Authored By: Bradley Chapline
Edited By: Michele Chapline
Disclaimer: Written in the first person, this story is presumably based on actual events with periodic situational thoughts and actions taken by the author.
Edited By: Michele Chapline
Disclaimer: Written in the first person, this story is presumably based on actual events with periodic situational thoughts and actions taken by the author.
I was born in the early 1950's to Daniel D. and Rose Ellen Chapline.
Right out of the gate, I will say that in my adolescence years, I was, on innumerable occasions, with my mother's approbation, sexually molested by my older brother, of four years, David A. Chapline.
As was typical in the Chapline family of Baltimore, Maryland, research proved that sibling sex has always been one of the most closely-guarded secrets in the area of family violence. The Chaplines (meaning my mother and older brother only), had a strong layer of security in protecting their perversions. Their deviant acts were not to be seen, camouflaged by their so-called dedication to a local Baptist church, and the Christian religion. My mother and brother both certainly knew how to play the game of deceit while putting on a facade of strong morals and decency.
Even as a victim of sibling molestation, I still could understand that virtually no parent would want to believe that their elder child was capable of sexually molesting their younger sibling. It would make sense why parents view these underage sexual acts as no more than childhood curiosity.
But, in my case, my biological mother, Rose Ellen Chapline (Tully), actually witnessed some of her elder son's acts of molestation upon her youngest son. In fact, Rose Ellen briefly watched some of those sexual encounters. Afterwards, she would turn and walk away without ever saying a word about it.
So, it wasn't long afterwards, my own mother would create situations with me that came dangerously close to committing acts of incest.
For instance, when I was approximately ten years old, on a night when only my mother and I were home, she asked me to bring her a bar of soap into the bathroom from a hall closet. I only opened the bathroom door just enough to stick my arm through with soap in hand. She asked me to come inside and hand it to her. She was in the tub, bathing. She made no attempt to cover herself. Quickly, I turned to leave. But, she stopped me. "Come on, sit down on the toilet seat and talk to me." I didn't know what to say. I was trembling with fear as I felt forced to watch my mother bathe herself. She would next stand up in the tub, turn directly towards me, and wash her private areas. It grossed me out!
I had never been so glad to leave a situation than I was on this night in the bathroom. But, I was wholeheartedly ashamed of myself. My mother had somehow seen my penal erection. I had never had an erection before. I didn't know how to stop it. If I could have, I most certainly would have.
I wanted in the worst way to tell my father what was clandestinely taking place in his absence, and, inside his home. I contemplated, time and again on whether or not I should "rat out" my mother and brother. But, I didn't think my father would believe me. I feared the consequences that would likely come my way from making accusations of that nature. So I kept my mouth shut. I did, however, begin lashing out towards all types of authority, and getting into a lot of trouble.
Looking back before the age of seven, life for me in this conservative middle-class suburb of Baltimore, was considered typical.
But, now, at age sixty-seven, I've wondered for all these years gone by just what happened to turn our once decent household into a place of secret perversions.
But, I had my suspicions that made a lot of sense.
My mother was a relatively attractive woman, while my father was a short man who was moderately handsome. But, in contrast, at the age of fifteen, my older brother, David, was truly a creepy and ill-favored looking teenager. He had buck teeth and a face full of whitehead pimples. David had absolutely no similarities or features of my dad, his presumed father.
One of my suspicions has been that David may not be the biological child of my father. For, I had once caught my mother with another man in a compromising position. It would be both reasonable and true to say that my father also had his own suspicions.
But, in that day and age of the early 1960's, there wasn't anything, legally speaking, that my father could have done about it. There was no such thing as DNA testing. So, David was legally presumed to be a child of the marriage between Daniel and Rose Ellen.
Even back then, I could clearly see the distance that my father kept between himself and David. In fact, on more than a few occasions, my father told me that David was the most stupid kid he had ever come across. A well known trait of many in the Crossley family. (Rose Ellen's maiden name).
On one day, I heard my father tell David, while in our backyard, to grab a saw, climb up into our weeping willow tree, and saw off some of its excess branches. Flabbergasted, both my father and I stood and watched David begin sawing the tree branch on which he sat at a point between himself and the trunk of the tree. When David fell out of the tree to the ground, my father just shook his head in disgust, and walked away. But then, suddenly, approximately fifteen yards away, my father stopped in his tracks. He turned towards me and said, "Your brother is one stupid son-of-a-bitch". That was the last time I ever knew of my father asking Dave to do any kind of household chore.
But, David had a strong family ally. He belonged to my mother, Rose Ellen. There were no secrets on this. David was a momma's boy, and in her eyes he could do no wrong. She certainly favored David over me.
