but once I got addicted to it, most often no lube was required. Yep, that's a part of my healing there, admitting that I was addicted to it and loved it then.
It's probably for the best that I don't have a therapist. They would think I'm just a crazy old man. I don't think you can ever begin to explain what having your young butt stretched almost to the breaking point by a big fat cock feels like, to someone that has never experienced it. Like I said the memories, flashbacks have just been pouring out over the last couple of weeks. So much information to try to wrap my head around. Someone recently asked if I see a therapist? We don't even have one in our hometown, so I would have to drive 60 miles to the nearest city to even find one. Rural South Dakota, where I currently live, is famous for having pretty much nothing near you.
My little 2-inch toy, at that time, was nothing in comparison to his. I couldn't even get my fingers all the way around his once I reached his mid length but boy it didn't stop me from trying. Once I grew, he spent countless hours sucking mine but funny thing is he never grasped the concept of how to do it as well as I could suck. The master had trained me to be better than the master. I still have no gag reflex at all to this day. I remember something else; he did not like to do a 69. In my healing process now, I suppose he liked to give or receive but not simultaneously.
The number of times I ached for him to least touch mine while he was fucking me or while I was sucking him, but most often he never did. In time, as I grew but was still childishly flexible, I remember he loved to slowly fuck me, with me on my back, and bend me over so far, he had me lick the end of my own little toy. He would stretch it out towards my mouth and push me into an ever-tightening ball until I could lick it. No wonder my aunts were always rubbing my back and neck. I had to tell them I must have strained it while fishing. Yeah, I was fishing alright, fishing for those droplets. Damn it hurt so fucking bad but was so exciting at the same time. Him jerking me off, so I would shoot my own load directly into my mouth. He would look me right in the eye as I did it and smile. Soon afterwards I could feel him erupt in me. Kinda wish I was still that flexible today but the years of back abuse in construction have taken their toll on me.
You know what's funny, I had suppressed those memories for over 50 years and I don't even know why. He was never violent with me although he would throw a damn fit if I let some of his cum get on the sheets. In my short venture of healing thus far I have come to the realization of one thing, that fucker smiled a lot, I wonder why?
I was a trained little cock sucking, butt fucking machine at his beck and call. If he didn't initiate another round, I would. I so desperately needed to feel either my throat or my tight little butt being stuffed. Once again, I have no idea how to heal from that. I just know that I quit when I was almost 19 and forgot about it until recently. I don't even know what triggered the flashbacks to begin.
Why on earth did I suppress all those times for so long? Hell, I feel now such a great relief from just re-living them. Just to re-live those moments and "sigh" I guess that's healing. That took great effort and willingness for me to endure and yes for me to enjoy at the time. Is it so wrong to remember those times? Should I abandon them to just somewhere in time and space? Throw them out, as if they were the garbage or hold them dear knowing they defined me for who I am today. Asking myself these questions now is somewhat of a confusion to me. I realize that my healing is far from over, perhaps will never occur. I don't think of myself as a bad person for... I just don't know so many things, after all I'm only 5 or am I.
I am so confused by all of this, especially the feelings I have now at this moment. Here is another recent memory. He loved for me to crawl on top of him, facing him, and for me to reach around to stick it in. All the while making eye contact as I slowly sat completely down on it. Then I would slowly rock back and forth, just back and forth slowly doing it to myself. I can feel things being pushed around inside me. He would never thrust while I did this. He just lay there and smiled, loving every moment of me being "forced" to fuck myself. I hated every minute of it, yeah right, I loved knowing it pleased him so much. Boy was I well trained.
He chose me because I was the youngest. My older brother was in college when all of this started. My older sister got married right before my Mom died so I was the only "child" in the immediate family. He was single, never even dated a woman to my knowledge in his entire life. Never knew him to even have any male close friends. He lived with his step Mom and Dad until his Dad passed away, then it was just him and his step Mom, my aunt. He was a real estate appraiser as a profession, so he took much of his work with him to the cottage. Every now and then he would drive back home to attend to his business but always returned to the cottage that evening. The Outer Banks was only a 2-hour drive from home.
Prior to starting this with me, he had been a district Scout counselor for our regional Scout association. That's where I think he practiced and learned so much of how to teach me things. He left Scouting when they asked him to move to DC to become a national Scout counsel leader, or so the family was led to believe. Who knows. With the history of abuse that came to light with Scouting, it's very possible he stepped down to avoid persecution.
