Guys: Warning: Click, click, bang, bang: ***Triggering***

I was born in Royal Oak, MI, a Detroit suburb, in August of 1957. I was the first-born of three kids and the only boy. My parents were fairly unstable at that time and we moved constantly. My dad couldn't seem to keep a job in one place for very long. In my first five years of life we lived in seven different houses in three States, plus I spent a substantial amount of time at my mother's parent's house in Kansas City or my aunt and uncle's house in suburban Boston too. My dad's parents were from Wellesley Hills, Mass, but we rarely spent any amount of time there. My parents were both extremely devout members of a fringe fundamentalist cult faith-healing church. There was plenty of abuse to go around in my first five years. I was frequently beaten by my dad, who seemed to be always angry. My parents fought constantly in my early years. And I almost never received any medical care because of my parent's devotion to their religion. There is some question as to whether my sisters and I ever received many of our required school shots because of this religion's legal exemptions. I was already a good candidate for the walking wounded patrol by the time that my folks moved to Burlington, VT just before I turned five.

My first molestation occurred within 100 ft behind my parent's house in South Burlington. A new house was being built right behind ours, and one day I was out at the rear of the backyard when a group of older boys were playing in the construction project. A couple of them pulled me behind a large tree and fondled me. It was over in a few seconds when my mom yelled at me from the back door. I'm guessing that the other boys were in the 8 to 10 age range, when I was age five.

My parents had another couple from their church as close friends at that time. They had a son who was a year or two older than I was. His parents seemed to be very trusting and left him home alone at that age. I was left alone with him one day when all of the adults went down the street to the grocery store. He called me into his bedroom just in time for me to see him stick a Phillips screwdriver well into his urethra. Then he wanted to try it on me. He was bigger and stronger, so it happened. It hurt pretty badly, and it also hurt when he used a pair of pliers to stretch and twist my male organ, though at the same time it kind of felt good. Our game was he was the policeman and I was the criminal. This happened at least two or three times over the next several months. Now he is a senior partner at a prestigious investment firm there. And me: I'm on an extended medical leave for Hepatitis-C.

Looking back I can see that it is obvious that this kid had been abused also. Kids that age don't inflict sexual pain on their genitals without a reason. But it kind of messed me up. I began to have a great fear of public bathrooms and my father beat me repeatedly when I couldn't wait until I got home. In kindergarten and first grade I had been in an advanced placement program for gifted students. My dad lost another job in 1963 and we moved back to Michigan. That summer my older sister and I spent several months with my mom's parents. My grandmother wasn't too good at child care and I was beaten a number of times for minor infractions. My grandfather was pretty good with me though and I spent a lot of time out at his farm in Kansas, where he taught me to drive a small farm tractor by age seven, a car by the age of eight, and a six-wheel stake-bed by the age of 10. He even took me on an old Wild Mouse roller-coaster at the age of seven, and on the go-carts and bumper cars after that.

Academically things started to fall apart in 2nd grade. I was in a new school and didn't know anybody except a few kids from my folks church. My grades went down quickly as my dad continued to beat me for my fear. At the age of eight an older boy from the church was allowed to babysit us kids. Jimmy A. fondled me from the very first night he babysat. He was around the age of 18 when I was eight. He also enjoyed sexual pain and enjoyed inflicting it on me. I remember being forced to sit on my 9 or 10 year-old erection, which both hurt and was pleasurable at the same time. There were at least four or five incidents with him over the next two years. I remember once crying my eyes out when he was babysitting and my folks were walking out the door. I remember that I didn't want to be left alone with him.

The summer that I turned nine I was sent to a YMCA summer camp a few hours drive north in Michigan. There were some odd incidents of molestation in my two weeks there. Once playing "capture the flag" I was captured and those of us who were captured were forced to pull our pants down and have our cocks grabbed by our jailers. Or another time we were skinny-dipping and the same thing happened to me when I was in the pool. I became more and more leery of older guys over time between the age of 8 and 12.

