Teen Age Predator !?
Found this provocative blog
https://marksking.com/my-fabulous-disease/was-i-a-teenage-predator/
[size:14ptI]t flipped some of the concepts I have held on their head. Here it is with a trigger warning:[/size]I
Was I was a teenage predator?
Were on a dirt road in the cotton fields, sitting in the back of his Plymouth. It had been my idea to stop and look at the sky, and it doesnt come off like a sneaky move now, because the moon is full and bright and gorgeous. Ive been playing along but I wish he would make his move. This is the part thats always kind of boring. Hes nice, though, and good looking, maybe around 35.
RoadIts a balmy Louisiana night in 1975. And Im fourteen years old.
Everything goes as planned, and he gets me home on time so no one suspects. But he was a lot more nervous about it than I was.
And that was the routine during my teenage years. I had given up trying to mess around with other boys because it took forever to talk them into anything and I didnt want them to freak out about it. So, I got involved in community theater productions during the summer, playing bit parts or working the spotlight, just to be in the company of gay men. Then it was just a matter of getting some time alone with them.
My strategy for getting laid worked with some regularity, and it never occurred to me there might be something inappropriate or perverse or even criminal about it. At least, it never occurred to me.
People tell me the criminal ramifications most certainly occurred to them. They say I was molested or abused, and that it was the very definition of the word statutory. They say I was dealing with adults who had the capacity to know better. And, most bruising to my ego, they tell me that my seductive charms were irrelevant, and that perhaps it was they who were doing the manipulating.
Now, forty years later, I wonder if my teenage memories are trustworthy, and if it set the stage for an adulthood in ways Ive failed to acknowledge. Before I became a man, before the failed relationships and the sexual compulsions and the drug addiction, there was an adolescent who traveled side roads with strangers and took dangerous walks in public parks. And it is that boy, not the legion of adults I encountered, who fascinates and saddens me.
Was my fate sealed in the cotton fields of Louisiana?
The men I coaxed to those dusty roads arent villainous to me, and I still cant allow them to be left dangling in guilt and shame. I wont reduce them to simple pathology.
I met Jim in August, right before my freshman year in high school. The summer musical was 1776 and I was a stagehand. It was practically an all male cast, so it was a busy summer.
After a matinee performance one afternoon, I asked Jim for a ride to a pool party someone was throwing for the cast and crew. Once inside his car I told him I forgot my bathing suit and could we stop at his place so I could borrow one? What followed was a pitiful half naked fashion show in his bedroom, and a brief, awkward encounter between us.
Afterwards, I happily got back in the car but Jim wasnt talking much. He had become really quiet as soon as we were done.
We had driven a few blocks when Jim let out a kind of cough, like he was trying to stifle something and it burst out anyway. I looked over and his whole face was wet.
Whats wrong? I asked. I had seen men in some personal situations, but I had never seen one cry.
He pulled the car over and turned it off. Suddenly, everything felt quiet and important.
What is it? I asked in a careful voice. Am I in trouble?
He was searching the car console for something and found a packet of Kleenex. He held it in his lap and started to speak while he opened it.
Im twice your age, Mark, he said into his lap. His eyes were little cups of water, spilling. He turned to me. Youre fifteen years old. Im twice your age. Twice.
His mathematics meant nothing to me. His expression toward me, sad and quizzical, felt like he was trying to read my mind. It made me uncomfortable. I didnt know what he wanted. I sat there and said nothing.
He turned away and gulped back more tears. And then he asked the most mysterious question of all.
Dont you just want to be fifteen, Mark?
I had no idea what the man was talking about. I sat staring at him with my mouth open. I was completely stumped. Seconds went by and the car was silent.
My confusion seemed to disappoint him, because he shook his head slowly and looked back out the window. He was still very upset.
He wasnt simply crying out of guilt, they tell me now. They insist he was deflecting his own criminal behavior by blaming me for not acting my age. They tell me that he was the one who had trapped me and I didnt even know it.
