What do think opened you up or made you vulnerable to being abused?
ame old story - I was groomed. I was easily seduced - I was taught to be obedient and deferential. I didn't know how to say no. He was older - like a big brother. All the dynamics were in place. But there was more...T
here was the weirder dynamic that I was one of the only male victims of this serial molester. When was caught having sex with little 7 and 8 year old girls (while he was also molesting 13-year-old me), the "village elders" decided not to prosecute. I was charged with the duty of keeping him occupied and distracted from the girls, since I was his little sidekick. That's another "same old story," isn't it? The adults never looked close enough to see that I was also a victim; they just never looked more than they had to. Paterno style all the way.M
y molester capitalized on that big-time. My whimpering protests would be met with the whisper reminding me of the consequences of not yielding, the harsh urgency of his tone, that he'd have to do it to the girls if he didn't do it to me. I had this huge responsibility to allow him to have me so he wouldn't do it to the others. We were having like this full-fledged sexual relationship probably several times a week and I couldn't find any moral bearings with it - it was dirty and secret and nasty and wrong, yet if I didn't yield then the same thing would be visited on the girls again and he'd get in trouble I would have failed not only the girls but the adults who told me to keep him away from them. And all that would be my fault because I said "no". I had no good choices at 12/13, and I had no one to save me.T
he irony is that my dad used to say I was irresponsible. He had no idea about the responsibilities I was carrying, with only a child's capacity to reason through it.I
n for a penny, in for a pound. And - like one of the Sandusky victims said - there was just no saying "no" to him. I can't begin to say how much damage this caused to me. I couldn't sort my feelings and responses and had no where to turn. I was just a slight, sensitive, and fragile little kid who felt like the dirtiest little piece of crap in the world. The biggest catharsis I had was the vicarious enjoyment of the Sandusky victims stepping out of their secret, dark, self-imposed solitary confinements and pointing the finger to the REAL monster. Damn!
I wish I had that moment...