Thirteen and counting

Dear Jack,

It’s a day I’ll never forget, it continues to hunt my memories when I drive through the town of Woodstock. Was eighth grade Spanish class and I got an afterschool suspension for flipping off a girl who was a bitch.

My teacher felt bad cause he knew I was having issues at home and he told me I could go early but my dad wouldn’t come pick me up early so I decided to walk home. Sometimes I think it was fate for that moment to happen. I wasn’t supposed to leave early, wasn’t supposed to my walking in my booty shorts past the white cottage on the main road. I should’ve been riding in my dad’s cruiser home, should’ve stayed until four in detention.

You pulled over in your little black car, obviously I knew you my old best friend’s dad. You were a family friend so I didn’t think to reject you over for a ride home, there wasn’t any stranger danger. The moment you asked what was I doing as you drove by my house something inside me knew this moment would change my future forever.

Your jet black hair that matched the car stuck with me, and the soft aura you’d always put out. Your presence was comforting, at first I thought you might just be curious about my sexuality. But a five minute ride started to lengthen and I knew something was different.

You would take me to a secluded spot and practically repeat yourself ten times that what you were about to do to me was okay. You were probably convincing yourself touching a thirteen year old kid was somehow okay. Telling me how you’d want to fuck me behind the barn next to the spot we were sitting, as you used your rough carpenter hands to rub my prepubescent cock.

It was my first time being touched so it only excited me, I finally got my first action even though I knew deep down I knew it wasn’t okay. I’d never forget the feel of your hands and the way you tried to comfort me like this really was your first time touching a kid. Why my mind only thought to myself “He’s never done this before” is wild to me. Like I felt that this was new to us both, you were also nervous. I didn’t try to run or escape I just took it like I had to.

Frankly I wanted to touch you too, wanted to put my lips on your cock but I knew that was so wrong to be thinking as a forty something year old man was touching an underage kid. Maybe that is what kick started my Daddy Issues especially after my father blamed me later cause I was “dressed like a slut” so I was clearly asking for it.

The way my father would embarrass me a year later after I mistakenly let it slip to my mother it had happened and she took me to the police station immediately. So in front of all my father’s colleges he’d make me call this man’s house and ask you over the phone in front of everyone if you molested me.

I’ve never felt so belittled in my life, never felt so helpless as what had happened would be swept under the carpet so my Dad could still get his chance at becoming chief of police of Woodstock. So the case was so called dropped and I wouldn’t hear of it again.

These are the stores I try to erase, purge them from my memory but every detail sticks in my mind. I chased after older men ever since, like a father figure expect one that also fucked me, nurtured me and guided me as my father was suppose to.

So this would be my very first experience, after when we dropped me off back in town I remember feeling excitement for I had finally been touched by a man. I went home that night and lied to my older brother and dad saying I’d lost my virginity to a girl so they’d think I was cool. They believed me and looked at me like I wasn’t entirely a freak and my secret would be safe for now.

Until foster care that was when I was rudely reminded that a case as this would never close and my mother would try to guilt me into pressing charges. I was fourteen at this point stuck in a group home and given forty eight hours to decide if I wanted to take this make to court. Mind you I was also dealing with the repercussions of my sister’s baby daddy and that situation. Frankly part of me wanted to protect you.

My mother would try to guilt me into believing if I didn’t press charges it would be my fault that you would go off and touch another kid. Something inside me told me you wouldn’t do this again. So I hoped after being exposed you’d have a change of heart and you’d become a changed man.

Needless to say I didn’t press charges and for years after I’d think of you. Partly wanting more like what we had wasn’t the end of our story. Dreams of it happening spiraling through my head for years to come.

So Jack, I hope you’re well and that you never touched a kid again. I hope you found peace and fucked someone who was atleast of legal age. I hope I never see you again but I do wish you well.