dino

I was a rentboy

12 posts in this topic

Posted (edited)

My T has encouraged me to write this down so I did. I've been very hesitant to post this part of my story because of obvious reasons. It has never been told before, some know parts of it but I don't believe anyone to have the full picture. Until now that is. After much consideration I have decided to hit that post-button, however I'm still not sure I'm doing the right thing. I know my perpetrator isn't around to read this, yet I want to add: I HATE YOU!

Here it goes. As this was originally written in my native language I'm sorry for any crappy grammar and weird spelling that was added through the translation process. I did my best.

:trigger:

It took me over a year to gather enough strength to break free from my perp, a year of what eventually turned into almost daily sexual encounters with him. Groomed and brainwashed I was 15 and thrown in to a world of confusion and identity issues from which there was no obvious way out. The unspeakable feelings of shame and self-blame made it impossible to have my emotions and despair out, I had no one to share all pressure building up inside, I just couldn't talk about it. There was a lot of anger, I was angry not only with my perp but also with myself. Angry for being such a naive idiot believing he had been my friend when he in fact only wanted to use me for his own pleasures. Angry for allowing him to do everything he did, ashamed way over my head when thinking of everything I had done. To please him. Not to lose him as 'friend'. Because he wanted me to. Because I felt I had to do it. Realizing I had been completely fooled made me feel so stupid and absolutely humiliated. And now he had escaped me, what it seemed like; He had gotten away with it. To be left stuck with it all, that inability to do anything about the situation almost had me to explode.

Without realizing it my self-hate slowly had me to drift towards self-injuries. My mood changed. School results came crashing down. I isolated myself. Started to use alcohol, something I hadn't even touched before, believe it or not. Got involved with people not good for me. Someone offered me hashish, that opened a short-lived escape from reality. But when the haze was gone everything was of course back like it used to be, only worse. That self-destructive feeling, waking up with a head as comfortable as a seriously kicked football, feeling absolute shit, when you eventually firmly believe the only thing you're good at is hurting yourself you almost get some unexplainable kick out of it. It was horrible, but at the same time it also felt like I had given my unreachable perp a punch in his face. It was my revenge, like I was breaking his toy. It may seem just completely irrational but this is how I remember it. Can't explain it in any other way.

Seen this way it was probably only the next logic step to follow a guy home. I had seen him before, he was some acquaintance to my friend's alcoholic dad. I still don't know what those two had in common but I suspect it was the alcohol. For some reason I no longer can recall I had previously once joined my friend and his dad to go see this guy. If my friend's physically abusing alcohol addictive dad was scary to me, this guy was even worse. I disliked every aspect of him. From the very first second I laid my eyes on him I thought he was just disgusting. I didn't like the way he looked and smiled at me. His eyes stayed too long, looked at the wrong places and had me feel so uncomfortable. His small apartment was filthy smelly and full of dirt, just like I expected him to be if I came too close. That time I kept my distance and left as soon as possible.

I don't know if he remembered me when we met again later, and I don't know if he saw the state I was in - probably he did. When we met in the street he approached me and pretty much straight out offered me money to follow him home. Of course I knew what he was after, still I accepted. I wonder if it was so obvious what kind of kid I was? I suspect (and hope) any normal child would react strongly on such offer. Call the police or just scream out loud to scare the creep away. I didn't. I just silently had him lead the way. To my own defence I try to think my perp by his actions had lowered or erased my defences against exploitation. I simply didn't care any longer. To this day I truly hope I did what I did as a part of my attempts to hurt myself. If not I seriously don't know what to think. Please don't hate me for this.

The first time wasn't so bad (but that's all relative I guess). I just did what my perp previously had done to me. I had my clothes off and he had his hands on me. As long you just let it happen and try not to feel anything it's almost bearable. Of course eventually my body responded and what he did to me felt good, even though I didn't want it to. I got paid and left feeling absolutely sickened. By him. By myself. But it also felt okay in some perverted way. I had sort of betrayed my perp, swapped him with a creep... any creep. Sort of defused him. Made him not that special any more. It was like a poor revenge. Back home I showered, I really tried to have the feeling of filth and hands on me away but still to this day I haven't succeeded. I went to this guy maybe three - four times and pretty much had the same thing repeated, I went back to have that feeling of self-disgust brought over me again.

