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 to trust. 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?