He always wanted to kiss me and tried many times but he smoked a pipe and cigars. I just couldn't get into it. Oh, he took great pride in me when I was able to get that big thing of his all the way down my throat. He would constantly give me advice on what to do and how. He has always gentle and never forceful with it. Just like my butt training, it was slow and a little at a time. Rest for a moment allowing me to relax, stretch some more and then continue. I think he fucked me with just a small portion of his junk for quite some time before I could take it all. Just like deepthroating, it took many many training sessions before I could get it to go past the back of my mouth and into my throat. I have been face fucked with me on my back, head leaning over the edge of the bed, numerous times with spit and snot and cum running out of my nose while learning to take it all the way, Those times he would put a towel on the floor to absorb the mess I made. That in itself is a weird sensation, cum running out of your nose while your head is upside down basically. Training to deepthroat was a long thing to learn. Overcoming that fucking gag reflex took some time but as per his advice, once I learned to stick my small hand in my mouth and gently rub the back of my throat it became easier and easier to do. He could just slide it in. In my healing journey, is this something I should try to forget about? I no longer do it, admit I have done it but what's next? I'm so confused about what's next. Once you remember something it's so hard to forget again. Those memories just seem to playout over and over in my head constantly. I feel as if I am being consumed and wonder if I am being tugged back into that lifestyle. That's not going to happen, trust me.
Yeah, he constantly whispered words of encouragement and advice while I was sucking him or when he was fucking me. He was very gentle until I begged him to be rougher and slam it in harder and deeper. I loved the mixture of pain and pleasure it seems. My favorite position was always missionary and sometimes I hooked my feet over his back as I got older. He really loved for me to put my legs on his shoulders. His favorite position was me lying on my stomach, legs together and him behind me. He would get it in me, lie down on top of me and slam it home. That position seemed to allow one of the deepest penetrations somehow. Doggy fashion was always a favorite to me as well, something about him grabbing my tiny hips, pulling me backwards towards him as he thrust forward, slamming it in over and over. Actually, I guess I learned to love all of the positions. I loved leaning against the wall of the shower (the box) while we were both standing and having him fuck me from behind. It's funny but no one came downstairs to see why the showers were taking so long. If Dad would have just come down, he could have easily seen our feet and legs since the (box) had sides that were up off the ground a bit. If Dad would only have taken the time to check up on me, he would have seen me on my knees between his legs, he would have known what was going on, but alas my abuser was a saint in everyone's eyes. He was trusted to be my everything.
He had access to me anytime he wanted, whether it was when I was at my home, his home or the cottage. Hell, even a short trip to the grocery store allowed me to suck him really quick and get a load. Boy, I now realize I was so trained and I must have really loved that cock. That's it. I realize I loved it and I can say it out loud to the world without fear and shame. I'm healing, in my own eyes and I feel good about that. I feel fine now knowing that I can say I was a good little cocksucker, not by choice but by coercion from a devious perverted adult.
I was so proud of myself for being able to take it all no matter which end was being used by him. So proud that I could give him so much pleasure that he would ejaculate. I guess I just wanted to make him cum not for himself but for me. I so desperately wanted to be special to someone. I wanted to be the center of someone's attention. I wanted him to praise me for it. I wanted him to be happy with the pleasure I was so willing to give him. I never turned down any request he had, never whined at trying something new. I knew he was going to offer things I would find to be exciting and so damned pleasurable too. He never let me down on that. It grew to where I didn't even have to be touched at all, I would literally explode as he rammed into me, whether up my ass or down my throat, it was so pleasurable to me I just couldn't hold off.
All of my life I knew we had done "things" together but I always thought of myself as being a child when they took place. Recently, seeing a scrapbook from many years ago, I realized I was nearly 19 years old and still seeking sex with him. Yeah, I was almost 19 and by then he was 61. I screamed out in anger at him, screamed out at myself, at the world but mainly myself though, I couldn't have been that old. Not 19, not an adult myself, this can't be real, I was a child when this happened. Sadly, time stamped photos from the 50's, 60's, and 70's don't lie, just like the math.
Almost 14 years of my childhood was stolen from me for his own sexual pleasure. What a shame we live in such a perverted world. So much tormenting perversion that an adult has to treat an innocent child this way. Looking back now, 65 years have passed since it all began, I guess I was trained to not be so innocent, after all I'm only 5.
Many thanks guys for taking the time out of your lives to read my story about my abuse. I just hope and pray someone can relate to this, someone can begin their own journey of healing, someone can find the peace that I am now experiencing with sharing my life with you all. We are Survivors and damn proud of it, Avalon