So there I was, early to mid 1990’s, absolutely convinced I was the master of my own destiny and in complete control of my badass self. Put plainly I was nothing short of a slag. Every inch of value, worth or purpose I had was completely embroiled in my expression of my own sexual prowess. As long as I could have each and every bloke I clapped eyes on all was right with the universe. Funny, one thing I have always had a hard time with was how other people would discuss my sex life; I was allowed to but no one else was despite the fact that I was utterly brazen and absolutely shameless with it. For me it was always about the thrill of the chase and nothing more because I had nothing more to back myself up with. Absolutely nothing. No emotional intelligence at that stage, no insight, no maturity, nothing whatsoever. So I would pull, get bored, move on. Pull, get bored, move on. Lads were very much objectified in the early years and I was just plain selfish.

Problem was, the more I carried on like the village whore then the more the gossips labelled me the village whore which would piss me right off and for two reasons. Firstly I genuinely believed that a large part of the gossip was sheer jealousy. Some folk were outraged at how I conducted myself but I believed that was their problem because they didn’t have the balls to do it themselves. The second point was that I had managed to convince myself that if there was no penetration then it didn’t really count. I was the king of fooling about and Lord and master of all things foreplay but full sex??? Not a bloody chance! If things even remotely looked like they were headed that way I was off like a stabbed rat.

Now It doesn’t take a genius to work out that by this time my control issues were off the scale and I was beginning to slip further and further into an emotional detachment, depersonalising my own sexuality and sexual experiences. I didn’t recognise this though. Christ, I couldn’t even tell you what that was! I had convinced myself that I was less of a slag because there was no penetration. That’s another thing, I always seemed to have a bit of snobbery to absolve myself of my own shitty behaviours; I wasn’t as big a slag as the other boys because I wasn’t bumming; all the hard partying and substance misuse was absolutely fine, I wasn’t a ‘druggie’ because I didn’t touch cannabis or heroin. I mean how the hell does that even work?? What a sanctimonious wanker!!

Then I discovered cruising.

Now I need to back up a wee bit. I know I’ve spoken about my dad before and how close we were (and still are actually) and one thing he made damned sure of was that as soon as I was old enough to drive I had my license and a car, or at least access to one. This started a complete shift in my entire existence. Firstly I didn’t have to stay in the house all the time, I could just jump in the car and go, my horizons were now only limited by the cash in my pocket and the petrol in the tank. Secondly I became really close to a friend I had in high school, I mean we were close as it was but the advent of four-wheeled freedom made us even closer; we would take turns in picking the other up in whatever clapped out banger we had at the time and we would just take off. Nights were spent driving around, listening to music and eating chips, literally one of the best times of my entire life. Thirdly came cruising.

One particular evening my mate and I had been out in my battered old Ford Cortina and had stopped in a waterfront lay-by in my home town, buzzing through a bag of chips (or french fries if you’re foreign, or posh) and suddenly we became aware of all of these cars passing us and heading up a dirt track. Now I should say at this point that I am actually quite naive, moreso when I was a nipper, and while other folk would probably have known what was happening, I had no idea. So that night we left and I gave it no further thought until a few days later when I was meeting a female friend who lived near to the dirt track. As I was driving past the lay by I suddenly spotted all of these sets of headlights in the darkened distance so I slowed down and drove in, not just to the lay by but into the darkness.

Instantly I knew I was standing on a proverbial cliff edge. I remember stopping the car at the entrance,  behind me were the lights of the road, ahead of me sheer darkness illuminated by a few sets of sidelights. I reversed out, went and picked up my friend and spent the entire night thinking about what I had just found. So a few nights later I drove back, drove in and parked up. I was driving my parents’ car and was a smoker so climbed out and lit a cigarette. Well that wasn’t the only fag that lit up. I was immediately Alice and I’d found wonderland. For someone who had no emotional attachment to sex this was brilliant, no need to even ask a first name just go in, meet, scratch your itch, leave.

This may well be rose tinted glasses but I remember that first night being funny, comfortable, and a sheer revelation. I met a few guys my age, some of whom I’m still in contact with today and in all honestly I don’t think anything happened but it soon became a regular occurrence; drive in, deed done then leave and as with everything else I did I even had a bit of a snobbery about cruising. I would never go anywhere alone that I had to walk any distance away from the car, foreplay was the general need and anything more was a complete no-no, in my mind I still wasn’t a slag.Truth be told? I think this  way of cruising has kept me safe over the years, I never got into situations I couldn’t quickly get out of and I never, NEVER compromised myself sexually, never put myself in huge danger. Not cruising anyways. At this time I think I was beginning to register that this wasn’t exactly a conventional way to explore one’s sexuality but again I was completely failing to see just how toxic it was for me.

I think I need to point out that I am purposely doing my damnedest to not describe most of my choices as wrong. Bad they may well have been but I will not say they were wrong. I genuinely believe that the negative choices I was making that affected me and only me were, in context probably the ONLY choices I could make. My antagonist was still part of the family unit, my family had absolutely no inkling what had been happening and although the abuse had thankfully stopped by this point, I was still a long way from believing it hadn’t been deserved. Also another reason why I now see the maladaptive coping strategies I was employing were appropriate at the time was I had no insight into why I was doing what I was doing, back then I couldn’t tell you what a maladaptive coping strategy was if it slapped me in the face. I know only too well I made a lot of choices that hurt others, I’m the first to admit I was a dick and I’m not suggesting that I can exonerate myself from the hurt I caused others simply because I was ignorant of what drove me, that would be beyond arrogant (we’ll get to the Month Of Many Apologies later) but one thing I have had to do for my own sanity is move past this feeling of self-victimisation; yes I put myself in some very precarious and sometimes downright dangerous situations but I refuse to mire myself in self loathing or carry any guilt because of it, nor do I want to give anyone else responsibility for, or power over my actions. I did what I did for my own very valid reasons and not solely because I was abused either. I have to accept that and move on from it otherwise I’m forever a prisoner of my past and I will never have a future.

Before I finish one thing I think I should say is I doubt there will ever be a time when I use this medium to document details or describe incidents of abuse from my childhood and there are several reasons for that decision. Firstly I absolutely believe that everyone is entitled to an opportunity to defend themselves, whether they are Jimmy Savile or Lucifer Himself and I’m very well aware that my antagonist has no access to this blog and has no chance of self defence (not that he could). Secondly I’m not convinced there is much to gain from allowing myself to become entrenched in the gory details of ‘oo did wot to ‘oo, that part of my story is firmly behind me now and there is definitely nothing to be gained by having a detailed chat with my family who DO have access to this, my immediate family know all they need to and it’s no one else’s business. Lastly I’m not now, nor will I ever be defined by those details, by that history. What defines me is not what happened to me but how I live with it because I will forever live the residual effects, the negatives. One of those negatives which I will go into next time is how I experience ‘happy’ but I’ll keep that for another post.