|Not Just Priests|
It's not just the catholic church, that is a haven for child molestors. They hang out in every church, usually in a position as the youth choir director, or something similar. You know the kind, they wanna be your best friend, they've got a wife that you never see, and he takes all the teens on long bus-ride trips, staying over-night in little church-camp dorms, where they can move from bed to bed with impunity.
I remember vividly, waking up in the middle of the night, in some Texas church choir camp. I felt so sick, my 8 year old body racked in pain and nausea...I tried to make it to the bathroom, but couldn't, shit and blood running down my legs, all over the dorm floor. I woke up, dry shit flaking on my skin, on the floor of the bathroom. Everyone else in that dorm had left for breakfast. They just left me there, alone, to clean up, to try and understand what had happened, why everything hurt, and I couldn't stand to stand, or walk, or take a crap. I didn't understand why everyone suddenly hated me. Or why the world seemed like a much scarier place on that morning. When my folks stopped by from their couples' cabin, it was all anger and rage, at me, for whatever had happened, it must've been my fault. After being raped, my father's spanking didn't hurt so much physically, but the knowledge that when other people hurt me, my parents would come along and hurt me even worse, that hurt. And still does to this day. People wonder why I'm so sure I'll never be a part of a family of my own.
The scariest part is, I'm pretty sure that wasn't the first time I'd been raped as a child. There's a whole period of my life, where we lived in Abeline, Texas, and my folks were supposed to be babysitting some teenage adopted kids of a friend....I don't remember much of that time frame, just that it was always just us kids. The girl would undress me and give me a bath, and then her brother would start wrestling with me, and then I don't remember anything more. It's just guesses, noticing things like how I'm obsessed with tall skinny punk guys, just like Brent, obsessed with doing anything (sexual) to gratify them. Assuming that if I fail to please them (sexually), I've lost any affection they might have held for me.
Which conflicts/complements the way I jump out of my skin, if an older male touches me, even just people at work, coming up on me with my headphones, and trying to get my attention.