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One Special Boy There was a time being 'special' meant I was loved, wanted, that somebody really cared about me. I had been in foster care several months by the time I testified at my mother's trial. It hadn't been smooth sailing to say the least. I had been at the shelter, and two different foster homes by the time my mother was sentenced. It didn't make any difference if I was in a group home or a single family, my wetting was more than they could deal with and I soon became "too difficult to handle". Visits from my social worker were erratic at best, usually meant I was about to be transferred to another foster home.
I was surprised to see the County car parked in front of the house when I got home from school. Nobody had told me my social worker was going to come see me that day. I hadn't seen or heard from my social worker since the day my mother was sentenced, about three weeks before. I had used up the package of Pullups my social worker brought for the trial, was back to just my regular pants. Things at the foster home had been pretty much the same as they always were, my foster mother complaining about me wetting and how much extra work it was to keep me in clean clothes, bedding, etc.
As usual coming home from school I was wet. I started to go to my room to change pants but my foster mother told me not to bother because my clothes were already packed. My social worker told me we would be leaving in a minute, she was taking me to a new place since this placement had not worked out. I wanted to say good-bye to my friends but there wasn't time for that, just enough time to get in the car. My foster mother gave me a hug, told me to have a nice life and went in the house while my social worker pulled out of the driveway.
My new foster placement was outside the town I'd been living in, took about a half hour to drive there. I was kind of impressed as we drove through the gate, lots of pretty buildings and open grass areas that had been freshly taken care of. It would be a couple days before I understood this was a place where only boys lived. It was a whole town all its own.
We pulled up in front of a big building, larger than even the group home I'd lived in before. It was actually a residence hall where all the boys were between six and ten years old. There were some older boys that lived there but they were like monitors on each floor, had a room to themselves. I was greeted by the 'house father' a Jesuit who ran the house and made sure everything was taken care of.
I was kind of used to the routine by then, my social worker would introduce me to my 'new' foster parents then quickly disappear. We spent a few minutes in the office where the secretary asked me a lot of questions, stuff it was easy to answer. An older boy, I suppose he was a teenager, came and showed me upstairs to a room where I'd be sleeping. There were four of us in the room, two sets of bunk beds against the wall and wardrobes at either end of the bunks. My clothes, both bags, were sitting on the bed.
I'm sure he couldn't help but notice the smell of stale urine in my clothes or the fact I was still wearing wet pants. He told me to change, put the rest of my things in the drawers while he told me about the place. Most of what I remember was him telling me I had to do anything the Jesuit said because he was in charge here. I didn't question it, I had been raised Roman Catholic, understood you never questioned a priest about anything. If you were lucky you could stay out of the priest's way and didn't get noticed.
After I got my pants changed and my clothes put away, we went downstairs to the recreation room where the other boys were watching cartoons or playing games at the tables. Few paid much attention to my arrival, just kept doing what they were doing before. The TV was on cartoons so I just sat there and watched until we were called for supper. I'd only seen a few of the boys in the rec-room, at supper I discovered there were twenty of us living in the cottage.
I was really nervous about going to bed, knowing I'd probably be soaked the nest morning. We were given pajamas, told to change and get into bed. A few minutes later the Jesuit came up, said "Good night boys", then turned off the light and left. I remember hearing one of the other boys crying softly as I went to sleep.
I'd lived in the cottage a few days when our floor monitor caught up with me , told me the Jesuit wanted me in the office and I better get there damn quick if not sooner. I figured I was in trouble for something, that was the only time anybody ever wanted me right then. I was surprised when the Jesuit invited me into his office, offered me a chair and sat down to talk. He told me the floor monitor had reported my wetting, that it seemed like I was having a lot of problems staying dry either night or day. I told him it was just the way I was, I had always wet my pants or wet my bed as long as I could remember. He said it was a problem and the medic would have to see why I was wetting all the time.
