Effect of Consenting Childhood Sex with Pedophile

Allow me to introduce myself. I’m a 54 year old married woman, a seemingly normal, well-adjusted professional, recently retired from a fun and highly rewarding career. However, all my life I have lived two lives – the conservative professional my friends and colleagues see, and the dark sexually tormented deviant only certain people see. I have come to live with myself the way I am, and found ways to cope with my cravings without harm to myself or other, as I’m too old and too ingrained in my mind to ever change. However, I’m hoping that my experiences can help others in a similar situation. That would give some positive meaning to my past.

I got this way by because of a foolish mistake made by a bored 9 year old girl in a past that seems like another world. Growing up on a barren Indian reservation to an alcoholic single mom left me with a craving for the affection of an adult like a drug addict craves heroin. Unfortunately, I got little to none from mom. Then mom’s younger brother Jimmy, age 28, came to live with us after he lost his job as a drywaller. Jimmy showered me with attention … and affection. He talked to me about music, fashion, the war in Vietnam, etc. He got me interested in watching the news on TV instead of cartoons. He was like a conduit to the world outside of the desolation of the reservation. There was a moon mission taking place that summer, and Jimmy taught me all about it. It was because of Jimmy that led me into the profession that became my career.

However, Jimmy had one quirk incomprehensible to a 9 year old girl. He seemed obsessed with touching me, especially my legs and butt. Jimmy looked for every excuse to get his hands on my legs, even if just for a split second. Although the incessant touching felt “wrong” to me, I allowed it because I felt it was a form of “barter” for the attention I so desperately craved.

Jimmy was quite adept at child psychology. He knew exactly how to suck me deeper and deeper into this mysterious “barter”. He knew there was a second cousin of whom I was jealous named Claire. Whenever he wanted to escalate our “barter” another notch, he would tell me he likes Claire because SHE lets him do whatever it is he wanted to do with me. For example, he told me how much he “adored” Claire because she always wore miniskirts and tiny shorts. I became so jealous that I constantly wore short skirts and shorts. I even cut the legs of my shorts, until he stopped telling me that Claire’s shorts were shorter. When he wanted “long hugs”, he told me how much he like Claire’s “long hugs”. When he wanted “wet kisses” (which were on the lips with open mouth), he needed only to tell me about Claire’s “wet kisses”.

Whenever he invoked Claire, he would disappear during what would be our TV time together, hinting that he was going to see Claire. Then he would come home and ignore me, something that mixed a feeling of worthlessness in with jealousy. And, most calculated, he would stop touching me, causing me to do anything to entice him to touch me … including giving in to whatever is was he wanted – “long hugs”, “wet kisses”, touching between my butt cheeks, sitting on his lap, etc. He cleverly mixed my confidence in how much he liked me with how much arousal he got from me. Even though I was too young to understand the concept of “arousal”, I didn’t have to understand it to provide it.

Many years later I would learn that Jimmy never touched Claire, that she never wore anything for his benefit, that she never kissed him or hugged him, or let him see her “private parts”, etc. He rarely even talked to her. But that summer the mere mention of her name would send me into a jealous frenzy, and drive me to allow a sexually obsessed pedophile to gradually escalate my own sexual abuse all the way to full intercourse with internal ejaculation. Once the intercourse started, it’s all he thought about. Yes, we still had our TV time together, we still followed the moon mission together, he still told me about hippies and music and the war in Vietnam, but interspersed with all that were frequent trips to the couch for a “#3” – our name for his orgasm. He was even clever about the terminology. No actual sexual terms were ever used. In the vernacular of a child, #1 is peeing, #2 is pooping, #3 is ejaculating … just another harmless bodily function that we don’t talk about.

Jimmy was constantly trying to find a way to get his hands on a neighbor girl named Vicky. Vicky was a 13 year old with Down Syndrome who, unlike me, had breasts and a curvy body. By August of that summer Jimmy convinced me to help him groom Vicky for “girly stuff” – Jimmy’s word for anything sexual. It turned out that Vicky was so severely retarded that no grooming was necessary, or even possible. My job was to keep her “occupied” while Jimmy drove himself into a frenzy with her.

