Hello, My Name is Eric. - 1. Eric - Full Story

“Hello, my name is Eric.”

“Hello, Eric.”

“This is my third meeting… the first I’ve talked… my psychologist recommended I come… and… I have never been happy.”

I wasn’t sure why I stayed, nor why I volunteered to talk. My therapist, Doctor Rivera, had said it would help me by talking to others in a group. It was a mixed group of men and women, all of us were GLBT, and it was a ‘safe space’ for us to tell our stories. Twelve pairs of eyes were looking at me.

“I’m really not sure where to start. I knew I wasn’t the same as other boys around the second grade. I hated sports, didn’t like being around other kids, and all I wanted to do was sit in my room, play with my action figures, play video games, and read my books.” With a pause, I sipped on some of the free coffee from the table with the Krispy Kreme donuts. It was bitter as hell. No one saw me slip some Irish Cream in it. Hey, I’m not driving, haven’t in several years.

“When I would play with my action figures in my bedroom, I would lay them on top of each other like they were kissing, making out, and having sex. At least in my mind, they were. Luke Skywalker and Han Solo were usually in a bed together.”

There were several chuckles.

“To me, this was completely natural. Guys could have sex with other guys, or they could with girls. Mom had already given me the birds-and-bees talk because I was curious about where babies came from. She even had a book to read that was a bit more than my grade level, but I understood it well. It was a few years later, when I was in the fifth grade, that Dad started to be abusive. After I started singing in the fifth-grade chorus and doing school plays, and not trying out for the after-school rec league flag football team.”

I had to stop and take a few calming breaths. Jenny, the therapist who ran the meeting, said, “Take your time, Eric. We’re in no rush.” The smile on her face told me she was sincere.

“Thanks.” I sipped more of my coffee. “After that, it got worse. From being slapped, punched, being called a fucking faggot… it was nightly, and the marks were always where you couldn’t see them. Mom and the fucker were separated but not divorced. I never told her what was going on. I was too scared to. I don’t think she suspected. I believe her because the fucker was always extra cautious.” I took another few minutes to get control of my emotions.

“It came to a head when I was eighteen, just out of high school, and I got a job working in customer service. I’m not sure what started the fight - anything could have fucking set him off. He ended up choking me, but a self-defense lesson from a class I took kicked in. I slapped both of his ears at the same time while I got my legs under him and kicked him off me. We stood staring at each other while I slipped my phone out and dialed 911. I sent the son-of-bitch to the county jail. I packed my shit and moved in with a friend. A few weeks later, I went to a victim’s counseling session, where I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and chronic depression.”

I couldn’t stay seated and excused myself to go into the bathroom. I splashed water on my face to clear the tears off. While I was older, having just celebrated my 33rd birthday, my reflection in the mirror showed me as the sixteen-year-old teen with the black eye I got for my birthday.

“What the fuck? Fifteen years since all this happened, and I’m still scared of the fucker.”

“It takes a long time to get over wounds that deep.” Greg, one of the other participants, walked over to me at the row of sinks. “You alright?”

“I will be.” A sigh slipped out between my lips. “No… I won’t be fine. The nightmares will happen tonight, and I’ll need either a six-pack or my Ativan to forget them and just sleep.” My head hung, and I let out a chuckle. “Or both.”

“That’s not a combination you should mix.” He turned to face the wall of stalls behind us, leaning on the counter. “Jenny says you can finish when you come back in, or at another session.” He lay a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Is there more?”

I would have normally flinched at the touch, but I didn’t… that’s one of my issues. I trusted no one. Just being at this meeting was a test of willpower because of the social anxiety I had developed. Another sigh slipped out. “Yes, there is more.”

“About the fucker?”

“No. That was it for him. There are a few other fuckers, but I’m not sure I’m ready for those memories to return.”

Greg moved his hand from my shoulder and placed it back on the counter. In the mirror, I spotted a four-inch-long scar running from his wrist towards his elbow. “We all have demons and scars. Some are just not visible.” He gave me a smile. “I’ll stay with you until you’re ready to go back.”

“Thanks.” Finally, I turned the water off. “I’d bum a smoke off you, but I don’t smoke.”

“That’s fine. You could always sip some of that flask.”

“You saw that?”

“Yeah. I was sitting perfectly to see it reflected in the glass. I don’t think anyone else saw it.”

It was a small flask, very discreet. After slipping it out of my pocket, I took a swig and handed it to Greg. “It’s Bailey’s. I used it to make the coffee bearable.”

He took it, drank some and handed it back. “Not bad. I’m more of an Irish whiskey person.”

We fell into a comfortable silence.

“Fuck it. I’m ready to go back.”

“Lead the way.”

We quietly walked into the meeting room and sat down in our seats. Another member was talking about her experience being raped by a guy her father paid to turn her straight. It was a sad and heartbreaking story, but one I’d heard for three weeks now.

Jenny looked over to me after the other member was done. “Eric, would you like to resume where you left off?”

“Yeah, I would like to.”

I spent the next thirty minutes talking about my life. How I started college but fucked around too much and never finished. About the long string of hookups among the few boyfriends. About how none of these made me happy. I was only satisfied or depressed, and nothing in between. Finally, the last two topics came up.