I don't remember how we got around to the subject of hugs, but it wasn't long before he told me I was one of his 'special boys' and any time I wanted a hug I was to come and see him. That was way cool, I wasn't exactly popular with the other boys, didn't have much physical contact with them. I ended up sitting on his lap, his arms around me telling me it was ok for boys to hug each other, Jesus would think it was ok. I'm not sure how long I sat there letting him hold me, I wasn't paying much attention to time just then. I remember feeling very safe, like nothing could ever hurt me while I was sitting on his lap.
That's how it started, me sitting on his lap, letting him tell me Jesus would think it was ok. A few days went by, me stopping in his office for a hug and going on about my business. He always stopped what he was doing and we'd sit together for a few minutes. I guess it never dawned on me he would actually live in the cottage, that just beyond his office there was a bedroom. Its really hard for me to write this, even now knowing it wasn't my fault. I guess I'll always think I did something wrong, caused a situation that got way out of control.For those of you unfamiliar with the practices of some elements of Christian sects, most notably those of the Roman Catholic Church. Jesuits take an oath of celibacy which may or may not lead to some practices within those designated as care givers to children. Note: I will not identify any particular individual(s), rest assured they are no longer in a position to harm children.
Hail Caesar
Given the particular nature of our living arrangements it was necessary for me to go downstairs on the occasions I wanted or needed a hug. Most of the time I was allowed to sit on Father's lap while he told me a story or we just talked about things which had happenend that day. He would put his arms around me, settling me ever closer into him. Whatever was on my mind seemed to disappear as I would relax in his arms, listening to the rumble of his words in his chest.
It was just that kind of situation which started a string of events far form conducive to the 'best interests of a child". We had been bathed, our pajamas on, prayers said, waiting for Father to come say goodnight as usual. The other boys in the room had been teasing me about wetting the bed, wouldn't give it a rest. After a few minutes of their comments and giggles I went downstairs - I definintely needed and wanted a hug. Father told me he had to settle the other boys, took his leave returning a few minutes later.
As had become our custom, I waited forhim in the overstuffed rocker which sat next to the bookshelves opposite his desk. I guess he'd been gone about a half hoursaying goodnight to the others. I was alone so I browsed his bookshelf, selecting a volume of children's Bible stories, which I was reading when he returned. Noticing what I was reading he eased into the chair, lifted me onto his lap and began reading the book to me. I knew the stories by heart, we'd been taught them plenty of times. The rumbling of his reading, closeness and feeling of safety I always had in his lap combined to lull me to sleep.
How long I'd been sleeping I don't know, only I awoke with a start as his hand clasped my penis, not gently. I had lost control in my sleep, wet myself and in the process wet on him. Luckily it wasn't a major accident, just a minor inconvenience. Instead of sending me upstairs, he carried me through the door into his sleeping chambers. He laid me on his bed then told me to stay there while he got me some dry pajamas. He must have gotten them from the cupboard, he wasn't gone long enough to have gone far.
When he came back, he stripped my pajama bottoms off. Nature taking her course, I erected, my small equipment doing its best to stand as tall as possible. When he caressed me I responded to his touch, first chills then tingles went through my body. It was a feeling I had never experienced before: wonderful and frightening at the same time. It didn't last long before he stopped caressing me and went about the business of getting my pants pack on. He fondled me briefly through my pajamas then told me to roll over so he could rub my back. He was a priest, I did what I was told.
The next morning I awoke in my bed upstairs. He must have carried me up sometime during the night. I'd definitely been there long enough to make a puddle which was pretty normal for me. I got up, dressed and went downstairs to apologize to Father for what I'd done the night before.
It was only a few days later, Father called me from the rec-room, asked me to come down at bedtime so he could read me another story. I needed to feel attached to someone, anyone, I agreed knowing we would sit in the big chair. We didn't sit in the big chair, instead we were streached out on his bed the book propped up on the pillow.