I was just starting first grade when at night, I would hear a lot of domestic arguments taking place between my mother and father. Sometimes those quarrels turned in to some nasty fights. In trying to listen, occasionally, I would hear David's name being brought up. However, I had no proof that these disputes were over the paternity of David. I also had no proof regarding who hit who during those domestic battles. For, they were always behind their closed bedroom doors. But, I took for granted, with good reason, that my mother was the physical aggressor. She had a history of violent physical outbursts.
The one thing that my mother and father loved to do together was to shoot archery at a local range. They had both won many competition trophies.
On a Saturday morning, in 1960, my parents left David and I in a nearby park, to play. Rose Ellen and Daniel were shooting a tournament round of archery.
At this stage in my early life, I was a happy child. But it would all change forever on this day.
I was jumping from table to table, when David pulled a picnic table away from me. My face flatley hit the corner of the bench. I could tell I was bleeding profusely. I could not see. Additionally, I knew something had penetrated the region of my right eye. It was a horrific feeling.
I was hearing people close by screaming. This told me I badly needed emergency medical treatment. But, I also heard a person laughing. I could only assume, as it sounded to be the voice of my brother, that the source of the laughter was David.
I knew he had been jealous of me. But, I never thought he would have done something like this to me. But then, I remembered the look of hate in his eyes whenever he would hear someone say what a nice looking kid I was. One thing was for sure, no one would ever say that again about me.
In an ambulance, I was rushed to the community hospital. The surgeon stated that I had wood fragments penetrate the direct area of my right eye. While, in time, after surgery, I regained partial sight in this eye, it would forever be significantly less than the vision I had prior to the incident.
Whenever I would do schoolwork, such as reading a book or writing a school paper, my vision would become either blurred or doubled. I vividly remembered crying and repeatedly begging my mother for help. But, never once during my years at home was I ever given either therapy or fitted for glasses.
But, the damage to my frame of mind for decades would far exceed any and all of my physical injuries to my right eye.
Approximately three weeks after the incident I returned to my first grade elementary school. People were looking closely at me because I had this giant scar running alongside the corner of my right eye.
In the school's cafeteria, eating my lunch, I noticed the kids sitting around me were staring at me. I didn't know what was wrong. But, I had a feeling it had something to do with my right eye. Once they all began laughing at me, I ran out of the lunch room, crying, and went into the boys' restroom. I looked into the mirror above the sink and watched my right eye closely. As if I was manducating food, I slowly moved my maxilla.
I then screamed, "Oh my God"! My right eye was bouncing all around in my eye socket. Momentarily, I was horror-stricken. I then ran away from both my school and home.
Once I was found, and forced to return home, I had truly come to hate my brother. But, he seemed to be quite happy with all that was happening to me.
The months had been passing by and time went into the next school year. I wasn't feeling anymore comfortable with my right eye than I was on the day of the incident.
At home, during a weekend day, I was downstairs in our club basement. David, and his geeky looking best friend came down into the cellar. They both were making fun of me. I told both of them, time and again, to leave me alone. They would not stop.
Angered, I finally walked over to my father's work shop. I took a ball peen hammer out of his tool box. I went back into the club basement and came up behind David's friend. I began hitting him over the head, repeatedly, with the hammer. Blood was squirting out from his head. Moments later, he collapsed to the floor. David went into a frenzy. I was now the one laughing.
I ran out of the house and went into hiding. But, that night my father found me and once again brought me home. I was surprised that neither my mother or brother had said a word to me. I thought maybe this time my father was protecting me. But, I wasn't sure.
My brother was thirteen years old when he began molesting me. I had just turned nine years old. This violation continued for the next several years until I became old enough to defend myself.
I did everything I could do to avoid the perverted wrath of my brother. I frequently ran away from home. Sometimes I would be gone for as long as four days before anyone realized I had left home. When forced to stay at home, I took the mattress off my twin sized bed and moved it all the way around the corner of our closet and furthest back into the storage area. In the front of the closet nearest to the door, I stacked most of my personal belongings there to help protect me from David. It was the only way I could feel halfway safe.
But, as time went on, David was clearly seeing I was not only learning how protect myself, but, as well, I was becoming increasingly violent in my retaliations. The last time David ever tried to touch me, I took a wooden baseball bat and hit him flush across his chest. He complained for the next week that he was having severe chest pains. Of course, David was taken to the family doctor for tests and observation.
Several months later I heard a family fight going on in the kitchen that directly involved David. Slowly, and quietly, I crawled up the basement steps to the landing deck that was just beneath the kitchen.
