I've been reading other stories/accounts here and don't know exactly what I'm feeling, though I am certainly identifying with incidents and events. I'm brand new here. The Sandusky / Penn State / Shower news of late has put me in a very dark place. I don't think I'm alone with that issue these days.

Usually, my thoughts and writings are very linear and legible. I don't know how this will come across. I hope you all understand.

For me, it was at age 4 or 5, in the shower, with my father. All I know is "something" happened. I have memory loss during those years, but somehow can remember the most trivial, inane conversation or event from my childhood. Not the details of why I had to be in the shower with my dad.

I had ambliopia, or lazy eye, left one, and was nearly blind in it until my mom noticed I was watching TV 12 inches away from the set. This may explain the lack of visual details. Fortunately, my sight was somewhat restored. I had to wear an eye patch over my good eye, or clear nail polish on the right lens of my eyeglasses to strengthen the left one. And yes, at 6 & 7 years old, I was teased and ridiculed in school for being a freak because of the patch, etc. Kids are like that.

Something happened in the shower. I also had two serious slips in the tub while showering as a youngster. I'd slip and an elbow would come crashing down onto the slide guide of the glass sliding doors. Both of my elbows are scarred to this day. Was I alone when this happened? Probably not. Who lets their 4 or 5 year old shower alone.

I am the product of my mother's 5th (not her last) marriage and my dad's 3rd. I have two older sisters from mom's 3rd and 4th marriages. There was a 3rd sister (dad unknown) that perished in a fire 4 weeks after I turned 5 year old. She was 4 years older than me, closest in age to me, and we shared a bed as little ones. Nothing nefarious about that. I was not allowed to go to her funeral (not fitting for children - family custom) and we never spoke about the details or the fire. We just didn't talk. Had a lovely home, mother made good money, but always chose weak men to marry.

Dad was thrown out of the house when it was discovered he was molesting my next oldest sister. She'd have been about 12 then.

For my entire life I felt uneasy around my dad. My mom and dad owned his business together, so I was brought along when mom collected her take/child support. I was forced to go into the store, though I resisted, kiss him (he always was unshaven, his whiskers scratched me, and he reeked of scotch). I was raised to do as my mother pleased, and eventually became an all-out people pleaser, so I marched into his shop to get "kissed". I'd wind up with a dollar in return from the cash register.

(And on people pleasing - to this day it wa my goal to please my partners sexually, but cannot or will not receive pleasure. These days I don't even want to be touched.)

Mom hooked up with then-to-be husband number 6 in 1965. I was 8. He moved in with us at our new place. We moved away from where my sister was killed, the other molested, and the shower place. Mom's new beau was a separated Catholic Bowery Drunk with 6 kids of his own. They were appreciative that my mom took him off skid row. I think they hoped maybe she'd reform him. They were both alcoholics and fed on one another's alcoholism.

My dad would sometimes take me to Palisades Amusement Park in Fort Lee, NJ. I liked the outings. He was 50 years older than me. Couldn't do any rides, but made frequent trips to the toilet. I learned young to hold it in. Don't go to public toilets where men and boys could see how ugly my penis was.

He had a son and daughter from his 2nd marriage that I was not allowed to know or ask about. I was also told by my mom not to mention a word about what goes on in our house, to my dad, or anyone.

My stepfather (they didn't actually marry until I was 27, after his 'real' wife died - good Catholic he was) was often naked in the house. He's be naked in the rain on the terrace, and the terrace was off my bedroom. Of course he was loaded when he'd be on terrace, naked, in the rain. He was always loaded. Why did he feel it was okay to parade around me like that? I don't even want to try to remember if he was aroused or not. I think not. He was too drunk. But I saw many times the attribute of his that my mother liked best. I wanted to be like that, and wasn't, so I was damaged goods.

My dad would talk about the difficulties he had with his tight foreskin. I had no clue what he was talking about, until I learned from other boys and then I felt ashamed of my own genitals because a doctor had to fix them when I was a baby. Though most boys of my age were cut, I hated the idea and felt mutilated.

