MY STORY
By an anonymous SCA Member…
My story isn’t like the other stories. I didn’t start masturbating at an
early age. In fact my first experience with masturbating was a negative
one. My older brother taught me. And it felt more like he was teasing me or
making fun of me than teaching me something. Rather than have an
ejaculation, it felt more like I had to urinate but couldn’t. It was quite
unpleasant.
The most significant part of my story is that from my earliest memories I
was turned away from my natural interests and inclinations. One of three
boys, I was gentle and sensitive and held traits that my mother considered
to be effeminate. When my brothers would pick on me she would tell me that
they loved me and that I needed to learn to be tougher. Consequently, I
learned at a very early age to hide my true feelings or receive physical or
emotional abuse. My entire childhood was geared to first learning, then
adapting myself to what was considered “acceptable” behavior by my mother’s
standards. The children and adults I was naturally drawn to my mother
forbade me to see. The children and adults that were “acceptable” by her
standards didn’t like me. Consequently I had two brothers who picked on me
and was forced to play with children who didn’t want to play with me.
My father loved me as I was. I saw him as my protector, but he was seldom
around, and when he was around he kept to himself. He often intervened
between my mother and me, telling her to leave me alone. She therefore
learned to ridicule me when my father wasn’t around. On occasion, I would
tell him the things she was saying and doing to me. She’d tell him that I
was lying, or exaggerating, or had a vivid imagination. My father always
seemed to believe her. As I look back I can see why; I was a liar and a
sneak. It seemed the only way I could do what came natural to me was to lie
or sneak around. I was punished if I did; picked on or ridiculed if I
didn’t. Eventually, I just learned to take the abuse. I felt bad all the
time whether I was doing what I wanted to do or doing what my mother made me
do. I had a miserable childhood.
The first sexual encounter I remember was with my father. I was about three
years old. He would allow me to climb in bed with hm. He also allowed me
to play with his genitals. All of this happened in secret (my mother and
father slept in separate beds) so my mother never knew of it. My mother
never let me sleep with or touch her, nor do I ever recall wanting to. One
day, when I was playing with him, my father started to become aroused.
Although I don’t remember seeing him aroused, I do remember the “feeling.”
He immediately stopped me and never allowed me to touch his genitals again.
My second encounter happened shortly after. I tried to get the little boy
from across the street to pull his pants down so I could play with his
genitals. (We were the same age – three or four.) He wouldn’t let me but I
was intent on recapturing that “feeling” I once had, but could no longer get
from my father. He resisted, but eventually he gave in. He went straight
to my mother and told her when we finished. She sent him home and took me
to my room where I was stripped and beaten with a leather belt. I don’t
remember sexual feelings again until I was around ten. I had befriended the
boy across the street. He was the first person that my mother allowed me to
play with who I actually wanted to play with. We used to explore together,
and one day we were down by a pond and climbed into a well and started
playing with each other’s genitals. He seemed to like it as much as I did.
Shortly thereafter, he had an accident and had to have both of his eyes
patched up. I remember going to visit him. He couldn’t see me; was
vomiting and really sick. I felt like it was my fault; that we had been
“bad” together and that his accident was because of it. Then they moved
away and I never saw him again.
I never masturbated or touched myself sexually, but I do remember having
strong sexual feelings and I can remember always wanting to somehow get that
“feeling” with other boys. It seemed that the only time I had relief from
the constant pain of rejection, or not fitting in, or being turned away from
my natural creative outlets, was when I was pursuing that “feeling.” It
seemed the only pleasurable feeling I had in childhood. Yet, I also knew
that it was inherently “bad”, just like every other inclination I had.
