Recently I was conversing with a friend, telling about how my mother incested me. Suddenly, I remembered something about my SA I hadn't before:
Evidently sometime in my incested childhood I must have told somebody, some neighborhood friends
I suppose, about what my mother & I did.
Why I mentioned it I don't recall. Most likely I was just casually mentioning something that was a part of my life I was accustomed to. Never really occurred to me to think of it as wrong (tho it felt wrong deep down). Also never really occurred to me that I would get any kind of strong reaction
about what I said.
Hoo-boy was I wrong!
Next thing I know they start calling me a m*ther f*ck*r: "Oh wow you really did that?!" Man you're a lucky m*ther f*ck*r!"
Another item to add to my list of reasons why I buried the very memory of my SA so deep for so many years.
I sure didn't feel lucky. In fact I felt like
Remembering it was weird but didn't really bother
me too much.
Becuz now I know what happened: I didn't f*ck my mother, she f*ck*d me!
Becuz now I know what happened was wrong: my mother sexually abused me!
Becuz now I know what happened was wrong: and it wasn't my fault at all, it was all her fault!
Nor am I mad at those neighborhood kids, as they had no idea what they were talking about, even tho I did.
Adults who say boys who are "sexually initiated" by their mothers or mother figures are lucky, who make "touching, romantic" movies about mother-son incest, who don't take it seriously in the courts,
do not have the excuse of childish ignorance.
They are just plain ignorant!
I'm making it my mission to enlighten them!