Show mommy you love her. Trigger warning for sure.
TryingToHealToo
Registrant
My current therapist had me write out everything that happened. I put it all down, every last explicit bit. I probably went overboard as it was 40 pages. She said it was for me, to get it all out, as I’d never really told any previous therapist about everything, and was having trouble telling her even a few of the details. After much thought I ended up sending a copy to her. Knowing that she read it lifted a load, not to mention helped the therapy along. I could never have told her the details face to face. Now my intent is to print out and burn that document and delete all the files. That day is today. Rather than letting it all go away like I have tried all my life to do, I’m putting it all out there. Here, where it is somehow both safely anonymous and feels like sharing it with trusted friends. There are things that turn my stomach that I’m responsible for I can’t believe I’m making “public”. I at least have cut out three quarters of that original document. A lot was explicit enough to be pornographic, and everything that wasn’t needed to tell the story has been removed. There are still some explicit bits but I don’t feel I can tell my whole story without them.
BEFORE ME
Turns out in my family CSA was a generational thing.
My mother and her sister were sexually abused by her father. My father married my mother to get her out of that house. This came from things my father said.
On my father’s side my grandfather had sexually abused all seven of his daughters. As he was the youngest, my father was left behind when the last of his brothers and sisters had moved out. So from 14 to 18 my grandfather turned his attention to my dad. My dad only got away from it when he was drafted in 1942 and entered the Army Air Corp at 18. Again based on things I heard from my father.
While on the subject of my father, in his 70’s he molested two of his step-granddaughters (5 & 7). After my father died, my sister would tell my siblings and our wives that he had done things when she was a young teenager that “were creepy and made her feel uncomfortable”. The rest of us talked and agreed it must have been more than that. Mom suffered from dementia, and by the time I was 14 she was barely able to put a sentence together and would progressively get worse, yet my father continued to have sex with her up until a few months before she died when she’d been little more than a vegetable. My mom died two months before my 18th birthday. He took me out for my first legal drink at 18, to a strip club, and when we left offered me a prostitute. I declined, but had to wait in the car at the no-tell-motel while he spent an hour being “entertained”. I’d move out of the house permanently for college 8 months later, but not before he brought home the woman who would become my stepmother. I could hear them having sex, and because it was something she objected to loudly, I knew my father would not infrequently rape her anally. For all that he never touched me, he was not a nice man.
I’ve had a couple therapists and my wife tell me I should be proud that I broke the cycle of abuse. I don’t think NOT molesting your children is something to be proud of. I am proud of the fact that with the horrible example I had for parents I managed, according to my kids (“kids” are 38 and 35 now), to do pretty well as a father.
EARLY CHILDHOOD
My father was mostly absent from my life even though he was in the house. Look up “stoic” and “closed off” in the dictionary and you’ll find a picture of my dad. My mother would never give me words of encouragement without some passive/aggressive remark, but he rarely gave me words at all.
My siblings were 10 to 15 years older than me. So I have only a few memories of my sister being home since she was around through my being in first grade. But they were out of the picture.
Mom went back to work when I was in first grade. I vaguely remember receiving some affection and attention when she was full time at home up through kindergarten. But after she went back to work, what there was of that almost totally disappeared. She clearly resented me for coming along “late” (having kids at 34 was considered late for that generation) in her life. I’d hear her talking to other adults from 6 thru 11 and I was frequently referred to as “my oops baby” and a couple times as “my little mistake”. I didn’t know this until I was 18 and overheard my father telling my soon to be stepmother, that my mom insisted on going on some of the very first birth control pills, before they had even been approved for birth control, just weeks after I was born.
GROOMING
Most mothers will stop taking their sons into the ladies room when they are 5 or 6, or at least by the time they start first grade. For me she only stopped when I was 8 around Easter of second grade, when another woman went ballistic that I was too old. To be fair I was tall for my age so I might have looked 10. It should be noted that this was even if my father was with us. Taking care of the kids was woman’s work. I was never embarrassed by going into the stall with her. Going to the bathroom together had happened at home all along. Toddlers naturally follow mom into the bathroom. I just never stopped. When at home she would ask me “coming with me?” whenever she went until the end of 3rd grade. My mother bathed with me from my earliest memories until I turned 10. Twice a week. We would get undressed in my room and move to the bathroom where she’d always have us pee in front of each other before we got into the shower/bath. Mom would wash me kneeling/standing beside the tub, sometimes in her underwear, sometimes nude. She didn’t often get in with me until I was 7 and started second grade and my sister had left. But pretty much all the time after that she would get in with me. As I said, mom almost always washed me. I didn’t really learn how to wash myself until I was 10. She never used a washcloth, just her hands. From the earliest memories she would pay special attention to washing my butt. She’d insert a little bit of fingertip in my anus saying “gotta clean everywhere”. It kept being more and more of the finger and by the time 4th grade came around, it was the whole finger, in and out multiple times. When I was younger she'd fondle my genitals briefly but definitely longer than was needed for cleanliness. That also changed as the fondling got longer as I got older. By the time I was nine and a half it was long enough, sometimes several minutes I guess, that she would succeed in getting me hard. I think the first orgasm she gave me was an accident. When it happened she asked if it felt good. To be honest I didn’t know what to think as it was rather overwhelming, but I wanted to please mommy so I said yes. After that she usually would give me one. That was maybe only a dozen times as it was just before I turned 10 and things stopped. Since I was used to her touching me there I didn’t think much of it, it just felt good and I didn’t know any better. For some reason it never occurred to me to play with myself then. I wouldn’t realize they were “orgasms” until mom explained orgasm to me when she caught me masturbating at 11 and the real abuse started.
All through this I was never allowed to touch or wash her. Not touching her would carry over to the rest of the abuse later. Sometimes if we’d taken a bath instead of the shower she’d have me get out and send me to get my pajamas on while she said she needed to stay and relax. If I tried to go back into the bathroom she’d yell at me to get out. I peeked around the corner a couple times and couldn’t see much because of the tub, but she was busy with something in that tub. With what happened later it is obvious she was “relaxing” by masturbating in there.
Not sure this was grooming, sexual abuse or just plain child abuse. In first grade due to the particular discipline of my demon nun teacher, (that’s a whole different abuse story) I began to occasionally, once or twice a month, wet myself at school. Note that I wasn’t the only one in class with that problem due to that nun. It was just that my mother for some reason was furious it happened. For the last few months of the school year, at 7 years old, I was put back into diapers and rubber pants every day when I went to school. That seems like an overreaction for something that happened that infrequently. I of course was called “diaper boy” and other things once the kids in class figured out I was wearing a diaper a few days after this started. I would be “diaper boy” through the 4th grade even though there were no diapers after first grade. Any surprise I didn’t have any real friends? There were other humiliations associated with this as well, particularly being left exposed for long periods of time by the nun charged with changing me at school..