The episodes occurred in our garage. I would play with Vicky, distracting her with no more than a few giggles and a Styrofoam cup while Jimmy did just about everything imaginable with her. Intercourse was never done to completion with Vicky. Jimmy would stay inside her until he was unable to take anymore, then he would finish in me. He told me this was because I was special to him. The real reason was because, unlike me, Vicky could get pregnant.

We had about 5 or 6 episodes with Vicky then she stopped walking by my house and was clearly avoiding me. Jimmy kept begging me to “go get Vicky”, but for the first time I defied him. I’d like to think that I defied him out of decency, but the real reason was because I was jealous of Vicky. The episodes with Vicky never lasted more than about two minutes, and today I take solace in knowing that she was mostly unaware of how completely she was violated.

By late August Jimmy was so obsessed that it seemed his entire life was all about #3. He never talked to me anymore. He never watched TV with me anymore. We never ate lunch together anymore. He would walk around the neighborhood leaving me all alone, returning only to have a #3, then going out again. I didn’t know at the time where he was going, but he always came back extremely desirous of sex. Years later I would learn that he would go to a public park popular with teenagers as a “lovers lane”. There he would hide in the surrounding woods and watch the teens make out and experiment with sex. This would fill him with a fury that normal men can never understand. He would then come home to release it with me.

Every day between 10 AM and 4 PM Jimmy would require me for 6-8 #3s. This is an addiction like no other. It dominated his life … and mine. Gone was the flirting, the giggling, the sneaky little feels, and most importantly, gone was Jimmy’s attention. By the end of that summer my role in life was to simply provide a vagina in which Jimmy could release that fury. And Jimmy never stopped asking me to “get Vicky”, and he even began suggesting we go hunting for other girls to bring to the garage. Fortunately we never acted on those suggestions – mainly because of his own impatience. Every time we talked about “the garage”, he would immediately need a #3, which would then drain him of his desire to find a girl.

The “relationship” ended when we got caught. It was during the second week in September. Once school started I was unavailable to Jimmy all day. This meant Jimmy had to get his quota of #3s at night when mom was home from work. It was only a matter of time before we got caught. I won’t go into gory detail on how we got caught other than to say it wasn’t red-handed, so to speak, but on “circumstantial evidence”.

In the Native American culture of the 60s, you don’t turn family into the police. So Jimmy’s “punishment” was to be banned from the community. My punishment was much worse. Mom blamed ME for corrupting her brother. She used my hiked-up miniskirts and cut-leg shorts as proof that I “seduced” him, rather than what it really was – the consequence of a bored, lonely girl crying out for attention … even if it’s from a sexually obsessed pedophile.

After that summer I continued growing up a seemingly normal girl, although I did acquire a rebellious streak, mostly because of what I’d learned about the world from Jimmy. Instead of cartoons and sitcoms I became a news and documentary junkie. I was 9 years old and my favorite TV shows were 60 Minutes and the 6 o’clock news. By my 10th birthday, Jimmy was a faded memory.

I had an unquenchable thirst for all things intellectual. I became an ardent follower of the moon missions – Apollo 12, 13, 14, etc. I was riveted to the TV when Apollo 13 had to abort the mission. I excelled at schoolwork, and during the summers I was a fixture at the library.

And then, right at the start of the summer of 1972, two months before my 12th birthday, something started happening to me. As I began puberty, my mind filled with sexual fantasies and images. Psychologists say that sexual fantasies at puberty are normal – but not mine. Whereas most girls that age fantasize about cute boys and romantic situations, my fantasies were about rape … my own, and my participation in the rape of others. And every male in my fantasies was Jimmy. By that time I’d forgotten what he looked like, and mom had destroyed every picture of him. Yet, every male in my fantasies was Jimmy. I would fantasies about being held down while 50 hands devoured the feel of my body. 50 hands – 25 Jimmys. Just before turning 12 I discovered masturbation – and became immediately addicted to it. Gang rape became my masturbation fantasy. And I only masturbated with Vaseline because its smell and texture triggered memories of the summer with Jimmy.

