Along story short, my dad went psycho, and threatened my mom if she ever left. He said he would kill her, but not in front of me.
I didn’t believe it at first, but she had to take me to go live in a Shelter. For Mothers, and Children, so we called it “The Mac.” Since it had MAC on everything, or [Property of MAC] on labels.
When we got there, an older girl showed me around, and she introduced him as “This is Wendel, the chronic masturbator.”
“Hey!” He got up, “You don’t have to tell everyone!”
“Well, you don’t have to fap all night when people are trying to sleep!”
“At least I’m not a bed wetter!”
“You little shit!” She chased him, until they got broken up, and that was the end of the tour.
It was just weird, and surreal because he was only 6 years old. Also, Rose was like 12, so that was pretty old to still be wetting the bed, but that was my introduction to life at the MAC.
You see, we all had issues, ranging from acting out PTSD to sex abuse. I wasn’t sex abused, but I was still in denial about my dad. It wasn’t like he was dead, but I was starting to find out he wasn’t the man I thought he was.
I didn’t believe it until he came to my school, and asked about mom. I can’t say where the Shelter is, in case one of the Mothers has a restraining order against her husband.
Then, the cop lady came to take me home, and he hit her when she told him he had to leave. He gave her a bloody nose, but then she wrestled him down, and put him in handcuffs.
I just screamed, and cried when the realization hit me. I couldn’t even think it was cool, seeing a woman beat a grown man, because he was my daddy, and I’d never seen him like that before.
He never hit mom in front of me, and threatened to kill her when I wasn’t around, so I didn’t know. He was still my daddy, but the cop lady wasn’t wearing her uniform. She drove us in an unmarked car, so that people didn’t see me with the police, and think I was the one in trouble.
It was just her, so she needed help getting dad in the back seat. Then, I had to wait in the waiting room while she took him in, and locked him up for assaulting her, resisting arrest, and violating the restraining order.
I had something to talk about in group therapy, that night. The question was “How was your day?” and I just let it all out. Finally, I was past denial about him being a psycho, and a wife beater. I was afraid of him, and what he would do if they ever let him out.
I felt sorry for him being in prison, and I already missed him. I was afraid that I’d never see him again, but if I did, he might kill mommy, too. So, I had a good cry, and the other kids told me I was “Lucky.” I didn’t feel lucky until they started telling me their stories.
I suppose that made me feel a little better. They never hurt me, or sexually abused me in any way. They didn’t even Neglect me, which sounded like the worst. Just sitting at home with nothing to do but his schoolwork. (The other boy, not Wendel.) Like being grounded forever, so when he got here, it felt like less of a prison than home.
At least he could have friends, and toys to play with. I found out why Wendel was acting out, but I can’t say. It was bad, the worst, but it explains why a 6 year old was getting boners, and knew so much about sex. Also, why he wasn’t there with his mom, or anyone in his family.
He was an orphan, and just waiting for CPS to find a better place for him. That’s why he, and Rose shared bunkbeds. She was on top, because she was the oldest, and she wet the bed as a Defense Mechanism. Deep down, a part of her thought that would make her too disgusting to touch, in bed.
They didn’t have a place for them, so they got stuck together, and she bullied him, because he was little. I guess being so sexual also triggered her, but sometimes they were like brother, and sister? They didn’t always fight like brother and sister, she could be caring too. Especially when he cried, like in group.
She even hugged him, and let him sit in her lap, but there wasn’t anything sexual between them. Other than shaking the bed with his frantic fapping, so she wet the bed in response. We had to change the sheets every morning, and mom helped me with mine, but they all had plastic sheets, in case you wet the bed.
I don’t know why I molested him. Especially after what happened to him, I knew it was wrong. I knew I could get in trouble, and even go to jail. Get registered as a sex offender, but I think maybe it was a distraction? It gave me something else to think about, besides my problems.
His little dick getting hard, and his horniness. It was still hard to believe that he could get it up so young, but Rose exaggerated. He didn’t “Fap all night,” but I guess that was just Negativity Bias. She only remembered the times he woke up with a stiffy, and woke her up shaking the bed, because all the other times she was asleep, and didn’t remember.
