This story features a therapy session regarding gay adult on cub(6) anal rape, step incest, choking, verbal, physical, and sexual abuse, talk of nightmares, threats of violence, very mild blood, knotting, crying, screaming, unwanted/intrusive thoughts, self blame, and talk of drug and alcohol use. If you do not like or cannot handle any of these topics, please leave now or use your blacklist. It is nobody's responsibility but your own to make sure you don't see things you can't handle here. 
Therapy
“I want you to think back to the earliest memory you have of it happening to you. I know this is a lot to process, but getting to the root of these feelings is important. If you're not comfortable continuing at this time, just let me know and we'll pick it up another day when you're feeling more open about it.”
“The earliest? Shit. It was so long ago…”
“It doesn't have to be the first time, Dexter. a lot of people struggle to remember details of the first time, especially when it started as young as you. Just the earliest that you can clearly remember.”
“I think...the earliest I can remember, fuck. It was my sixth birthday. I didn't have any friends in school, so there was nobody at my party. It was just my mom and stepdad. We went to uh, damnit what was that place called? That arcade place with the animatronic rat. I can't remember, oh well. We spent the day there.”
“Do you remember anything that stood out about your visit there that day? Anything special other than, well, you know.”
“Well, uh, I-I remember Derek ordered a pitcher of beer. I didn't know what it was until mom got mad at me when I asked for a glass, but then she took me to the soda fountain. Mom didn't drink, and I don't remember ever really seeing Derek drink before that but he downed the pitcher on his own by the time we left.”
“Did that become a regular thing? Your stepfather's drinking?”
“No, not really. Maybe that's why it stands out to me? I don't know. I've seen him drink a few times since then, but he never got drunk. He had an old fancy bottle of some kind of whiskey or something on top of the cupboards, but by the time I was old enough to move out, it was about a third full, still. I'm sure most of it evaporated.”
“Interesting. In my experience learning people's stories, alcoholism or drug addiction tends to be a common thread in pretty much all cases in regards to the abuser. Sorry, not particularly relevant to your story, just something strange and interesting to me in your case. Please, continue.”
“It's ok, I don't mind. Cutting in gives me more time to gather my thoughts. It's...hard to talk about, but it's nice to really get it out there. I think strange and interesting is a great way to describe Derek and his behavior in general. He was always an enigma. To this day, I still have no idea what the fuck he did for work, or how he always had so much money. I guess that was the one nice thing about having him around, we never struggled for money. The house wasn't big, but we always had nice things.”
“Another rarity in cases like yours, in my experience. A common thread among even victims from poor families, though, abusers buying silence with gifts. It tends to have the effect of making the abuse seem more tolerable, I suppose. That thought of 'I just have to put up with the awful for a little while, but I'll get something good out of it later' to keep it secret. It's a special cruelty all on its own.”
“It...definitely helped. Outside of just my general fear of Derek and what I knew he was capable of, seeing my mom happy and completely unaware of everything wrong with him was enough. The big Christmas and birthday presents were always nice, too, even remembering what they really costed me in the end.”
“I can imagine your mother's safety played a big part in everything, considering what you told me last week about Derek’s threats and overall cruelty when you were alone.”
“Yeah, imagining him doing something like that to her just...I wouldn't have been able to handle it if I squealed and found out how far he was willing to go with her just to get back at me. It was bad enough just knowing what he could do.”
“I don't blame you, Dexter. I can't imagine I'd have fared much better if I found myself in a similar situation.”
“Yeah. Anyway, where was I?”
“Derek’s pitcher of b-”
“Right! The rat arcade, sorry. I don't remember anything really special about the trip there outside the beer, but I remember I bought a shitty little keychain and a handful of candy with the tickets I won. I was never very good at the games there, but I always had fun, even if I was just playing by myself most of the time. I remember the drive home feeling unusually tense.”
“Was there anything that stood out during the ride that made it feel that way? Or was it just a gut feeling?”
“I kept catching Derek staring at me in the rear view every time I looked up. I could feel him still staring even when I looked away. He has this just...cold gaze, like he can see right through you. It's like he always knows exactly what you're thinking, or exactly how to make you feel the most uneasy. Just a simple look from him was always enough to make me anxious.”
“I see. I've met a few people like that over the years, they always have an aura about them. Something you can't quite put your finger on, and sometimes you're the only one who seems to notice anything off about them. It seems that's the case with your stepfather as well, considering your mother never caught on.”