And I would fantasize about Vicky. I was no longer jealous of her. Now I wanted to watch Jimmy’s penis disappear inside her like those times in the garage. And not just for the 10 second maximum that Jimmy could withstand before having to yank out, but for 2, 3, 4 minutes on end. When it really happened Vicky didn’t know what she was feeling. Her face would just show a kind of puzzled look, then go back to the game we were playing. But in my fantasies Vicky tried to squirm away from Jimmy, and I would have to hold her down so that he could finish his #3. In real life Jimmy never ejaculated inside her. But in my fantasies he did, and Vicky would scream as she felt it squirting out. And I would put my hand over her mouth to muffle her cries. In my fantasies Vicky would fight with all her might to eject him and his #3, but I would hold her motionless and “wet kiss” Jimmy until all of his #3 was out of him and into her.

I tell you this not to be gratuitous, but to explain a tidbit of psychology the way it was explained to me. The Vicky of my fantasy was the way I SHOULD have been. I should have been hurt and forced. I should have been frightened and traumatized. I should have fought against the violation. I should have been disgusted by his semen. But I was none of that. And holding my hand over Vicky’s mouth symbolized the way I stifled myself from what I should have been. Holding her still symbolized the way I remained passive and motionless for him. My fantasy about Vicky was my mind’s way of saying mom was right – it WAS my fault. Just to show you how powerful subconscious symbolism is, to this day the smell of Vaseline triggers an actual age regression in me, and brings me right back to that summer of Apollo 11.

In reality child sexual exploitation isn’t always unwelcome, as in my case. And that’s the most harmful kind of all. I SHOULD have been the Vicky of my fantasies. After puberty nothing about me was normal. My mind makes no connection between sex and love. I am capable of love, but I’m incapable of having sex with someone I love. My husband and I have a platonic relationship between us. We stopped having sex when I started falling in love with him. However, I am addicted to sex … sex with people who disgust me. My husband and I are in the so-called “swinger” lifestyle, so neither of us is void of sex. My sexual mainstay takes place in adult theaters and in a venue called “dogging” (nothing to do with dogs). In the darkness of an adult theater my fantasy comes true. I can be molested by 25 Jimmys intending only to gratify themselves with my body.

And, although I am in no way a pedophile myself, I have always been pathologically attracted to men who are. I despise them, yet I am uncontrollably aroused by the thought of their cravings. The man I married is as far from a pedophile as one can get … and that’s why I married him. But I have absolutely no sexual attraction to him. I am, however, insanely aroused by the ilk of men who frequent adult theaters. They are Jimmy … all of them. And in that musty darkness he is not having intercourse with a 54 year old woman – he is inching his way up the insides of his 9 year old niece, or into the guts of a 13 year old unaware retarded girl.

There is one upside to all this – if it wasn’t for Jimmy I would have probably been just another drunken Indian housewife. I owe my brilliant career (I’m a mathematician and physicist) and high financial station to that summer with Jimmy. But nothing else in this story turns out good. Mom never spoke to her brother again. Vicky died at age 18 from heart failure – a consequence of her defective genes. When I was 14 I went on a mission to find Jimmy and tell him how ###$ up I was. I found him dying in prison from lung cancer – a consequence of his job working with asbestos drywall. In the months before he died we exchanged over a dozen letters. In those letters he dumped his entire life story on me, including what he felt with me, and why he was so driven to do what he did. I would learn that Jimmy’s obsessions with sex and girls started when he was about 10 years old. I would learn that Jimmy spent his teen years as a peeping tom.

And I would learn that, despite his constant thoughts of sex, MINE was actually the first vagina he successfully entered … at age 28. Not because he didn’t want to, but because no one let him. Apparently I was the only female not creeped out by him. I would learn that Jimmy was a bona fide rapist. A week before moving in with us, he ALMOST lost his virginity, when he followed a highly intoxicated woman as she took a shortcut through a deserted parking lot on her way home from the bar at 2 AM. He was hoping she’d pass out in the parking lot … and she did. Unfortunately for Jimmy he couldn’t “figure out” the vagina, and wound up climaxing while probing around for the opening.

And I learned that after me Jimmy’s obsessions intensified. Jimmy discovered that women who answer “lonely heart” ads in the paper will date even him. And some of those women had young daughters. That’s how he wound up in prison. See – it’s all my fault again.

So, when did you meet a pedophile?

It obviously isn't Jimmy, since you make it quite clear that he's a situational offender, who used you as a substitute for the adult women he would have preferred to have sex with.

