The Part Of Me I Rejected & Pedophilia
Despite pursuing my sexuality, it still became a secret. It became something I could only share with an intimate partner or online. At the age of eleven I lied to my mom for the first time. I lied when I told her where I was going and what I was doing. I was going over to Ferret's house to fool around. I was hoping that Ferret's older brother would have sex with me. He was sixteen.
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Our fifth year anniversary came and went. As usual, Paladin and I didn't take time to celebrate in particular. We were more spontaneous with our love than that.
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"I like it here," Paladin said, referring to Basket Bear's home.
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"It's easier here because it's just us," I said. "And the dogs of course. But this underscores the fact that it is human interactions that make traveling difficult."
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I was coming to understandings about myself at a rapid rate. Watching Teal Swan videos every day accelerated the process even further.
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During her video called "Pedophilia" she explained that the attraction to children came from having to reject one's own inner child completely.
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But I wasn't attracted to children per say. I was very specifically attracted to young women who were maturing early, like I had.
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At age nine I began being horny very frequently. I would strongly desire intimacy and sexual contact, but I rapidly discovered just how much society didn't like the idea of that.
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At age ten I got my period. I was the first girl in my class, of course. My teacher was a little shocked at my early development. I kept bleeding through my pad and sticking to my chair. My periods were incredibly heavy and accompanied by cramps and moodiness.
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This moodiness was not improved by being told how unusual my early development was. It was not improved by being told I shouldn't flaunt my sexuality. It was not improved by being told I couldn't wear what I wanted to wear, or say what I wanted to say.
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I started shaving my legs. I talked my mom into letting my dye my hair with a natural red tone. I started wearing make-up. I couldn't wear anything too bright at school, but if it was subtle, I wasn't made to wash my face when I arrived. When I wasn't in school or barefoot, I wore high-heels. I talked my mom into letting me buy them at the second-hand store, where most of my clothes and shoes came from.
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At age eleven I began using the Internet which quickly turned into entering chat rooms, specifically adult chat rooms. This evolved into "cyber sex". Within a month or two this had escalated into phone sex. I thought my parents didn't know about this, but apparently they were listening to some of my conversations. Fortunately, they didn't hear most of them, or they might have put me on a shorter leash, which would have made things worse.
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Now I see that I'm attracted to young girls developing early because it was the age where I began to reject and hide myself. I learned that I had to hide a lot. I felt aroused all day, sometimes for days on end. I had no outlet. I masturbated, but I couldn't orgasm. I had fantasies, but I never had anyone actually touch me.
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At age twelve I lost my virginity to the first boy who would have me. This was after already trying with literally around twenty other boys, and even a couple men. Men were afraid of me and immediately labeled me "jail bait." Boys were not ready yet. Even boys who were fourteen (three years older than I was during much of my fruitless searching) were generally not ready or interested.
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I was nearly my full height and definitely had full breasts at the age of twelve. I was often mistaken for being sixteen and sometimes even eighteen if I was wearing make-up and a dress with heels.
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Despite pursuing my sexuality, it still became a secret. It became something I could only share with an intimate partner or online. At the age of eleven I lied to my mom for the first time. I lied when I told her where I was going and what I was doing. I was going over to Ferret's house to fool around. I was hoping that Ferret's older brother would have sex with me. He was sixteen.
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Ferret's older brother wouldn't accept intercourse from me, but he did allow me to suck his cock. It was my first experience with that. I didn't like it for the most part, but the simple fact that it was some kind of sex was too much to turn down. I liked how he moaned. I liked how he wanted it to continue. I liked how he was pushing me, instead of me always chasing, chasing, chasing and getting nothing.
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(Ferret was a childhood friend I played with Barbie dolls with. She and I were never really close, as neither of us knew what friendship really meant on any level.)
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This also happened with Squirrel's older brother, who was in his twenties at the time. I was rather pleased when he gave me $40 for my trouble. I was absolutely thrilled and wanted more. Many years later (when I was seventeen and eighteen), Squirrel himself paid me to do webcam shows for him. I felt liberated and excited by these experiences. I often thought, how can I get more of this in my life short of becoming a prostitute?
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Finally, at the age of twenty-six, I could understand my shockingly strong attraction to young girls who had been like me. It was the part of me that I had divorced from myself.
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Even more specifically, my fantasies revolved around a rapist taking the innocence away from a girl that age. Teal spoke a lot about innocence too, but what did it mean that my fantasies revolved around a loss of innocence?
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Why did I have such a powerful attraction to this fantasy when I had never actually been abused? To my knowledge, I reminded myself for the thousandth time. Even as self-aware as I am, even with all the consciousness awareness work I've done, even with all that Oryx as taught me, it is still possible that I have memories fully repressed... Even still, I don't believe that to be true.
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Could it really be as simple as the hurt of not feeling safe to express myself anymore? Could it simply be the devastation of finding myself lying to my mom? Was it that I was sneaking out and betraying the authenticity that had previously existed in my relationship with my parents? It could. But why didn't that feel like the whole story?
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In my mind's eye I could see myself split into two: The part of myself labeled "okay" and the part of myself labeled "not okay". Perhaps that really was the whole story.
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After contemplating the video for over an hour, I talked to Paladin about it.
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"I must be healing though," I said.
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"How so?" he asked.
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"Starting when I was around ten I started imagining girls getting raped and masturbating to that fantasy. They always had a specific age, and that age was important to me. Every single fantasy always included a made-up girl with a specific age, and a completely shadowy man with very little specific features at all. The man was almost a prop; he was a horny and out-of-control, but otherwise fairly bland. But don't you think it's weird that each time the girl always had an age? Usually between nine and twelve."
