The Cycle of Abuse - part 1

WARNING: SOME READERS MAY FIND THE FOLLOWING CONTENT DISTURBING

With no episiotomy her vagina tore open and my head emerged in a bloodied mass onto the white hospital bed sheet. 5:40am on a hot summer's morning my mother gave birth to a 10lb 4oz boy child. With her final scream and bearing down my shoulders pushed past flesh, blood and mucus, my torso and legs then slipped out into the world, an impure world an infected society of moral corruption, a planet of sin.
The bathroom was outdoors as an add on to the old brick and mortar house built in around the 1930's. Now the late 60's housing it's original stained glass windows in white timber frames, the house sat on a busy street in the southern suburbs of Sydney. From memory a narrow passage down the right side of the house led to the backyard. I remember often pulling up home grown potatoes and cutting rhubarb storks from fertile soil in a garden bed down the often shadowed passage way, the rhubarb then stewed into a syrupy dessert for all fourteen of us boys who lived in the house.
Every Saturday morning was job day which rotated weekly so that there were a variety in the chores which had been laid out for us boys to maintain.
I was on cleaning the outside bathroom this particular day with another boy Stephen who I can't ever remember interacting with before this. It was my first job ever! I was to clean the sink and bath tub with a powder cleanser of some type contained in a tall cylindrical shaped canister with holes punched in the metal top for the agent to dispense from and then mop the floors. I remember standing there that morning nearest the sink where immediately behind me from where I stood was an old large door to the bathroom, dark green I think, with paint peeling and an old loose brass door knob that rattled and a keyhole that you could see straight through to the outside if you were laying down in the tub, the door was open that morning. Outside of the door an enclosed passage way which led to the back door of the house which also housed an outside toilet, a number of hooks which hung on the wall as a coat rack for us children where we hung our bright yellow plastic raincoats and placed our gum boots underneath.
I remember well one of the older boys Richard had picked up his raincoat from the rack before school one rainy day and as he placed his arm through the sleeve he wailed so loud, we ran to him in shock and saw the largest cricket ever seen in my life emerge on his arm with its coarse legs and feet gripping him firmly. Well he danced and cried both at the same time as the cricket kept its grip, but then it leapt for it's life at the shock of either Richard's dancing or the pitch of his cry. We all ran away as fast as we could and laughed aloud at the sight but never gave this prehistoric looking insect a chance to reach any of us.

Early that Saturday morning as Stephen and I began cleaning, I noticed he was right behind me teaching me the ropes, cleaning the sink. The events which followed would undoubtedly change my life forever, not as a high tide would erode a cliff face over time or like a sapling would eventually over shadow the earth, it's roots bulging out of the dry ground never releasing it's grip of soil and clay and it's branches spread wide but as an avalanche would collide down a mountain face consuming and devouring everything in it's path within seconds and then laying everything which it took on it's sudden escape to the bottom of the huge mountain and again then rest as if nothing at all had taken place, almost as if unnoticed, silent the mountain would stand still again!
Stephen pushed behind me hard rubbing himself up against the back of me he pushed hard which I thought was rather unusual but then an image which I will never forget was Stephen's shorts being pulled down along with his underpants standing in front of me now with his penis erect.
His first words to me that day that I can recall were "suck me", "put this in your mouth". Although he spoke in English and I could hear his words, I had no idea at the age of five what he meant or what he wanted me to do. I was confused not in shock but confused. What was this? what was happening? It felt wrong, I felt very uncomfortable and unable to speak, a little intrigued as to where this was leading and at what was going to happen, all the time frightened, fearful and alone.
Irrespective of age I suddenly knew pungent and dreadful immorality in my heart. My senses then manifested fear although not identifying it immediately as fear. Fear of what he could do to me as his approach was intimidating and violent. As It took some time to comply with his request I threw up into the sink and that gave him a sense of satisfaction that at least I had touched him with my lips. He then groped me and tugged at my pants removing them below my knees and pushing himself against me. Thrusting and almost falling over he held me against my will tightly continuing until he had finished.
No sooner had this ordeal begun it was over, disgust and shame, guilt and fear were now mine. I owned this and the more I dwelt on it the more it became mine. He didn't give it to me, no took it from the experience and encountered it every time I thought of it or saw him. These feelings clung to me like death to a corpse.
Smell has an incredibly powerful way of reminding us of familiar events and can land us right in the very same passage of time once lived before in the past. It takes us through time and space in a second! Vibrantly alert aware of every sense, emotion and detail of where we have all once been, we are able to conjure up a moment and relive it, like an outer body experience but in the very soul of our being. Caught in a huge trance like state then only to be awakened suddenly by shock and disdain or to be gently awoken by the seduction of it's beauty, depending on the moment relived and recaptured.
Strangely I had never spoken of this to anyone and kept it to myself. Over time this encounter repeated itself in different forms and in different rooms of that house. Many attempts were made and I managed to escape his clutches and evil intent. It seemed now though as it had happened once I had also become the prey of others as if I had a label upon me exhibiting "here is an easy target". I had become victim to others without the suggestion of being another's prey before them. I think that they can somehow sense or pick up on your sexual physicality or vulnerability. Meaning that you have now been activated to an improper promiscuity in this realm and others sense it. I along with others had become the play things of elder boys and even experimental partners for the promiscuous at school or even whilst on church camps. Over time resistance became less and shockingly even had now become a source of comfort for me with those whom I had chosen to allow. It was contact! and I felt in a unhealthy reach loved and needed. It brought others pleasure and therefore made me significant.