So much shit went wrong yesterday I have to do a little scene-setting.

Let's go in order.


1986
TRIGGERS - MOLESTING, SODOMY
On some terribly rainy day I got either caught in the rain or fell in a puddle or something and I was utterly drenched - like, dropped in a pool soaked. I remember being horribly embarrassed and not wanting anyone to see me. One of the playground monitors / all-purpose substitute teachers accompanied me to the bathroom. I dont know if I sought him for help or if he offered it on seeing me. There was some talk from someone, some notion, that I couldn't let anyone see me like that. I was so embarrassed and didn't want anyone to see. I was already very much in "never tell" mode - it was an overpowering urge, almost programmed, to never ever tell anybody, and it was there before he ever layed a finger on me. Maybe he suggested it to me or maybe he saw it in me and capitalized on that. I went in the bathroom stall and stripped off my shirt and pants and socks, just in my underpants and sneakers. I kind of helplessly tried to hang my drenched dripping clothing somewhere and had no idea what to do. Freezing cold, but as I dried off I got more "stuck" undressed - you can't put soggy saturated cold clothing back on, I was stuck until they dried or new clothing magically appeared. I was humiliated at the thought of other kids knowing what had happened and just knew they could never find out. He entered the bathroom stall and made some comment about my comfort - something like "you're getting comfortable aren't you?" I didn't answer. Then a similar follow up, something like "Let's get you more comfortable" and grabbed my underwear. I said "no" but he ignored me and pulled them to the floor. I was scared and frozen as he groped me all over my body.

After a few minutes of that he pulled out his penis and rubbed it on my lips. I had never seen an adult penis before and almost didn't know that was what it was. I thought maybe it was something he was carrying, its size and shape were so strange. He ordered me to do things and I did everything he told. Then he grabbed my head and forcefully fucked my mouth for a while, brutally using me until he came, told me to swallow and again I obeyed, he called me a good boy. He left the stall with me standing there naked shivering and crying. My head and throat hurt. I have no memory of getting out. I would have been noticed wearing soaked clothes, would have been noticed coming home in different clothes than I'd gone in. I seriously suspect that he took my clothes to the laundromat down the street to dry. It would have taken under 40 minutes and I, buck naked in the stall, would have stayed there until he got back. I consider that the only reasonable explanation.



TUESDAY DECEMBER 11, 2012
TRIGGERS - JUST PLAIN GROSS
I got food poisoning while at work. Subway's chocolate chip cookies - always nice and soft, but this time softer. Must have been raw egg in there. I gave it no mind until I had that "cold lump" feeling in my belly, the kind that says it is unavoidable that you are about to throw up. I bought and took some Pepto and hoped I'd defused the situation. False hope.

I ran to the bathroom in my office building and sat there hoping it would go away. It didn't. Other guys entered the bathroom, went in the stalls surrounding me. Please God don't let this happen with my co-workers right here. I went to college, i had a bachelor pad, i have puked in many a bathroom but never with an audience, esoecially not people whise respect i needed to command. Well first time for everything. I gigantically and violently vomited, a lot missed the toilet and went ALL OVER MY CLOTHES and the floor, other men like 8 inches away hearing everything. It was that horrible violent type that seizes and wrecks your whole abdomen, you keep convulsing to retch it out so you can't breathe in, you go a good 20 seconds without breathing, so of course when your muscles let go then you are gasping desperately for air. Which the other guys all heard too. There were about 12 cycles of that and by the end it was so violent and unnerving and my humiliation so great that I started crying, loudly, couldn't control it, so everyone heard THAT too. I tried to compose myself and to clean the worst of the puke off the floor and toilet seat. My suit was unsalvageable.

When it felt like that round was over I waited for everyone else to leave the bathroom, overwhelmed by that familiar idea: NO ONE CAN SEE THIS, NO ONE CAN SEE THIS, soaked and alone humiliated in a bathroom stall.

Oh we are only barely getting started.

My commute home would be either 2 subways and then Long Island Railroad, which was complex, public, but at least regularly timed. A cab would be effortless and private, but maybe an extra 90 minutes (and dollars). I resigned myself to the trains and got started.

Round 2 began on the platform of the 1 train at 42nd street. Felt the cold lump again, felt dizzy and doomed, the smell of puke on my clothes accelerating things. I leaned on a column for support. A kindly old man, white haired and walking with a cane, asked me if I needed help - me at 34, 6'2". I thanked him but no, I just needed to get home. He helpfully suggested I sit with my head down. I just didn't want some idiot Good Samaritan to pull that emergency rope and stop the train, didn't want to be the Sick Passenger who EVERYBODY HATES. At last made it to Penn Station. I'd escaped the subways but couldn't escape the salmonella.