As he was reading aloud, he began gently rubbing my back slowly working his way down until he was rubbing my butt. It felt good. When he told me to roll over, I didn't hesitate. His hands were gentle on my tummy, caressing, caring. He was fondling me but it had to be ok; he was a priest, they didn't do anything to little boys. He went on to manipulate me, again sending the waves through my body. His hand gently guiding mine, he let me feel he was as pleased as I was. He was fully erect. With my hand gripped in his, he brought himself to climax through his clothing. He said it was all right, men and boys were the same; some things just felt too good not to share them.
Our intimacy grew, we were experienceing each other. One thing led to another until we were actively involved in oral sex, anal sex, mutual masturbation; all the while telling me I was his special boy, there was no one else in his life. It was our secret, our special time together a way of bonding which wasn't shared with the otherboys in the house. How much the other kids knew, or suspected, I have no way of telling. I know Father and I spent nearly every night together - I'd wake up in my own bed the next morning.
Things were going good for me, I was happy, getting along with most of the kids in the cottage. No matter how hard I tried there were a couple of the boys I just could not make friends with. The biggest problem was my wetting, which they insisted was done on purpose just to get attention from the Jesuit. No matter how I tried to explain my accidents they wouldn't believe me, just taunted me, called me names.
To the Jesuit, I was his 'special' boy, or 'sweetheart'. Most of the others just called me by my name, except two who insisted on calling me either "peeboy" or "pottybaby" It didn't take very long for that to wear real thin. It was bad enough I was small for my age, but to constantly be bombarded with the teasing was more than I could handle right then. Looking back I know it was just being angry but I reacted badly to their taunts, usually throwing things at them or shouting they were wrong; the whole time standing there in pee soaked pants.
Whether the information about my nightly escapades with the Father came from those two or not, I'll never know. I do know there were lots of questions asked by people who weren't too careful about my feelings or particularly cared if I was hurting or not. Looking back on it now I realize they were desperately trying to find a way to pin all the blame on me, to make it appear as though I set the whole thing up and was actively pursuing Father. Maybe in a sense they weren't wrong, I did go out of my way to find excuses to be with Father.The Inquisition
We had just gotten back from school, as usual my pants were soaked, so I headed up to change into dry pants. About half way up the stairs I heard someone calling my name. When I turned to see who it was I came face to face with the Monsenior, not a particularly happy one at that.
I was taken to Father's office, set on a wooden folding chair, and questioned for over an hour. It was literaly worse than when my mother's attorney was asking questions in open court. At least the Court wouldn't let the attorney get right up in my face and shout.
The Monsenior had his mind made up I was some kind of demon sent to test his Jesuit. It didn't make any difference I was a child and the Jesuit an adult supposedly looking after my welfare and best interests. Regardless what I told him about the relationship between Father and I, nothing satisfied him. I'm convinced had I said the sky was blue; he would have contested the point. Bad enough I was frightened, I was still sitting there in wet pants which didn't make a lot of difference when I made a puddle in the floor. Wetting my pants put the icing on the cake as far as Monsenior was concerned. I was definitely Satan's child at that point.
At supper time I was given a tray in Father's office, not allowed to mingle with the other boys for fear I would taint them. While the rest of the house was eating I was allowed to go upstairs to change pants then return to Father's office. On my return I noticed the door to Father's chamber was closed. I wanted to see him if he was about so I rapped lightly hoping he would hear me and let me come im. There was no response so I opened the door to see if he was sleeping or something. All his belongings were gone, he wasn't there at all anymore.
I slept on a cot in the office that night which was fine. As usual I was soaked by morning. My social worker showed up shortly after 10:00 AM. I'm not sure what the Monsenior told her about the affair with Father or if he'd told her anything. She was very upset with me for "screwing up a perfectly good placement". It was my fault no matter how she sliced it. Oh well, I guess thats just the nature of Social workers, don't give a damn about the child, just the placement.
Just over three months had expired while I was there which made it one of the longer placements I had in my early foster care. We packed my few belongings and left before the other boys came back for lunch. She took me to her office where I spent the afternoon while she tried to find another placement for me. That night I spent at the shelter.
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