As I learned through eavesdropping, David had been expelled from senior high school for allegedly assaulting his high school vice principal. I never had a bigger smile on my face.
For the coming months David worked menial minimum wage jobs until he became old enough to join the Army. It wasn't long after he graduated boot camp that he received orders for Vietnam. I was thrilled. My first thoughts were hoping that the enemy would kill this son-of-a-bitch.
I almost got my wish. After six months in Vietnam, David, with his typical ignorance to follow orders, set off an explosion that left, not only himself, but other soldiers, with second and third degree burns over many parts of their bodies.
Soon, David was sent back to the states, to recover. He was now stationed at Army base Ft. Dix, in New Jersey.
David had bought himself a well preserved 1959 Ford Galaxy in which he used to commute back and forth on weekends from his military base to his childhood home in Baltimore .
I couldn't believe momma had her precious little shit for a son back in her arms.
I was definitely shocked when some weeks later he brought home a girl from New Jersey. My mother did not give her a warm welcome. But, my dad was okay with her. I liked her.
Her name was Patricia Hess. The only thing I saw the two of them had in common was pitted faces. Although hers was much less than David's. Otherwise, Pat, as I called her, was a pretty good looking chick.
About a month later David's car had broken down on his weekend trip to Baltimore. He had Pat with him. In an instant my mother was on her way to rescue her precious son off the emergency lane of the Baltimore beltway.
Once David, Pat, and his car were all back home, safe and sound, he still had to have his vehicle repaired for the trip back to Ft. Dix. While my father was still at work, my mother decided to leave Pat at the house with me. My mother then took David abroad to find the parts and the type mechanic needed to get his car running again.
Leaving Pat at the house with me would prove to be a very bad decision.
It didn't take Pat and I long to get into a deep discussion. I told her I thought my brother was using her as his cover. Pat replied, "What cover do you mean"? I replied, "Well usually, David likes to molest little boys who are defenseless". I gave Pat a brief overview of what David had done to me in past years. In shock, Pat then said, "I guess that proves why David is such a terrible lover." We both chuckled.
I then pulled Pat close to me. I stared into her eyes. I warmly embraced her. She was definitely receptive. We began tongue kissing, passionately. Pat and I retired to the bedroom. Our sex was in Dave's bed. This gave me some measure of redemption. As for Pat, she was absolutely a dynamite lover.
In the aftermath, I laughed heartily when Pat said, "I can tell you are not queer, Brad, because you were a good lover."
We both decided to take the risk of getting caught having sex while making passionate love all over again, and, for several more hours.
I assumed on David and Pat's road trip back to Ft. Dix, they had a knockdown dragout fight. I would bet that Pat told him we had great sex.
To this point in my life, this was one of my proudest moments. David was so shattered at losing his girlfriend he had volunteered for another tour in the war torn zone of Vietnam.
I was surely glad to see him go, and his departure renewed my hopes that he would never come back home alive.
For me, now in senior high school, I was having my own set of personal problems. I had been caught stealing cars and motorcycles. I blew up the main plumbing system to my high school with fortified waterproof cherry bombs. Once taken into custody, I was sentenced to a juvenile reform school for a period of one year.
However, I was released early on good behavior and was allowed to return to school. In the next couple of years I somehow graduated high school with the second lowest grade point average of any student, ever, in the Baltimore County school system. It was 0.98.
In more trouble with the law, I was given a choice to either be prosecuted as an adult, and face prison time, or join the U.S. Marine Corps. Of course, I joined the Marines. But, I had one hell of a time getting past the academic requirements of the armed services entrance examination. There was no doubt they had made an exception for me.
Whenever the Marines granted me leave, I tried returning home. But, I only used it as a place to "hang my hat" while I went out with my hoodlum friends and partied.
And then, once again, I couldn't believe David was discharged from the Army and back home, again. There he was, with his mommy, as close as ever.
My father had recently passed away. David saw the opening and took over the role as "man of the house". When I came home inebriated, David would throw me out of the house. Each time, until I could make it back to the base, I was again, homeless.
But, the last incident between David and I was the clincher.
He had just graduated from the Maryland State Police academy when I came home drunk, again. But, on these occasions I was not a sloppy or violent drunk. I was acting quite happy.
But, David quickly changed all that. He told me once again to get out of the house. This time, angry, and combative, I said, "I don't take orders from you, faggot!" David shoved me. My mother then got involved. She began screaming at me, "Get out! Get out! Get the hell out of my house and never come back!" I replied, "Fuck you, bitch!"