Another “Is it grooming or just abuse?” thing. Either way it would mess me up. At the end of that first grade school year mom stopped the diapers. She also got me new “special” underwear to wear. Halfway through second grade while changing from school to play clothes at the neighbor who watched me after school, her daughter, who was the same age and height as I was, walked in on me accidentally. She immediately yelled something like “Hey mom! He has the same panties that I wear to school.” Yes I had been wearing plain white little girls underwear for six months. When my mom came to pick me up the two adults talked in the other room for a long time. Then all four of us went to the girl’s bedroom, and they picked out half a dozen pairs of pastel and polka dot panties and a couple matching camisole type girl undershirts. Mom made me wear those for a couple months before she finally got tired of me asking for regular boys briefs. Thing is I didn’t really want the boys underwear that much, I just didn’t want to get caught wearing panties at school somehow and get teased even more. Wearing the girls underwear I wasn’t embarrassed, I felt special. I actually liked the little frills and tiny ribbons and bows. Mom didn’t throw them out when she got the briefs so I would still wear them around the house occasionally until I outgrew them at the end of third grade. Probably as a result of that, I’ve periodically crossdressed at times through the years. When I was in 7th and 8th grade, I would wear the clothes my sister had left behind when she went to college. She was tiny, so for a time they fit pretty well. I’d only wear skirts and dresses when I was alone. But like in second grade, panties, camisoles, and pantyhose or better yet, garter belts and stockings were all fair game under my regular clothes as long as it wasn’t a “gym” day where I had to change from pants to gym shorts. After I outgrew my sister’s clothes in 9th grade I didn’t cross until I reached college and could steal things from the laundry room, and then the laundromat when I got my own apartment. Eventually I had enough money that I would buy things pretending to be shopping for my girlfriend/wife. Not sure I ever actually fooled any of the sales ladies. It mostly stopped when I moved in with and then married my now wife. Through my mid 30’s I would a once or twice a year buy a pair of panties and pantyhose to wear to work under my conservative business suit.
For whatever her reason, mom never said why, the day I turned ten the baths/showers and using the bathroom together stopped. So did her helping me with my homework about that time. Communication with me stopped except for necessary talk at dinner, when making a shopping list, answering me if I asked a direct question, etc. It left me feeling that I’d done something wrong.
The grooming didn’t entirely end. Bathroom and bedroom doors stayed open so I’d see her if I walked by as she got dressed/undressed, went to the bathroom or showered. If my dad wasn’t home mom would sometimes walk around in her underwear and a few times naked.
So having never gotten any affection from my father or mother, and the little attention I did get from my mother from the baths and homework suddenly taken away, I was isolated. No real friends at school. I was desperate for attention and affection of any kind and was really ready to do anything to get some. I was ripe for the picking.
Before moving on I need to mention that probably starting around late fourth or fifth grade my mother began to suffer from some form of dementia. It was subtle at first, but she’d had to quit her job the summer before I started 6th grade because she couldn’t do the work any longer. My sibs knew the reason, but being “just a kid” I certainly wasn’t told anything about it, neither were neighbors and friends, until near the end of 7th grade and it started to be too obvious (she had been walking around the neighborhood in her underwear.) My dad had to hire someone to sit with my mother because she’d become a danger to herself then. Once the repressed abuse memories came back, for years I clung to the belief that she wasn’t responsible for what happened because she was sick. Somehow made it easier to handle that way, but it was a dodge for not dealing with what happened. I’ve finally had to admit that based on the earlier grooming it is unlikely her behavior was due entirely to dementia. She was still lucid and could carry on a conversation the whole time. She was still doing the housework, cooking and grocery shopping, if a little erratically at times. It was something she’d been thinking about and probably planning all along. Regardless, at the time I loved her because she was my mom. What had happened already and was to come was just something I thought moms did with their sons. I did realize that what we were doing was horribly wrong after we had been having sex couple months, but by then I was hooked, there was no way I could stop.
ABUSE
Soon after I started sixth grade, as happens during puberty for boys, I began having morning wood and spontaneous erections during the day. Had no idea what was happening, sex education at any age was absent back then, especially in a Catholic school. But as I explored, I discovered masturbation. No idea it had anything to do with sex, I didn’t know what sex was. I didn’t really connect this with the orgasms when I was 9 because they were both so much more intense and of course now I was ejaculating. So within weeks I’d established a routine of doing it every day right after I got home from school in between changing out of my school uniform and into play clothes. In early December after school one day my mother walked into my room while I was masturbating. I think she suspected and planned it. She had me go down to her room while I was still naked, removed some really hard core porn from her night stand, 8x10 photos stapled together like a magazine. Hustler and other explicit porn magazines didn’t exist then so this must have come out of some photographers lab. In any case mom used it to “give me the talk” as she said while we were sitting on the side of the bed. She explained the difference in anatomy between boys and girls and what happened during sex. At the beginning when she showed me a full page close up of a woman's genitals, she stripped, sat on the bed and showed me hers with legs spread wide, fingers spreading her labia and announced “that hole there is my cunt where your father puts his cock”. Cock I knew but cunt was new. I’d seen her naked a lot before of course, but never close up like that. My mother NEVER swore anytime else, but during sex she was as bad as a sailor. It would still be years before I learned the terms “penis” and “vagina”. That was followed by more pictures and explanations of the oral sex, intercourse, and anal sex that were in those pictures, and what an orgasm was. At the end she sat back against the headboard of the bed, had me sit with my back against her between her spread legs, and told me that I should finish what I was doing earlier in my bedroom, that I should give myself an orgasm. She had her arms around me, my head between her breasts, rubbing my chest, and she made suggestions like faster or slower, stop and start, use your whole hand, just the tip, etc. Due to the instructions it was way longer than I’d ever taken before so when I finally came it felt incredible. She praised me for doing a good job, grabbed some tissues and cleaned me up. She gave me a big hug, while both of us were still naked of course, and told me I could ask to see the pictures any time I wanted. Then she told me to go get dressed and shut the door on your way out.
Between the fact that it got praise from my mom, actual hugs and contact, and it felt good, I ended up masturbating while she watched nearly every day for over a month. At first mom would ask me as I walked in the door after school if I wanted to see the pictures and then we’d proceed to the bedroom. She watched me while sometimes dressed, but other times as she watched me, she’d undress, sometimes to her underwear, and others naked. Particularly if she was nude she’d get into bed and hold me during it. She often gave me directions. Afterward she always praised me, usually cleaned me off, gave me a hug. She’d close the door behind me when I left, or if she was already in bed she would have me close it. Mom stayed in her room for 20-30 minutes with the door closed. It is obvious now, but not to me then, she’d been watching me to get aroused and was masturbating when I left. After the first couple weeks I started just going to her room, getting naked on her bed, and calling her to come in. In this and all the abuse that came after I was the one initiating most of the time. If I didn’t though, mom was sure to.
