Story Time Part 3 / On Older Women

So now that I have had a few drinks I think I can finally put this story into words. I’ll be short and to the point.

Last night I was talking to TBF about the weekend and about hooking up with the Bridesmaid. Now, TBF knows most everything that I do, and he asked me what was with my obsession with older women. I honestly had no idea; all I could think of was this story, which I have never told before. I don’t think it even explains the problem, but I’m going to tell you anyhow.

I am going to tell you a story. But it isn’t the same kind you are used to hearing from me. This story is about a woman named Diana.

When I was about seven or eight years old I had this babysitter named Diana. I really don’t remember how old she was, I am fairly sure she was in her early 30s or late 20s. She watched me and my brother, J over the summer when our parents were at work. J was five or six at the time so he was too young to remember, too young for her to take interest in. He was too young to remember.

Diana was a different from your typical high school girl who you called to babysit. She lived down the street and had known us since we were kids. She didn’t work and had babysat us since we were toddlers. Like I said, however, she was a different kind of babysitter. I can still remember the time she was pulling me down the street in a wagon to get ice cream. I had complained or something like that, all I remember was that she made the wagon tip over going around a turn, on purpose. I got my first stitches in my chin and had a pebble stuck in my forehead for a few weeks. I was a kid but I still remember that like yesterday.

Diana was a different kind of babysitter. When J would lay down for a nap, she would turn off the TV and she would turn her attention to me. She would take off her shirt and make me play with her; I didn’t even know what it meant when she groaned. She showed me her “happy forest” and made me put my little hands into her. I didn’t know what I was doing, I was just a kid. We would have, “happy time,” it always felt so awkward, but she told me it was what big kids did, and I didn’t know the difference. She would threaten me if I didn’t play her games like she wanted. She touched me where my parents said only the doctor should touch. She gave me the “feeling,” as she called it. It wasn’t quite an orgasm; I was far too young to cum. I didn’t know what she was doing, I was just a kid.

I never felt right about it and I never knew why. I told her that I wanted to tell my parents about it and she burned my arm with a match. When my parents got home she told them that I had been playing with them and burned myself after she tried to stop me. My parents yelled at me, told me never to do it again. I never had the guts to tell them what she would do to me when J would take a nap.

I didn’t know what was happening; it is all a confusing blur. I remember the shame I felt when I sat naked on her lap, touching her. I was uncomfortable, but she told me it was ok, that if I was a good boy I would do this and not tell my parents. I didn’t know any better. I didn’t know what was happening, I was just a kid.

By the time I finally realized what had happened I was much older. I was not a kid anymore…now I knew exactly what had happened. She was long gone, but I still felt that shame…I will never forget that shame. I’ve never been keen to label it child abuse but I just don’t know what to think about it. The memory of events…the record, continues to fade but I can still feel her.

I thought about Diana for the first time in years the other night and I was legitimately disturbed by the reaction I had to my thoughts. I would kill her. If I ever see you again, Diana, I will kill you. I was just a kid…I didn’t know what I was doing and you took advantage of me. She was supposed to care for me and she did the exact opposite, I have always wondered what I did to provoke it, I mean I had to have done something wrong…right? People just don’t do that, do they? I have been confused and this has fucked my head for too long.

Let me assure you that you are not speaking to EZ, Cheese or P…you are speaking to all of us. I assure you when I say that if we ever see her again I will wrap my hands around her throat and I will pull it out of her neck. I will watch her die and I will enjoy it. You see, at the time I was just a kid…I didn’t know what I was doing. I had no idea why I cried all those nights, no idea what she had done to me. The only reason I haven’t gone to look for her, to torture her, is because she never hurt J. If that would have happened I would have cut her heart out and eaten it. I would have mutilated her body and made her suffer. You see, since I realized what happened, I have no time for pedophiles…I will kill them all. She fucked with my head in ways I couldn’t possibly explain. Someday…I…will…kill…her…

No, I am not crazy; I have just been bottling this up for almost 15 years, never told anyone. That question from TBF set it off…why am I so attracted to older women? Maybe she has something to do with it…

Edit: This needs to be added

Something has to change.
Undeniable dilemma.
Boredom's not a burden anyone should bear.
Constant over stimulation numbs me and I wouldn't have it any other way.

It's not enough.
I need more.
Nothing seems to satisfy.
I don't want it.
I just need it.
To feel, to breathe, to know I'm alive.

Finger deep within the borderline.
Show me that you love me and that we belong together.
Relax, turn around and take my hand.

I can help you change tired moments into pleasure.
Say the word and we'll be well upon our way.
Blend and balance pain and comfort deep within youtill you will not have me any other way.

It's not enough.
I need more.
Nothing seems to satisfy.
I don't want it.
I just need it.
To feel, to breathe, to know I'm alive.

Knuckle deep inside the borderline.
This may hurt a little but it's something you'll get used to.
Relax.
Slip away.

Something kinda sad about the way that things have come to be.
Desensitized to everything.
What became of subtlety?
How can it mean anything to me if I really don't feel anything at all?
I'll keep digging till I feel something.

Elbow deep inside the borderline.
Show me that you love me and that we belong together.
Shoulder deep within the borderline.
Relax, turn around and take my hand.

"Stinkfist" by Tool