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I don’t know what makes me lonely the most, that I’m a man who hates being a man, who hates men and manhood, or that I am one who doesn’t know where he belongs. On one hand there’s my abuse and on the other is the reality that my experience doesn’t exist as long as society is concerned. I really don’t know how I am still alive, or what I am living for but somehow, I am still here. I grew up in a family of six, four sisters and my mom, my dad left us when I was young. At age 12, I got an apprentice job working for a man at a local store close to the neighborhood. The man I worked for was so kind to me, always gave me gifts – items from the store, and eventually gained my trust. One day after he drank a few beers, (he would allow me to drink beer sometimes too) he asked me to help him with an issue. He told me his wife couldn’t help and he thought maybe I can.
He told me more about it and said I only needed to help him this one time. Honestly, I didn’t really understand what he wanted me to do seeing as I was 12 and knowing nothing about sex, it just didn’t seem right. I told him I’ll think about it. Over time, I realized I didn’t want to lose our relationship, he was the only grown man who’d ever paid any kind of attention to me and showed me kindness and so I agreed to do this for him just this once. On that day, I was confused but I got the jist of what I had to do, as I began doing it he brought out his camera and kept taking pictures of me. I asked him what he was going to do with them and he said he wasn’t sure yet. A few days later, he told me that his plan was to leave the images around the neighborhood for other people to see. I started begging him and became really afraid of what others would think if they saw it.
I begged and begged but he refused, so I told him that I’ll do anything for him if he’ll promise not to display the pictures and his reply to that was that he’d think about it. He said if I did the same thing for him every day before work starts he’ll keep the pictures a secret and it’ll be our special secret. I was disgusted at the thought but if it meant others not seeing the pictures then I had no choice in the matter. He was such a dirty man, always drank too much and sometimes laughed as he peed in my mouth. This went on for almost one year. After the abuse everything changed for me, I became very afraid of men. I didn’t trust men and basically hated that I was one. I tried cutting off my penis twice but because of the pain involved I couldn’t go through with it. I started wearing my mom and my sisters’ underwear because it wasn’t part of the abuse and so it was safe. It went from one time and just became a habit, my escape. After school, I’d run home just to remove my school cloths and shorts to wear theirs.
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