I choose that silly icon because it is embarrassing. I am ambivalent about writing this story, but I know it is useful to get it all out. It would be nice to have a friend I could share it with, but I find myself shying away from all intimate relations (including friendship), especially with men. How I long to be understood, to have acceptance and affection from men.
My Grandfather has many devious traits, but his sexual aggression is debatably the worst. I truly loved him, and felt that he loved me. Moreover, I still feel love for him, even though I hate him and what he has done to me. Does that make any sense?
It would always happen at his house, and it first started when I was around five years old. He had this bathroom upstairs with a tub opposite the sink and mirrors above the sink and the tub, giving one the odd impression of “looking into eternity” when looking in the mirrors. Ironically the effect of what happened there while looking in these mirrors have eternally consequences on my soul.
I was five. He was my grandpa. He gave me baths. He called it “our game.”
The first time I remember playing “our game”, I was staying with him and my grandma. He walked with me into the bathroom, shut and locked the door, and, picking me up, placed me on the counter/sink.
“I love you Robbie,” he said as he began taking off my clothes. I remember the feel of his callused hands gently caressing my body.
“I love you too grandpa,” I said enthusiastically.
He continued to grope me as he took of my shirt, shoes, socks, pants and underwear. “Do you want to play a game?” he asked me while continuing to rub me. I nodded. He proceeded to show me how to “play.” He took my flaccid five-year-old penis and sucked on it, moving it around in his mouth with his tongue. It felt good.
“Okay,” he said, “do you like that? Now you do it to me.” He undid his pants, and produced his penis. It seemed huge to me, and unlike mine it was hard. I was curious because I had never really examined a penis before, and I had never seen one that was hard. At his urging I touched it, and took him in my mouth. I did my best to repeat what he had showed me. He liked it very much, calling me a “good boy” and repeatedly telling me how much he loved me. I can still taste him.
During other encounters he would suck on or fondle me while on the counter, while I was in the bathtub, or while he was in the bath with me. Sometimes he was naked, sometimes I was naked, and sometimes we both were. Sometimes he wouldn't have me perform oral sex on him. Sometimes I would just stroke his penis. Sometimes he would get excited and masturbate himself into an orgasm and ejaculate on me.
This continued for 1+ years, whenever he could get me alone, until the day my mother (although not realizing what was going on) felt that I shouldn't spend time alone with my grandparents anymore. For this I am extremely grateful as it reduced the time of my sexual abuse. I never told anyone, because my grandpa told me this was our game, and that it should be just between us. I loved him, and wanted to make him happy, so I said nothing.
During this time I became more and more introverted and began to develop a self-esteem problem that would haunt me all of my life. I don't want to start listing the effects of sexual abuse on me, but I do want to say that it did almost immediately begin to have large results on my personality and development.
I just don't understand. I loved him, and I thought he loved me. I thought he accepted me. I felt special. I also liked it. I hate that I liked it, but I did! I felt close to him, and loved, and although I didn't have an orgasm, it still felt good to have my penis touched! God help me! Even relating these experiences, though it is painful, it is at the same time pleasurable and even erotic! I feel so messed up and lost and like no one loves me and that I can't ever connect with a man without it being sexual. I don't want these feelings! I want to be mad! I want to hate him, and have that be all! I want to be angry!
You see, to me the sex was love, and I still need to be loved.
I read an article about sexual abuse victims being touch deprived, because they are scared. I feel that I am! I just want to be accepted!
Oh it hurts.
I am grateful to be able share this. If anyone who reads this has any comments, or can explain why I feel the way I do, please write me at firstname.lastname@example.org.