Either way, I think Jim got more than he bargained for. I think he was a little frightened by the manipulative and unemotional fifteen year old sitting in his car that afternoon. And I think it saddened him because he cared about me.
And yes, I felt trapped all right, if only because I felt trapped in his car in this moment, where things were not going as planned, because after ten minutes were still parked on the side of the road and Jim wont stop crying. I am staring at my shoelaces because I cant imagine a grown guy would want anyone to see him like this. He must be so embarrassed. And I wish he would start the car, because the party is going on and theres probably lots of people having fun around the pool and I really want to be there.
I finally look over at him and hes blowing his nose. Maybe that means well get moving again, Im thinking. Jim doesnt say anything else but he does finally turn the ignition and the car rumbles to a start.
Im so relieved. I really want to see whats happening at the party.
Mark
-
My own views and memories on this topic remain conflicted, but I certainly do not intend to minimize sexual abuse when it does occur. If you are are trying to overcome childhood abuse, please consider contacting the Adult Survivors of Child Abuse (ASCA). Mark
For me, there was a lot of guilt about going back to my abusers place under my own volition. Having a bj at 11 was both terrifying but felt amazing. I know that i fantasized about my gym teacher and given the opportunity would have likely acted in a similar way to the author of this article. Its not that surprising. I realize now that even if after the initial coercion it was voluntary, I didn't have the capacity to understand how it would later fuck up my budding sexuality. How is a kid supposed to know what the were intended to be when the paradigm is permanently shifted, innocence lost and the shame of holding secrets begins.
I read others posts and it saddens me that so many have such a hard time forgiving their younger self - Thinking that they had no sense of morality and holding on to the self blame and recrimination. We all had morality, or it wouldn't be so tough on us now, none of us became bank robbers or ax murderers, most worked hard and succeeded at making a better life, despite fucking up at times, just like anyone else. I struggle with being open in my life , everyday. Building trust that is so hard to give, and so hard to receive. But I am no longer gonna let that little guy suffer for acting and being and feeling the way he did for so many years.
Its the whole point, "why didn't we want to or why couldn't we be just be 11 or 15 ?" Because we were never really were.
https://marksking.com/my-fabulous-disease/was-i-a-teenage-predator/
[size:14ptI]t flipped some of the concepts I have held on their head. Here it is with a trigger warning:[/size]I
Was I was a teenage predator?
Were on a dirt road in the cotton fields, sitting in the back of his Plymouth. It had been my idea to stop and look at the sky, and it doesnt come off like a sneaky move now, because the moon is full and bright and gorgeous. Ive been playing along but I wish he would make his move. This is the part thats always kind of boring. Hes nice, though, and good looking, maybe around 35.
RoadIts a balmy Louisiana night in 1975. And Im fourteen years old.
Everything goes as planned, and he gets me home on time so no one suspects. But he was a lot more nervous about it than I was.
And that was the routine during my teenage years. I had given up trying to mess around with other boys because it took forever to talk them into anything and I didnt want them to freak out about it. So, I got involved in community theater productions during the summer, playing bit parts or working the spotlight, just to be in the company of gay men. Then it was just a matter of getting some time alone with them.
My strategy for getting laid worked with some regularity, and it never occurred to me there might be something inappropriate or perverse or even criminal about it. At least, it never occurred to me.
People tell me the criminal ramifications most certainly occurred to them. They say I was molested or abused, and that it was the very definition of the word statutory. They say I was dealing with adults who had the capacity to know better. And, most bruising to my ego, they tell me that my seductive charms were irrelevant, and that perhaps it was they who were doing the manipulating.
Now, forty years later, I wonder if my teenage memories are trustworthy, and if it set the stage for an adulthood in ways Ive failed to acknowledge. Before I became a man, before the failed relationships and the sexual compulsions and the drug addiction, there was an adolescent who traveled side roads with strangers and took dangerous walks in public parks. And it is that boy, not the legion of adults I encountered, who fascinates and saddens me.
Was my fate sealed in the cotton fields of Louisiana?
The men I coaxed to those dusty roads arent villainous to me, and I still cant allow them to be left dangling in guilt and shame. I wont reduce them to simple pathology.
