I couldn’t find refuge at school, at home, or even at church. One of my music teachers brought me to the Church of St. Ignatius Loyola in Manhattan and made me join the choir there. I was raped and assaulted over 30 times in the span of 2 years by a Jesuit priest and a trio of monks. The elevator reached the first floor right on time and Jimin thought he was going to be lowered on the ground but instead Jungkook lifted him higher, forcing him wrap his legs around his middle as he carried him all the way to his car. He buried his face in the taller man’s chest but didn’t protest, feeling his cheeks heating as soon as the driver greeted them and asked where they were heading to. I have pretended to be someone else with a different experience, but looking at my life, I realize my therapist is right. As I’m sitting on his couch, something unclenches in me when I call my dad’s behavior by its proper name. My father was abused as a child, terrorized by authoritarian parents who gave him no words for his emotions or safety to experience them, instead teaching him that to be a parent means to cause pain. My dad then communicated that to me. But this was no punishment. This was a cessation. This was my death. I tried to make him see reason, to convince him that we were to be forever. I told him of our joys, our laughs and how love couldn’t be any better. I begged him not to kill his beloved and only child. As a teenager, I sat in with several musicians and learned from truly the best. After college, I started playing steady gigs. I played down at The Cajun for 18 years, two nights a week. They had music there seven nights a week. No cover charges. No minimum. It was extremely rare to find a place like that in NYC. They struggled to stay open for decades, barely making a profit. But they never wanted to close their doors to anyone. They were true lovers of music, hoping to spread joy to others. It was a beautiful place to be. It was safe. Courtesy of Jon Seiger

Dirty Gay Daddies Volume 1: A Collection of Hot Gay Stories

By this point in time, I was no stranger to abuse. There were several incidents where my uncle had assaulted me, beginning at the age of 6. I remember him telling me, in the most vicious way, ‘If you tell, I will cut you up into a million pieces and throw you in a lake where no one will ever find you.’ Since I was adopted he added, ‘Your parents got you from a store. They’ll go out to that store and find another kid to replace you. No one will ever miss you.’ Courtesy of Jon Seiger But to my dad, this is how boys play. And apparently, he’s still a boy at heart. My son would return home from visiting with my dad with his skin covered in bruises and scratches. Games of chase, of King of the Bed, even of hide-and-seek — all playing, it seemed — becomes wrestling. Which means my dad dominating a child with the immense size of his body, and turning what should be play into something sadistic. Based off of the dialogue prompt "Don't make me take you home and punish you." A short Frerard ficlet.Only once do I remember snuggling next to him as he read Treasure Island to me in bed. I didn’t like the story, preferring the contemporary fantasy books, full of dragons and magic, that I read with my mom. Dismissing my preference and angry I couldn’t appreciate a classic he’d loved so much as a child, he decided to never read to me again. As I entered adolescence, I don’t recall any touch between us at all. We returned to hugging at some point after college. A tight grip around the shoulders, followed almost without fail, to this day, by a “You look good.” My father gave no reason for killing me. He couldn’t explain why we could no longer have what we had. There was nothing I didn’t think, there was no thought I didn’t wish to explain his decision by. Something, perhaps, must have happened to his hormones. I couldn’t believe this was my perfect father. I couldn’t believe my day could ever become so dark. Later, in the living room, he pins my son to the living room carpet. The claw! I hear my son saying, “No, Pop-pop, stop!” My therapist gives a name to what I witnessed and experienced with my dad growing up: abuse. Physical and mental abuse. He recommends never leaving my son alone with my dad again. The fic in which Jungkook's P.A. is too daring when it comes to Jimin and Jungkook does not appreciate what is going on ~ Series

Daddy Dom/Little Boy | Archive of Our Own

In our corner at the foot of the steps, my brother and I would huddle, ready to rush him. This was our only move. Swarm, then clasp our tiny bodies to his great one, hoping to drag him to the ground with our weight. A kind of violent embrace. Sometimes you’re not aware of what you’ve been through until you witness someone else go through the same thing. You mean, Daddy still wants his baby?” Language: English Words: 1,248 Chapters: 1/1 Collections: 1 Comments: 13 Kudos: 705 Bookmarks: 77 Hits: 8,244 My dad, on his knees in sweats, gigantic mitts at his side, had a variety of assaults, which he would announce with monstrous growls.

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Or where Frank brings Gerard as his plus one to one of his works' dinner parties, and Gerard doesn't listen. The most painful part of it was that I didn’t die. I felt like dying. I wanted to die. But I didn’t know how to go about it. I should have killed him too; I should have hurt him too. He looked like he was hurting, but I should have made sure. It is too painful to feel the pain of death and yet be alive. There is no pain worse than the pain of death. Brian Gresko is the editor of the anthology When I First Held You: 22 Critically Acclaimed Writers Talk About the Triumphs, Challenges, and Transformative Experience of Fatherhood (Penguin, 2014). His fiction, essays, and interviews have appeared in numerous publications. In my experience, this dysfunction defines how dads relate to their sons, not just as children, but as adults too. Through small jabs and takedowns, my dad has ensured the scars from his abuse have stayed open, oozing and infected, making healing impossible. He remains the dominant one; it’s essential, it seems, to how he views family. Even when it comes to my relating to my own child, he believes he knows best, or better than me anyway. We use to cuddle all the time and you never kiss or hug me any more.” I explained, trying to make it sound more innocent. “Even when I was naughty, at least you’d still spank me.”

‘Just be a good boy and relax,’ he said. He was my teacher

I made sure he did not have the remote nearby, so he had no choice but to place his hand somewhere on me. He chose my knee. His other arm he wrapped around me, lower when I was wearing a bra but no t-shirt; but when my bare breasts were hidden behind a bulky shirt, he got high enough so that I could feel his arm brush up against them. A father and son are making a fortune on OnlyFans sharing naked photos of themselves hanging out together. For me, resisting this means protecting myself from my father’s influence. I no longer ask him for parenting advice, or share intimate details of that part of myself. He’s not allowed to weigh in on the relationship between my son and me. And, as my therapist suggested, I keep a watchful eye out and actively intervene when he’s with my son, even if that causes a conflict between my dad and me. Because I’m Daddy’s squirrel?” The answer came in the form of a long kiss on his cheek and he giggled before hugging it close to his chest. “Thank you ~”My family ate dinner early, and when I was about 8 and my brother 4, we would beg Dad to wrestle after we cleared our plates. Most evenings he said no, choosing instead to do push-ups and sit-ups or, more often than not, watch the news. But occasionally, according to some calendar our childish minds couldn’t fathom, he agreed, and we’d take up position in the living room. He only said he was doing it for me, that it was for the best, my best. How could I have ever believed the man loved me? He even looked sad that day, so sorrowful and tired. In better times and in our previous world, I would have taken him in my arms as I was wont, and work my magic on him. Over the years I had learnt his special recipe. I was the only one who knew his mix. I had never asked him, but I sensed that even my mother didn’t take him to the heights I took him.