Dark Passengers Series

Dark Passenger: How Should I Feel?

Tonight I sit with a weird feeling creeping up my spine. I find myself reduced back to a boy, curled up in guilt and a little confused.

Long-time readers will know my story but I imagine most won’t, so I should set the stage with my original Dark Passenger. The man who launched the twisted fuck I would become. In a very real and unusually strange sense, that man indeed is the genesis of a myself, out and very comfortable and confident in my skin. While I would like to think I’d eventually maneuvered my way out of the closet, I doubt seriously if I’d ever become as tolerant of others or even admitted to myself or other what a barebacking sleaze I can be.

As a youth, I was molested by this man. Most of the entries regarding him and what he did can be found here, if you choose to read:

If you choose not, it’s fine. Know that from some point until around 18, I had sexual encounters with this man — a neighbor and trusted friend of my parents.

So the reason for my odd sensation is the call today to notify me that my molester is in hospice.

The call to me is not unusual, I guess, since he and his wife were friends of my parents and, now that both my parents are dead, the community feels as if someone in my family should be notified and, technically, I am the head of the family. The local community is not aware what this sleaze did to me or countless others.

I spoke on the phone in an even tone, thanking the person for the notification. It wasn’t a time to be emotional. But now that I sit alone with the thought of him dying, I feel something. Perhaps it is the last of my own childhood finally passing away with the man who stole it from me, since so much left me when my parents left in the last few years. Perhaps it’s a kind of happiness or vengeance, knowing the fucker is finally suffering and will befall his own fate he promised me — that one-way ticket to hell. Or maybe it’s my own fear that I might be closer to death as well.

Or is it the fear that I might become the molester like him. The other day, a 14-year-old on Twitter solicited me. Now he had been posing as a 23-year-old. And when he admitted to being 14, I blocked him. And as I wrote, I volunteered at times for my own molestation. I wonder if the world were wired when I was 14 what I might have done.

So I sit, quietly contemplating a big-dicked old man as he teeters at the edge of the abyss. And I wonder why I give a shit and I wonder why I even care.


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  1. Hey man. I’ve been following your blog for quite some time now. Have always wanted to write. Am also in Atlanta (Buckhead).

    Totally feeling for you right now. Not sure what to say since I have not really been in the same position, but simply wanted to let you know that myself (and I am sure others) are thinking of you.

    Hang tight.

  2. When someone has hurt us, we want them to feel hurt and pain just as they gave us. It’s natural what you are feeling, it’s what you do with those feelings that matter and really can mark you as a better person. You are already a better man than him since you refused anything to do with that 14 year old.
    We should all strive to make this world a better place.

  3. I find myself wanting to say something to help, yet no words will come. I could try to offer some kind of metaphysical explanation of why we choose the lifetimes we do, but instead, I will only offer the old adage that forgiveness is its own reward. I wish you peace.

  4. What he did to you was a pivotal event in your life and there’s no magic formula that dictates how you should feel right now. My heart and thoughts are with you as you work your way through this.