David went upstairs to pack up my belongings in my Marine Corps sea bag. But, before he could get downstairs, I met him up in the attic. Again, I started arguing with him.
David then said, "My first act as a police officer will be arresting you and throwing you in jail." I replied, "That may be so, but you won't do it before I kick your mother-fucking ass!"
With my fists, I threw a flurry of combinations into his face. David fell to the floor. But, I wasn't through with him just yet. But, my mother, just recently out of the hospital from foot surgery, had crawled up the stairs into the attic. Before I could attack David again, my mother had reached up and grabbed hold of my belt. I wheeled around and backhanded her. This blow had flattened her on the floor. I then grabbed my seabag and left the house.
I had nowhere to go. So, I walked behind the house where I grew up into the acres and acres of gravel banks. I knew this entire area quite well. I was quite tired. So, I dropped my sea bag next to a baby pine tree and went to sleep in the dirt and gravel.
Several hours later, now awakened, a dump truck filled with gravel drove past me and gave me the weirdest stare. I was building up the spit in my mouth and brushing my teeth. Suddenly, the truck stopped. Getting out of his cab, the driver said, "Hey man, are you alright?" I replied, angrily, "I'm just brushing my fucking teeth. Can I have a little bit of fucking privacy?" The driver quickly got back into his truck and left.
In the coming years, as a U.S. Marine, it was my turn to get a taste of what war torn Vietnam was like. America, disgraced, had lost the war and was leaving thousands of South Vietnamese behind to be executed by the invading communist North Viet Cong.
During this time, stationed onboard ship in the South China Sea, I witnessed a confrontation with a sardine packed boatload of Vietnamese refugees. This unseaworthy boat was comprised mostly of women and children. The refugees posed no threat to the security our ship. But, there was no doubts that these refugees were desperate for help.
But, by order of the Captain, the refugees were refused sanctuary to come aboard our ship.
For, it was the Captain's order for his ship to get underway that not only abandoned the refugees, but, as well, breaking ship to craft mooring standards. This ultimately resulted in the sinking of the Vietnamese refugee boat. Taking photographs from my personal camera, I watched in horror as scores of women and children drowned into the South China Sea. I could only assume there were no survivors..
I wrote a report and sent pictures in requesting a congressional investigation. I had asked my mother, by mail, to help me get this request to our Senator.
But, soon enough, I discovered that both my mother and brother had not only branded me a traitor, but, as well, they had turned me into military authorities. This made my life as a U.S. Marine virtually impossible. I was in all kinds of trouble.
To have made matters much worse, before I deployed overseas, I had married a street wise woman from the white slums of Baltimore City. This was a mesalliance from the beginning. Because, she was having multiple affairs from the beginning of our marriage, I decided to leave her. But, in the coming months I was now formally being charged by the Department of Welfare for not only physically abusing my wife and presumed children, but, as well, I would be accused of abandoning my family.
But, the fact of the matter was, my wife and her children were not my family. Not one of her children were mine, biologically. However, it was true that on several occasions I did physically knock the hell out of my then wife. But, I had never done harm to her children.
But, it made no difference. The many legal issues stemming from, not only the Marine Corps, but, as well, that horrible marriage were mounting daily. I decided to leave the east coast and get reassigned to a Marine base in a Pacific location.
David couldn't have been happier to have received all this breaking news. David just knew he had won the battle between the two of us. I agreed that the possibility of overcoming all the legal issues and the family powers that David had acquired, would not present me with very good odds of coming back on him.
I stayed away from both my mother and brother for the next five years.
While living in Hawaii as a U.S. Marine did present me with a whole new set of dramatic events, I still liked living there. While child support obligations in Maryland lingered, at least I was now finally divorced from my wife. And best yet, I had no contact with either my mother or brother. But, that was to soon change.
I had met a woman whom I loved dearly. We married, even though we hadn't known each other very well. We agreed to have only one child.
I had told my wife everything about my childhood. That is, except the part about being molested.
Based on what limited information my second wife had, Michele (Michi) Chapline was quite persistent in getting me to make amends with the family I had grown up with in Baltimore.
Grudgingly, I began to periodically talk with my mother both on the phone and through letters. I only told my mother basic information, such as, I was divorced from my first wife, and my present wife was now pregnant with our child. I made sure my mother knew that this was a planned pregnancy.
In the early 1980's I decided it was time for me to leave military service. While I had been promoted to the staff non-commissioned officer ranks, and held a so-called prestigious position at the General's command post, I determined it was time to take an honorable discharge and leave military service.
As a civilian, I moved my family to Las Vegas, Nevada.
The more I learned of David's ever increasing family powers, the more it aggravated me.