Then one day, without asking, he took me to someone he knew for the same kind of services, someone apparently sharing the same "interests" in boys. We went there by car, I remember how I sat in the passenger seat as we stopped outside a yellow house and this horrible person stood there smiling as he opened the front door. He was an absolutely repulsive worm I didn't trust for a second. I never returned, I just couldn't. Doing stuff with him was too humiliating and sickening, even by my low standards. I can't believe I didn't left running. But I didn't. I disconnected and stayed for then to leave and never come back. To this day I still avoid the street that house is on, when I'm back in that neighbourhood I don't even drive that street.

A little later I was given a note with an address written on it. I knew it quite well, it wasn't far from school. Just across the street and up the slope. A nice house made of red bricks sitting on a hill overseeing most of the suburb in question. That guy was okay, of course still a horrible pervert, but for being such he was allright. Nice. Kind of gentle. Always offered me something to eat. His house was big and fashionable and full of weird art and there was a BMW parked at his driveway. He had me to feel sickened by myself but I wasn't really disgusted by him, not more than you expect from these kind of arrangements I mean. You don't get involved, you try not to feel anything. You play his game, then you grab the money and get the hell out of there. Mission complete. I returned to him several times. Sounds sick, doesn't it? It's impossible to compute, why return to such creep?? Of course it's the self-injury. I used sex the way I knew it would hurt me.

Knowing there are such apparent "normal" people out there still is an uncomfortable knowledge to me. He looked and acted just like anyone else, wasn't at all fat with greasy hair, didn't have bad teeth and an alcoholic breath of death or so. He talked just like anyone around us. Dressed smart. Could have been my neighbour. Or yours. Maybe he still is. We wouldn't think of him. That's not a comforting thought. You never know what goes on behind closed front doors. I still find that disturbing.

This went on and off for a few months. Maybe half a year. After school. Sometimes instead of school. When I said I was going to hang out with my friends. I still perfectly recall all the locations but I can't remember the faces of the people involved. When they're back in my nightmares they are without distinguishable features, like blurred out. It's so weird. But maybe that's a good thing.

I'm minimizing things now, I realize that. I'm not trying to defend my actions at all. A part of me has forever died. I'm sometimes still scared of my emotions. I can't see anything pleasurable with having sex. I was 15 and sold myself to men in my neighbourhood, of course I was feeling absolute shit. I wasn't a rentboy for the fun of it. It was all just horrible. Any money earned was soon spent at the guys at the worn down council flats selling hashish, stuff soon smoked in the woods behind my house. I guess it was only a matter of time before things would have really escalated and gone out of hand, I probably only were a few people away from meeting someone with intentions to seriously hurt me, the STD:s probably weren't far away.

It was then my parents stepped in and saved me. Even if I had made my best to hide what was going on, just like the true reasons for it, it was probably quite obvious that something was seriously wrong. Of course I was asked but I denied anything and everything. Kept on making up lies that would "explain". A visit to the school nurse/psychiatric had the same result. I didn't cooperate at all, just said basically anything to slip away as easy as possible. But they didn't give up on me. To save me from bad company and to try break the circle of destruction we moved away from that area. The house got sold and we completely shifted places. That was a huge sacrifice, back then I didn't understand that, nowadays I recognize what enormous effort my parents put down in trying to save me.

The rentboy nightmare ended, the irresponsible destructive behaviour didn't. Not at that point anyway. It took about two more years and a suicide attempt until the so much needed restart of my existence occurred.

// D

Edited by dino

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:hug:/>

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Dino, how brave & strong you are for posting what you did! I admire your courage & would hold your hand if you let me. I hope your healing journey goes well and that you realize that none of what you did was your fault. The one who initially hurt you so badly is the one who should shoulder all the blame & guilt.