Around eleven or twelve, I started experimenting a lot. I was never
interested in girls, only boys. While I would do things with girls, it was
only if there were boys participating and only because I wanted to see the
boys. I remember playing strip poker with my older brother and three
cousins – two boys and a girl. Once we had all gotten naked, I had an
erection; but it wasn’t because of the girl, it was because of my other
cousin. I remember that he was very handsome and had reached puberty so he
had hair on his genitals like my father. I also remember that at all costs
I had to hide the feelings I had for him and other men. I had to hide that
it was really boys that I was attracted to
When I was around twelve I befriended a boy – Danny – whose older brother
was a friend of my older brother. Danny and I were just beginning to be
friends and I remember for the first time having strong feelings that were
“good” but not sexual. It felt like he wanted to be my friend as much as I
wanted to be his; that we wanted to be each other’s friends. We made a kind
of friendship pact and it felt great because it didn’t have that other
“feeling”, but felt even better. In a different way. It felt good; not
like something I would be punished for.
Then one night I was sleeping over his house and his older brother, the
friend of my older brother, climbed in bed with us. He had hair like my
cousin and father, and he wanted to fondle us. Danny didn’t want anything
to do with it but that “feeling” was really strong and I was excited. It
was the first time since my father that I touched a “grown man’s” genitals,
although the “grown man” was only fifteen. He liked it too and wanted to
touch mine and the “feeling” got stronger and stronger. We touched each
other for a long time. After that night, Danny never asked me to sleep over
his house again and, while we remained friends, we never got any closer.
He pretty much stayed away from me.
When I got into junior high school, it seemed that all the boys were
reaching puberty except me. I was very interested in looking at them, but I
also knew that I had to hide it. That every time someone found out about
it, I suffered some kind of ridicule or rejection. I learned to only “play
sexually” with boys who weren’t friends, or would not be in a position to
tell the people that were my friends. If I had strong feelings for another
guy who was also friendly to me, I would usually distance myself from him.
I knew that eventually they would find out my “secret” and reject me like
Danny did. Consequently, I really had no friends even though I was very
popular and part of the “in crowd.” Nobody ever knew about who I really
was.
Then this boy moved to town, and he was becoming really popular because he
was very athletic. I used to be around him because he hung out with the
guys I did – the jocks. I hung out with the jocks because, by junior high,
I had learned how to be “accepted” by them and they were the only people
“acceptable” to my mother. This boy was doubly “acceptable” because his
parents and my parents belonged to the same country club and were best
friends. He and I hit puberty late. When we finally did, I was starting to
feel really “different” from everyone and increasingly isolated. Even
though I was still popular, and appeared to be happy, I was hiding this big
part of myself and dating girls so that nobody would find out about me. If
I had sexual feelings for John, I kept away from them because he was close
to my inner circle and was also someone that I really cared about. I knew
better than to blow it with another friend.
Then one day, I was visiting him at a house he was baby-sitting at. We were
sitting talking, and I started to notice that I could see up his shorts.
The “feeling” came on like it had never come on before, and a rush of
excitement overtook me. No longer thinking, just acting, I discretely moved
closer so I could get a better look. I did it so he wouldn’t notice. He
opened his leg, as if on cue, and gave me an even better look. I was sure
he didn’t know what I was doing even though I was becoming almost
uncontrollably excited. I repositioned myself and casually, as if by
accident, leaned against his leg. He moved his leg so that it touched me
firmly, giving me a clear view up his shorts. He had an erection. At this
point, I became so excited I could hardly breathe. I started to reach up
his leg and he opened it even further like he wanted me to. Suddenly, a car
drove up the driveway. The people had come home. We both jumped up. We
never talked about it to each other, but he started sleeping over my house
and I would massage his whole body. This was a real turn-on for me, as it
obviously was for him. Though I never once touched his genitals, he would
become so excited that he’d ejaculate anyway. Just from the touch. After he
ejaculated, I would climb in bed by myself, or roll away from him on the bed
we were on together, and masturbate and go to sleep.
The more we “did it”, the more “in love” with him I felt. Though he never
gave me any affection back and acted like it was something that never
happened. Eventually, he seemed to be bothered by me and would be mean to
me in front of the other guys. But it was confusing because in private he
acted like he really cared for me and he continued to sleep over my house
and we’d go through the whole routine.
