As I said in my weekend update, my friend has read enough of my blog now to know about the bisexual activities. He hadn’t said anything to me about it, but in an email where he was asking some follow up questions about the post he has responded in, I asked him what he thought about it. He said it wasn’t surprising because he felt like most people are curious at one point or another and that he’s not homophobic and this won’t affect our friendship. I really didn’t think it would, but it was good to hear that from him and told him so.
He also reminded me that his curiosity in that regards was taken care of long, long ago. Of course I remembered, because he told me his secret the same night I told him about L and me. I asked him if he’d mind if I told his story here, with him remaining appropriately anonymous, and he said that was fine. It’s not something he’d ever write about, he said, but it might be cathartic for him to read it. I’m going to refer to him as Z from now on, but unlike most of the other people I write about, Z has nothing to do with his name. It’s just the last letter of the alphabet.
Z was sexually molested by his father from a young age. I didn’t ask as many questions as I might have the night he told me because I didn’t know how much he wanted to share. And my memory of the details he did share are cloudy, as we’d both been up since early the previous morning, and had drunk a lot of beer. I don’t think Z gave explicit details, but I assumed that there was both anal and oral involved. I do know that it went on until Z had finally had enough, I think he said he was 10 or 11, and told him “no more.” His father didn’t make a fuss about it, as I understand; he accepted it and I guess that was it. Apparently he told Z something like “Okay, have a good life.” I expressed dismay that his father would say such an asshole thing, but Z said it wasn’t meant like that.
I asked Z if there was ever a time when he got any pleasure out of it (I hope that doesn’t sound too harsh; in context of the conversation it seemed a reasonable question and he didn’t seem offended.) He said that he didn’t; I think he said his father tried going down on him once, but it wasn’t for long and nothing really happened. Maybe Z was too young, or maybe he wouldn’t have enjoyed it anyway.
He also said he worried later, in his teens, if all of that meant he was gay. Of course we can all say now of course something like that doesn’t mean you’re gay, but for a confused teen that doesn’t have anyone really to talk to about it, I can understand his concern. But he said once he started dating and getting lucky with girls, and never had any sexual interest in men, he knew the fears were unfounded.
I always admired Z’s bravery in telling me, and kind of proud that he trusts me enough to have told me. I felt nervous about telling him about me and L, wondering what he’d think about me fucking my sister, but in hindsight his was a lot harder to do.
He also reminded me that his curiosity in that regards was taken care of long, long ago. Of course I remembered, because he told me his secret the same night I told him about L and me. I asked him if he’d mind if I told his story here, with him remaining appropriately anonymous, and he said that was fine. It’s not something he’d ever write about, he said, but it might be cathartic for him to read it. I’m going to refer to him as Z from now on, but unlike most of the other people I write about, Z has nothing to do with his name. It’s just the last letter of the alphabet.
Z was sexually molested by his father from a young age. I didn’t ask as many questions as I might have the night he told me because I didn’t know how much he wanted to share. And my memory of the details he did share are cloudy, as we’d both been up since early the previous morning, and had drunk a lot of beer. I don’t think Z gave explicit details, but I assumed that there was both anal and oral involved. I do know that it went on until Z had finally had enough, I think he said he was 10 or 11, and told him “no more.” His father didn’t make a fuss about it, as I understand; he accepted it and I guess that was it. Apparently he told Z something like “Okay, have a good life.” I expressed dismay that his father would say such an asshole thing, but Z said it wasn’t meant like that.
I asked Z if there was ever a time when he got any pleasure out of it (I hope that doesn’t sound too harsh; in context of the conversation it seemed a reasonable question and he didn’t seem offended.) He said that he didn’t; I think he said his father tried going down on him once, but it wasn’t for long and nothing really happened. Maybe Z was too young, or maybe he wouldn’t have enjoyed it anyway.
He also said he worried later, in his teens, if all of that meant he was gay. Of course we can all say now of course something like that doesn’t mean you’re gay, but for a confused teen that doesn’t have anyone really to talk to about it, I can understand his concern. But he said once he started dating and getting lucky with girls, and never had any sexual interest in men, he knew the fears were unfounded.
I always admired Z’s bravery in telling me, and kind of proud that he trusts me enough to have told me. I felt nervous about telling him about me and L, wondering what he’d think about me fucking my sister, but in hindsight his was a lot harder to do.
I have far less problem (actually, no problem) with any sort of consensual sex than any form of sexual coercion or abuse. Z is a brave person to relate his experiences to you. I hope he's gotten whatever help he need(ed) to work past that part of his life.
ReplyDeletePeace <3
Jay
I felt nervous about telling him about me and L, wondering what he’d think about me fucking my sister, but in hindsight his was a lot harder to do.
ReplyDeleteI think you are correct. Heading back to my old standby, Dan Savage, he recently described why in most cases, there is no attraction between brother and sister. It is called the Westermarck effect, and basically it says that when siblings are reard together from birth to age 6, they become desensitized to sexual attraction (to each other). Conversely, " where a brother and sister are brought up separately, never meeting one another — they may find one another highly sexually attractive when they meet as adults, according to the hypothesis of genetic sexual attraction."
On the surface, you fucking your sister is technically icky, but only because she is your sister. Given the circumstance of your childhood, it is actually quite reasonable. The proof is that you did not share similar relations with siblings you grew up with.
Your friend Z on the other hand is clearly a victim of whatever defect his father had that prevented him from that signal in the brain that says, don't molest your children. Sadly, it does happen. I'm glad Z was able to bring it to a halt, and like Jay M, I hope he has gotten the help needed to press on. Obviously, he has adjusted well enough to maintain a friendship with the likes of you ;) and that is a positive thing.
Oh, har-de-har-har! ;)
DeleteI'd say he's adjusted reasonably well, and as far as I know he hasn't had professional help for that issue. He's also not the type of person who would use that experience as an excuse for bad behavior or a reason to give.
(Which is not meant to disparage those people who have had similar experiences and who havent handled it as well; everyone deals with things differently.)
Late on night when "The Boys" were together and sharing a late-night dinner at Denny's, my friend said that his cousin molested him when he was 13-14. It was very sad except that his cousin, a female, was super hot and we all knew her so he got no sympathy, just a few ignored high-fives. He didn't think it was funny, but she was really hot.
DeleteI can understand the molestation thing.
ReplyDeleteWhen I was about 14, I was molested.
A neighbor had asked me to babysit his dogs one night.
I agreed, because he was going to pay me.
As the night went on, he never came home, and I eventually fell asleep.
In the middle of the night, I was woken up by this guy sucking my cock.
I was paralyzed with fear, and just let him suck me off to ejaculation.
Whatever it was, I never went home that night, and stayed at his place, and next morning, after leaving, all that I could think about was, "I had my cock sucked".
The experience was so pleasurable, I was either stupid, or had bi tenancies, and kept going back for more.
For a number off years, i kept going back for more, until I must have been too old for him or something, because he got very angry with me over some small matter i can't remember, and told me never to come back.
And i never did.