Three years later, I got my opportunity to spend some time with him away from school. He was at my school (I had moved to another), watching his son playing high school football. I was with mother and stepfather, but they understood me wanting to spend the game with my teacher. I don't remember much of the game or any other details until we were at his house.

His son was in the living room watching TV, but soon left for his room. We followed and got into the same bed. He asked me some personal questions, but I don't remember anything too uncomfortable. In the morning it started. He asked me questions about my puberty but I played it cool and answered with what I thought would be the least embarrassing answer. He kept prodding.

He wanted to wrestle and I didn't think anything of it. What I didn't like was when we were done and he took my hand and rubbed it on his chest. He kept rubbing my hand on him, getting lower and lower. I was scared, but didn't know what to do. All my good feelings for him were being replaced with just wanting to leave, hoping it wouldn't go too far. My hand was starting to tingle from all the friction of his hairy chest... YUCK.... I still said nothing as my hand started going underneath his underwear. I was still praying for some logical explanation. I was 12, maybe I just didn't understand how the world worked.

Finally he stopped, but he wasn't done. He made me hold him over his underwear as he thrust it into my fist. He kept saying, "tighter, tighter". After about five minutes, he stopped. His interest seemed to pause, so I took the opportunity to get out of the bed and ask about breakfast. It worked.

He made me something to eat, gave me four sweaters and drove me home. I said nothing to my mother or stepfather. I was too embarrassed and I felt stupid. I knew it had been wrong and I should've said no, but...

I never did wear the sweaters. I've hated them ever since.

Somehow, I don't remember how, he convinced me to do it again the next weekend. A friend of mine agreed to come and I just thought it would be OK. I also didn't want to have to explain my quick change of heart about my favorite teacher.

I don't have many memories about the second weekend except for feeling betrayed. I thought my friend being there would make it impossible for it to happen again, but it was the same scenario as the weekend before. My friend slept in another room and left me all alone with this evil, horny man.

I got home and somehow expressed my change of heart for my teacher, but said nothing about why. Less than a month later, we (my mother, stepfather and siblings) were to move to another state, and I figured it was useless to say anything. Within the next few years, it finally came out, but not a big deal was made, and I resigned to living with the bad memories along with hating most men.

At 14, I was back in the same town in a bar with my dad. He knew, although I don't ever remember telling him, and I saw my teacher in the bar. I told my dad who he was and that I was going to kill him. I was thinking about how I would do it and wondering why my dad wasn't doing it for me. I don't remember who left first, so I must have calmed down at some point.

A few months later, I heard he was arrested for molesting a boy. I wasn't surprised that he was still doing it, so I don't remember feeling pity for the boy, just the joy that he'd finally been caught. He finally lost his job and I hoped this would be the end for him.

Now I'm 29 and wondering how much of this has made me who I am. Is this why I've never been close to other guys? Why I put women on a pedestal? I don't know. What I do know is all the stories on this board about men being the abusers affects me differently after being molested by one. I'm almost in tears as I read them because I understand the torment, but at the same time, I want to defend myself. I am a man too - This is a dilemma for me. I feel like I have no side. I feel like the perpetrator by being a man, yet a victim at the same time.

Sexually, my teacher has twisted my thoughts by making me hate my masculinity. Making me feel dirty for being a man. Dirty for fantasizing for enjoying the pleasure of sex. All my girlfriends have made me feel perverted. Girls are innocent - Men are disgusting. I HATE IT!

Well........ I guess I've hit upon my sensitive spot. I didn't know what would come out but I think the last paragraph sums up my strongest feelings about it. It makes me so sad to be thought of this way. I would never hurt anyone. Or cheat on anyone. Or, especially ABUSE someone...

I don't know what else to say.

Bruce

I wrote my story a few days ago and sent it in. The next day it hit me hard. I was surprised at what I wrote and surprised even more at how far deep it runs. My story isn't nearly as abusive or drastic as the others I've read here but it's killing me none the less. I'm not sure exactly what is affecting me from being touched by my teacher and what is from other types of abuse so please bear with me as I try to sort it out.

First of all, I never thought I had any major hang ups as far as the sexual abuse, drinking, drugs, physical and emotional abuse, but I knew the combined affect was making me someone I didn't like, or should I say hate. I've thought about going to some kind of support group for all these things, but each category seems to play just a small part. The one group I thought would help me the most was a sexual addiction support group. It seems to have a tight grip on me that I can't escape. Well, there aren't any I've found where I live so I gave up on the idea.