Lots of healing energy to you. I hope you are feeling much better very soon. Safe hugs to you, Rondi

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Incredibly brave and courageous for posting your story on My Story.

I felt the same way after posting: Exposed.

It gets better, really, it does.

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Sorry this happened to you. I think you are so brave for telling your story and I feel truly touched that you would trust me enough to share it with. I wish only good things for you along your path to well and whole. I think by hitting that post button you advanced yourself further toward healthy. Good Job. Take gentle care.

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I'm so sorry that you were taken advantage of in that way. Hindsight is 20/20, and as a teenager I got myself into a lot of unhealthy situations because I didn't recognize the dangers. We are raised to trust adults who are in our lives, and when they abuse that power it is not our fault. Best wishes on your journey. You are so brave!

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Thank you all for replying and commenting, it means a lot to me. I have actually been too scared to check this thread for responses.

// D

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I am short on words, but I just wanted to say I am listening. I am so sorry for all you have been through and I deeply admire your courage! You are a true survivor. Take care and best wishes.

Sincerely,

Perhapsapoet

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I am so very sorry for all that has happened to you. I think you are an amazing, strong, and special person to be able to struggle on in life and do so many successful things and have your family. They are lucky to have you! I am inspired by your courage and your ability to fight through the nightmare. I hope you continue to heal and believe in yourself. Thank you for trusting this community and fellow survivors. Take great care of you and your family.

maley

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This entry was after much and dreaded hesitation previously posted in this thread. However soon after hitting that post-button I started to doubt my decision to tell this part of my story I'm so much ashamed of, and deleted. Now after a few months I realize admitting this part of myself (to myself) is a small but significant step in my way towards recovery and healing, so I have decided to undo that deleting. Hopefully this will stay up this time. Sorry for my very hesitant state of mind.

Maybe no one will read this but it's okay. I'm fine with it. To tell what happened in public isn't the major thing, it's honestly more about the admitting of this to myself.

Sorry if I'm not particularly coherent. I guess there isn't much logic and reason to find in this story and how I have been dealing with it.

// D

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Daniel,

Your story makes sense & is coherent enough. You were dealt a raw deal from early on in life & managed the best you could. I'm so sorry to hear about all that you had to go through with so many men, but I'm glad to hear it sounds like your parents really cared about you & wanted to rescue you from those many horrors - even if they didn't fully understand everything you went through. Kinda wondering if you've told them your story yet & how they reacted - but don't feel obligated to post that, only if you'd like to share.

I think you are very courageous, both for making it through all those times & for posting your story here. We are all here to support you & cheer you on to wellness, wholeness & peace.

:cuppa: --> a gift of virtual coffee for you since you love it so much. :) Thanks again for sharing your story. Very moving.

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Posted (edited)

...Kinda wondering if you've told them your story yet & how they reacted...

I have never had the guts to tell my parents up front about what really happened, MariaTeresa. I would like to do it but I'm scared of their reaction, but even more scared of my own I think. Lately my mother has developed a heart issue, even though it isn't THAT serious it influences my decision, too. Or maybe I'm just making up excuses to avoid a painful disclosure. But you know, in a way I suspect my mother has figured a lot out. Back then she asked me if anything bad had happened, unfortunately I wasn't able to talk about it so I stupidly denied anything inappropriate ever had happened and came up with lies meant to explain the state of mess I was in. But I think she eventually understood, maybe not to what extent, but she probably figured it out.

In later days she has given me several little hints pointing in that direction. I have had books recommended, when reading I have found them dealing with sexual abuse, or its aftermath / psychological aspects. It's been the same with a few films and documentaries. It's like she's trying to tell me "I know, sweetie". Or maybe it's just me seeing stuff this way because I want to? I don't know. The final step confirming it all is mine to take though. Maybe I'll find the strength to do it, or maybe I'll just keep it all as my secret and have my story stay as such. I'm not sure which is the best and most honest way to go really.

Thanks for the coffee, it was hot and strong and with a tiny splash of milk. Just the way I want it! :yahoo::cuppa:

// Daniel

Edit: Trying to clarify my point

Edited by dino

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