I met Jim in August, right before my freshman year in high school. The summer musical was 1776 and I was a stagehand. It was practically an all male cast, so it was a busy summer.
After a matinee performance one afternoon, I asked Jim for a ride to a pool party someone was throwing for the cast and crew. Once inside his car I told him I forgot my bathing suit and could we stop at his place so I could borrow one? What followed was a pitiful half naked fashion show in his bedroom, and a brief, awkward encounter between us.
Afterwards, I happily got back in the car but Jim wasnt talking much. He had become really quiet as soon as we were done.
We had driven a few blocks when Jim let out a kind of cough, like he was trying to stifle something and it burst out anyway. I looked over and his whole face was wet.
Whats wrong? I asked. I had seen men in some personal situations, but I had never seen one cry.
He pulled the car over and turned it off. Suddenly, everything felt quiet and important.
What is it? I asked in a careful voice. Am I in trouble?
He was searching the car console for something and found a packet of Kleenex. He held it in his lap and started to speak while he opened it.
Im twice your age, Mark, he said into his lap. His eyes were little cups of water, spilling. He turned to me. Youre fifteen years old. Im twice your age. Twice.
His mathematics meant nothing to me. His expression toward me, sad and quizzical, felt like he was trying to read my mind. It made me uncomfortable. I didnt know what he wanted. I sat there and said nothing.
He turned away and gulped back more tears. And then he asked the most mysterious question of all.
Dont you just want to be fifteen, Mark?
I had no idea what the man was talking about. I sat staring at him with my mouth open. I was completely stumped. Seconds went by and the car was silent.
My confusion seemed to disappoint him, because he shook his head slowly and looked back out the window. He was still very upset.
He wasnt simply crying out of guilt, they tell me now. They insist he was deflecting his own criminal behavior by blaming me for not acting my age. They tell me that he was the one who had trapped me and I didnt even know it.
Either way, I think Jim got more than he bargained for. I think he was a little frightened by the manipulative and unemotional fifteen year old sitting in his car that afternoon. And I think it saddened him because he cared about me.
And yes, I felt trapped all right, if only because I felt trapped in his car in this moment, where things were not going as planned, because after ten minutes were still parked on the side of the road and Jim wont stop crying. I am staring at my shoelaces because I cant imagine a grown guy would want anyone to see him like this. He must be so embarrassed. And I wish he would start the car, because the party is going on and theres probably lots of people having fun around the pool and I really want to be there.
I finally look over at him and hes blowing his nose. Maybe that means well get moving again, Im thinking. Jim doesnt say anything else but he does finally turn the ignition and the car rumbles to a start.
Im so relieved. I really want to see whats happening at the party.
Mark
-
My own views and memories on this topic remain conflicted, but I certainly do not intend to minimize sexual abuse when it does occur. If you are are trying to overcome childhood abuse, please consider contacting the Adult Survivors of Child Abuse (ASCA). Mark
For me, there was a lot of guilt about going back to my abusers place under my own volition. Having a bj at 11 was both terrifying but felt amazing. I know that i fantasized about my gym teacher and given the opportunity would have likely acted in a similar way to the author of this article. Its not that surprising. I realize now that even if after the initial coercion it was voluntary, I didn't have the capacity to understand how it would later fuck up my budding sexuality. How is a kid supposed to know what the were intended to be when the paradigm is permanently shifted, innocence lost and the shame of holding secrets begins.
I read others posts and it saddens me that so many have such a hard time forgiving their younger self - Thinking that they had no sense of morality and holding on to the self blame and recrimination. We all had morality, or it wouldn't be so tough on us now, none of us became bank robbers or ax murderers, most worked hard and succeeded at making a better life, despite fucking up at times, just like anyone else. I struggle with being open in my life , everyday. Building trust that is so hard to give, and so hard to receive. But I am no longer gonna let that little guy suffer for acting and being and feeling the way he did for so many years.
Its the whole point, "why didn't we want to or why couldn't we be just be 11 or 15 ?" Because we were never really were.
