1 in 20 boys under the age of 18 experience sexual abuse or assault. I’m not sure what the percentage was when I was a kid but that is what the current percentage is on RAINN.
I remember my biological father would sometimes have parties at the house. People would come and hang out while drinking,smoking, and other stuff. He had this large red pipe bong he would pull out. He also sold coke so I’m sure people were snorting that. The large glass table in the dining room would have been ideal for that though I can’t remember for sure. I do remember at other times when he weighed the coke into smaller bags and would break down the bricks of weed into smaller bags. All part of the family business.
People would also break off to other parts of the house and you could run into them making out or in other sex acts. Prior to this I had already been exposed to other sexual situations when my bio dad would casually leave pornos on the TV in his room. For a while he had my brother and I sleeping in their walk-in closet, so I would also catch when his girlfriend and him would have sex there also. That room was different in that it had an overpowering floral smell to cover up the cigarette smell from both of them. In this environment I think I came to associate those sexual acts with love as that must be what all that passion was about.
At the parties one of the things that also made a regular appearance was a punch made of various alcohol, juice, and fruit in a cooler with ice. People would just dip in a cup for a drink. I remember getting some for myself and that it was better tasting than the beer except for that strong alcohol after taste. I guess people also thought it was funny to see a drunk six year old.
After a bit I remember a couple walking me back to one of the rooms. I think this is one of the things I have tried my hardest to forget in my life, so I can’t really remember their faces. Every time I bring up the memory in my head, I see a smear over this part in my memory. Like I took an eraser and smeared the flashes of color and memory in my head. What followed though was that the man had his way with me. They kind of talked to me like they were teaching me it as a lesson. Luckily I don’t remember anything getting ripped or bleeding like I understand can happen. The woman used her hand and mouth and was pleased to make my little boy penis hard though she was disappointed I didn’t ejaculate. I wasn’t old enough for puberty for the last part to really work. There were other nights where other people touched me and did various things, but it’s fuzzy from the wishing to forget and the natural effects of alcohol.
Whenever this happened, I was hoping to feel that love and acceptance I always wanted but never got that. I knew how to keep a secret so when asked, I was happy to do so about this. When I entered foster care, I learned this was something I should be ashamed of, so I never talked about it. I didn’t want anyone to look down on me for letting this happen to myself. I’ve hated myself for it and it’s one of those things that left a mark of hate and shame in my past. I know I was a child, but it’s still something that causes me pain and impacts me to this day. I have a tough time when people stand behind me; it causes a panic of memories of not having control of myself when being physically or sexually abused.