At Christmas the house was full with my returning siblings and families and things stopped for a bit. Picked right back up the day school started after the holiday. My birthday was in early January. That morning she came to my room early, sat on the side of my bed, and told me she had a special gift for me. And with my father downstairs going through his morning routine, she proceeded to masturbate me, stopping and starting, edging me the way she’d had me do with her instructions. It was the only time she purposely got me off that way. Later there were times in between sessions when she fondled me to get me hard so we could go again, that she’d misjudge how aroused I was and I’d come in her hand. But it was accidental and she’d be mad because after that it would take so much longer to get me hard before she could use me. She always got me hard again if she’d not come yet, so we could fuck some more, and she could get her satisfaction. Always. Fortunately by then I was a hypersexual hormone filled 12 year old who could get hard almost any time and many times in a row. Realistically the way women’s sexuality works there must have been times when she didn’t orgasm, but I don’t remember any.
Soon after my birthday things ratcheted up a level. One day when she was standing watching me, after I had finished instead of having me leave, she got into the bed, removed her underwear which was all she’d been wearing, and began masturbating while I was still there. I stood up and went to the end of the bed where I had a better view, and despite having just come I began to masturbate again, and i ended up coming at almost the same time she did. With an audience she wasn’t quiet about it. Among the moans and groans as she talked. I remember that first time she said something like “Oh, <my childhood nickname> I want to feel you inside me.” When she finished she said “See, girls like to jerk off too”. After that we started masturbating together, or taking turns while the other watched. Interestingly, she was quite verbal when masturbating with me, telling me what she was fantasizing I was doing to her. And later during intercourse she was always telling me things or giving me directions. That’s interesting because I could hear my parents having sex, I finally knew what the noises I heard meant, and the only time she would say something was when my father told her to. After a couple weeks, she started to sometimes use her “toys” in front of me. They were “darning eggs” with handles. If you don’t know what those are, look them up. Very phallic with the big bulge of the “egg” at the end. Pretty good dildos actually. She used them in front of me both vaginally and some of the time anally, so there was always a tube of lube on her nightstand. There were two toys, one smaller and the other big around. Like larger diameter than any penis I’ve ever seen even in pornography big around.
After about a month of masturbating together, I came home from school one day and she was already undressed on the bed and gently stroking herself. Not unusual, so I undressed and went to lay beside her. But she pulled me on top of her. You know the rest. She didn’t say anything at first, just reached between us and guided me where I should go. From the porn pictures and what she’d said before I knew what was happening so I wasn’t frightened or nervous. Most memories are not clear after more than 50 years, but this is one of the times I can remember with crystal clarity. I’ll spare the rest of the details but after I came quickly the first time as you might expect, she fondled me to get me aroused again, and had me fuck her missionary until I came in her a second time. Then she got me aroused yet again, but that time she got on top of me and rode me until she got herself off. I still have the image of mommy naked straddling me, breasts bouncing, head thrown back as she said “oh god” over and over as she came.
We’d continue to have intercourse for several months. Almost every day. Some days we still would masturbate together or she would just watch me, and often we’d do that and fuck too. We fucked a lot. After school we’d do it until she came once or twice, but when there was time like on weekends, up to four times a day for her, which usually meant something like 7 or more for me as I could rarely last long enough to satisfy her the first time. At 12 years old there’s not much control or stamina and she never encouraged me to develop any. Depending on position or her mood she’d touch herself while I was fucking her to get herself off. After she finished, I’d usually still be hard inside of her. I’d pull out and masturbate sometimes, but she usually would let me keep going until I finished. Whether we were fucking she would give me instructions and say things like “Finish inside me”, “Come in me”, and especially “Come in mommy”, and “Fuck mommy good”. Mom would also start things out by asking me what I could do to make her feel good, and I needed to reply “Put my cock in your cunt and come”. Another favorite she had was when she would initiate she’d say “Come here and fuck mommy so I know you love me”. Over the Easter break when I was out of school we did it all day, every day. I remember one day was five times for her because she commented that she couldn’t remember ever coming that many times in one day.
Note that there was never any kissing. And like when we bathed together earlier, I was never allowed to touch her, except for the necessary bits of course, and I could hold her hips or legs when needed for leverage. But never her breasts or genitals unless it was accidental. I got my hands slapped away the couple times I tried. There was never any oral sex. It is said rape is about control, not sex, and I think that was part of it for her. After we’d been doing it for a couple months there were occasions that she would come up to my room in the middle of the night with my father still in bed downstairs, and wake me up so she could use me at 2 or 3 in the morning.
Because I’m an engineer type and wanted to know, we spent part of a session with my first therapist doing the math. Over the course of the 8 months of abuse, I probably masturbated over 50 times with her watching. Masturbated together about the same number of times. We probably fucked well over 200 times. Given that was over the course of only 5 months that’s more than once a day average. Mom had to have come while we fucked over a 100 times. That meant we were fucking 5 or 6 times a week. That’s a lot of sex for most people. I was 12 with raging hormones and had been hyper sexualized at an age where I didn’t have impulse control so that explains me, I could have and wanted to do it more. I’d been masturbating alone in my room in addition to everything else. But what about my mother? She was 46. Having been abused herself, hypersexuality is a good bet. Maybe in those early stages of dementia her control was gone or her libido got stimulated or the part of the brain that controls addiction went haywire and she was addicted to sex. Because she was having even more sex than with me. A few times a week with my father. My bedroom was right above theirs and I could hear what was going on. I was staying up late enough and knew what the sounds coming from their room were now. So I listened and frequently masturbated while I did so, trying to time my orgasms with my mom’s. I was jealous of my father because in addition to intercourse, he’d order her to perform oral sex on him, or when they had anal sex he’d order “Tell me you like it”. Nothing like hearing your mother who you had been having sex with chant “Fuck my ass”, or “I love it in my ass” or similar over and over. I’d listen to that almost once a week until the end of 9th grade when my mom was too far gone to understand or follow even simple instructions. My father would continue to have sex with my mother several times a week until I was in 11th grade when she was little more than a vegetable. So on top of his other awards, dad gets one for abuse of a mentally impaired person.
Of all those 100’s of times my mother and I had intercourse, I don't have many specific memories other than knowing we’d been doing it and bits and pieces, snapshots of what I was looking and feeling. But a few incidents in addition to the first burned themselves in. Like the first time we fucked in the living room on the couch, or on the kitchen table, which had windows on all three sides that the neighbors could see right in. There are two other occasions that come up frequently in my intrusive memories.
