It had been about 3 years since I'd been raped at 15. For my 18th birthday, my oldest brother (first perp) invited me into NYC for dinner. When I got into the city, he suggested we go for a celebratory drink before dinner (at the time, 18 was the legal drinking age in NY). Being pretty naive, it didn't really even dawn on me initially that the bar was filled with mostly guys. Anyway, my brother led me over to a table where some guys were sitting. They appeared to be young professionals, all dressed in suits and ties. I just assumed they were friends of my brother, and still didn't get it. Anyway, drinks were ordered, and one of the guys "accidently" spilled a drink in my lap, proceeded to apologize profusely and attempted to use his napkin to blot my wet crotch. I jumped up, said I'd take care of it, and went to the men's room to try to clean up. Finally the bulb above my head came on and I realized my brother had taken me to a gay bar. I don't understand why he was trying to "make" me gay, or indoctrinate me, or however you want to put it. Around that time he was always going clothes shopping with me and telling me what clothes to buy, too. I don't know why he couldn't just leave me alone.

32 years later this still eats at me.

Peace,

John

_________________________
Wish that I could cry
Fall upon my knees
Find a way to lie
About a home Iíll never see

It may sound absurd...but donít be naive
Even heroes have the right to bleed
I may be disturbed...but wonít you concede
Even heroes have the right to dream
Itís not easy to be me