It Hurts So Good - Chapter 5: The Early Years (fiction)

Statement of John Doe, aged 21 January 2014

Pain was my constant from childhood.

When I was born, my naughty bits were so fucked up the doctors couldn't decide if they wanted to leave them be or reconstruct it according to their narrow-minded view of boys and girls.

You see, they assumed that I'd be as confused as they were about being a boy or a girl. However, an infant has no concept of being either, but as a child ages, she learns from first the parents, then one's siblings, and finally one's peers.

God forbid that the parents are as confused as the doctors were. For "hell" is too limited a term to describe how an innocent child becomes an object of shame by two people who are supposed to love him unconditionally.

That shame corroded the self esteem of parenthood, and often led to quarrels arising from the confusion over whether I was a boy or a girl. Often I was caught in the middle of these quarrels because each and every one of them was over me.

So the one day when my parents made the mistake of letting my first victim babysit me, it set the wheels in motion for sexual abuse to be added to the child abuse and neglect that plagued me from the cradle.

Let me first say that my mother treated me like a girl, because she had been treated as a girl when she was born. My father tried to treat me like a boy.

However, his upbringing made it a challenge for him to "undo" the girliness that my mother was indulging me in.

By the time the first victim, who I will not name because it will incriminate me, became my babysitter, I'd been assigned a boy because it matched my naughty bits.

Chromosome testing said I was born female but exhibited male traits. The gender specialist that was brought in to explain this to my parents through my doctor stated that the my gender behavior depends on the environment. If I was exposed to external or internal psychological stress that favors male behavioral attributes, then I'd act like a boy most of the time. Otherwise, I'd behave like a girl most of the time due to the influence of stress that favors female behavioral attribute.

Thus the stress of being with my mother caused me to behave like a girl most of the time, to please her but mainly because we bonded so well.

In contrast, the stress of being with my father caused me to behave like a boy most of the time. However, my father saw me as a boy when we had our first physical fight and I threw a lucky punch.

Mama was livid. "You don't EVER hit your father for ANY reason!" she screamed at me while my dad lay in the hospital.

She wouldn't even let me explain that the fight was my father's idea of manning me up that backfired on him.

Later on, my dad stopped beating me. "Son, I apologize for mistreating you", he said after he got out of the hospital.

By this time I had just turned 12.

Now the first victim came into my life when I settled on acting like a boy after my dad accepted me. Because he was a man, I behaved like a boy around him most of the time. However, he admitted once when I was older that the times that I acted like a girl actually attracted him to me a lot.

When we first got intimate sexually, it was his doing. Both my parents were vacationing with my mom's parents because of a health scare. Grandfather had a stroke, and Grandmother was fed up with the silence and "lack of co-operation". Being old-fashioned, she never understood to how a stroke victim should be treated so she treated him as though he was a child.

Anyway, the first victim started it. I'd gone totally boy one day, and got caked in mud because I wrestled with a boy in school who was teasing me. Just because I have enough of a dick to piss with does not make me a boy, as I'd go all girl under the dominance of women teachers but especially female friends.

However, I had no inhibition about hitting another boy who was doing the gay-bashing thing to me by embarrassing me in front of my friends. It was jealousy because most of my friends were the pretty and shy ones, and that boy I wrestled with liked one of them.

When the first victim picked me up from school, it was after me and the bully rolled in the pouring rain behind the baseball field down into the ditch and out again with other children watching.

By the time the principal caught us, I was covered in mud from head to toe. So was the bully. When the first victim turned up, the bully and his parents had already left.

As we trudged home, I told him about how the fight started and the wrestling.

After the fight was all over, the bully got a bloody nose, and I was unharmed. It must have been because I know how to throw a good punch, having learned it all from my Dad.

I think that's why my first victim abused me.

Originally posted on August 20, 2013 at 3:27 AM

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