The first time she had me do it from behind doggystyle, I was mesmerized by her anus that was right there in front of me, and moved my thumb over it, not even in it. She whipped around, slapped me, yelled at me something like “You don’t touch me, especially there. Your father sticks his dick up there enough. You want to know what it is like?” She pushed me down flat on my stomach, grabbed the lube and those toys, and proceeded to use them to penetrate me anally. She actually was quite gentle about it and it ended up feeling good. After dilating me with her fingers, the small toy was first for a few minutes. Then she changed to the big one. It hurt like hell, but later in life I knew what it meant when I heard the phrase “It hurts so good” because between that and friction against the sheets I came. After that she would sometimes use those on me to help me get hard in between sessions. It really wasn’t a hardship because I had been conditioned to enjoy it, so I did.
The other time I remember clearly was the day after school when she wanted to do it multiple times and we lost track of time. After she’d come the second or third time I was working to finish, when my father drove up in the driveway just as I was coming in her. I somehow managed to disengage, gather my clothes and make it upstairs to my room. Like I said, I heard everything from their room. Mom convinced him that she had been waiting for him and playing with herself because she was so horny, and she needed it right then. And I listened, and I masturbated to it as they had sex, even though it was at least my fifth time in about an hour and I’d come moments before.
One thing that was humiliating was regarding tampons. Mom didn’t let her period stop her enjoyment. If anything she must have been hornier when she was on her period. We did it the first month, all 4 days during her period. She put a towel on the bed, removing her tampon while I waited there ready to go. Then she let me watch while putting a fresh one in after we showered. Later months she would let me violate the no touching rule when she started having me remove the tampon before, and insert the new one after we’d finished. I had a sensitive stomach and would almost throw up when removing them with all the clots. But putting the new one in, spreading her labia while she stood squatting in the bathroom after our shower, inserting it and seeing the string there, was fascinating. One month while she was on her period after I had inserted hers mom in turn inserted one in my butt and had me wear one over night and when I went to school a couple days.
Most of the overwhelming shame and guilt that I deal with comes from the fact that, due to the gentle and gradual way I had been groomed, I enjoyed all of it. Not just the masturbation and intercourse, but even changing her tampons and the dildo and tampons in my butt. Like I mentioned, I initiated more than she did. My grades had been all A’s but my social studies grade started to drop because it was the last class, and I couldn’t concentrate anticipating what would happen when I got home. I watched that clock like a hawk.
How did all this go on and my father not know? Or did he just ignore it? I don’t understand how he could not have known. Way back in 2nd grade I know he saw me in panties rather than boy’s underwear because we’d change together at the swimming pool that was just down the block. There were all those times she would call me into the bathroom with her or she would follow me in. He never came upstairs where the kid’s bedrooms and bathroom were, but it had to be obvious mom was actually in the shower/bath with me. The way our tiny little house was built I could hear anything louder than a whisper in their room so probably vice versa, and there were at least a dozen times she fucked me in my bed in the middle of the night. He had to have heard the bed creaking at least. How did he not realize he was getting “sloppy seconds” (or thirds or fourths) at times? How did he rationalize things like her leaving the bedroom and bathroom doors open? I know for sure he saw me watching her when she changed or in the shower. Or did he know and he was getting off on it? He never mentioned anything to me even when he would get drunk after mom died and he’d reveal what his father had done to him. Maybe he was just oblivious as he never was very engaged with my life. He passed away just before the memories returned so I’ll never know.
When 6th grade finished and school let out, mom and I had several whole days together. But then I went to summer camp for three weeks. While I was gone her dementia got suddenly worse. They claim these events were strokes, but that doesn’t fit because they never affected her physically until she was pretty far gone a couple years later. Whatever the underlying medical cause was, when I got home from camp she was different, with a personality change. She’d been pretty happy previously. But now she was kinda grumpy. And not at all cooperative when I would suggest we have sex. I hounded her relentlessly, if she didn’t agree, I’d follow her while I masturbated and I’d come on her. She’d finally give in just to shut me up I guess. The first time she went into the bedroom, lay on the bed, pulled her dress up, took off her underwear and told me to do my business. That first time she complained it hurt. She was obviously not into it, as she used lube after that. She also started undressing completely because it made a mess of her dress if she was wearing it, pulled up or not. This went on two or three times a week for a while, and I usually had her stay until I did it at least twice. She did participate a bit a couple times wrapping her legs around me and thrusting back, one time she touched herself to get off. But what I was doing was essentially rape.
This is the part I can’t believe I’m sharing. Because then it wasn’t just essentially rape. Mommy finally flat out refused. She made fun of me for being a momma’s boy (who made me that way?), having a small penis, liking wearing girls underwear, enjoying having things up my butt, and so on. After almost a week of that I snapped. I went downstairs to her room early one Saturday morning when my father was gone about three weeks before school started. She wasn’t out of bed yet, so I forcibly removed her nightgown. And, at 12 years old, I raped my mother. No details, but it was several times over a couple hours, including things we’d not done before, and every second is burned into my brain although I wouldn’t consciously remember until I was 50. Now that the memories returned I can tell you now, 54 years later, what I did to her or forced her to do to me, and in what order. I was still smaller than her. Shorter by an inch and skinny while she was a “large” woman, she probably had 40 pounds on me. She didn’t say much of anything. Not a single “no”, not that I would have listened. Could she have fought back, probably. So was it rape? I sure thought so afterward and still do to this day. I know now that rape victims, male or female, can freeze and don’t always fight back. I’ve been told and intellectually understand that I was just a kid reacting to what had been done to me. I was not “responsible” because as a child I lacked the judgment, knowledge, and self control that would come later. But to this day it sure doesn’t feel like it. It feels like I raped my mother repeatedly to get what I wanted. And I have all the guilt and shame for that. By the end I was sobbing and she had been crying throughout. I continued to sob while I helped clean her up and get dressed. I went to my room and I don’t remember much after that except I didn’t leave my room other than to eat and use the bathroom until school started.
Sometime during those three weeks I buried the memories. In 7th grade and beyond I would remember everything that came earlier, all the grooming, I didn’t think of that as abuse although now that clearly it was. I knew things about sex that I shouldn’t have known, but not why. Everything from the time she caught me masturbating, to the rape at the end, was lost for 38 years. I frequently wish the memories had never returned. As screwed up as my life was before, it was better than afterwards, which has been nothing but a clusterfuck. I think I’m finally getting some good treatment to heal, but I’m not sure I ever will, as it takes years and I don’t have too many of those left.