My mother and David had not only shared the assets and death benefits of my father, but now, David and his wife, Rosa, had taken up residence in what used to be my grandmother's house. David had apparently had everything provided for him. I had not even a single trinket to remember my grandparents. Both Dave and my mother knew this hurt me deeply. I did not have any opportunity to attend the funerals of my grandparents due to my military obligations.
While I had legal matters to clear up concerning the paternity of my first wife's children in Baltimore, David's ever mounting powers in the Chapline family also played a part in my decision to return to Baltimore.
There was no welcome party for me, my wife or my child, in my old neighborhood. In fact, when I went to visit a man across the street from the home I grew up in, he told me to get off his property and never come back. I thought the two of us had always been okay with each other. But, Dave had changed all that. My neighbor called me a traitor, relating to my reporting of the Vietnamese refugee incident.
I could see this time in Baltimore was going to be a very rough road.
While my wife got decent paying jobs in accounting, my job skills left me restricted to low-paying security jobs. We lived in a country slum just outside of the township where I grew up. The windows would often times crumble when opening, some walls were moldy, the wooden floor was warped to an actual slant, and finally, old newspapers were used as padding under cheap green indoor / outdoor carpet.
So, I visited David and Rosa only once at my grandmother's house. My wife was not allowed inside. Everything I heard about David obtaining most of the Chapline family powers were absolutely true. I went away in a near total state of depression.
But, I hadn't fully given up. I decided to investigate both David and his wife, Rosa.
But, this venture was not going to be easy. David and Rosa both had high security government clearances and high paying jobs in NSA (National Security Agency) in Washington, D.C..
After weeks of looking into both David's and Rosa's past, I came up with nothing but blanks.
My last ditch effort was to call Rosa at her office at NSA and see if she would talk to me. But, I knew she didn't like me. Anyway, I tried multiple times to get through to her secured office, but, I was denied each time.
Several weeks later on my absolute last try in digging up dirt on David, I got lucky. The phone this time was ringing in Rosa's office.
She answered the government line, "Hello honey". I replied, sarcastically, "Honey". Rosa quickly shot back. "Who is this"? I said, "Dave's brother, Bradley".
I was being shrewd when I asked Rosa if Dave was at work on this day. She replied, abruptly, "No".
It was then I figured Rosa was having an inter-office affair with another man. I couldn't wait to break the news to my mother.
An internal war in the Chapline family had broken out. David and Rosa eventually divorced. David not only lost my grandmother's house, but he also lost his government job at NSA. In the months to come, David, financially bankrupt and brokenhearted, he was back living with his mother, once again. David was now a vitamin salesman.
Several weeks later I moved my family back to Las Vegas, Nevada. I was one happy man!
Many more years would pass before I would have contact with my mother or brother. I was doing quite well. Therefore, I was inviting both my mother and brother to visit me in Las Vegas. I offered to pay their airfares, round trip. But, they both refused my offers. Good thing they did. Because, my plan was, once I got them here and settled in my nice new home, I would throw the two of them out in the street, with, or without cause.
The years of little or no contact again, went by quite fast. My only biological child, Nicholas, who also lived here in Las Vegas, was now married with two children. How ironic it was on the day my son was having his children baptized, with all evils supposedly being washed away, my mother died at about the same time.
Of course, David, by way of his mother, named him the executor of my mother's million plus dollar estate.
How shocked David was to learn that my mother must have had an episode of guilt when executing her will just before dying. David not only lost a good sum of money in the amount I was to receive, but, as well, David lost another huge chunk of my mother's estate money to the Tully children from her second marriage.
As the executor of my mother's estate, David was required by law to make notification that I would be receiving an inheritance check from my mother's estate.
I'm sure David was, "licking his chops" when I told him I did not want any money from that evil mother of mine. Dave asked that I put this in writing. I agreed to do so.
But, on my part, it was all just another setup. David was stupid enough to think that an email from me, without a valid signature, was legally binding.
I strung David along for weeks. When it came time to make this transfer of money back to David, I told him that I changed my mind. I was going to keep the monies from my mother.
Angry, David said he would get the money back from me because of the email I had sent promising my inheritance to him. Laughing heartily, I told David, "Hey stupid, good luck with that. Hey, guess what, I win. Have a good life, fool."
In hopefully getting my day in court with the family I grew up with, I would really like my brother, David Chapline, to file a lawsuit accusing me of defamation of character in the publishing of this presumed true story. It would then be my intent to file a countersuit against David A. Chapline for damages in the amount of the total sum of his inheritance from his mother, Rose Ellen Chapline (Tully).
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