The next summer I was sent to a church camp in Missouri. Our counsellor forced us to disrobe and walk almost 1,000 ft totally nude to go skinny-dipping. I was grabbed in the pool there too. Then a group of older boys showed-up wearing their suits. I still remember running away nude amidst all of the laughter and grabbing. It was like we were forced to run a gauntlet in the nude at the age of 10.

The following summer I was 11 years old. Another trip to summer camp ended-up with the boy straight across the tent from me getting molested by a counsellor one night. I tried really hard to make myself really small while I acted as if I wasn't breathing. I was obviously really scared. More skinny-dipping and underwater grabbing followed.

There was obvious molestation going on a Cub Scout camping trip at about that same time but I only had to listen to some other luckless boy's protests coming from another tent. The incidence of molestation of preteen boys seemed to be fairly high back in the mid to late 1960s. By then I was still pretty frightened to use public restrooms and preferred to go number one behind a tree or behind a dumpster. It just seemed more alone and safer. Also by then I was becoming a fairly timid and withdrawn boy in a number of ways. Plus my dad continued to regularly beat me, my parents continued fighting, and I never saw a doctor between birth and the age of 12. My dad also had a real problem praising me for anything, instead prefering to endlessly tell me that I was no good, or that i could have done a better job. I continued to inflict sexual pain on myself. I don't know if I hated myself or whether I was trying to punish my abusers. I was already a real mess by the summer that I turned 13 (1970).

The first week of January, 1970, I broke my leg skiing at one of the little ski hills around Detroit. The ski area wanted to rush me in an ambulance to a local hospital, but my mother waved her religious exemption again and we went home instead, where she tried to faith-heal my broken leg for three days through all of this chanting of Biblical phrases. My dad came home from a business trip and there was a huge arguement over taking me to Pontiac General Hospital. My mother was in tears when the ambulance showed-up, then insisted in riding along to the hospital. The ER doctor x-rayed my leg and then began to prepare a pain injection. My mother argued with him that it was against our religion. The doctor pleaded with her to let him use pain killer to rebreak and reset my front lower bone below my left knee. Religious exemption, my fledgling Christian Science Practitioner mother screamed back. And so it was that I was basically tortured by an ER doctor in the name of religious freedom. That pain is one of my strongest memories. Over time I sprained an ankle three times, broke both thumbs separately, broke my nose twice, and fell and suffered a deep puncture wound in my belly in the woods, on top of having to suffer with athlete's foot from the age of seven. No medical care was ever provided to me despite my dad having good insurance through his employer. Mom was so afraid that the church would find-out that she had taken me for medical care, as if somehow that would cause her to lose face in the church.

The summer of 1970 I was molested three times. Twice my 15 year-old next door neighbor molested me when he cheated at strip poker in a tent in their side-yard on overnight sleepovers. The 2nd time I didn't want to but I was with a friend who didn't know what Ron G. was going to do. This 2nd time Ron still had most of his clothes on and Tim and I were totally nude and were forced by Ron to allow him to do things to us sexually every time that we lost another hand. It was about that time that I had my first orgasm and began to masturbate almost every day.

And the summer of 1970 was the first time that another church friend of my parents forcibly molested me when he was home on leave from Viet Nam. I was 5'7" and about 130 lbs and he was a combat Marine. I had to wonder later if he was into torturing prisoners in Nam. The next summer AJ was back again and babysat an entire weekend. He forced his way into my bathroom when I was in the shower and molested me again. And the summer I turned 15, 1972, AJ babysat for two weeks when my folks were away in Hawaii and Japan. I was molested and physically abused several times during that two week period, and was molested to orgasm and anally fingered as I stood there in the shower nude and powerless. I remember blockading my bedroom door with heavy furniture then climbing out of a window and trying to runaway down the street, with him chasing me, just as a neighbor drove in and saved me. Three weeks later I was caught with my 12 year old sister with our clothes off in a motel bathroom. When I told my mom about what AJ had done just three weeks earlier she beat the crap out of me for allegedly lying about AJ, as he was from our church. In Mic Hunter's book Abused Boys there are the results of a study that gives reasons why parents didn't believe their son's accusation. Parents who thought that their kid was lying about their abuse were only four percent of the total in the study.