Of course it had a profound effect on me my entire life, even if I didn’t consciously remember the abuse. Alcohol and pills of pills of course. Thankfully I stopped both by the time I was 22, although the reasons for quitting were traumatic on their own. Suicide attempts. Hyper sexuality. Destroyed relationships. Few real relationships of any kind, romantic or platonic due attachment disorder.
My mother’s dementia would continue to get worse and she essentially died of it when I was about to turn 18.
So that’s it. My story. I’m a motherfucker. Thanks mommy.
BEFORE ME
Turns out in my family CSA was a generational thing.
My mother and her sister were sexually abused by her father. My father married my mother to get her out of that house. This came from things my father said.
On my father’s side my grandfather had sexually abused all seven of his daughters. As he was the youngest, my father was left behind when the last of his brothers and sisters had moved out. So from 14 to 18 my grandfather turned his attention to my dad. My dad only got away from it when he was drafted in 1942 and entered the Army Air Corp at 18. Again based on things I heard from my father.
While on the subject of my father, in his 70’s he molested two of his step-granddaughters (5 & 7). After my father died, my sister would tell my siblings and our wives that he had done things when she was a young teenager that “were creepy and made her feel uncomfortable”. The rest of us talked and agreed it must have been more than that. Mom suffered from dementia, and by the time I was 14 she was barely able to put a sentence together and would progressively get worse, yet my father continued to have sex with her up until a few months before she died when she’d been little more than a vegetable. My mom died two months before my 18th birthday. He took me out for my first legal drink at 18, to a strip club, and when we left offered me a prostitute. I declined, but had to wait in the car at the no-tell-motel while he spent an hour being “entertained”. I’d move out of the house permanently for college 8 months later, but not before he brought home the woman who would become my stepmother. I could hear them having sex, and because it was something she objected to loudly, I knew my father would not infrequently rape her anally. For all that he never touched me, he was not a nice man.
I’ve had a couple therapists and my wife tell me I should be proud that I broke the cycle of abuse. I don’t think NOT molesting your children is something to be proud of. I am proud of the fact that with the horrible example I had for parents I managed, according to my kids (“kids” are 38 and 35 now), to do pretty well as a father.
EARLY CHILDHOOD
My father was mostly absent from my life even though he was in the house. Look up “stoic” and “closed off” in the dictionary and you’ll find a picture of my dad. My mother would never give me words of encouragement without some passive/aggressive remark, but he rarely gave me words at all.
My siblings were 10 to 15 years older than me. So I have only a few memories of my sister being home since she was around through my being in first grade. But they were out of the picture.
Mom went back to work when I was in first grade. I vaguely remember receiving some affection and attention when she was full time at home up through kindergarten. But after she went back to work, what there was of that almost totally disappeared. She clearly resented me for coming along “late” (having kids at 34 was considered late for that generation) in her life. I’d hear her talking to other adults from 6 thru 11 and I was frequently referred to as “my oops baby” and a couple times as “my little mistake”. I didn’t know this until I was 18 and overheard my father telling my soon to be stepmother, that my mom insisted on going on some of the very first birth control pills, before they had even been approved for birth control, just weeks after I was born.
GROOMING
Most mothers will stop taking their sons into the ladies room when they are 5 or 6, or at least by the time they start first grade. For me she only stopped when I was 8 around Easter of second grade, when another woman went ballistic that I was too old. To be fair I was tall for my age so I might have looked 10. It should be noted that this was even if my father was with us. Taking care of the kids was woman’s work. I was never embarrassed by going into the stall with her. Going to the bathroom together had happened at home all along. Toddlers naturally follow mom into the bathroom. I just never stopped. When at home she would ask me “coming with me?” whenever she went until the end of 3rd grade. My mother bathed with me from my earliest memories until I turned 10. Twice a week. We would get undressed in my room and move to the bathroom where she’d always have us pee in front of each other before we got into the shower/bath. Mom would wash me kneeling/standing beside the tub, sometimes in her underwear, sometimes nude. She didn’t often get in with me until I was 7 and started second grade and my sister had left. But pretty much all the time after that she would get in with me. As I said, mom almost always washed me. I didn’t really learn how to wash myself until I was 10. She never used a washcloth, just her hands. From the earliest memories she would pay special attention to washing my butt. She’d insert a little bit of fingertip in my anus saying “gotta clean everywhere”. It kept being more and more of the finger and by the time 4th grade came around, it was the whole finger, in and out multiple times. When I was younger she'd fondle my genitals briefly but definitely longer than was needed for cleanliness. That also changed as the fondling got longer as I got older. By the time I was nine and a half it was long enough, sometimes several minutes I guess, that she would succeed in getting me hard. I think the first orgasm she gave me was an accident. When it happened she asked if it felt good. To be honest I didn’t know what to think as it was rather overwhelming, but I wanted to please mommy so I said yes. After that she usually would give me one. That was maybe only a dozen times as it was just before I turned 10 and things stopped. Since I was used to her touching me there I didn’t think much of it, it just felt good and I didn’t know any better. For some reason it never occurred to me to play with myself then. I wouldn’t realize they were “orgasms” until mom explained orgasm to me when she caught me masturbating at 11 and the real abuse started.
All through this I was never allowed to touch or wash her. Not touching her would carry over to the rest of the abuse later. Sometimes if we’d taken a bath instead of the shower she’d have me get out and send me to get my pajamas on while she said she needed to stay and relax. If I tried to go back into the bathroom she’d yell at me to get out. I peeked around the corner a couple times and couldn’t see much because of the tub, but she was busy with something in that tub. With what happened later it is obvious she was “relaxing” by masturbating in there.
Not sure this was grooming, sexual abuse or just plain child abuse. In first grade due to the particular discipline of my demon nun teacher, (that’s a whole different abuse story) I began to occasionally, once or twice a month, wet myself at school. Note that I wasn’t the only one in class with that problem due to that nun. It was just that my mother for some reason was furious it happened. For the last few months of the school year, at 7 years old, I was put back into diapers and rubber pants every day when I went to school. That seems like an overreaction for something that happened that infrequently. I of course was called “diaper boy” and other things once the kids in class figured out I was wearing a diaper a few days after this started. I would be “diaper boy” through the 4th grade even though there were no diapers after first grade. Any surprise I didn’t have any real friends? There were other humiliations associated with this as well, particularly being left exposed for long periods of time by the nun charged with changing me at school..
