How Porn Can Destroy Innocence

I imagine I’ll loose half my followers in this post. When I decided to write a blog it was to write my story. I will not sugar coat things and I will not do anything to make myself look like a saint because I’ve been the opposite. This subject is a focal point in my childhood and there may be people out there who had the same issues but are too scared to talk about it. It’s totally cool. I’ll be the scapegoat. These things need to be said because there are warning signs that just possibly could save your child from becoming a monster. Put the dirty books and DVD’s in a lockbox people. Your kids are finding them and looking!

In the 70’s children were to be seen but not heard. I was good with that. If I was very quiet in a corner somewhere the adults would forget I was in the room and they would go about their conversations and pot smoking and record playing as if I were not really there at all. This was a very powerful feeling. I could listen in to all of the grown up secrets right there in plain sight. I could hear who was screwing over who when my mother got on the phone as I hid behind the towering stereo speakers that were so popular then.  I knew way too much for a elementary aged child, but I didn’t understand what it was I was hearing. I knew things that got me into trouble when I would decide to join the world for playtime. I didn’t go seeking it though, it would come seeking me. And when it found me I blew that neighborhood out of the water.

Little girls would come to my house and ask if I could come play. I would hide so my mother would not make me go. She’d feel sorry for the kids and shove me out the door. While out there among them I was a stranger in a strange land. I had a difficult time playing childish games. I liked to ride bikes, to skate, to play basketball or jumprope, but I was never good at just sitting on the sidewalk with the gang and shooting the shit. I’d inevitably repeat something I’d heard my parents say and someone would go home and tell their mother. The neighborhood kids wouldn’t be allowed over to my house for a few days but by weeks end someone would wind up at my door again, crying because I would not go out to play. I would lie and say someone was already in my room and that my mom didnt want more than one child over at a time. My not wanting them made them so want me. Not much has changed.

I was a perverse little thing and there is no damn good excuse for it. I wish there were. I wish there was a big human drooly monster in my closet I could point a finger at and say it’s his fault. But I was not molested.  In the end it came down to the fact my grandmother taught me to read before I was 5 and by the time I was 8 I was reading hustler.

While my parents argued in the next room I decided to hide.  That day it was under their bed. Low and behold there was an awesome magazine with a bunny on it. But wait. How weird! The bunny is on a cross! I open it up and …nothing. There were naked women making stupid faces. I didnt feel bad looking at it. I didnt feel like I needed to hide the fact I was looking at it. I didn’t know it was supposedly wrong. I found out it was wrong when my mother walked in and caught me looking at it and beat me with the magazine, then went and screamed at my dad for not keeping his dirty books hid better.

The dawning of my sexual self began with the Easter Bunny on a Cross
The dawning of my sexual self began with the Easter Bunny on a Cross

If you are so much as two years younger than me you would not understand how it was to be 8 and that innocent. Television back then was so innocent. There were not even tampon commercials. When I would repeat things to neighborhood kids that got me in trouble my mom just whipped me, but she didnt tell me what exactly was wrong. The moment my mother freaked out on me for looking at that book a monster was born. All of a sudden the puzzle pieces came together and I realized THIS was screwing, THIS is what freaked the kids out. I was not sure what was happening here but I knew I’d NEVER gotten mom’s FULL attention in such a manner. I realized now EXACTLY what my words to those kids meant. My dad’s embarrassed reaction by barely being able to look me in the eye made me feel so powerful I knew I had to have more of what those dirty books contained. And thus my porn and sex addiction began.

Apparently my dad was a porn addict because there were Hustlers and Penthouse hidden all over the house. I was home alone all the time, dad worked all the time and mom was running the roads. The minute she walked out that door the search was on. I always found what I was looking for and there was always new material to look at. I felt no sexual thrill at all. Instead it felt as though I were gaining ammunition, or that I was gathering information that made me powerful.

At about 10 years old I started befriending some of the kids who would come over to ask me to play and I let them in on my little secret. I showed them the books. They were horrified, yet fascinated, and my possession of these adult things made me the holder of the golden goose. . They were putty in my hands. I decided it would be great fun if we took our clothes off and pose like the models in the magazines. We would do that, feeling very powerful and grown up. I was ALWAYS the man. Mom came home one day and caught us and beat me sensless, sending the little girl crying out of the house. I’d be furious during those beatings, but take them silently. I never felt shame nor did I feel guilt. Perhaps if I’d felt a sexual spark during these encounters I may have felt shame, but it was all a game. A game that made me feel like the ruler of the neighborhood. Everyone wanted to play with me but no one talked about what they’d do over there. The one who was allowed in my house that day was the winner, but what they thought they’d won I don’t understand because I would torment the shit out of them. The fact that they even came back for more disgusted me and made me determined to amp it up a notch each time.