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"Huh," Paladin said with a huff of air. "That does seem odd."
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"But this is why I know I must be healing. From the age of ten up until meeting you, the girl was always in that narrow age range. But after meeting you the girl started to be older. She would be somewhere between eleven and sixteen. And now, she is usually between fourteen and sixteen, and a lot of the time I don't even think about what her age is anymore."
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"So what do you think that means?" He asked.
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"I think it represents the times I've healed. I've accepted my ten-year-old-self, and even my fourteen-year-old-self. It's age sixteen I'm stuck on. I think that is why I come to memories of Dragon while doing consciousness awareness processes. Because I was sixteen while I was with him. And that was also the year my health went south. That was a huge drama-filled year for me. It was, thus far, the roughest year of my life. And thus, I have parts of myself from age sixteen that have not integrated, that I have not accepted."
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And following what Teal said in her video, my attraction to girls of that age and the idea of raping them, was literally the attraction of reuniting with the part of myself I'd rejected.
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Another revelation came to me a few days later. I was sitting in my "office" at the time, eating a nori wrap stuff with fermented red cabbage, romaine lettuce, and dried tomatoes that had soaked in flax oil and apple cider vinegar. Red juice from the wrap dripped into a large bamboo bowl in my lap. I was eating it in the "office" instead of the kitchen because I was sick of Basket Bear's dogs bothering me for food. They'd already been fed, but dogs will be dogs, eh?
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A frequently recalled memory came back to me. It was of a Christmas visit to my Aunt Procyon's house. My parents were there, my Aunt and at least two of her three children. The memory came back organically. Thinking of Basket Bear's dogs led me to think of my first experience with a dog, which was Procyon's dog.
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I remember being told not to feed the dog at the dinner table, yet doing so anyway. Nobody explained me to me at the outset that this caused the dog to beg at the table, and if they did, they didn't explain to me why begging at the table was frowned on.
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Then, hiding away in the office to eat, I knew exactly why. It was because it made you feel guilty to have someone begging, looking at you like it is the end of the world if you don't give them a bite. But the weird thing about dogs is they do this even when they're getting plenty. I've heard of dogs literally eating until they kill themselves of it. No wonder she didn't want me encouraging this behavior! It made everyone at the table less comfortable to have a dog continually begging, and it didn't really help the dog any either.
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At least, these were my conclusions then. Really, I'd had very little experience with dogs. And truly, that didn't look likely to change. My stay at Basket Bear's was resulting in a growing list of why I never wanted dogs. At the top of that list was, "Constant begging and annoyance while trying to prepare or eat food." Right along with, "Needs a lot of attention, especially in the form of licking one's face and jumping all over the place."
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Just not my cup of tea. I'd really rather drink my tea in peace, thanks.
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As I was on my late bite of the nori wrap I recalled telling my Aunt Procyon about my made-up world. I had invented an elaborate storyline with dozens of characters. These characters were represented by Barbie dolls, but the dolls were more a tool than anything. They allowed for an external focal point that I could point to. But the heart of my play was very much an internal dialog.
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I was particularly proud of my "magic power" system that I had invented. I also had a lot of fun concepts, like different parts of my room being different "dimensions" and numbering those dimensions. One such dimension was "dimension 25".
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Each character had a name, preferences, a style, particular other characters they liked or disliked, a history (or at least a sketch of one), as well as particular magic powers that they had learned or were in the process of learning. I kept this game up with myself for years and years without ever having anyone ever really join me in my game.
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Ferret came somewhat close to really joining me in my made-up world, but really, she made up her own world in a much less intricate sense (she was three years younger, after all), and her world and mine intersected a couple times a month (or less) for a couple years. Ferret, though younger than I, actually lost interest years before I did.
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I was six when I started the stories. I was thirteen before they entirely stopped. I had started typing at the age of nine, and by the time I was eleven I did more writing than I did playing with dolls. For two years of my life I was still playing with Barbie dolls, but also pursuing men on the Internet to seek cyber sex or phone sex.
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I titled my journals from that time, "Between Barbies and Sex." It seemed suitable in its shock value.
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It was just about as rare to find someone to play with me in my made-up world as it was to find someone who'd even listen to me talk about it. So when Aunt Procyon actually listened for ten minutes or so, I was overjoyed. I babbled on delightedly. Her daughter also listened to most of it as she cleared away dishes from dinner.
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My mother grinned at me across the table, delighted to see me so happy. Mother was always happy on Christmas day. That was the best part of Christmas for me.
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Somehow, for whatever reason, the conversation turned to another subject. I tried to resurrect my favorite subject again within a couple of minutes. Aunt Procyon looked at me sharply and she said, "I've listened to you for fifteen minutes about your fantasy world. Have you considered that I will not benefit from the information? The information is not useful to me. Now, let the adults talk."
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I was crushed, to say the least. I had never thought about talking as something to be useful before. Prior to that moment, speaking was about connecting. Speaking was about expression. Speaking was about intimacy in the literal "in to me see" sort of way.
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On June 25th 2015, sitting in Basket Bear's home, I wrote, "For all these years, ever since, I've been subconsciously sorting out the 'not useful' things and avoiding those topics. I've felt self-conscious about 'babbling.' I've adopted the label 'chatterbox' at times, because that was often what I was dubbed. While I was not fully squashed, I was wounded by those words."
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Finally, I could shake free of that notion. Information isn't what matters to the spirit. It was not what mattered to me. What I wanted from communication was connection. Data conversations could be saved for White Whale and other business partners and clients. For my friends and family, I wanted a relationship of substance. If my inner world was not of interest, then what was the point? And furthermore, if they would not share theirs, indeed, what was the point?