I'd like to add everything that's gone in my head since then.

As I said, the next day, when it hit me, a lot more came to mind that some or all has a part in why I'm wiping the tears as I write this.

I know many more people have faced far worse things than I have and I don't mean to compare myself and lesson their pain, but this man crossed the line. I feel like I was raped! He had no right to do that to me!

Now to contradict what I just said, I have to say that one of the hardest things I've had to deal with all my life is that, because I've never gone through a tragedy that would make headlines I've never felt like I should complain. I always wondered (still do) why I was unhappy at times when I had nothing to complain about. Nothing has been too great to hold me back and yet I cannot seem to find happiness, even under the best of circumstances. I have been a survivor all my life and I'm damn good at it. I sometimes amaze myself at how strong I can be. Ok, I'm getting side tracked. Let me back up...

There were other episodes of abuse growing up. My dad was an alcoholic and my mom was weak to put it bluntly. My two sisters and I lived on and off for a little over a year at a foster home because my parents were unfit. They almost lost custody of us to the courts, but my dad filled his obligations by finding a home with a mother where he could raise us. We moved in, and they ended up getting married. My new step-mother had an older boy and girl, and we were a family for about five years.

My dad started drinking again; spankings turned to 'the belt'. He never hauled off and hit us, but there was constant tension because we were all afraid he would.

My step-brother would bribe my little sister to have sex with him and force my younger brother to give him oral sex. He introduced me to sex by bringing a girl home when I was about 10. He tied her hands behind her back and used a broom handle to penetrate her. She seemed to like the attention and was all for taking us all on one at a time (I had two friends over). I was last but was scared to death. I thought I was stupid for not knowing what to do; besides, I wasn't attracted to her. After they realized I was going to climb out the window to escape, they finally stopped.

Actually, there was another time before that. There was a new family on the block, and the six of us (I forgot to mention my little brother who escaped living in a foster home because he was just a baby) and the seven of them hit it off right away. Soon I found myself naked under a blanket with one of the girls, with my step-brother and her six sisters watching as we tried to have sex. We were only in second grade, yet I was expected to perform. She was disappointed when she found out I didn't know how. Oh, I was so embarrassed. I idolized my step-brother and felt like I really let him down.

The emotional abuse was mostly from my mom and step-dad. They made us feel worthless in many ways. We moved in with them when I was 12, moved to another state, and tried to start over.

I spent my teenage years in a blur of pot and beer. I don't even know when I lost my virginity. I'm pretty sure I 'did it' in those years, but I can't remember. I dropped out of high school every year, but kept going back when I'd get bored. There was always a cute girl to be found there.

I met my first 'love' when I was 15. We dated for about three months until she found out I wasn't the cool, wild, party animal everyone thought I was. From then on, I've been socially dull to make sure I don't give any false impressions. I desperately needed to be liked for who I really was.

Getting into adulthood, I had my taste of a serious relationship. Tammy and I had dated in the past. I'd known her for years and went to see her one day out of the blue. We hit it off and I took her to my apartment (actually I was living on the couch of a friend).

She spent the night, and I thought I was in love. Within a few days our sex life began and, for the first time, I knew what it was to make love to someone. It was like an intimate hug, a way to be closer to that person than anyone else can. God, I loved it! I finally realized sex wasn't dirty. It could be such a beautiful thing.

We got our own place and had sexual marathons. I couldn't get enough of her or her beautiful body and my new outlook on physical attraction. But as our relationship grew, our sex life stayed the same. She had been molested at the ages of 11 and 12 at least once a week by a 73 year old man. He was a friend of her father's. She ended up pressing charges finally, but nothing happened. Her father is still friends with this man....

Anyway, I then learned that she didn't have the same idea about sex being so ideal. We had no foreplay because she didn't like to be touched 'down there', and of course she wanted nothing to do with me 'down there' either. I tried to understand and did everything I could not to cross that line. Well, she ended up cheating on me anyway. That was really hard for me to take.

"Do you mean that body of hers wasn't really mine?" Now, I never actually said or thought like this before. I knew it was hers and would've never done anything to let her think I thought of her like property. Still, I couldn't help feeling betrayed by her sharing her body with anyone else, even after it was over.

Then I got into a relationship with Linda when I turned 21 and acted just the opposite in the bedroom. I didn't want to be controlled by sex as I was with Tammy. I found out I was addicted to sex when Tammy and I split up, and I didn't want someone else to have that kind of control over me, so I was cold and would often turn her down.