Another “Is it grooming or just abuse?” thing. Either way it would mess me up. At the end of that first grade school year mom stopped the diapers. She also got me new “special” underwear to wear. Halfway through second grade while changing from school to play clothes at the neighbor who watched me after school, her daughter, who was the same age and height as I was, walked in on me accidentally. She immediately yelled something like “Hey mom! He has the same panties that I wear to school.” Yes I had been wearing plain white little girls underwear for six months. When my mom came to pick me up the two adults talked in the other room for a long time. Then all four of us went to the girl’s bedroom, and they picked out half a dozen pairs of pastel and polka dot panties and a couple matching camisole type girl undershirts. Mom made me wear those for a couple months before she finally got tired of me asking for regular boys briefs. Thing is I didn’t really want the boys underwear that much, I just didn’t want to get caught wearing panties at school somehow and get teased even more. Wearing the girls underwear I wasn’t embarrassed, I felt special. I actually liked the little frills and tiny ribbons and bows. Mom didn’t throw them out when she got the briefs so I would still wear them around the house occasionally until I outgrew them at the end of third grade. Probably as a result of that, I’ve periodically crossdressed at times through the years. When I was in 7th and 8th grade, I would wear the clothes my sister had left behind when she went to college. She was tiny, so for a time they fit pretty well. I’d only wear skirts and dresses when I was alone. But like in second grade, panties, camisoles, and pantyhose or better yet, garter belts and stockings were all fair game under my regular clothes as long as it wasn’t a “gym” day where I had to change from pants to gym shorts. After I outgrew my sister’s clothes in 9th grade I didn’t cross until I reached college and could steal things from the laundry room, and then the laundromat when I got my own apartment. Eventually I had enough money that I would buy things pretending to be shopping for my girlfriend/wife. Not sure I ever actually fooled any of the sales ladies. It mostly stopped when I moved in with and then married my now wife. Through my mid 30’s I would a once or twice a year buy a pair of panties and pantyhose to wear to work under my conservative business suit.
For whatever her reason, mom never said why, the day I turned ten the baths/showers and using the bathroom together stopped. So did her helping me with my homework about that time. Communication with me stopped except for necessary talk at dinner, when making a shopping list, answering me if I asked a direct question, etc. It left me feeling that I’d done something wrong.
The grooming didn’t entirely end. Bathroom and bedroom doors stayed open so I’d see her if I walked by as she got dressed/undressed, went to the bathroom or showered. If my dad wasn’t home mom would sometimes walk around in her underwear and a few times naked.
So having never gotten any affection from my father or mother, and the little attention I did get from my mother from the baths and homework suddenly taken away, I was isolated. No real friends at school. I was desperate for attention and affection of any kind and was really ready to do anything to get some. I was ripe for the picking.
Before moving on I need to mention that probably starting around late fourth or fifth grade my mother began to suffer from some form of dementia. It was subtle at first, but she’d had to quit her job the summer before I started 6th grade because she couldn’t do the work any longer. My sibs knew the reason, but being “just a kid” I certainly wasn’t told anything about it, neither were neighbors and friends, until near the end of 7th grade and it started to be too obvious (she had been walking around the neighborhood in her underwear.) My dad had to hire someone to sit with my mother because she’d become a danger to herself then. Once the repressed abuse memories came back, for years I clung to the belief that she wasn’t responsible for what happened because she was sick. Somehow made it easier to handle that way, but it was a dodge for not dealing with what happened. I’ve finally had to admit that based on the earlier grooming it is unlikely her behavior was due entirely to dementia. She was still lucid and could carry on a conversation the whole time. She was still doing the housework, cooking and grocery shopping, if a little erratically at times. It was something she’d been thinking about and probably planning all along. Regardless, at the time I loved her because she was my mom. What had happened already and was to come was just something I thought moms did with their sons. I did realize that what we were doing was horribly wrong after we had been having sex couple months, but by then I was hooked, there was no way I could stop.
ABUSE
Soon after I started sixth grade, as happens during puberty for boys, I began having morning wood and spontaneous erections during the day. Had no idea what was happening, sex education at any age was absent back then, especially in a Catholic school. But as I explored, I discovered masturbation. No idea it had anything to do with sex, I didn’t know what sex was. I didn’t really connect this with the orgasms when I was 9 because they were both so much more intense and of course now I was ejaculating. So within weeks I’d established a routine of doing it every day right after I got home from school in between changing out of my school uniform and into play clothes. In early December after school one day my mother walked into my room while I was masturbating. I think she suspected and planned it. She had me go down to her room while I was still naked, removed some really hard core porn from her night stand, 8x10 photos stapled together like a magazine. Hustler and other explicit porn magazines didn’t exist then so this must have come out of some photographers lab. In any case mom used it to “give me the talk” as she said while we were sitting on the side of the bed. She explained the difference in anatomy between boys and girls and what happened during sex. At the beginning when she showed me a full page close up of a woman's genitals, she stripped, sat on the bed and showed me hers with legs spread wide, fingers spreading her labia and announced “that hole there is my cunt where your father puts his cock”. Cock I knew but cunt was new. I’d seen her naked a lot before of course, but never close up like that. My mother NEVER swore anytime else, but during sex she was as bad as a sailor. It would still be years before I learned the terms “penis” and “vagina”. That was followed by more pictures and explanations of the oral sex, intercourse, and anal sex that were in those pictures, and what an orgasm was. At the end she sat back against the headboard of the bed, had me sit with my back against her between her spread legs, and told me that I should finish what I was doing earlier in my bedroom, that I should give myself an orgasm. She had her arms around me, my head between her breasts, rubbing my chest, and she made suggestions like faster or slower, stop and start, use your whole hand, just the tip, etc. Due to the instructions it was way longer than I’d ever taken before so when I finally came it felt incredible. She praised me for doing a good job, grabbed some tissues and cleaned me up. She gave me a big hug, while both of us were still naked of course, and told me I could ask to see the pictures any time I wanted. Then she told me to go get dressed and shut the door on your way out.
Between the fact that it got praise from my mom, actual hugs and contact, and it felt good, I ended up masturbating while she watched nearly every day for over a month. At first mom would ask me as I walked in the door after school if I wanted to see the pictures and then we’d proceed to the bedroom. She watched me while sometimes dressed, but other times as she watched me, she’d undress, sometimes to her underwear, and others naked. Particularly if she was nude she’d get into bed and hold me during it. She often gave me directions. Afterward she always praised me, usually cleaned me off, gave me a hug. She’d close the door behind me when I left, or if she was already in bed she would have me close it. Mom stayed in her room for 20-30 minutes with the door closed. It is obvious now, but not to me then, she’d been watching me to get aroused and was masturbating when I left. After the first couple weeks I started just going to her room, getting naked on her bed, and calling her to come in. In this and all the abuse that came after I was the one initiating most of the time. If I didn’t though, mom was sure to.
