Healing
CHAPTER 1
The boy lay on his back, staring into the darkness, listening to the rain splatter softly on the tent roof and the man beside him breathing deeply in his sleep. The boy was shaking but he wasn’t cold. His eyes were full of tears. Shame and fear tumbled about in his mind. What had happened? Why? Was he in trouble? What would happen tomorrow? He felt dirty, but he wasn’t sure he’d done anything wrong. Sighing, he tried to go back to sleep, but he couldn’t because he was tormented by his racing thoughts.
Trying to remember what had happened, he thought back to awakening in the night. It had been an especially warm night for late September, an Indian summer kind of night. He had been asleep in just his undershorts on top of his sleeping bag. He had awoken to feel a hand, gently rubbing his back. A flashlight had been on in the tent.
“You’re awake,” the man had said.
The boy had rolled over and looked up. “What are you doing?” he had asked.
“Just rubbing your back. Doesn’t it feel good? I wanted to make you feel good.” Now he had started rubbing the boy’s chest. “Did you know that you’re beautiful?”
“No, sir. Boys aren’t beautiful.”
“You are.”
The boy had been amused, but then he had begun to feel mounting anxiety. “Here,” the man had continued, reaching slowly, gently into the boy’s underpants and tickling his pubic hairs. “How does that feel?”
“No! You shouldn’t be doing that.”
“Why not? Am I hurting you?”
“No but it’s not right.”
“Why not? It feels good and it doesn’t do any harm.” With that the man had said, “Raise your hips for a minute.” As the boy had done so, the man had gently pulled down his underpants, exposing his now hard penis pointing straight up. “You’re getting a nice crop of hair down there,” the man observed. Slowly, the man had slid his hand up and down the boy’s organ. Despite himself, the boy had felt a familiar tension begin to rise in his groin. The feeling had grown stronger and stronger until suddenly, he had exploded, liquid splashing on his chest as his penis pulsed and throbbed. He had groaned involuntarily but had immediately worried whether he should have enjoyed it or not.
“Now,” the man had said, “you can give me the same pleasure.” He had rolled onto his back and pulled down his underwear. The boy didn’t want to do this. He knew it was wrong. “Come on,” the man had insisted, “I gave you pleasure now you need to pleasure me.” Reluctantly, afraid to anger the man, the boy had reached over and touched the man’s penis. At the touch, it sprang up from the man’s belly. It was hard and huge. The boy didn’t know they grew so large. Imitating the man, he had put his hand around the penis and slid it slowly up and down. The man had groaned and begun to raise his back and even his hips off his sleeping bag. Higher. Higher. Then, like the boy, he had exploded, his penis spurting over and over. Finally stopping, the man had relaxed. “That was wonderful!” he said. “Thank you.” Reaching into his backpack, he had pulled out some tissues and dried himself and the boy off before turning off the flashlight.
As they both lay on their backs in the dark, the man had said, “Matthew, this needs to be our secret. Other people wouldn’t understand that we were just harmlessly enjoying ourselves. OK?”
“Yes, Uncle Bob,” replied the boy reluctantly.
Soon the man had fallen asleep. Now the boy lay awake, shaking and silently crying. Why had this happened? Did Uncle Bob do this with other boys or only with him? Did Uncle Bob love him? He didn’t think he loved Uncle Bob, but he wasn’t sure, because he didn’t know what that kind of love, the kind that included sex, was like.
Was what they had done good or bad? Would he get into trouble? He couldn’t sort it out. He had been told not to let strangers touch him, but Uncle Bob was certainly not a stranger; he was the Scout Master. The boy knew about jerking off and had been doing it for months, but he wasn’t even sure whether that was good or bad, he just knew it was irresistible and it felt wonderful. If what he and Uncle Bob had done was good, why had the man told him not to tell other people? Was he afraid of what they would say? Was he worried that the other boys would be jealous of Matthew? If it was a good thing, why did he feel dirty? Of course his mother had always told him that playing with his penis was dirty, but what about this? What would happen in the morning? Would he be punished? Would Uncle Bob even mention it? Would it ever happen again?