“I never saw him look at anybody else the way he looked at me. It was always so unsettling how instantly his eyes would change looking between me and literally anybody else. Like, not even his expression, he never looked, like, angry or anything...it's just like there was this glint in his eyes that only ever showed up when he looked at me.”
“I know what you mean, I've seen it before. Just the most subtle, nearly imperceptible change that can give you goosebumps.”
“Yeah, exactly. I just remember trying to avoid looking up because my eyes were always drawn to the rear view and he was always right there to glare back. We only lived like 10 minutes away, but that drive felt like hours. I remember a brief feeling of relief when the car finally stopped in the driveway at home, but then I remembered Derek was still there and I just started feeling m-more and more uneasy as we all walked to the door.”
“You're doing great, Dexter. Take a break if you need to.”
“N-no, I'm uh, I'm o-okay. It's been a long time since I thought about this, the whole day is so clear in my head right now, I-I need to get it out.”
“Of course, whatever you need to do. Here's some tissues if you need them.”
“T-thanks...when uh, when we got inside, I remember Derek went off to his room for a while. He didn't say anything, he just bee lined straight there and kind of fucked off for an hour or two. My mom took my hand and w-we went to the couch and she just watched cartoons with me for a little while.”
“Do you remember what you watched?”
“No, I uh, I d-don't really remember what kind of things I liked as a kid. Just one of those things that got faded out as time went on. Everything's just...kind of blurry in my head. Even things I know I used to remember clearly now just kind of fade into the background. It's all just a mess, just every once in a while something will stand out. Sometimes I can't tell if I'm remembering a dream or something that really happened.”
“Memory loss and mental fog are common side effects of depression and abuse that don't get talked about nearly enough. It's not unusual to not remember specific details of something that happened 20 years ago in this case, but often times people who grow up with untreated, or unsuccessfully treated depression deal with blackouts of full chunks of their lives. Nothing but TV static when they try to think back on it.”
“It's probably for the best...I don't know why that day is standing out so much for me, I haven't been able to remember anything this far back in years, but I guess I haven't really had any reason to try to think back on it until now. I remember after a little while, mom got up and went to the kitchen, and then the next thing I remember is the three of us sitting at the dinner table, and I'm blowing out the candle on a chocolate cupcake. That was always my favorite, chocolate cake with peanut butter chips. That's one of the things I never forgot. It was the one thing every year that never changed.”
“It's good that you still have that. It's a simple thing, just having a favorite food or flavor or something similar, but it can help you feel in control sometimes. Something that, no matter what other chaos you might experience, is always there. Something to come back to for comfort.”
“Heh, that sounds like some made up therapy bullshit. No offense, I mean, it just sounds ridiculous.”
“None taken, it really does sound silly. It's true, though.”
“I believe it, honestly. It's the one thing that makes me feel like a kid again without any of the...other feelings that normally come with those thoughts. The one thing Derek couldn't ruin for me no matter how hard he tried.”
“That's good, not letting him take that from you. From what you've told me since we started our sessions, I know he ruined a lot of things you used to love. I hope you're able to reclaim some of them.”
“Maybe...maybe we can work on that later? I'm at least willing to try.”
“We'll go at your own pace, Dexter. There's no rush here. I'm here to help, not push.”
“Thank you. Anyways, uh, I don't really remember what we did after cupcakes. I just remember sitting on the couch watching cartoons alone for a little while when my mom brought out my present. It was getting a little late by then, maybe 8 or 9? but it was Saturday, so it didn't really matter that it was getting past my bed time. Honestly I remember having so much fun at the arcade that I didn't even realize I hadn't gotten my present yet.”
“It's nice that you still remember good things about that day. It means he left at least some semblance of hope and sanity in you. A seed that has a chance to now grow into a sense of normalcy once again.”
“There's some things you just can't forget, no matter what happens. I remember mom sitting down and smiling at me, waiting for me to open it. I ripped open the paper and there was just a plain cardboard box under, no hint of what was in it. I flipped open the top of the box and pulled out this little cheetah plushie, and it was just the softest thing I'd ever felt in my life. I remember mom being worried I didn't like it because I started crying, b-but I just hugged it and leaned into her s-saying 'thank you thank you thank you!' a-and uh, fuck...”