Welcome, Papergirl. I'm sorry to hear what you've been through, but I would suggest that the title of this thread is misleading, as this clearly wasn't 'consent' in the proper sense. You said it felt wrong, you said you were manipulated such that you acceded to his wishes out of fear that he would abandon you, and you've presented a psychologist's theory (which may or may not be accurate) that suggests you weren't willing after all and suppressed the negative feelings generated by the sexual activity. In my humble opinion, that's not consenting childhood sex. My girlfriend had consenting childhood sex for five years, between the ages of five and ten, with her much older (adolescent) step brother. She found it positive and beneficial, she doesn't have any psychological quirks or issues and her sexuality is as vanilla as they come.

Ctithe - Thank you for your comment and your insight. Your points are well taken, but I view it as consenting in the same sense that a wife may stay with her husband simply because she doesn't want to be lonely or in financial straits, or for any of a variety of ulterior reasons. In my younger days I've had one night stands with a few men simply to stop them from the incessant begging. That's wrong - but still consenting. And in the swinger lifestyle there are many occasions where I agree to a sexual encounter with another couple only because my husband wants the other woman.

My post was admittedly dark in its wording. Let me say that my life is very good, and I don't feel that everything about my childhood experiences was negative. When I think of that summer I think of a timid, ignorant little girl with no future blossoming into bold, intelligent young person excited to be alive, and with a brilliant career ahead of her. Admittedly, my sex life is messed up (by societal standards). And yes, there are many times when I wish I was "normal". Yet, with my involvement in the swinger and gangbang lifestyles, I am capable of a type of sexual excitement that few normal women will ever experience.

The analogy you give is perhaps revealing, and within the overall context of your second post leads me to wonder whether the source of your malaise, so to speak, is the dearth of warmth you mentioned in the original post. I think there's a very real risk that society's hysteria is encouraging you to conceive of the drug as the problem rather than the disease. As far as drugs go, it was no panacea, just a palliative, but you weren't presented with any other options. That's not to say what Jimmy did wasn't wrong, but I think society would want you to fixate on the sexual acts as the source of your 'plight', whereas I think the root is low self-esteem stemming from lack of emotional warmth. Yes, Jimmy's manipulation, regarded retrospectively, will tarnish the warmth you received from him, but it should be seen within the wider context of a childhood devoid of adequate emotional nurturing. In my very humble opinion, I'd argue that the emotional climate that made Jimmy a palatable surrogate is what did most damage, because it was far more sustained. I'd also like to stand by my point about true consent; a woman who won't leave her controlling husband because he has worn down her self-esteem is only passively consenting, out of anxiety about worse alternatives. If a man holds a knife to my throat, I'll consent to giving him my wallet, because the alternative is so much more unpalatable. An extreme analogy to tease out a general point. The reason you went along with the sex was because the less palatable, more damaging alternative was no emotional sustenance. Seen like that, this palliative might not have been a cure, but neither was it the disease. The disease was the way you were treated by people, Jimmy included.

Interesting read. Stories like this are what make me realize that the effect of sexual contact between children and adults is far from a black and white issue.

I still believe that what Jimmy did was wrong regardless of whether you gave your consent, partly because he included you in something far more socially taboo than you would have been capable of realizing at the age of 9. He couldn't have known how it would make you feel when you came to that realization.

He was selfish and manipulative, and possibly more motivated by desperation to have sex than pedophilia. I did find myself relating to him in some ways though. I understand what it feels like to be a total virgin in my twenties and never have a girlfriend or a single kiss. I know the jealousy that comes along with it. This is where he most likely got the idea to use jealousy as a tool on you. Being a pedophile though, it doesn't cause me too much jealousy to see two older teenagers kissing, reading stories like the first half of this one will do it though.

I hope that sharing your story has helped you, though a trigger warning would have been helpful. Honestly, it'd be nice to see yourself then, to look into your mindset at the time, and reckonize that this wasn't really consentual. For instance, did you really understand at the time that you were being manipulated? Probably not.

Either way, from an outsider's perspective, this doesn't look very consentual. You felt like you had to do that to get the attention you needed. It's about as much a choice on your part as is paying income taxes is as an adult. It's not. Sure, you can "choose" not to, but the consequences will serve as a reminder that you really don't have a choice.