She didn’t like him, sexually. Oddly enough, he was a virgin, and me too. I was obsessed with his little dick getting hard, and seeing it. Making him masturbate, and watching him. It’s all I dreamed about (Which kept the nightmare of my father hitting me at bay, or just his face when he got angry, and scary.)
So finally, I saw him walk off alone, and I guessed wrong. What he was going to do in there, but we had 3 different bathrooms. We had to clean them up as one of the chores on the chore chart, but the mothers did most of the work, and we could help. The boys always got the Boy’s Bathroom, because there was just the 2 of them, and all the rest of the staff were women too.
That made them the only dicks, and balls on the property, and Wendel was the only one that could get it up. He was so precocious, and well behaved. Surprisingly, he didn’t act out at all, except for in bed. When he woke up flashing back, with a little boner, and he had to do something about it to sleep.
He truly was sorry for waking up Rose that way, but he couldn’t help it. He really was a chronic masturbator, it was compulsive, he couldn’t stop, and he tried. He even told Rose he was sorry, but she still slapped him in the morning. He hit her back, but what was he going to do? He was 6, and maybe half her size, even though he was a boy. She didn’t have any balls for him to kick, but he never punched her in the tit.
Even though it was right there, he never went for her boobs, or tried to touch them. Grab them, and I knew from experience that hurt. Maybe even as bad as getting hit in the balls, I don’t know. Of course, I didn’t have any.
The Boy’s bathroom was locked, because the other boy was in there taking a shower. So, he went to the family one for mothers with Babies, young enough to use the changing table. He couldn’t use the women and girl’s restroom, of course. We had showers in there too, and he might see one of them naked, getting out.
Get a boner looking at my naked body dripping wet. “Huh!” I pushed in behind him before he shut the door, and locked myself in with him.
“Go away,” he crossed his knees, “I have to go potty!”
“It’s okay, just make it quick.” I nodded, excited, but when he fished it out, I was a little disappointed. Not because it was little, I was expecting that. Because he wasn’t hard, he just pissed in the potty because he was still too short to get it over the rim of the toilet, standing up.
I guess he could have put the lid down to stand on it, but he didn’t. He must have really had to go, because it took a long time. He had to pull the little bucket out to dump it, and flush too.
That gave me plenty of time to unbutton my blouse. The top 2 (The collar was already unbuttoned) and pull it off over my head. Finally, he flushed, and turned around.
“Huh?” He looked up, “You’re still here.” But then he looked back down, from my face to the front of my training bra. I was only 10, and kind of a late bloomer? I don’t know, I was self conscious of how flat I was when it seemed like all of the other girls had more to show for it.
More negativity bias, I just noticed the ones who were more developed, and ignored the ones that weren’t. “You’re still a virgin.” Nobody ever touched him before. Not that I know of, neither his mom or dad did. They just had sex in front of him, and made him watch. His dad even brought whores home to show him how it’s done, but he knew that was a lie.
That wasn’t how you’re supposed to treat a lady, even a whore. He learned that in therapy, but how do you understand that, when you’re only 4 years old? How do you accept that your father is a rapist, only he pays women to let him abuse them, right in front of his son?
He was just a toddler, but well on his way to being a sex offender himself. Maybe even a rapist, if he didn’t get help. That’s what he was there for, to learn how to not be a rapist, like his father raised him to be. To stop the cycle of abuse.
“Me too,” I pulled my training bra off, and his eyes never left my chest. They looked back and forth between the nipples, like searching someone’s face in the eyes. “You like them? Come here.” I picked him up, and held his head up to my nipple. “Huh, that’s right, baby.” I rubbed his hair, and patted it. “Huh!”
I put him on the changing table, which was just the right height. So, he could turn over sideways, and suck my other nipple hard. I guess that’s where I had the most development, but you couldn’t see them through the training bra. Even when it was cold out, because I wore baggy tops, and dresses so they didn’t stick out.