After a while, I became bolder and tried to seduce a friend of John’s from
the country club. A guy I hung out with confronted me shortly after that,
saying, “John says that you’re gay; is it true?” I felt like I’d been
slammed in the stomach or something. Overwhelmed with fear of exposure,
rejection and ridicule, I denied it. Maybe it had been true, but I was
going to do everything I could to change it. It wasn’t until many years
later that I learned that both he and I had been set up. Danny, the same boy
whose house I’d slept over a few years before, was mad at John for something
else. He had used the situation and me as a scapegoat to get everyone to
reject John. John was ostracized for telling lies about me. For some
reason, their relationship with me was left intact, though it would never be
the same. A few days after the incident, John left basketball practice and
came to see me at work. He was distraught by the sudden rejection and came
to beg me for forgiveness. I couldn’t even look him in the eye. I had
never felt so violated. I told him to leave and that I never wanted anyting
to do with him again. I immediately went to therapy to learn how to get rid
of all homosexual feelings. Within a very short period, John was in the
psych ward of the local hospital. To this day, I think I caused his
breakdown because of my aberrant, deviant sexual behavior, and then my
failure to be honest about it.
I did learn to be “straight” and had quasi-normal relationships, including a
long-term relationship with a girl whom I eventually married. I had learned
to sublimate my feelings for men and found ways to vent my sex in public
bathrooms and rest stops. Always anonymous; always denied afterward. In
fact, part of the aftermath with anonymous sex was a strong desire to be
with my girlfriend. Never in my life had I been so unconditionally accepted
by another human being. She knew all about my escapades with John and my
therapy, and she accepted me as I was. Though I was never sexually
attracted to her, I did love her. We eventually got married. Swearing to
myself not to hurt her or go out on her, I completely repressed my sexuality
including all anonymous encounters. She never liked sex and never seemed to
care.
After that, I became obsessive about exercise. I used to do 500 pushups and
500 situps every morning and walk at least three hours a day just to
maintain some sense of sanity. I also became a very good actor and liar.
Having graduated from college, and being a workaholic I was, by most
people’s standards, extremely successful. Successful at giving people what
they wanted; always denying my true feelings. Always denying myself; hiding
who I really was. Eventually, I became increasingly insane and, one day, I
went to get a massage – from a man. It turned out to be sexual, except this
time I was on the receiving end. Two days later, I made an appointment with
my high school therapist. During the therapy session, I said something that
he asked me to say repeatedly for an hour and a half – the word
“acceptance.” After that hour and a half, I realized that what I had to
accept was that I was a homosexual. And that my whole life was one big lie
because I was afraid to face it. Looking into my wife’s eyes, and having to
tell her the truth, was the hardest moment of my life. But I couldn’t
deny it any longer. The lie was hurting her; it was hurting me; it was
hurting everybody in my life.
That was the beginning of a very long road to recovery. Feeling free to have
sex with men was a great relief and, as I slowly moved into my
homosexuality, I slowly moved into some sense of sanity and relief. But I
was still unable to have any kind of meaningful sexual relationship with
anyone that I cared about. I was terrified of being exposed. Terrified of
being hurt like I’d been hurt in childhood. Plus sex was interesting only
if it had that “feeling,” and I equated LOVE with the amount and size of the
“adrenaline rush.” And it always seemed to be the greatest when it was
wrong, or threatening, or involving some type of clandestine interaction
like seducing straight men. I never seemed to feel sexual attraction for
the people I loved. I couldn’t allow myself to be honest with anyone I
might really love. I knew how to have sex with emotionally unavailable men
or strangers. Usually “straight” men who were “jock” types my mother would
approve of, or men where it would be hidden. I hated myself, and though on
the surface I looked like I had it all together, I never allowed myself to
have “true” success. At least not by my standards. I would create some
reason to quit or move into a different job whenever I would approach the
upper management levels of a company or organization. I never felt like I
deserved to be successful. I certainly didn’t feel like I deserved to be
loved. Not by another man who I felt good about or who maybe “wanted” to
love me. I only knew excitement and that “feeling.”
