Part Two - The Naked Truth

It's funny how images and smells from long ago can be so vivid today, especially when related to trauma. Sometimes connected to good memories as well; but so often and so vivid when connected to trauma.

I remember the smell of my brother's padlocked wooden box in which he stashed his porn and cigarettes. It had the fragrance of colored newsprint and tobacco.

The porn smelled of tobacco and the box smelled of both the cigarettes and the porn. I have memories of my brother unlocking his treasure chest to display its contents to me, my closest brother and my sister. Sister was the oldest of the kids, and she was also the provider of porn to my brother and probably the cigarettes, too. She used to be a candy striper at the Nursing Home down the road and would frequently lift porn mags and other goodies from the residents. She also stole porn from the people for whom she used to babysit. I can remember her smoking with all of us; but I do not recollect her ever being present for the abuse or for naked hide n' go seek. She obviously knew about the porn...and was also aware of some my biggest brother's other habits: like the women's undergarments he kept in that box.

Regarding those undergarments: This was in the 70s, and streaking was a popular fad. You know, completely naked people would run across an athletic field, interrupt a parade or expose themselves at some other public event; usually running off before they were caught. That was the fun of it, right? There was even a popular song on the radio about it. "Oh yes they call it the streak, look at that, look at that. The fastest thing on two feet, look at that, look at that. He's just as proud as can be of his anatomy. He's goin' to give us a peek."

I guess every generation has its own weird fads and streaking was one of them, along with Pet Rocks.

So what does streaking have to do with bras and panties? Well, around that same time my father had purchased a little camping trailer that we used, as a family, every warm weekend and the occasional week or two when Dad was on vacation. When we weren't camping the trailer sat out on the driveway; and during the Summer with no school, Dad let us kids sleep outside in the camper. My sister had a job, so she didn't typically sleep out there with us. She stayed inside the house with Mom and Dad.

So three boys alone and you probably imagine. But here's where it gets weird.

My brother got into this habit of leaving the trailer around 2am, when the neighbors would likely be sleeping, completely nude. He convinced me and my other brother to join once or twice; but we were scared to go any further than a few steps away from the camper door. Big brother, on the other hand, would go walking around the neighborhood, bare feet, bare buttocks and all. He didn't run, so I guess technically it wasn't streaking; but he would walk around the neighborhood, occasionally ducking behind trees or bushes when the occasional car drove by. And when he came back he would wake us up and tell us of his adventures. He talked about climbing fences, looking in people's windows and skinny dipping in the neighbor's pools. And as if we needed proof of his adventures, he would bring back bras, panties, nylons and pantyhose he had nicked from the neighbor's clotheslines. The more interesting prizes were the crotchless panties and the bras with crude holes cut to allow someone's nipples to protrude. This is the truth. This really happened. One of our neighbors saw him stealing clothes from her clothesline late at night. Either she didn't know or didn't want to believe it was my brother; but she told the whole neighborhood about the naked man in her backyard, causing no small amount of concern that a pervert was wandering our streets at night.

Big Sis knew about the undergarments, and she had a pretty good clue about the identity of the naked lingerie thief. To the best of my memory, she laughed at the thought; but I'm pretty sure she had no clue about the other things her brothers were doing in the dark.

One more memory and then I'm going to stop for today. I believe it was while I was in 3rd grade that I started walking with fellow students to our weekly cub scout meeting. One of the boy's mom was our den mother. These boys, fellow cub scouts, they had this weird habit of sticking their hands down the backs of each other's pants on the way to the meeting. Strictly down the backside, never down the front. I can't say for sure if it was or wasn't sexual in nature, because it never really went further than someone sticking his hand down another boy's pants and then pulling it out. I remember them accusing one of the boys of having pooped his pants and how that kid cried and said they were lying.

Yeah. So my final memory for today is when I asked these guys if any of them ever put their "thing" in one of the other guy's butts. Their reply was a pretty solid "NO".

To this day, I don't know if they ever put 2 + 2 together and figured out what was going on at my house; but I do remember telling big brother about the conversation and how angry he got at me. I was never, ever, ever to tell anybody about what happened in my house when Mom and Dad were away. NEVER! There would be consequences if I ever opened my mouth again. Mandated silence. A silence that screamed then,  screams now and continues to scream forevermore.