WORMS

 
(Warning: A tale that references sexual child abuse of a kid; parasitic infections, and may contain triggering events and/or descriptions to those with sensitive souls, or abuse histories and/or pasts.)

“Turn over.”

I was barely awake; awakened by the light in my room.  My brother was asleep above me – we shared a bunk bed, and I always drew the lower bunk, me being the ‘littlest’ – though I was physically bigger than him, he had age – and therefore first choice and seniority – on me.  I think I was six or seven years old.

The light spilled from the hallway through the open door which lay towards the foot of my bed.  My father stood over me, dressed in his crisply starched uniform, sateen, Army green.  There was something in his hand.

“Turn over,” he says again, pushing at me.  I twist; uncomfortable – this was too much like something else I know; something pressing in at my memory; something I had done.  Does he want that?  I don’t know.  It feels strange, odd.  But I obediently roll to my side expecting anything; another hard nudge finishes the thing, and I’m on my belly.  I protest sleepily; I’m too tired to be “corn-holed” right now.  I feel the sheets draw down.  Then hard fingers scrabbling at my ass, find the hem to my pajamas, and pull my underwear down.  I can feel the cold air prickling my ass.

Sleepily I protest again; I don’t know what he’s doing, and I didn’t want this thing done.  His hard fingers spreads my ass wide – wide enough to hurt – and he takes a sample with a long wood handled swab – then spreads it on what seems to be a slide.  He yanks my underwear back up, spins on his heel and leaves.  I lay there, wondering, underwear drawn tight into the crotch of my ass; my butt burning from the hard swabbing he had done.

and I fall asleep again, mind troubled, filing – remembering – recording this thing for all time to come . . .

The results come in some time later.  I have pin worms.  I don’t know how I got them and I don’t know what to do.

That evening my momma hands me a suppository and takes me into the bathroom.

“Shove this up your ass,” she says, handing me the tinfoil wrapped thing.

I don’t know what to do.  After all – I’m just a little boy, only six or seven years old.

“Pull down your pants,” she explains to me patiently.  I do.  “Pull down your underwear.  Now get on the toilet.  Spread your legs.”  She hands me this thing, spins to walk away.  “And shove it in your butt.”

She neglects to tell me to take off the tinfoil.  That lack of information hurts – quite literally.

Later she comes in and finds what I have done.  I have this silvery capsule hanging out my ass – me spread-eagled on the toilet – and nothing is being done.

“No, no!  You stupid . . ,” she is disgusted with this thing.  She yanks it out my butthole – peels the tinfoil halfway down – hands it back, and says:

“Shove it in.”

So I did – once again ‘filing’ this thing away for future memory – another ‘not remembered because it was never forgotten’ kind of thing.  I sat there with that thing hanging out my ass for quite a while.  Even half peeled – it wouldn’t ‘go in’.  (No wonder the teenager loved my ass, along with my best friend, eh?)  Anally retentive I reckon . . . don’ know.

But sometimes I wonder . . .

Pin worm is a very common parasitic infection among children 8-10 – so maybe there’s nothing to it.  Just a chance happening; an act of nature.

On the other hand, a plague of ‘worms’ swept my ‘friends’ – ALL of the the ones who ‘slept’ with HIM.  All of us were used to doing this ‘thing’ – sucking him off after he’d been in somebody (like doing my best friend – then I – then having us both perform oral sex on him – and then us doing each other – same kind of deal) – over and over again.

You know what they say about group sex and STD’s – all it takes is one.  Just one person to become ‘infected’ – and then everyone’s got this ‘disease’. . .

In this case we all got worms – or at least most of us who ‘went to bed’ with him.  Clean now . . . but then – what it wasn’t ‘horror’ so much as just grossed out – even as a little kid who’d seen some pretty gross things already – and to this day we are fastidious about some things (plus we learned a lot in survival class – over and over again).

But to this day . . . (sickening shudders) – parasites and things . . . yuck.  And I wonder what the parents thought . . . how many were like my mom, ‘turned off’ by this thing . . . unwilling to ‘help’ their little boy beyond a little of inadequate instruction that ended up hurting him . . . I don’t know (shaking my head).  I just don’t know sometimes. (saddened a bit)

Just a tale of a tale of a piece of tail (ourselves, our little boy inside) . . . who got sick.  (and yeah; I know it’s harsh; we kinda look at him like a fond little whore right now . . . but we still love him, and understand what he’s done . . . and it’s all right.  It’s all right.  We love him nonetheless . . . little wormy thing, LO fond L’s.)

(and written a little bit later – I started this entry over a month ago; it’s been that hard – I can only say that I still feel sick and disgusted . . . it’s a hard thing to do; accepting that ‘he’ sucked a cock that was dipped in shit – sometimes his own – mindlessly and ignorantly, wanting only to “please” this being, this person he was pleasing – no matter what he had to do.  And yeah – it helps to know this is a common childhood ‘infection’ – but even still, we can’t help but wonder how we got that internal parasite – whether it was through ‘normal’ childhood causes – or something else quite darker and deeper (in both a literal and figurative sense . . . whether we got it through normal childhood contacts – or another thing.  We feel sorry for him – saddened for him – but even still: it is hard sometimes, facing what you have done – facing those memories of THOSE events of the past . . .)

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