He’s not ready for you to know his name, but he wants to share his story. It’s hard for him to talk about what happened, as he’s been let down by some of those who promised to always be there. But he knows that sharing will help him as well as others. But he warns you… its not easy to hear.
It all started when he was nine years old. The Boy was sleeping over his friend’s house and woke up startled. His friend had practically wrapped himself around him, shivering and mumbling incoherently. The Boy woke him up, scared. He refused to say at first what was wrong, but The Boy refused to let up. Finally, he opened up and, in a veil of tears, told him about the next door neighbor.
The Boy was speechless. He wanted to tell someone… he wanted to scream for his friend’s parents and tell them what had been done to their son. But his friend begged him to keep quiet. He was too ashamed to let anyone know. And the others… he couldn’t force them to talk.
The Boy wondered how many had been hurt. How many of his friends had had their innocence ripped away by the bastard living in their “safe” neighborhood? If none would talk, how would it be stopped? The Boy did not like keeping silent but he agreed anyway.
But he knew something had to be done.
The next morning, The Boy woke early and marched into the neighbor’s house. He did not know what he was doing. There was no plan. There was no back up. There was just an incredibly protective nine year old determined to stop the neighborhood pervert from hurting his friends ever again.
The bastard came up behind him and pushed him against the wall. His pants were torn away. Pain shot through his small body. That was the first time The Boy was raped. He did not cry. He did not scream. He just closed his eyes and clenched his jaw and waited for it to end. When it was over, The Boy reached for his clothes and silently dressed, his hard eyes set on the old pervert the whole time. But he wasn’t looking at the bastard; he was looking through him. He knew then what to do.
The Boy made a deal with the devil. In exchange for all the other boys in the neighborhood, the neighbor could have him. Of course the old pervert agreed. He had someone who would never try to fight him off.
For the next two years, this deal remained.
I’ll spare you the details.
During this time, The Boy began counselling the others that the pervert had assaulted. Hidden deep in the woods, they would meet and talk while The Boy listened. They often wondered why it had stopped. The Boy never once told them. It was his painful secret to bear, at least for a time.
After two years, The Boy had had enough. In a fit f rage, he pushed the neighbor out of the second story window. The no-good pervert survived just fine – broken bone here and there, but otherwise unscathed. The Boy was unhappy with that. But it was over. A short time later, the neighbor was gone and he could begin recovering.
They all went to The Boy. He was their rock. Hard as it was for him, he did it. And in time, he forgot. He came to have no memory of what the neighbor did to him. The others soon realized this (he did eventually tell someone, but that’s another story) and while they still spoke to him about what happened to them, none ever mentioned what made it stop.
For years, The Boy ignored the strange gaps in his memory; having unconnected events that he just knew were related went unquestioned. As he aged and became sexually active, it always felt as though he had forgotten a sexual partner and no matter how hard he tried he could not figure out who it could possibly be. So he assumed it was his brain playing tricks. In his state of mind, it was an acceptable answer. And no one ever told him otherwise.
And even years and cities removed from the place it happened, he still kept in touch with the others, who continued to talk to him about the old bastard. And he continued listening and supporting. Each time he hung up the phone with one of them, he felt as though he had forgotten something. Still, he let it go and continued on with his day.
Then one drink-fueled night, he and G. hooked up. It was all going wonderfully hormonal until G. climbed on top and brought the naughty adventure to the next level. That body pressed against his, that face hovering over his, that penis sliding inside him…
The Boy just freaked. He pushed G. off of him and curled up into a ball. He closed his eyes and said nothing. At that moment, he remembered. Not every detail, but the most important one. He remember the first rape.
With time, more came back to him. Each night, he dreamed another detail. Faces became clear. Names returned. Words were no longer unheard. His past suddenly threatened to overpower his present and future.
Things began to make sense. Once unfinished memories were complete. Things he did and said and thought finally fell in line together. Remembering the most painful time in his life completed him as a person.
Then he decided that what happened happened for a reason.
He was here to help others through their own pain (as he had always done even before the rape) knowing now that nothing could destroy him. Anything life could come up with to throw in his way couldn't stop him. He stumbles and bends, but refuses to fall or break.
He knows he is stronger because of what he went through as a little boy. He knows nothing and no one can ever stand in his way.
And his story is just beginning…