I was never a believer in recovered memories until I had them. Spent years and plenty of money seeing therapists working on behaviors that included s** addiction. When a therapist would ask who molested me or would insist that all my thoughts and behaviors were hallmarks of a molested child I would laugh and argue that my childhood was so incredibly monotonous and boring it was just day after day of the same, years worth of boring. That there were times when I was on the receiving end of verbal abuse but mostly indifference and being ignored and low level neglected.
Get good grades do your chores etc. Then the dreams and nightmares started. And I started going back to therapists and one day the lightbulb went off. There was a reason that my dreams were as if a toddler and always included vivid visuals of the triangle dar hair between my mother’s thighs. The actual memories slowly came back. It explained everything including why my almost exclusive s***** interests were giving oral s** to a woman and a woman m*********** me. Not a good day when you realize that you are one of those who a mother is molesting. It ks a really bad day because the world is so certain that molestation is what men do to children of both genders. With my mother long dead there was not much in the way of options to confront the truth, my only resource was my older sister and we have never been very close. But I asked for her help took the plunge laid it all out and asked what she thought and knew. A fair amount of drinks were involved because how do you just out of the blue ask your sibling about such things? But the floodgate was opened and out it came. I dont know what i expected but her reaction was not on the list. She knew. Had always known. Because she was several years older than me she was old enough to have known. And it turns out that the reason she is a lesbian is because our mother started with her. The reason my s***** preferences are so strongly focused on giving oral and being touched are because that is what my mother trained me for. When I asked how she knew that detail she said because she was there. She was part of it. That from when I was a toddler until puberty most nights were the three of us in our mother’s bed. That because I was the only male in the house I was the odd man out. I was so dependent on them and so fragile that I was almost incapable of sleeping alone. It started as a way to coddle me and soothe me and get me to sleep but that they also found it amusing or entertaining or wtf ever to touch my body and cause me to have a form of o***** before my body was ready and knew what it was supposed to do. My sister was in tears a great deal of the time but I was mostly just so stunned I was not reacting. Not that I wanted or needed to know but it went from me approaching my sister needing to know if it was true, to my sister using it as a confession. Even down to the point of how they would both have me go down on them for their pleasure. Even how they thought it was funny and cute to have me lie on top of them and simulate missionary s** even though I was far too small to penetrate them and far too ignorant of it all to be even remotely competent to pleasure them by f****** them. That it came to an end the first time I ejaculated/had a real o***** when puberty was starting. That was the day it all came to an immediate end and I was basically cast out
And it gave me my final epiphany. I told my sister that one of the few things I had always solidly remembered was my first w********. A dream in which I found myself in the dream waking to the sound of the piano and walking through the house to find her n*** and playing the piano. Of her seeing me and smiling and turning and leaning back on the piano bench as her legs spread and I knelt and gave her oral s**. That revelation actually stopped her tears because she was stunned I remembered that happening well before they cast me out. She said I was perhaps 7 years old when that actually happened. She laid her last confession out at that point by telling me that I had been the way our mother let her explore her uncertainty about her s********, that it had been her with whom I had my first e**********, more on her than in her, that she had basically taken my virginity and they simply had not known that my body had gained the ability but it had freaked them both out badly. That that was what ended it. I was simply too mentally and emotionally exhausted by the end of the entire conversation to have any real reaction. I have not spoken to my sister since and no idea if we ever will. And still caught up in the stupidly abstract knowledge of “oh so that explains everything perfectly” to have any anger or hurt about it. I am more or less focused on two things. Gratitude that I have always found child molestation the worst form of human behavior imaginable and so have easily escaped what the odds say should have been my fate to continue such a fucked up cycle. Incredibly grateful for that. Otherwise the thing I cannot do anything about: my adult s***** likes being something trained into me from early on, my nonsexual behaviors good and bad, and not knowing what or who I could have been because of what my mother and sister trained into me for their own selfishness.