At Christmas the house was full with my returning siblings and families and things stopped for a bit. Picked right back up the day school started after the holiday. My birthday was in early January. That morning she came to my room early, sat on the side of my bed, and told me she had a special gift for me. And with my father downstairs going through his morning routine, she proceeded to masturbate me, stopping and starting, edging me the way she’d had me do with her instructions. It was the only time she purposely got me off that way. Later there were times in between sessions when she fondled me to get me hard so we could go again, that she’d misjudge how aroused I was and I’d come in her hand. But it was accidental and she’d be mad because after that it would take so much longer to get me hard before she could use me. She always got me hard again if she’d not come yet, so we could fuck some more, and she could get her satisfaction. Always. Fortunately by then I was a hypersexual hormone filled 12 year old who could get hard almost any time and many times in a row. Realistically the way women’s sexuality works there must have been times when she didn’t orgasm, but I don’t remember any.
Soon after my birthday things ratcheted up a level. One day when she was standing watching me, after I had finished instead of having me leave, she got into the bed, removed her underwear which was all she’d been wearing, and began masturbating while I was still there. I stood up and went to the end of the bed where I had a better view, and despite having just come I began to masturbate again, and i ended up coming at almost the same time she did. With an audience she wasn’t quiet about it. Among the moans and groans as she talked. I remember that first time she said something like “Oh, <my childhood nickname> I want to feel you inside me.” When she finished she said “See, girls like to jerk off too”. After that we started masturbating together, or taking turns while the other watched. Interestingly, she was quite verbal when masturbating with me, telling me what she was fantasizing I was doing to her. And later during intercourse she was always telling me things or giving me directions. That’s interesting because I could hear my parents having sex, I finally knew what the noises I heard meant, and the only time she would say something was when my father told her to. After a couple weeks, she started to sometimes use her “toys” in front of me. They were “darning eggs” with handles. If you don’t know what those are, look them up. Very phallic with the big bulge of the “egg” at the end. Pretty good dildos actually. She used them in front of me both vaginally and some of the time anally, so there was always a tube of lube on her nightstand. There were two toys, one smaller and the other big around. Like larger diameter than any penis I’ve ever seen even in pornography big around.
After about a month of masturbating together, I came home from school one day and she was already undressed on the bed and gently stroking herself. Not unusual, so I undressed and went to lay beside her. But she pulled me on top of her. You know the rest. She didn’t say anything at first, just reached between us and guided me where I should go. From the porn pictures and what she’d said before I knew what was happening so I wasn’t frightened or nervous. Most memories are not clear after more than 50 years, but this is one of the times I can remember with crystal clarity. I’ll spare the rest of the details but after I came quickly the first time as you might expect, she fondled me to get me aroused again, and had me fuck her missionary until I came in her a second time. Then she got me aroused yet again, but that time she got on top of me and rode me until she got herself off. I still have the image of mommy naked straddling me, breasts bouncing, head thrown back as she said “oh god” over and over as she came.
We’d continue to have intercourse for several months. Almost every day. Some days we still would masturbate together or she would just watch me, and often we’d do that and fuck too. We fucked a lot. After school we’d do it until she came once or twice, but when there was time like on weekends, up to four times a day for her, which usually meant something like 7 or more for me as I could rarely last long enough to satisfy her the first time. At 12 years old there’s not much control or stamina and she never encouraged me to develop any. Depending on position or her mood she’d touch herself while I was fucking her to get herself off. After she finished, I’d usually still be hard inside of her. I’d pull out and masturbate sometimes, but she usually would let me keep going until I finished. Whether we were fucking she would give me instructions and say things like “Finish inside me”, “Come in me”, and especially “Come in mommy”, and “Fuck mommy good”. Mom would also start things out by asking me what I could do to make her feel good, and I needed to reply “Put my cock in your cunt and come”. Another favorite she had was when she would initiate she’d say “Come here and fuck mommy so I know you love me”. Over the Easter break when I was out of school we did it all day, every day. I remember one day was five times for her because she commented that she couldn’t remember ever coming that many times in one day.
Note that there was never any kissing. And like when we bathed together earlier, I was never allowed to touch her, except for the necessary bits of course, and I could hold her hips or legs when needed for leverage. But never her breasts or genitals unless it was accidental. I got my hands slapped away the couple times I tried. There was never any oral sex. It is said rape is about control, not sex, and I think that was part of it for her. After we’d been doing it for a couple months there were occasions that she would come up to my room in the middle of the night with my father still in bed downstairs, and wake me up so she could use me at 2 or 3 in the morning.
Because I’m an engineer type and wanted to know, we spent part of a session with my first therapist doing the math. Over the course of the 8 months of abuse, I probably masturbated over 50 times with her watching. Masturbated together about the same number of times. We probably fucked well over 200 times. Given that was over the course of only 5 months that’s more than once a day average. Mom had to have come while we fucked over a 100 times. That meant we were fucking 5 or 6 times a week. That’s a lot of sex for most people. I was 12 with raging hormones and had been hyper sexualized at an age where I didn’t have impulse control so that explains me, I could have and wanted to do it more. I’d been masturbating alone in my room in addition to everything else. But what about my mother? She was 46. Having been abused herself, hypersexuality is a good bet. Maybe in those early stages of dementia her control was gone or her libido got stimulated or the part of the brain that controls addiction went haywire and she was addicted to sex. Because she was having even more sex than with me. A few times a week with my father. My bedroom was right above theirs and I could hear what was going on. I was staying up late enough and knew what the sounds coming from their room were now. So I listened and frequently masturbated while I did so, trying to time my orgasms with my mom’s. I was jealous of my father because in addition to intercourse, he’d order her to perform oral sex on him, or when they had anal sex he’d order “Tell me you like it”. Nothing like hearing your mother who you had been having sex with chant “Fuck my ass”, or “I love it in my ass” or similar over and over. I’d listen to that almost once a week until the end of 9th grade when my mom was too far gone to understand or follow even simple instructions. My father would continue to have sex with my mother several times a week until I was in 11th grade when she was little more than a vegetable. So on top of his other awards, dad gets one for abuse of a mentally impaired person.
Of all those 100’s of times my mother and I had intercourse, I don't have many specific memories other than knowing we’d been doing it and bits and pieces, snapshots of what I was looking and feeling. But a few incidents in addition to the first burned themselves in. Like the first time we fucked in the living room on the couch, or on the kitchen table, which had windows on all three sides that the neighbors could see right in. There are two other occasions that come up frequently in my intrusive memories.
