3. Sons and Voices

It is important to preface the rest of what I must share with the above for context and the following for perspective. From now on I will mostly be discussion my actions toward others.  I make no excuse for my actions.  I make no attempt to validate or justify them.  What is posted here forth is an account the despicable events in which I became the aggressor. I should warn all readers that in my desire to be completely honest, I have not censored my recall of these events.  Graphic depictions of a sexual nature follow later in this post.


Let's call him Brad.  He was the pastors son and one year younger than me.  I was 5 when they first moved to my church, and I was 8 when they left.  The events herein occurred when I was 6-7.

Very much unlike myself, Brad, being the only child to parents who had suffered through a number of miscarriages, had grown up with a sense of entitlement that was alien to me.  I remember thinking of him as being a little overbearing.  He demanded attention constantly.  His way or game or toy or parent was always the best.  He would create stories that he insisted he dreamed the night before and insist that everyone listen.  He also had learned that whining unhappily to his mother often got him what he wanted. 


Indeed, his parent often used the phrase "Oh, just make him happy." to encourage other children to appease him if ever there was a conflict.  This occasionally included Brad's habit of inviting himself to other children homes on Sunday afternoons.  We would be standing near the east door of the church as my father took account of the tithes and his father spent a few last minutes typing on the computer, and Brad would decide he should be coming to our house this afternoon.  The chain of knowledge for this plan ran: him, then his mother, then my mother.  Meanwhile I watched the entire spectacle quietly.  After the first few times, I began to get annoyed with is presumptive antics, but there were enough boys our age in the congregation that  he was not asking to come home with us every week.

I am still baffled by his desire to play with me.  I was generally quite and unadventurous, but moreover, I didn't own any video games.  How I engaged him in our time together sufficiently to procure multiple requests for playtime is beyond me.  Had he wanted me to accompany him to his house, that might have been more understandable. Yet, that was not the case.  Surely that idleness is part of the reason that in our play we began to engage in undressing.  This grew into a game that I initiated and soon dubbed 'massages."

Typically it began with me touching him on the shoulders or gently rubbing him, and then convincing him to follow me to my room.  Shortly, I became cruelly adept at rapidly initiating the process.  I began to utilize manipulative methods of which I could not have predicted my possession.  Oddly, I draw language from the place from which I had a definitive idea of the concept of submission: church.  A phrase I adopted for regular use was "Do you want to be lord of my life?"

"Yes" he would reply.

And so we would adjourn to my room.  What followed essentially consisted of events for which I still have no absolute language.  Crude words like "handjob" are certainly applicable in the most mechanistic sense, but I consider molestation to be the most correct.  Once we were alone I typically began by rubbing his abdomen and removing his shirt.  After placing him on the bed, I would continue to alternately fondle and undress him until he was completely naked.  Continued caressing was typically be accompanied by other deceptive proclamations of false submission such as "I just want to make you happy." and occasionally these emotionally manipulative statements would be followed by my kissing his genitals.


All of this was intently done when no one else was present, so it continued for at least a couple of months.

Despite the many occurrences (something around 5-6 I would think), I never once undressed and allow myself to be fondled in return.  I don't think I was ever asked to, but in case it ever happened, I had already formulated a general plan of how to distract him and maintain control.  Even then I was capable of willful manipulation of another person, I understood his weakness as a desire for self-gratification and I knew how to exploit it.

Eventually I was found out when my sister and two of her friends wanted to speak to use while I had Brad stretched naked on my bed.  (Thankfully) My door could not be locked. So, one fateful Sunday, three pre-adolescent girls barged into my room, saw what was taking place, and ran all the way across the house to tell my mother with me following in tow and shouting all they way that they were lying.



Though I never thought of what we were doing as sex, I can only see it as having been inherently sexual at it's core.  Still in retrospect, if any event in my life to date constitutes a loss of virginity, then this must be it.  The actions I committed here are the most sexual that I have partaken in.  I have seen these same actions mirrored in my interactions with other men, but if actions alone define a loss of virginity, then I lost mine of my own free will at the age of 6.  As ridiculous as it may sound, I genuinely believe that I committed these actions with reasonable understanding of the ramifications.  Yes, looking on it as an adult is not the same as I saw it then, but the morality of the matter is quite clear-cut.  Exploration is common to all children, and the exploration of one's being and one's body is normal as a child, but this was more.  I molested Brad, just as I was molested.



Several years later, while discussing the event with my mother, I commented on my continued guilt over the matter.  She seemed surprised and responded with a story from her young childhood in which she and some other young girls played together naked.  I am aware that this is not a unique occurrence, but the nature of my actions were undeniably sexual.







 
I think that the tendency in such situations is to blame the subsequent transgressions on the initial instance of victimization, but that explanation doesn't make sense to me.  It does not satisfy me regarding my particular circumstances.

First, if the psychological theory is correct in such matters, then my role should have shifted from victim to victimizer. One could argue, correctly, that those people with whom I have had negative interactions are indeed victims, but not in the way that would arise from a continuation of a predatorial cycle. In my actions there was never an attempt at domination, and they involved men older than men, often times much my senior. 

Second I am a moral human, I was aware that my actions were wrong, so the reason for and the motive behind my actions does not change their sinful nature.

It is clear to me that I understood at least something about the morality of what was occuring.  I had been homeschooled as a child, so when my mother gave my sister the "Birds and the Bees when my sister was the age of 7, 5 year-old me was also attending sex-ed class. I knew of the concept of sex without any knowledge about its particulars other than that for heterosexual couples it involved procreation and in the insertion of a mans penis into a woman's vagina.  My understanding of the emotions surrounding lust and orgasm was practically non-existent, but I knew that sex was pleasurable and that

I cautiously made certain that these events only ever took place behind closed doors and in the

Another issue must have been power.

And though I initially felt apprehension or disinterest regarding his visits to my house, I don't recall those emotions after the "massages" began.

No my childhood molestation may have given me the knowledge of what I was doing but it could not have been the reason.



I have often wondered what this young man has suffered from at my expense, but I am hesitant to initiate any contact.  I searched for, and found him on Facebook, but nothing more that that.  I can only imagine that  any kind of a meeting would only cause him grief.  If he desires it, then I would feel obligated to oblige him, but I do not see that I can initiate dialogue in good conscience.  Perhaps this is rationalization to justify an inaction born of shame, but I genuinely feel it is best this way.  If his past has been a painful because of me, I cannot inflict any more upon him.