“Take your time. Do you need another tissue?”
“N-no, thank you, I just need to breathe for a second. U-uh, she was so happy that I liked it, she leaned down to kiss the top of my head and just held me for a little while until I stopped crying. I still have it. The plushie, I mean. I named him Charlie, and he was my only friend growing up. All the kids at school would either avoid me or pick on me for being the weird quiet kid. I guess I...can't really blame them for that, even if it hurt.”
“Kids can be just as cruel as adults, whether they mean to or not. It doesn't mean you deserved whatever they did to you. We can come back to the bullying and isolation another time, if you'd like. It would be good to work through it.”
“Y-yeah, I think I'd like that. My mom eventually pulled away and said it was time for bed, a-and I was pretty tired by then, being way past my normal bed time, so I didn't even try to argue to stay later. S-she went off to take her sleeping pills. S-she had really bad sleeping problems, so she needed medication to sleep at all for as long as I can remember. I-it uh, definitely made it easier for Derek to get away with everything. Once she was out, t-there was no way she would ever hear the s-screaming…”
“I'd imagine that played a role in how bold he would get with his abuse when she was home.”
“He definitely got worse as time went on when he fully realized there was nobody to stop him. Mom took her pills and uh, led me to bed and tucked me in. She gave me a kiss on the forehead a-and said happy birthday, then she went to bed. I could tell the meds were kicking in because she was getting slow, visibly drowsy. She left and I rolled over to try to get some s-sleep.”
“It's okay, Dexter, just breathe. You're doing great, we can stop any time.”
“Sorry, I uh, I haven't cried in a long time, I don't really know how to deal with it right now, but I'm ok to k-keep going. I d-don't know how long I was tossing and turning for, but I could feel a pit in my stomach, like something was wrong. I didn't know why, but then I could hear quiet footsteps coming to my door. Derek was a big guy, not fat at all, mostly just freakishly tall. He was like 6'8, but he always moved so quietly, like if I didn't already know what to listen for, I wouldn't have even noticed he was coming.
I remember the sound of the d-door creaking open, and then I f-felt his hand on my cheek. It made me flinch, a-and that made him laugh. God, his f-fucking laugh...the kind of shit you hear in horror movies before everything goes wrong. I suddenly felt s-so cold inside. He grabbed my head and forced me to look at him, then when I f-finally opened my eyes, h-he said...fuck, uhm, h-he said 'Dexteeeeer, it's plaaaay time.' 
T-that became his regular thing, he s-said that every time. I-I had a night light next to my bed b-because I was afraid of the dark, but I remember wishing I didn't, because I could see his red eyes staring down at me s-so clearly. God, the looks he gave me in the car were bad enough, but this? H-he looked so hungry, like I was just a snack he wanted to eat.
He p-pulled the blanket off of me a-and rolled me onto my back, and I remember feeling my heart sink, and thinking 'this feels familiar' b-but I don't remember it ever happening before. Then he s-said uh, fuck, I need a second, sorry.”
“Take all the time you need. You're safe here, he can't hurt you. Would you like something to drink? I can go to the vending machine and get you something.”
“N-no, thank you, though. He told me i-it'll be more fun because I was a-awake this time. That's t-the only reason I know that wasn't the first time. I remember I w-was too scared to say anything, It was like I was paralyzed. I smelled the cigarettes on his breath. The smell always burned my nose so bad, and this time was so much worse than normal. 
He had this horrible smile on his face the whole time, the kind of look you only see from serial killers in horror movies. H-he put his hand on my chest and held me d-down, then he bared his f-fangs and uh, reached for my pants. He p-pulled them down real slow, just glaring down at me the whole time. I was so fucking scared, I remember I was shaking so hard, like I was freezing cold, but it was just fear. 
H-he must have taken his pants off when he came in, because I don't remember him taking them off when he was holding me down, b-but they were off when he crawled between my legs on the bed. He moved his hand from my chest to grab my face a-and force me to look him in the eye while he f-forced himself into me. It hurt...it hurt so fucking much, it felt like he was trying to force a knife into my ass. I could barely breathe, I remember thrashing around trying to get away but I was too small to do anything, he just held my face and smiled down at me while I screamed. 
I don't remember ever feeling so small or afraid, but he just loved every second of it. His smile never faltered, he just stared down at me and forced me to take it all. I clawed at his wrist, I remember making him bleed a little. I was tiny and defenseless, but squirrels have sharp claws. It wasn't enough to make him back off at all, a-and I learned later just how much he liked it when I f-fought back. Sick piece of shit. 