“It happened when I was twenty-one. I was living with a friend of mine, he was straight. He didn’t know I had a crush on him - straight boys are a weakness of mine. I would go out for a run, or work out at the apartment’s fitness center, come home, shower, and flop on my bed naked. One of the things I did and still do is talk in my sleep at times, and I’m a deep sleeper.” I had to pause.

“I woke up with Paul thrusting his dick in me. From how my ass felt, Paul must have been doing it for a bit. I shouted at him, and he pulled out and got off me. He had a puzzled look on his face. ‘Dude, you were cool with this just two seconds ago.’”

Another pause to calm my nerves.

“I asked him to explain what he meant by ‘I was cool with him fucking me’ while I was asleep. His response was, ‘I came into your room to ask a favor, and you were lying there spread-eagled. I asked if you could drive me to the store later, and we had this long conversation about what we needed at the store. Then you told me, if I wanted to, I could fuck you. That you’ve wanted me to do it for six months now, and that it would stay between just the two of us. I asked you three times if you were sure, and each time you said, ‘yes’, and the last time you said you had feelings for me, more than just a friend.’”

Greg had handed me a water, and I sipped it to clear the frog in my throat.

“I admit, everything he said would be true if I was awake. We talked for a few more minutes, and I let him finish what he was doing. I did want him and had for months. Things changed after that. Things remained okay between us, and we stayed together until the lease was over, with us fucking from time to time. But I started to lock the bedroom and bathroom door when I was in them. I started wearing underwear, or underwear and light shorts, to bed. It started the trust issues, but it was mild. We still talk, but it’s infrequent.”

With a sigh and a glance around the room, I saw no judgment from these people. “What sealed it all was the year I lived with Steven.”

I stood up and paced a moment, downed the water, and got myself another cup.

“Steven… our time together was, at the time, felt like I was finally happy. Though looking back it’s hard to tell. We started seeing each other six months before I moved into his spare room. My lease was up, my roommates were leaving, and they were raising the rent. That’s when Steven made his offer, and I moved in. We lived together for a year before I made the mistake that has shattered me.”

Yet another pause with several calming breaths. I took my seat again after getting more water. There was no hiding the tears.

“There are some things you should know about Steven before I continue. Steven had a medical problem that made him incontinent. Because of that, he wore diapers. It was something he had to do, not because he had some fetish. However, he did get turned on if I changed him. He wasn’t into the adult baby shit, or age-play, whatever, and I agreed I would occasionally. Only the piss-soaked ones, as I wouldn’t touch his shitty ones. When I moved in, I had my own room and bed, but after a month I was staying in his more often than mine. I mention this because his diaper would leak sometimes, and there were several times we both woke up wet and smelling like piss. He had the plastic bed cover that kept the mattress from getting soaked.”

More calming breaths and a long sigh.

“He also liked to be tied up, basic stuff, not like BDSM, but just hands and feet to the posts of the bed. Our home life was different than others I had been in. I was independent and was doing my own thing, but when at home he usually got what he wanted. We would eat what he wanted, go to the stores he wanted to go to, the movies we watched were his decision. I allowed it because I was tired of fighting with him. The only place I told him no, and stood firm, was in the bedroom. He would ask if I would allow him to tie me up on a lot of occasions, and on others, he wanted to give me golden-showers. ‘You already get that some nights. Why not while we are having sex?’”

The tears flowed down my face unheeded.

“I finally said yes to being tied up, because I wanted to make him happy, and it was close to his birthday. I should have known something was up because we used the bed in my room instead of the one we shared. He tied me up to the bed, face up, and we had an enjoyable time. We finished up, and I asked for him to untie me. He didn’t, saying to me, ‘I’ve been waiting for this.’ Then he pissed all over me and soaked my face and hair in it. Steven left the room. I bitched and yelled at him, demanding he untie me. He didn’t. He returned with several of his used diapers. His eyes never left my face as he rubbed his shit all over me. The clock on the bedside table said 10:00 pm when he left the room. I was supposed to be at work at 6:00 am.”

“I lay there all night, covered in filth, not able to get out of the restraints, and could not sleep. I cried most of the night until my eyes burned. Steven finally came in and untied me at 10:00 am. Four hours late to work was considered a No-Call/No-Show, and there was a zero-tolerance policy on that. I lost my job. After he untied me, he apologized for keeping me in there all night, saying he was high on a tab of acid, and he had just woken up. I had lived with the son-of-a-bitch for a year, and not once did I see him use drugs. I nodded and swung a right-hook that caught him unaware and gave him a swift kick to the nuts while he was down. I went to the shower, cleaned myself off, put some clothes on, called a friend that needed a roommate, and started to pack. I was out of his house in four hours, and I didn’t say a word to him.”

There were a few tears from the others, and Greg massaged my shoulders while I calmed down.

“Because of that, I’ve been diagnosed with severe social anxiety. I trust absolutely no one, not even family. I hide in my room where I currently live. Being here is taking all the strength I possess not to have a panic attack or to flinch from Greg’s touch.” I reached up and grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze as a thank you.

“That’s my story, and it’s why I have never been happy.”