I was an early bloomer, precocious puberty I think they call it. I was 9 and becoming a man. I was 6 feet tall in 6th grade and skyrocketing. My classmates were much shorter than I and I was made fun of - along with wearing eyeglasses, being lanky, uncoordinated, non athletic, artistic, quiet. I became ashamed of showing by body in gym. I avoided having showers with other boys. I was very tall, had way too much pubic hair, but my penis was not what I thought should be fitting a man of my height. There was another boy in class who developed early, was overly hirsuit, and equipped like a pony. I never felt adequate since then.

I told my stepfather I felt I didn't measure up when I was 13. He asked to see my penis. I obliged. This was a parent of authority asking, right? He offered no encouragement, other than that he's seen plenty naked men in school and in the army. I said I'd never make a satisfactory lover and he offered to take me to 42nd Street in NYC to see live sex acts on stage. I was actually curious about this proposition. He had brought pornography into the house when I was 10. It was easily found. He kept it in his car as well. I became addicted to pornography. The men in the material were usually uncut. They were European magazines. The images reinforced my feelings of being mutilated, that intact was better, and preferable to sex partners. I had the proof in pictures!

At 14 I was taking the train into NYC to go to porn movies by myself. Hell, at 14 I looked 21, and they'd let almost anyone in anyway.

My stepfather used to come into my bedroom in the wee hours thinking it was the bathroom, and open my closet and urinate on my shoes and toys on the floor. There were many break-ups and reconciliations between he and my mom over the years. When I was in mid to late teens, and living alone with mom, she preferred see-through nightgowns. She had pendulous breast and way too much pubic hair. (for my taste, but where does taste fit into this scenario?) How could she not know I could see this? Was this some sort of Oedipus seduction or something? I found it repulsive, although I loved her.

I never saw a live sex act on stage with my stepfather, but saw plenty on my own. I became voyeuristic. I was intrigued by intact men, though I was attracted to girls, and oddly, did not lack girlfriends in high school. Nice lookers too! I didn't like what I saw in the mirror, but as a young man, I apparently looked good to others.

My first sexual experience with another was with a boy my age. I thought of it as innocent experimenting. Neither of us came. I may have even instigated it. The first as a teenager was with a much older man who worked for my dad. He seduced me in the back office at my father's shop. I was 17, and we had been left alone to close up shop.

It turns out my dad was bisexual. He had many gay friends. He was a florist. My mother was a hairdresser. My stepfather was a porn addict. So not only did my dad molest my sister, probably me, but I later discovered my older brother (remember - from dad's marriage no. 2) ALSO molested the same sister when I was an infant, and God knows what this 13 year old did to me. The rift between dad and his 2 older children was - you guessed it - he'd been "inappropriate" with them. That's why they later wanted nothing to do with him or their new little brother. I also later learned that my own dad's stepfather "abused" him, after he was retrieved from the orphanage he'd been left at.

Even as an old lady, before I put her in a nursing home, after my stepfather died, I let my dear old widowed mum move in with me, and she'd stealthily, ghost like, in her see through nightie, slip into my bedroom at night "looking for my cigarettes."

The crux of all this? I hate being touched. I cannot ejaculate with a partner unless I really REALLY work at it and it has to be by my own hand. Only one person was able to satisfy me orally - and I was 19, and he was maybe 60?
I still hate my body though others find me attractive. There's probably nothing wrong with the proportions of my genitals, but I never felt adequate.

I hated school doctors examining me and would feign illness to get away from them look at me, let alone hold my balls while I turned my head a coughed. It's strange, that in my school records, it's noted that I have varicole (sp.) (Bundling of veins on one testicle) - a reasonable point of my shame. (30% of men have this - it's normal, and usually on the left side) but why is it in my school records for all to see?

I've been to therapists, but truthfully, never got honest with them. I just couldn't go to those dark places without feeling like a wimpy little crying baby - all 6' 6", 250 lbs of me. How do you treat body image issues? By comparing? That doesn't work. I've done it my whole life.

So yeah, I'm bi, and 17 years in with a very patient loving partner. Could have married many times and probably have kids, but some higher power led me not to make the mistakes my folks did. All they did was hurt each other and the kids.

I'm working on my own happiness, and sober 18 months. AA helps. I'm here on this site for other reasons. Some adult in my past led me to believe I was worthless, ugly, and inadequate. Did it start in the shower in 1962 with my dad?

Acceptance? Forgiveness?

Sorry for babbling. I sorta feel better. Until Sandusky says something stupid and my head goes back to the shower when I was 4.