Other than that, we were the best couple. We talked about everything. We had everything in common, and I always wanted her to be with me. The problem was, I wasn't ready to settle down. I wanted more sex and I wanted it with anyone I found attractive. I was obsessed with sex, yet I left Linda out of it. I felt tied down. I was missing so many opportunities with other people. I wanted out, but couldn't bring myself to do anything about it. I loved her so much and we were truly best friends, but I was messed up. I tried to figure it out and I told her everything about how I felt.

She agreed to me seeing other people because she didn't want me to leave. It still eventually tore us apart after 3-1/2 years. It's funny. The whole time we were together, I wanted out, but when the time came, the worst pain I'd ever felt was boiling inside me for about six months. I'd taken her for granted. She was wonderful. I was such a fool...

A year later, I met Michelle. My forever girl. She was an angel. I actually started praying after we dated because I was convinced she was a gift from God (I have never really believed in Him). She was everything I had ever wanted. I told my friends I'd marry her in a second if she said yes. I thought of her as a treasure that I couldn't lose. But I had given up on romance after Linda. I didn't believe in it anymore and wanted to play the field. After tearing out the heart of Linda, I was so afraid of commitment. Michelle was my last hope.

She was strong, beautiful, and I didn't have to worry about hurting her. I was only afraid of how I'd feel after she'd spit me out. I kept waiting and waiting, but she was always there. I couldn't figure it out. I knew she could do much better. We were totally incompatible. I was eight years older than her; her parents didn't like me; her friends hated me.... She was grace; I was clumsy. She was beauty; I was ugly -- she young; me old... everything....

We had many problems adjusting to each other, but always had an enormous amount of respect for each other. We didn't fight, but we never really understood one another.

I knew it was just a matter of time before she woke up and ended it. I worried about it and tried to save myself by keeping my own interests and dreams so that, when it came, I'd have something to work with. I read many books, dreamed of going to Asia, and started college, and did all I could to gain her love and devotion while trying to keep looking and from feeling 'whipped'.

We both knew we weren't the ideal couple, and we started growing apart. The talk of kids and marriage was forgotten. Our sex life had never been great, but soon got worse. She was capable of giving the most wonderful orgasms and, at times, she would amaze me. But usually, my desires would go unnoticed. She could bring me to heaven, but she didn't seem to want to take me there.

Finally, I gave up on it and withdrew. We lived like this for about a year. I wanted desperately to work out our problems. I would've done anything to be happy again like we were for a time, but I guess I wasn't the man she wanted to give that kind of time energy to. She didn't want to work it out.

The end came about 2-1/2 months ago. She said we needed to talk. I went to her apartment and we talked about it like, "what are we going to do", but she already had my stuff packed. Her mind was already set.

I just found out she has another boyfriend, and it's tearing me apart. This is why I have so much to say. I found out about him last night and started writing this soon after. After a couple hours I felt better. I didn't plan on turning this into a story about my love life, but I can't figure out what happened to make me feel like I do. I think it's more than me feeling sorry for myself because I'm lonely. It just makes it necessary to deal with the issues now and get through it.

I loved the fact that some people here could express their negative views on life. I thought all support group type settings would banish that kind of talk. It felt good to hear people being honest. One of the things I hate most about myself is my negative attitude but it seems to be permanently attached to me. The guilt from feeling this way just makes it worse and I can't get it out. Yes, I do hate, and I hate a lot.

Oh, I almost forgot. I got carried away with love and forgot about work. I am a school bus driver and my kids are all in elementary school. Three times, parents have called wondering about me. Twice, they called because I took pictures of the kids. "What does the bus driver want pictures of my kids for?" they asked. Oh, I couldn't believe it... I was being accused!

The other time was when a kindergardener puked all over herself and it took me 20 minutes to clean her up. I was getting sick doing it, but the poor girl was in tears, and it was all over her. I gave her some gum to get the taste out of her mouth and did the best I could to get it off before I dropped her off at a daycare. When I got back to the garage, I was told the mother called and complained about it. My boss told her what happened, but she was still furious. I was so sad to be thought about like that after trying to do something nice.

I do understand that she was only protecting her daughter and I would hope all parents keep a good eye on where their kids are. I'm not blaming the parent. I'm blaming all the people who abuse children. It can really be a sad world we live in...

One more thing. I'd really like to thank all the people who shared their stories. I hope it helps a little to know you are helping people like me.

Bruce