He made me take all of it, I swear I could feel it all the way in m-my stomach. Just this searing, painful heat burning through me. I felt s-sick, I was sweating, I was crying so hard I couldn't even see anymore. I kept trying to push him out of me, b-but I couldn't. He wrapped his hand...fuck, sorry. I'm uh, this is a lot. Can I- uh, is it cool if I lay down?”
“Whatever you need, Dexter. Get comfortable, breathe. There's no rush, you're my last appointment for the day. You tell your story however you need to tell it.”
“T-thank you. Uhm, h-he wrapped his hand around my throat. He d-did that a lot, and it always scared me. S-sometimes he'd squeeze and choke me, s-sometimes he'd just tease me like he was going to, j-just to scare me. He'd give s-soft squeezes, j-just enough to feel it, and then back off and just hold my neck like that. I hated it so much, s-sometimes the fear that he might choke me was even worse than when he'd actually do it, and he knew it. He always knew how to make me suffer as much as p-possible. 
I uh, I remember his breathing started getting heavy. He was still just smiling and staring at me, b-but under it I could hear him huffing. I didn't know why, but then he f-forced himself forward and I screamed so hard it made my throat hurt. He just h-held himself there, and I thought m-maybe it was over, but then I felt him, uh, g-growing. I started panicking again, I was grabbing his arm, trying to pull it off my neck, but he started squeezing and I started thrashing around again while his knot grew. He was t-thick enough without the f-fucking thing, god.
It felt like he was tearing me open, a-and I'm pretty sure he was. I j-just remember thinking 'this is it, I'm going to die,' because I couldn't breathe, and It felt like my stomach was going to explode...and then I felt him throbbing, and I f-felt even more nauseous because I felt him squirting. God, it was always such a sickening feeling, even before I knew what was really happening. I knew it was wrong, and bad, even if I didn't understand how or why. J-just something in my brain told me something bad was happening to me, somehow even worse than what I was already going through. 
He finally let go of my neck, and I remember gasping so hard I almost passed out. He h-held me down by my shoulders a-and yanked himself back as hard as he could a few times, still fully knotted. Like he j-just wanted to rub it in before he finally pulled it out of me. I was too out of it to even be able to scream again, but I felt so hollow and disgusted with myself. 
H-he told me it was my fault, and I couldn't help but believe it. I mean, h-how could I not? S-sometimes I still believe it. I m-mean, obviously I must have done something wrong, r-right? H-how else c-can you explain it.”
“No, Dexter. I can assure you, you didn't do anything wrong, and you most certainly didn't do anything to deserve what happened to you. Whether you're 6, 16, or 60, there's nothing you can do to deserve something like that. It's a mind game that abusers play, making you think you're the reason they acted out, forcing you to justify it in your head to stay quiet. You didn't do anything to 'earn' what happened to you that night, any night before, or any night after.”
“God, it feels so w-weird to talk about it. Any of it. E-even after moving out, I never told anybody. It's so fucking scary, I'm so anxious, if I wasn't laying down I'd probably be running, b-but I don't even think I can stand up right now. I feel sick, I f-feel weak…”
“Do you want the garbage can? In case you get sick.”
“N-no, no. I just- I just need to lay here for a minute and breathe. T-there's more.”
“Of course, of course.”
“W-when he was done, he uh, k-kissed me. He wiped my eyes and grabbed my face again, a-and he told me i-i was his- fuck. Uh, he told me I was his special little toy, a-and if I ever tried to tell anybody about it, he'd do the same thing to my mom. H-he asked me if I understood, and I j-just nodded, and he smiled and called me a good boy. H-he told me to go take a bath, b-but I couldn't even move my legs anymore. I just l-laid there like that until I fell asleep. 
That was...when the nightmares started. They never really ended, I still have them, sometimes. They're uh, they're less frequent these days, since I started coming here. I didn't think therapy would really do anything for me, b-but it's been helping. Thank you.”
“I'm happy to hear I've been able to help. I know this wasn't an easy session for you, but it's an important step to start healing. Now that we've started talking about the main abuse, next we can start working on why you originally came to me. Next week we'll start working on how this may have manifested itself as your thoughts about your daughter.”