The first time she had me do it from behind doggystyle, I was mesmerized by her anus that was right there in front of me, and moved my thumb over it, not even in it. She whipped around, slapped me, yelled at me something like “You don’t touch me, especially there. Your father sticks his dick up there enough. You want to know what it is like?” She pushed me down flat on my stomach, grabbed the lube and those toys, and proceeded to use them to penetrate me anally. She actually was quite gentle about it and it ended up feeling good. After dilating me with her fingers, the small toy was first for a few minutes. Then she changed to the big one. It hurt like hell, but later in life I knew what it meant when I heard the phrase “It hurts so good” because between that and friction against the sheets I came. After that she would sometimes use those on me to help me get hard in between sessions. It really wasn’t a hardship because I had been conditioned to enjoy it, so I did.
The other time I remember clearly was the day after school when she wanted to do it multiple times and we lost track of time. After she’d come the second or third time I was working to finish, when my father drove up in the driveway just as I was coming in her. I somehow managed to disengage, gather my clothes and make it upstairs to my room. Like I said, I heard everything from their room. Mom convinced him that she had been waiting for him and playing with herself because she was so horny, and she needed it right then. And I listened, and I masturbated to it as they had sex, even though it was at least my fifth time in about an hour and I’d come moments before.
One thing that was humiliating was regarding tampons. Mom didn’t let her period stop her enjoyment. If anything she must have been hornier when she was on her period. We did it the first month, all 4 days during her period. She put a towel on the bed, removing her tampon while I waited there ready to go. Then she let me watch while putting a fresh one in after we showered. Later months she would let me violate the no touching rule when she started having me remove the tampon before, and insert the new one after we’d finished. I had a sensitive stomach and would almost throw up when removing them with all the clots. But putting the new one in, spreading her labia while she stood squatting in the bathroom after our shower, inserting it and seeing the string there, was fascinating. One month while she was on her period after I had inserted hers mom in turn inserted one in my butt and had me wear one over night and when I went to school a couple days.
Most of the overwhelming shame and guilt that I deal with comes from the fact that, due to the gentle and gradual way I had been groomed, I enjoyed all of it. Not just the masturbation and intercourse, but even changing her tampons and the dildo and tampons in my butt. Like I mentioned, I initiated more than she did. My grades had been all A’s but my social studies grade started to drop because it was the last class, and I couldn’t concentrate anticipating what would happen when I got home. I watched that clock like a hawk.
How did all this go on and my father not know? Or did he just ignore it? I don’t understand how he could not have known. Way back in 2nd grade I know he saw me in panties rather than boy’s underwear because we’d change together at the swimming pool that was just down the block. There were all those times she would call me into the bathroom with her or she would follow me in. He never came upstairs where the kid’s bedrooms and bathroom were, but it had to be obvious mom was actually in the shower/bath with me. The way our tiny little house was built I could hear anything louder than a whisper in their room so probably vice versa, and there were at least a dozen times she fucked me in my bed in the middle of the night. He had to have heard the bed creaking at least. How did he not realize he was getting “sloppy seconds” (or thirds or fourths) at times? How did he rationalize things like her leaving the bedroom and bathroom doors open? I know for sure he saw me watching her when she changed or in the shower. Or did he know and he was getting off on it? He never mentioned anything to me even when he would get drunk after mom died and he’d reveal what his father had done to him. Maybe he was just oblivious as he never was very engaged with my life. He passed away just before the memories returned so I’ll never know.
When 6th grade finished and school let out, mom and I had several whole days together. But then I went to summer camp for three weeks. While I was gone her dementia got suddenly worse. They claim these events were strokes, but that doesn’t fit because they never affected her physically until she was pretty far gone a couple years later. Whatever the underlying medical cause was, when I got home from camp she was different, with a personality change. She’d been pretty happy previously. But now she was kinda grumpy. And not at all cooperative when I would suggest we have sex. I hounded her relentlessly, if she didn’t agree, I’d follow her while I masturbated and I’d come on her. She’d finally give in just to shut me up I guess. The first time she went into the bedroom, lay on the bed, pulled her dress up, took off her underwear and told me to do my business. That first time she complained it hurt. She was obviously not into it, as she used lube after that. She also started undressing completely because it made a mess of her dress if she was wearing it, pulled up or not. This went on two or three times a week for a while, and I usually had her stay until I did it at least twice. She did participate a bit a couple times wrapping her legs around me and thrusting back, one time she touched herself to get off. But what I was doing was essentially rape.
This is the part I can’t believe I’m sharing. Because then it wasn’t just essentially rape. Mommy finally flat out refused. She made fun of me for being a momma’s boy (who made me that way?), having a small penis, liking wearing girls underwear, enjoying having things up my butt, and so on. After almost a week of that I snapped. I went downstairs to her room early one Saturday morning when my father was gone about three weeks before school started. She wasn’t out of bed yet, so I forcibly removed her nightgown. And, at 12 years old, I raped my mother. No details, but it was several times over a couple hours, including things we’d not done before, and every second is burned into my brain although I wouldn’t consciously remember until I was 50. Now that the memories returned I can tell you now, 54 years later, what I did to her or forced her to do to me, and in what order. I was still smaller than her. Shorter by an inch and skinny while she was a “large” woman, she probably had 40 pounds on me. She didn’t say much of anything. Not a single “no”, not that I would have listened. Could she have fought back, probably. So was it rape? I sure thought so afterward and still do to this day. I know now that rape victims, male or female, can freeze and don’t always fight back. I’ve been told and intellectually understand that I was just a kid reacting to what had been done to me. I was not “responsible” because as a child I lacked the judgment, knowledge, and self control that would come later. But to this day it sure doesn’t feel like it. It feels like I raped my mother repeatedly to get what I wanted. And I have all the guilt and shame for that. By the end I was sobbing and she had been crying throughout. I continued to sob while I helped clean her up and get dressed. I went to my room and I don’t remember much after that except I didn’t leave my room other than to eat and use the bathroom until school started.
Sometime during those three weeks I buried the memories. In 7th grade and beyond I would remember everything that came earlier, all the grooming, I didn’t think of that as abuse although now that clearly it was. I knew things about sex that I shouldn’t have known, but not why. Everything from the time she caught me masturbating, to the rape at the end, was lost for 38 years. I frequently wish the memories had never returned. As screwed up as my life was before, it was better than afterwards, which has been nothing but a clusterfuck. I think I’m finally getting some good treatment to heal, but I’m not sure I ever will, as it takes years and I don’t have too many of those left.
Of course it had a profound effect on me my entire life, even if I didn’t consciously remember the abuse. Alcohol and pills of pills of course. Thankfully I stopped both by the time I was 22, although the reasons for quitting were traumatic on their own. Suicide attempts. Hyper sexuality. Destroyed relationships. Few real relationships of any kind, romantic or platonic due attachment disorder.
My mother’s dementia would continue to get worse and she essentially died of it when I was about to turn 18.
So that’s it. My story. I’m a motherfucker. Thanks mommy.