’74 Fold- Thursday

I am approaching the anniversary of my rape differently. I will be posting pseudo diary entries chronicling the events in real time, be it on a 43 year delay.


***Trigger***

May 30, 1974

He dressed me in a denim shirt with clear stones all over it. It was tight and to small. But he promised it’s what the guys liked. He took me down to Christopher Street Pier. Richard made it sound like a great place with hundreds of guys looking for each other. I would find a guy there!There were maybe 10 men on the entire pier. As one came another left. Just like in Allentown, they were all men, no boys. I left after an hour or so.

I walked around the village which was fun, but I didn’t know what I was looking at or what I was missing. I stuck to Christopher street. I walked up and down for a long time, just taking it in, looking for boys . But I didn’t see any.

Late in the afternoon I thought I should head back to Richard’s. I had his address and phone number in my backpocket. I started walking north.

Around 5 or 6 I was under the Empire State building. An extremely muscular man was there too. His button down shirt strained against his arms and chest. His face was nice too. He walked over to me. He said he lived across the street and invited me over for a drink!

His apartment was contemporary. To the left was the living room, the bathroom was across from the front door. A large abstract painting was over the sofa. To the right a large window and a small kitchen.

I sat on the sofa. When asked what I wanted, I didn’t know what to say, so I agreed to what he offered. It was whiskey or something. It was strong, but tasted good. His name is Jeff and he’s a dentist. He didn’t sit down. Told me to drink up. He got mad I was talking. I thought he was asking me to leave.

He stood in the middle of the room and took off his shirt. He started flexing. But I wasn’t suppose to sit there and enjoy it. He demanded I come and “worship” him. I didn’t know what he meant, but it seemed like I should go over to him.

I could barely get off the sofa. I was embarrassed. I didn’t know what he wanted and I didn’t want him to think I was drunk. I wanted to touch him. I fell on the floor. I couldn’t move. This wasn’t drunk.

My clothes were off. I don’t know how. I was on the floor face down. He shoved a pillow under my stomach. He got on top of me. Pain shot through my gut, rammed into my chest, back, insides. He was ripping my insides out of me. I couldn’t breath but I screamed. He stopped and crushed me. His face was in my ear and he said if I made a fucking sound he’d throw me down the stairs. He started again and the pain ripped me apart. If the neighbors heard me yell he’d kill me. I had to take it. The pain was like fire. I thought he was killing me. I thought everything was going to come out. I couldn’t move away, I couldn’t do anything.

When he was done I felt like I had to shit. I don’t know how I got on the toilet. I was afraid to let go. I thought my insides were ripped apart and would spill out and I wouldn’t be able to stop it.

While I was stuck on the john he came back with a drink glass. He pissed in it. He pushed it up against my lips and demanded I drink it. I held my lips shut, so he dumped it on my face. I didn’t want it in my eyes, my nose. It was in my hair and it just ran down my face. I didn’t want to touch with my hands. I wiped it with my arms. It was grosser then being fucked.

He asked me where I belonged. I told him Richard, his address was in my pocket. He pointed to the shower and told me to clean myself up.

When I got off the john I was afraid to look in the bowl. Turns out all I shat out was his cum. I rinsed myself off. I was so weak, I don’t know how I moved or how long I was there.

Richard came and they talked. I was suppose to get dressed, but I wasn’t moving fast enough. Richard was angry, he shoved my cloths on me. He held me up as we got on the elevator. He told me I had to walk myself when we got outside. This neighborhood didn’t take well to fucked up little runaways, the cops would haul me off.

It took forever to walk to his place. I wanted to sit down. I wanted to stop. He just kept making me walk. He wouldn’t help me.

He had a room with a chaise longue. Just a sofa with no back and high arms. I was naked somehow. I was bent over the arm, face down. He lectured me about making the customers happy. They like some spunk but no screaming, no yelling. I had to get used to it. He started to stretch my asshole with different size cucumbers. I passed out.


 

I’ve written that a hundred times. I can’t copy and paste it. I have to write each word. As if saying it the right way will dispel the horror. Unlike earlier events I’ve always seen this as traumatic. I could never pack it away and dismiss it as something other than what it was, a rape

I am positive Jeff drugged me. I couldn’t move my limbs. By that age I knew what falling down, stupid drunk was. This was different, it was a weakness and inability to make anything move. Unfortunately whatever it was did nothing to stunt the pain or fear.

I was a virgin. I only heard of anal sex a week or so earlier. The talk was some celebrity was always in the hospital being repaired. It sounded so dangerous and gross, who would want to do it? I never heard anything about piss. It was beyond demeaning.

He enjoyed saying he would kill me. He knew I believed him and he got off on my terror. That was the worse part because it actually made sense to me. It was grotesque that a man as strong as he, needed to further exaggerate the difference by making an untrained boy even weaker. Even though I knew it was sick, it played right into my issues. It was exactly how I saw myself next to other boys, men. I was no longer a boy, I was a failed man. This was the punishment I always knew was coming, what I deserved for being weak. His sickness reenergized the toxic thinking that has held my sexuality hostage since I was a small boy. In a way it froze me in time, but also broke me, I didn’t fucking care. No one was ever taking anything from me again.

Richard collected money from Jeff for my services. I’m not sure how I know that. I think he alluded to it while he was “training” me. I didn’t understand until later, but this was his plan all along. I suspect he whored Billy too. I believe he kept me hungry intentionally, to break me down, to get me in a weakened state. Jeff’s drug just happened to be convenient, if sloppy.

The training was a harsh betrayal. I had trusted Richard. He seemed to care about me finding a boyfriend, he understood how hungry I was. That’s what I thought.

In the 70’s no one ate fresh vegetables. My family took it to an extreme. Even so, I wasn’t just a picky eater, I had serious aversions to most food. Everything that cucumbers had now come to mean just strengthened my repulsion. I recently tasted cucumber infused water. I allowed the slices to touch my lips. It was a victory.

The fear went deep into me. I couldn’t trust dentists for the longest time. 3 years after the rape I was having my wisdom teeth extracted under general anesthetics. I heard a nurse say I had to much cotton and I would suffocate. IVs and all, I bolted for the door. I let my teeth go for years until the pain was to much. Valium and gas got me in the chair. I now have a dentist I completely trust, no drugs required. We have an agreement that he will show me the tools (and not hide them from me)

Today I celebrate the boy who took the pain and saved his life by not making a sound. Would he have thrown me down the stairs and killed me, probably not. But at the time it seemed all too probable.

I celebrate the man I am, the man who is brave enough to learn how to enjoy touch and physical sensations that have been locked away for so long.


This series continues with ’74 Fold – Friday

Thank you for reading. Comments and constructive conversation are always welcomed. I can be reached privately via the contact page.

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9 thoughts on “’74 Fold- Thursday

Add yours

    1. Harlon,
      This has been so cathartic! I am in a completely different place then I was a year ago. So it’s hard to tell if it’s writing it out and sharing, or something else. I feel so strong! Yes part of me is grieving, but I’m not consumed by it.
      Thank you!
      -Bri

      Liked by 1 person

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