Round 2 really hit right there in Penn Station right in the main concourse by the big LIRR board, by the McDonalds. I made it to a garbage can and again had the most violent wrenching suffocating round of vomiting, but now my puking and gasping and crying was not just heard but SEEN by the 400+ people milling around Penn Station. A cop came over and asked if I needed help - I said I just needed to go home. Did I need an ambulance? Not unless there was an ambulance right there at that instant and it would skip the hospital to go to my house.

Again the feeling - NO ONE CAN SEE, NO ONE CAN SEE! But they all saw. Couldn't breathe.

I thought again of the bathroom earlier, of the other men hearing me, smelling me, thought of being alone and scared and soaked. I was dizzy. My throat hurt. I kept retching so bad I couldn't breathe for 15-20 seconds at a time. Whenever I opened my eyes there would be another person looking at me, then averting, hurrying away. A mother turned her little girl's head away. Don't look at the wino, dear, don't look at the junkie from the alley. She wouldn't say "don't look at the raped cumdump of a man" because that's such an unnatural and freakish concept it would never enter a normal person's mind.

Plummeted into a death-level panic attack. I started to lose vision, got even dizzier, the station spun around, I realized I had stopped breathing and forced myself to start again. My anxiety pills were in my pocket but I was afraid to let go of the garbage can and surely couldn't have swallowed anything anyway. Leaning on the can with my elbows I put my hand in my mouth and bit between thumb and index finger to anchor myself in reality. Realizing I was just never going to feel better, I eventually swum / staggered over to my train. Lay down on a whole row taking 3 seats. Luckily it was only 3:45-ish, so not too crowded.

Round 3: about 30 minutes later, on the LIRR. Once again I managed to dash into the bathroom, and once again there were people standing right outside the door and I heard them gasping and clucking as they heard me. The train was going fast and unsteady so I had to hold onto a wall pipe, swinging around uncontrollably as I emptied everywhere. I was still in absolute panic and sure there was another hundred people staring at me as I was stained and degraded. My soaked clothes were now cold and I began to lose my sense of time. I was waiting for a cock to be shoved into me and I gagged along with my memories.

I couldn't talk so I texted my wife. My parents visit to babysit every Tuesday, and my dad came to pick me up. He took one look at me and jumped out of his car to help me. He tried to talk to me but I couldn't talk, could barely breathe. He helped me upstairs, I stripped out of my vile clothes and crawled into bed to die. Dad was so worried he sat at the foot of the bed to listen to me breathe. I tried to ask him to leave so he wouldn't hear me cry, but I couldn't talk, so, he heard me cry.

He patted me on the shoulder, a gesture of... something. Then he left the room.

I curled up under the blankets trying to escape, to forget, to erase. To do anything to convince myself this whole lousy last two months hadn't happened, that it hadn't all been a systematic destruction of my dignity both physical and emotional. I was a husband and father, had a Masters degree, worked a multitasking job... and felt utterly crushed. My mind weakly occupied itself with memories of forced facefucking as I lay strengthless. I got smaller and smaller.

By the time my mom came into the room I was very small. I couldn't open my eyes when she put her hand on my forehead. She just sat that way for a while. Then, because she's a doctor, she asked me some symptom questions and I answers as best I could.

It was quiet for a while. And because I really did have no dignity left and was already very small, I spoke in a small voice. "Mom, everybody saw. Hundreds of people saw me... like that. I was so messed up."

And then my mom said:

"These things don't have any respect, dear. No one thinks you did it on purpose. You were just an innocent victim."

I froze. I'd been so fucked up - had I already told her and forgotten, without realizing it? "Innocent victim..." I heard myself repeat.

"Yes."

Dad came in and they both sat with me, talking softly in the dark. I was very small and somehow felt safer with them there. Of course, they were so concerned because this was probably the first time in over 20 years they'd seen me seriously ill. But I couldn't remember anything that far back. I was just a kid in the dark. I was safe.

I almost told them right there. But not like that. I couldn't tell them as a sick scared boy, I had to tell tell them as a strong man. And I'd have to remember that first. I didn't want to hurt them. My same old reason as a kid. I didn't want to hurt them. Didn't want to cause trouble. Didn't want them to be mad or unhappy or cry. I wanted them to be proud of their son and not have bad thoughts. I just wanted everything to be the same forever, the way it used to be.


I've already set the date to tell them, though. This Saturday in fact. With lies as a cover story to get them alone without our kids of course. Build up more lies until the last.

But when I do tell them, I'm adding something to my script. One sentence.

"These things don't have any respect, dear. No one thinks you did it on purpose. You were just an innocent victim."


Matt












Edited by SoccerStar (12/12/12 11:39 PM)
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My story

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