This was a very fascinating and pertinent post.

I'm generally inclined toward the pro-contact camp but this really got me thinking on the potential for manipulation. I confess I may also have interpreted your short skirts as a sign of attraction.

I guess I would describe you as consenting to him but I feel rather than free control over your actions you were presented with an ultimatum which I feel was quite unethical on Jimmy's part and I condemn what he did, though I am not denying the potential for some children to actually consent to sex for their own pleasure.

I'm also fascinated by both the dreams and your interpretation of them. However, meaning no disrespect, I wonder if your interpretation is biased by a strong desire to conform to the mainstream perspective that there's no way you could have consented and "should" have felt violated. Maybe out of guilt or something but I'm no psychologist and of course you know yourself and your circumstances far better than I do.

Personally I think there's something admirable about your sex life. You're open to both varied activity even within marriage and, from what I've inferred, are capable of indulging your desire for that dark while not condoning actual cruelty.

I like to think I would show a niece of mine attention and affection whether or not they got enough at home and I don't think I'd be above sexual relations with her if I was attracted t her. But I would never apply the manipulation that Jimmy used.

I would be so fascinated to know the content of the letters you exchanged with Jimmy.

Maligan12 -

Jimmy’s letters read more like the repentance of a dying man than anything that might have any psychological significance. But not being a psychologist, I probably wouldn’t know what’s psychologically significant. My letters to him were about my feelings and motivations at the time. After a few back and forth letters he started opening up about his feelings and motivations. Ahh, ok, maybe I am something of a psychologist – I got him to dig deeper than a simple “confession of sins”.

But based on his “confession of sins” (before and after me), and on his “feelings and motivations” it’s pretty clear that Jimmy wasn’t an actual pedophile, but a hapless man with an obsessive sexual drive and an addiction to bigger and better orgasms. He started out as a chronic masturbator using “girly magazines” to help, then when simple masturbation no longer produced the thrill he wanted, he started window peeping. Window peeping led to trolling the lovers lanes where he can get more “up-close”. And that led to touching girls and women “accidentally” as he passed them. And that eventually led to an attempted rape on a drunk woman. Then he moved in with us … and his wildest fantasy became a reality. He didn’t go after me because I was a child, but because I was available for the taking. I’m sure if I was a 50 year old woman in a coma, he would have used her as his orgasm maker.

After me Jimmy sought out children for sex. I don’t think it’s possible to “acquire” pedophilia, but after me he definitely found pubescent and prepubescent girls to provide him with superior orgasms to anything else, including grown women. He found targets in the Lonely Hearts section of local papers, answering ads of women with young daughters, and even placing an ad in which he purported himself to be a kind-hearted man willing to share guardianship with “retarded kids”. He seemed to have a special excitement about mentally challenged girls.

And this is what eventually landed him in prison, where a 5 year sentence turned into a death sentence when he found out that “chest cold” he had was actually advanced stage lung cancer. Coincidentally that’s when I found him and exchanged the letters. Just to show you how “kind-hearted” he really was, he said he was sorry I was so messed up, but never apologized for his actions (admittedly, I wasn’t looking for an apology). And in one letter, his reaction to me telling him that Vicky died was “oh well … I guess she’s better off that way”.

I know many of the people on this website are psychology aficionados, and I guess in many ways Jimmy’s is a more interesting psyche to dig into than is mine. Hopefully understanding him might help the Jimmy’s reading these posts. And I say “help” with a caveat – I don’t consider what he did with me to be “wrong” or “immoral”, and if I had it to do over, I would do it again, albeit with a few changes. But what he did with Vicky (and apparently with another Downs girl after that summer) is definitely wrong and immoral, and for THAT “help” is the appropriate word.

That's the gist in a nutshell. If you wish I can send you a more detailed transcript of our exchanges with certain redaction to eliminate specifically identifying details.

Classic situational offender, not a paedophile. He had problems with his sex drive, his impulse control, his empathy. He got addicted to taboo and sought out vulnerable targets who happened to be children. This is not what paedophilia is about. 90% of child molestors are not paedophiles but situational offenders like Jimmy, but society is fixated on paedophiles as the culprits.

Out of interest, why would you do it all again with a few changes, and what would those changes be?