This post is long and graphic and deals with my fantasies, so please be careful. I don't want to trigger things for you. Lloydy.
What I want to do is deconstruct my fantasies, they're about the only thing left that really bother me any more. The flashbacks I can deal with, depressive days can be caused by other things, not neccesarily my abuse. I still have problems, but I mostly deal with them now
The fantasies however linger on, and give me trouble. They are, I think, the reason I shy away from making love with my wife. It's hard to make love when the image I have in my mind is giving oral sex to strangers, or recieving anal sex. And it's got to go.
I did both things regularly from the age of 11 to 15 with many older boys and a teacher, I know what it's like. Perhaps that's part of the problem, if they are such bad things to do then why do so many gay men choose to do them ? Both have their pleasures, it can't be denied - but I guess the gay men and the straight ones will agree that sex, in whatever form, is better when there's some degree of affection and love involved. Even promiscuous people who have one night stands generally go through the motions of sharing caress', sharing the pleasure, knowing the name of the person they are having sex with.
To just go down on a strange man because he's standing in a public toilet flashing his hard on at you doesn't have any of that. That's all about humiliation. A big part of that for me was the risk of being caught, I probably didn't want to actually get caught, but the risk was a hugh kick, especially on top of the adreniline induced rush I could create in the lead up to my acting out. Thinking about being caught often came into the fantasy, the ultimate humiliation ?
So why is the fantasy still so active, even if I believe that acting out will never happen again, why do I masturbate to it so often ?
It's still so ingrained in my sub concious that I dream about it, I can wake up and it's the first thought in my mind, It comes on less during the day now, but it's still lurking and if I'm alone and pissed off with my job it comes on strong. So strong that I have to masturbate to release myself from it, sometimes in the back of my van................. It's so desparate.
And all the time it's happening I recognise the shame and humiliation that is the root of it, I know what's going on......why can't I find the point to break the cycle ?
If it was pleasurable to me surely I would go out and find someone who I could share the pleasure with ? But that's not part of the deal, the fantasy doesn't go there at all. All I see in the fantasy is the cock in front of me, I have never constructed a fantasy around any man I know, have seen, or imagined. Race, colour, age or any features don't come into it - only the cock. When looking at gay porn I avoided the pictures of whole men in favour of the torso of one man and the face of the other, I could relate to that, project my face onto the picture of the blow job.
In my fantasy how we meet is at best perfunctory, but the sequence of events IS important. The stranger makes it known he's available then I take over and make all the moves after that, I say " let me suck you off" or something similar. But I do the talking, I make the decisions. I take control, but also take the "humiliating" role. I guess it's a master / slave type of thing, although a very mixed up one. I want to be the slave- on MY terms !! It's probably a way of reclaiming the power I lost doing these same things as a boy. I was certainly groomed to say these kind of things to my abusers. When they happened to bump into me in the corridor and say "what are you doing after dinner ?" my reply was " Let's go and fuck" or whatever.......
I was trained to do that, it made me the instigator and relieved them of blame. The fact that I was beaten and gang raped by six of them very early on in a show of force led me to the easy option of doing what they wanted.
Like many abused boys I did participate, apparently willingly, in the sex. I got erections, I came, I had sex with some of them. I was taught to believe I enjoyed it. Perhaps I did ?
Perhaps that is still there, the guilt at having enjoyed some of it. Also, my memories have remained with me since the time it happened, and I have vivid memories of suggesting different positions and asking if I was doing things just right. Not the sort of thing a boy should be doing.
Years of fantasy evolved, inevitably, into acting out. And it was horrid; disgusting toilets and equally disgusting strangers. The sex wasn't the pleasure I anticipated, it was clumsy fumbling about.
And the rigid fantasy was never fulfilled, the stranger would say the wrong thing, "suck this !" and that wasn't the way I planned it, I wasn't in control anymore. Realistically, it would never be the way I planned it- life doesn't work that way.
It was nothing more than total dissapointment, but is that a close relation of humiliation ? Probably.
So I guess the question I have to ask myself is "why do I feel the need to humiliate myself ?"