I became more bold as months went by. I’d read so many of my dad’s penthouse forums apparently it had corrupted my young mind. I had a girl take her clothes off and tied her to my desk leg with a shoe string. Then I got dressed and just left her there and went to the kitchen. I could hear her screaming and crying and I was just laughing my ass off. I got ketchup and mustard and poured it all over her, I poked her with my baton saying something like “but you love to play with me and it’s my turn to decide what we play. You’re a dog and you made a mess on the floor and you have to be tied up” I remember telling her she was always crying at my door wanting in and this is what happens when you come in. I made her promise to leave me alone and never come back. She promised! I wanted to let her go but I’d tied the knots tight and her pulling made it worse so mom came home and found me there with a naked girl tied to my desk and ketchup and mustard all in the cream-colored carpet. I got beat with a vacuum cleaner so badly mom sent her best friend in to make sure I was still breathing. I could hear her screaming on the phone that she thought she’d killed me. I was not dead. I just layed there with my eyes closed and let her hit me with that vacuum vowing that no matter what she did, I was going to keep doing what I was doing. I did not care.

It had been about a year since I’d acted out because mom wouldnt allow kids over anymore. So instead I was over at someone’s house and they wanted to play house.  There were three of us and I was voted the baby, which I was mad about. I was always the daddy. Not fair! So when she went to change me “into my pajamas” for naptime, I peed all over her. The thrill at the horror across her face was classic. That thrill was soon replaced with shame and fear because she jumped up and ran to tell her teenage sister, who locked me in the bathroom to wait until the parents got home. I remember taking everything out from under the cabinet and putting it in the tub and hiding under the cabinet. But they found me, of course. I dont remember what happened after that. For some reason my memory of those insane times just vanishes after that moment.

My next memory involving sex or relationship is when I was 12. I played with the boy across the street because the girls were no longer allowed to play with me but none of the girls would tell the others what I’d done for their parents to have me off limits. Me and Jeremy (lots of jeremys in my life) were best friends. He was a year older than me and he just seemed to get me in a way the girls didnt. He didnt care that I didnt talk. He did all the talking. We biked, we went to the school playground, we went to the junkyard. And one day on his swingset he bent over and kissed me, and I punched him square in the face and knocked him off the swing. I was furious! But I didnt know why! I ran home crying my eyes out and refused to ever play with him again. I was so upset, because he’d taken my power away in that one kiss.  I liked him and was so mad that he’d ruined everything by liking me “like that”. After school I’d want to go over so bad but would not even look his way. He sent me letters through other kids telling me he wanted to go with me. I liked him and didn’t want to. I had weird butterflies down there when I thought about him kissing me and that made me want to punch him more. Boys ruin everything.

When I turned 13 my parents moved to another city and then the year after that they divorced and we moved to the country. I was a punk rock girl in a hick hillbilly school and got the hell beat out of me all the time for my smart ass remarks and anti social attitude. It was in high school that I met the love of my life. I was walking through the halls with my head down so as to not make eye contact with anyone and I heard from way up high “Hey blondie, nice leather” I looked up into the most beautiful slanted black eyes I’d ever seen. All my reserve went right out the window. He was the most amazing thing I’d ever laid eyes on, with a tall black mohawk and eyeliner on his already slanted eyes, piercings everywhere and the thickest juiciest lips. I’d never punch this one for kissing me, I knew that immediately. He said “What’s up, I’m Ed”  and just like that, I was his. Still, to this day, I am still his. He’s dead though, so there’s that.

Wrapping up I want to state that later in my 20’s I realized how horrible I was to those poor kids. Someone should have reported me. Maybe they did. Things like this just were not investigated back then. It was embarrassing so it was not talked about. And all the beatings my mom gave me just made the situation much worse and psychological than it needed to be because no one bothered to find out what was wrong with me.

Everyone will feel better knowing that in my years of Prison I received weekly psychotherapy and counseling. I revealed my childhood acts to my counselors who helped me realize why I did what I did, why it was wrong, and investigate things about myself that would make me act the way I did. It all revolved around power. The need for it, the addiction to it, and the desire to maintain it no matter the cost. It directly related to the violent fight my parents were in, and my mother walking in on me looking at a dirty magazine and the fight stopping immediately because I had done something so intense it trumped the fight.

I hope those girls can forgive me for being so cruel. I was the same age as them but I still was more mature and should not have done what I did. I would venture to suggest to them that they look into why they were willing to do whatever it took just to get me to play with them. What was going on with them at home or in their heads that they wanted so badly to be with someone who refused to open the door to them and once I did, allowed me to do whatever I wanted to do just so they could stay in my presence.

Despite all the years of therapy one thing has not changed, if you sit crying outside my proverbial door, and irritate me to the point that I open up and let you in, it’s my game, my rules, and you will be punished for being so weak as to need a monster like me.

Wanna Play?

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4 thoughts on “How Porn Can Destroy Innocence

  1. I don’t know why I don’t write more. I feel so much better when I do. It can only happen when the loud inside gets louder than the loud outside and I can hear my own thoughts enough to get them down

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  2. I’ve read this several times and am always deeply and profoundly moved by your honesty and the fact you ‘get it.’ You fucking get it without wrapping it in something else prettier. Love this piece…

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank You! I really appreciate that! It certainly was not the response I was expecting. I pondered on posting it for a while. I was so worried. Not so much as to how people would receive it, but how I would emotionally handle the comments. I considered turning off comments but came to the conclusion that if I was bold enough to put it out there I needed to be bold enough to accept the blows that came with it. I am sure not everyone will be as considerate as you have been, so I thank you for being an understanding individual.
      I opened up the post window to write a blog about the meaning of existence because I was inspired by Opinionated Man’s recent post. I had a great idea in mind and for some reason a whole different story poured out.
      Happy New Year!

      Like

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