The rest was just little circles, that had to spread out before they started to dome, then point out in cones, and finally sag a little when I got pregnant. Full of milk, and finally had a baby to nurse for real. “Huh!” I felt his junk through his pants. “What’s wrong? Haven’t you dreamed of this? Doing this with a real girl before, even me?”
He nodded, and my nipple slipped out, then he shook his head. “No, I think about your twat.” He grabbed my arm, and held it up, he even sniffed under it. “You got hair in your armpits, so I bet you got a hairy cunt. Huh?”
“You little potty mouth!” I grabbed his face, and bent over to kiss him. Sideways on the crib that had the mattress all the way up, so it could be used as a changing table instead. “Dirty little sex pervert.” I said it gently, instead of screaming it at the top of my lungs, but I got my pants undone, and they felt so hot.
Especially in the underwear, but I pulled those down at the same time, then sniffed. My sex was so wet, it stunk up the whole bathroom, and overpowered even his piss. In the potty, I should have rinsed it out for him when he flushed. That would have been the right thing to do, but instead I helped him down.
So, I could hold his head between my legs, and “Make him” kiss my twat. Of course, he knew all the right words for sex. His daddy taught him along with how you fuck a bitch. He had a boner too, and I touched him when I grabbed him by the crotch.
To help him down, but also to molest him. I knew that, I wasn’t even in denial about it. I planned it, how I would molest him. How I would become a filthy child molester instead of a victim. That’s why I did it: I didn’t want to be a victim any more, I sure as shit didn’t want to become a cop. Even though it was pretty badass watching one beat my dad at wrestling.
Even seeing him in the back seat, with his head down, and his arms still cuffed behind him. Beaten, and shamed. He managed to hide his temper, for 10 whole years so I never saw him like that, but when he finally let it out. He hit a cop, and now he’s paying the price.
I just flashed back, and let all of this stuff run through my head. Even while I was trying to rape a little boy’s face, it cleared my head? Somehow, maybe it was just finally getting to the end of all my sexual thoughts towards him. How I would seduce Wendel, and make him my little bitch, but it wasn’t as hard as I thought.
Finally, he dropped his pants, and put the seat down on the potty. So, I could straddle his legs, and try to fit him inside me. It was only about 3″ of pink steel, so the tip barely got in because of that awkward position. He didn’t even get close to knocking on the door of my womanhood. Making me adult, taking the last shred of my innocence, but he finally twitched, and grunted.
His red hot little face scrunched up, and he even shook hard enough for his tiny throbbing member to shake in and out. “Huh!” Finally, it slipped out, soft, and I kissed his head. “Good, that’s a good boy. You did good.” He turned it, and just cried quietly against my bare chest, until it was wet with his tears.
That was just the first time, of course. I thought that I wasn’t a virgin for a little while, but then I argued with myself, in my head. That wasn’t sex, it was rape. It wasn’t rape, he didn’t even fight back, let alone say no, or stop. He wanted it, he wanted me sexually. He wasn’t just acting out his own abuse. He didn’t have a boner for that bitch rose, even though she had real breasts to show for it.
It didn’t help my confusion, but it did make me feel a little better. Every time, I had a bad day. I could take it out on him, and he never told, because he got “Sex” out of the deal. He even stopped masturbating at night. The days when I molested him, I left him so satisfied that he didn’t have to. At least, that’s what I told myself, but after a lot of therapy.
A lot of therapists explaining that men, and boys that do that. Of course, I lied, and said I had this “Friend.” When I asked about what I was doing, and if it was wrong, I switched it around to a little girl, and an older boy. She never questioned, but eventually she explained to me that I was turning into an emotional sadist.
Like a bully, or a sexual bully. Like Georgie Porgie kissed the girls to make them cry. I didn’t stop there, after all I was still in elementary school, which ment lots of little boys to kiss, and make them cry.
Wendel never cried. I guess that’s why he never satisfied me. It didn’t make me better, it made me worse. It just made me feel better, until I met real good little boys to make them my Victims…
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