Chapter Nineteen
It Felt Good...Sort Of
I would be lying to you, and you'd be lying to yourself, if we said all the molestation was physically painful. It wasn't. (Predators know that, and know how to use that against us, to condition us.)
This is the most painful for male survivors: To admit that some of it felt good. But until we do, we're not being real, and we're not going to heal. Because in admitting it felt good sometimes, you'll finally come to see how evil and wrong it was for the molester to take such a good, Godgiven capacity for pleasure and ruin it for us because they wanted it for themselves.
What happens when you wash a little boy's penis? Regardless of age he gets an erection. Even babies. It's normal, and biological, and good. It's a first step in physical growth that will lead to growing up, and puberty, and sexual awakening, and perhaps marriage and children.
It's a precious gift.
A gift that was stolen from us.
A little boy should not know the sensation of an adult mouth on their penis. Because to the boy, it feels very good. It's a biological reaction. But we're not old enough to know that, or understand that this adult is hurting us deeply. We could not NOT respond! But then, they knew that. And so we were split in two we knew it was wrong so why did it have to feel good? So we blame ourselves. Our bodies are to blame. It's our fault. We're sick. Evil. We wanted it. (That is also the favorite theory of organized predator groups pushing for legalized sex with any age.)
A child wants warm feelings and affection. We NEED it. So an adult gives us warm feelings, stroking our bodies while they provide warm body feelings, and they call it "loving" us. And we accept this love, because we trust them, and we grow dependent on them to give us these feelings, which we now can't separate from fondling and sex, because now in our minds it's the only way we can really know we are "loved".
It felt good. Sort of. Then why do we feel so empty, so lonely, so lost? Because we know in an instinctive, God given way that this is not love. This is rape. And it's left us confused, and longing for that "special touch" and attention to know that we're worth something, that we're special, and we're dependent on the person who is molesting us to tell us this is normal, that we're normal, and we're afraid we'll never be normal again, and we feel lost and abandoned when they go on and leave us behind to bleed in secret.
We are orphans in the storm. Please hold us and ask nothing in return.
Only then will we know we're safe.