Being in constant pain, I took many self-help workshops. Through this
process I came to realize that I was “afraid” of people and that I had sex
to escape from the pain I felt around them. Looking back, I can see that
there were other guys that I was attracted to in high school and I think
that they were attracted to me too. Guys that were friendly and genuinely
interested in me. But I stayed clear of them and hid behind my girlfriend.
I certainly didn’t want them to find out who or what I “really” was and
reject me like my father and Danny and John had.
Through some small miracle and a lot of therapy, I began to work on the root
of my problem: “Fear”. Fear of intimacy; fear of revealing myself to
another person. Fear of telling the truth. But it wasn’t until SCA that I
started to realize how very sick I was. How, from the beginning of my
earliest memories, I have cut off my sensitivity and anyone who might love
me. I have been dishonest, sneaking around subtly manipulating other sick
people to support my disease. I have no idea what it means to be honest
with a man that I am attracted to. I have no idea what healthy, honest men
act like. I hide from them because I am afraid that if they really know
me they’ll reject me; or I scare them away by subtly working to seduce
them into doing what they don’t “want,” or aren’t “ready” to do.
Little by little, one day at a time, I am learning that those “feelings” of
excitement are uncomfortable. That the shortness of breath and the related
biochemical reactions are as destructive to my physical and emotional
well-being as the most powerful drugs I have ever ingested. Although, I
have taken no drug that compares to the powerful rush of sexual adrenaline.
But I also see that as I learn to tell and live my truth, the destructive
elements in my life slowly go away. It seems that the very people I am so
sure would run away if they “really” knew, want to come even closer when I
tell the truth.
Through SCA I am learning that I am supported in ways beyond those I would
ever consider to support myself. God does love me. All of me. If I let
him. When I am searching for the “feeling,” or the “adrenalin rush,” I cut
off my sensitivity. I know now that my Higher Power speaks to me through my
sensitivity. It’s his gift to me. It is the gift that I have to give
others. When I cut off my sensitivity, I cut off my Higher Power. I cut
off myself.
I know now that I have to rediscover and reclaim my sensitivity. When I was
a child I had no choice; I couldn’t get away from the insensitive people who
were abusing me. Back then, those “feelings” saved me. Today, they are
killing me. But today I also have a choice. I can walk away from cruel and
insensitive people. And I can write and play music and employ many other
dormant creative skills. Skills I wasn’t allowed to explore when I was a
child. For me, working the program has been about behaving in the way that
feel right about. Not because anybody told me it is right, but because
it “feels” right. Inside me. If I am acting out sexually, I have no idea
what I am feeling. Only what I am thinking, and my thinking, programmed by
my mother, brothers and so-called friends, is sick. When I honor my
sensitivity, I am trusting my Higher Power, and this gives me a strong sense
of relief. My Higher Power brings me peace, and sense of well-being, and
direction where to go, who to trust, who
It doesn’t feel right to have sex with a stranger. It doesn’t feel right to
seduce or manipulate a person who isn’t ready or doesn’t want to. And that
“feeling” I used to escape the pain of childhood no longer feels right
either.
What feels right is to acknowledge that I am lonely, or that I hurt, or that
I’m scared. And then ask my Higher Power to either grant me the strength to
find and live my truth or to take the situation away. He always does, if I
am sensitive enough to pay attention.
Each minute, each hour, each day, each action I take that validates who I am
makes me stronger. The stronger I become, the more I can live and be my
truth. The more I live and be my truth, the more I realize that I am a
homosexual and that we do have something to contribute to other men. Be
they gay or straight. The more I contribute to other men, the less I feel
the need to seduce them. Raw, rampant sexual energy feels the same as anger
to me. I don’t want to be around angry people. I like to be around
peaceful people. The more open and honest I am, the more peaceful I become.
I like to be around me these days. Maybe someday the right person will want
to be around me too. But how will he ever recognize me if I’m not living
and telling my truth?