Post by confusedtoolfan on Jun 4, 2022 9:39:59 GMT -8
I will always be thankful that my mother showered me with love and praise growing up, it truley breaks my heart to know that many children never experience that. As I’ve grown older however I’ve looked back through a more critical lens.
My mother has had the same catch phrase since I was a baby, whenever challenged about my behaviour her response was “But he likes it!” She would let me pull her hair even though she was in physical pain, let me draw on the walls, she couldn’t bring herself to crush my spirit or contain me. For much of my childhood I felt like she could be persuaded to let me do almost anything.
When I was around three or four the son of a neighbour sexually assaulted me. He was only a few years older than me but the difference in physical strength was huge. He locked me in a shed, threatened to kill me, and wouldn’t let me leave until I performed oral sex on him. I remember after I ran home crying to my parents a female doctor visited to examine me. I have a vivid memory of the examination being humiliating and arousing. I don’t remember who undressed me, but I was naked, being man handled by this adult woman I’d never met before while my parents sat nearby watching, holding each other for comfort. The doctor bent me over and examined my anus, my genitals, my mouth, and most of my body.
I remember on one occasion I was left with a different neighbour for a short time, I was probably around four or five. He gave me something to drink and some biscuits, sat with me chatting. My memory isn’t clear, but I think I tried to get him to molest me, I may even have exposed myself to him, I do remember feeling sexually rejected, and I think he may have had a word with my mum when she returned.
We moved to a new house when I was seven, and I was told I’d finally have my own bed, I wouldn’t have to share with my parents anymore. When they told me I remember being very self conscious that I was weird for still be sleeping with my parents. Soon afterwards I was to became responsible for washing myself. My mother gave me one last shower. I remember her sitting on the toilet watching me shower and giving me instructions on what to do. Then she towel dried me in their bedroom, I remember standing facing the mirror, with my mum down on her knees drying my body. I remember routinely aching for her to touch my penis. Once I was dry I jumped up on the bed in anticipation of what I know is coming. I lie face down with I disagree up in the air and hold my cheeks open with my hands, I think I enjoyed exposing myself to her like this, hoping she could be tempted to touch my body. My mother dusted talcum powder over my bottom and gently rubs her hand over I disagree cheeks and crack to disperse the powder. I then flip myself over and get into the next position, on my back with my legs open. She dusts over my crotch and thighs, before again she rubs it in. I must have been very horny by this point because I begged my mum to rub it in some more, I repeatedly pleaded and promised to be a good boy if she would touch me just a little. She was hesitant, but seemed flattered and caved, she gave my genitals a quick firm rub, and there ended her bathing me.
My mother definitely had poor boundaries, and was prepared to go to extreme lengths to give me what I wanted. We would snuggle an inappropriate amount, and as an adult I find snuggling to be very arousing, which I worry is Pavlovian. I have a number of memories from some time when I was around nine, in which my mother would lying in her bed reading me a story while I snuggled up to her. She would wear only panties and a tank top, and while we snuggled I would try to touch her sexually. I would hug her at the waist and then slip my hand just under the fabric of her top, and then I would slowly caress her, moving my hand up and down. I did this thinking I was being sneaky, getting her to lower her guard to the movement of my hands, and when she seemed relaxed I would then slip my hand either up onto her breasts, or down into her panties. For a long time I thought these were memories of my own bad behaviour, and that I was just very sexual because I’d already been abused once before by another boy. Looking back now though, why would she have chosen to cuddle up with me wearing only panties and a tank top with no bra, when she knew I was going to try and touch her? Knowing the signs of arousal in women as I do now, I think she used to get turned on by me trying to touch her like this. She would laugh and grab my arm, pull my hand out of her panties and tell me not to do that again, but she’d keep snuggling with me, and again she would laugh when I did it again. I notice that my partner will often tell me to stop doing something, and I almost can’t help myself, I’ll feel compelled to do it once more thinking it’ll be funny. I’ve seen my mum quickly turn on the anger and command me to stop behaviour, she has no problem doing so, which just adds credence to the thought that she was enjoying that I wanted to be sexual with her.
She obviously was unconcerned by my behaviour as she made no attempt to set any boundaries around nudity, often letting me see her naked. She would regularly ask me to help her rinse her hair with a jug while she was in the bath, or to help take her bra off. I longed for these moments, the opportunity to lust over my mother’s body.
I feel conflicted in my judgement of her behaviour. Our society seems to be universal in the assertion that I am a victim, her behaviour was evil. While clear black and white distinctions such as these are very helpful in legal cases, they don’t make me feel very good, or seem to help me navigate the situation beyond suggesting I should cut off all contact, despite now having a more healthy relationship.
There is nothing that can undo the damage caused, so I shall not dwell in resentments, longing for what my life could have been. Despite what has happened to me, I am still lucky, lucky to have my health, my partner, my self confidence. It will take work, but I am in control of my body, and can change the behaviours that I don’t like in myself, I can set healthy boundaries with my own children and not pass on the generational trauma.