The fall of 1971 my parents sent me to a church boarding school in Greenwich, CT, where I didn't fit in. Instead of participating in school activities I cashed my $15 allowance check then rode the New Haven train down to Grand Central and wandered around Manhattan from the Battery up to Central Park. There were so many people around yet I was virtually ignored, and almost seemed invisible. A nickel bag of grass lasted all week back then. Finally I got kicked-out for getting back late a couple of weeks in a row. In Greenwich I hung out at a hippie head shop and with the anti-Vietnam War crowd. All that I did was get stoned and drunk. A year after I left the school suffered a polio outbreak. 12 students were infected with a serious preventable disease because of their religious exemption.

Needless to say, I started smoking at the age of 12, smoking pot at age 13, and drinking by the age of 14. By the end of ninth grade I was hanging-out with a stoner crowd, by the start of 10th grade I was hanging out at a pool hall in Pontiac, always stoned, and by the start of 11th grade I was working in a gas station in Pontiac, hanging-out with a street gang, and we were always stoned and didn't care. I got my first car, a 1971 Duster Twister 340 V-8, and began immediately to attend less and less school, finally getting booted in the winter of 73-74. They said that I was a bad influence on the younger kids. It made me even more isolated than I had been.

Three times between the spring of 1974 and the fall of 1975 I was picked-up hitchhiking and molested or abused. The last incident in the fall of 1975 was very violent at the point of a gun. Hitchhiking home from work I was picked-up at US 24 and Maple Rd by a guy in a van. He blew right past the intersection where I wanted to get out (Long Lake Rd), then pulled out a black semi-auto handgun. He drove to his house on Hickory Grove west of US 24 then he used the garage door opener to shut us inside away from the prying eyes of his neighbors. It was a ranch on the south side of the street with a right-hand two-car garage.

When he got out he had me follow him through the driver's door. He then told me to strip right there in the garage while he was holding the gun. He told me: "Either do what I say or I'll make you wish that you had". He gagged me then he pushed me into an interior bedroom where he tied my elbows inside of my knees and my wrists to my ankles. He first fondled me to orgasm then began to torture my sexual organs. He threatened several times to rip my cock off. With me laying on my back on the bed he tied a rope around my genitals and my cock and tied the other end to a pair of heavy boots. Then he threw the boots off of the bed a dozen times or more. He also burned my cock with flammable hair spray, and painfully twisted my cock too. Then he raped me followed by a violent fondling where my male organ was stretched out hard behind me. He also hit me in the genitals several times really hard. I still don't know why I wasn't killed.

He dropped me off at a dark rural intersection maybe 2 miles from my folks house. He told me that his friends would kill me if I ever told anyone. He drove away as the tears began to roll down my face. It took over an hour to walk home at 3:00 AM. I still remember running away from the road in terror every time headlights would begin to approach in the distance. I was scared out of my head.

After the incident I never told anyone about it until a single T many years later. All of the rest of my abuse has been extensively gone over in almost 5 years of therapy. I wallowed in fear and shame and drugged myself every day to suppress the pain between 1971 and 1987. I lived with the constant fear that someone would decide that there was something wrong with me. My high school did think that there was something wrong with me back in 1974 and they scheduled an individual assessment with the district's mental health provider. You guessed it: That religious exemption did that chance in. I became very fond of vandalism, intimidation, risky high-speed driving, and I dropped-out of society and lived a very fringe existance. I had my friends from the neighborhood gang and only a couple of close friends after my folks moved to Cleveland back in 1976. Otherwise I was very anti-social, very drugged-out, and very alone most of the period from 1975 to 1986, when I first started individual therapy at Cleveland State University. The entire period from 1972 to 1987 was just a complete lost cause.

End of part one.

Watch for part two, the rest of the story.

Take care and I hope that all is well.

Trucker Mark