So many questions with no answers. He sighed and again tried to sleep. Eventually he must have dozed off, because when he woke he heard movements around the campsite and other boys talking. The rain had stopped. Uncle Bob was pulling on his uniform. He looked at Matthew, winked, and put his index finger to his lips. Matthew nodded in understanding and put on his own uniform before they both went out of the tent and Matthew began to build a fire for breakfast.CHAPTER 2
Matthew was beautifully built, about average height for a thirteen-year-old, with a slender, well-proportioned body. His skin was smooth and, especially in summer, golden. His arms and legs had not yet begun to develop adolescent muscle, but his butt was round and tight, like a firm pillow. His face was narrow, his nose slender and slightly turned up. He had a shy smile which girls and his female teachers found very attractive, although he was totally unaware of his smile’s effect on them. He wore his fair hair longer than many boys in the early eighties. It was full and wavy, and, when it flopped down in his face, he casually flipped it higher on his head, a gesture which the ladies found endearing. His most arresting feature was his eyes, sometimes blue, sometimes green, and even, occasionally violet, but always mesmerizing. His laugh was quiet and reserved, as if he was enjoying a private joke. His voice had begun to change, cracking and squeaking at embarrassing moments. In groups he was always the silent observer, watching, listening, but almost never participating. His classmates neither liked nor disliked him. In fact, they didn’t know him because he didn’t allow them to.
Matthew had only been a Boy Scout for six weeks. As a result, although he was nearly fourteen, he was still a Tenderfoot. In the summer of 1981, he and his family had moved from a small farming town in northern Vermont where there had been no scout troop, and he had eagerly anticipated joining the local troop. The scouts met on Monday evenings in the junior high school gym, where they practiced first aid, learned about nature, wrestled with tying knots, and worked on other scouting activities. The scout leader, telling the boy to call him “Uncle Bob,” had welcomed him enthusiastically. Although intensely shy, Matthew had quietly joined in all the activities and enjoyed them thoroughly.
When it was announced that they were going on a two-night camping trip, he had been excited. His parents had bought him a used sleeping bag but they couldn’t afford a tent. He had told Uncle Bob, the Scout Master, that he couldn’t go because he didn’t have a partner and he didn’t have a tent, to which the man replied, “Don’t worry about that. There’s room for you in my tent.”
Now he sat on a log in front of his fire preparing to cook some bacon and eggs, thinking of that terrible night just past and worrying about what might happen in the coming night. As he put the frying pan over the fire, Stephan Demos, another scout, walked over and sat beside him. They watched the fire in silence for a few moments before Stephan asked, “So, did he touch you last night?”
A shock went through Matthew. How did he know? Still staring at the fire, he said nothing.
“It’s OK, you know. You can talk with me about it. Uncle Bob had me two years ago. Did he tell you that you were beautiful?”
Another shock of recognition. What else did Stephan know? He continued to say nothing.
“That bastard!” exclaimed Stephan. “He’s terrified you, hasn’t he?” No response. “You know, he had Billy last year. That was terrible because Billy’s not even gay, but I still don’t think he should have done it to me. Are you gay?”
Am I gay? wondered Matthew. He wasn’t even sure what it meant to be gay. Did it mean perverted? Was Stephan gay? He hadn’t said so, but he had implied it. Again he gave no response.
“Listen, Matthew, he has no business doing anything to you. If he even touches you tonight I want you to scream bloody murder. We’ll all come and help you. He has to be stopped and now’s the time. OK?”
Still Matthew did not speak, but he gave one nod of his head. Stephan patted his shoulder and walked away.
The troop was going to take an eight mile hike that day, so after breakfast, Matthew packed a lunch and was ready to go. The hike was uneventful. For part of the time, Stephan walked beside him. A few times, Billy gave him a knowing look. But nobody said anything and he kept his silence. All the boys in the troop knew Matthew from school and understood that he was very shy so while they chattered around him, they didn’t expect him to respond. Following lunch at a trail junction, they took the other trail, which led back to their campsite. There was time for a swim before supper, but Matthew didn’t feel like swimming, and he knew the water was cold, so instead he sat on the bank watching the other boys swim and splash each other. After they cooked and ate supper, they had a campfire where Uncle Bob told scary stories. Then it was time for bed.
Matthew had decided not to undress to sleep. It was still too warm for his sleeping bag so he lay once again on top. After Uncle Bob went around to all the tents to be sure the boys were settled for the night, he crawled into the tent. Looking at the boy he asked, “Why do you still have your uniform on?”
“I just wanted to sleep this way tonight. That way, in the morning, I won’t have to waste time dressing.”
The man smiled and asked, “What were you and Stephan talking about this morning?”
The boy had anticipated the question and replied, “Just some scout stuff. He was helping me learn the Scout Law.”
The Man stripped down to his shorts, unzipped his sleeping bag and climbed in although he did not zip it up again. They were quiet then, and soon the boy heard the man’s gentle breathing. He lay awake, frightened, tears again filling his eyes. He wondered if the man would touch him again or leave him alone. Finally, sleep overtook him.
He awoke much later. The flashlight was on and the man was leaning over him. Having unbuttoned the boy’s shirt and undone his belt buckle the man was proceeding to unzip his fly. The boy remained silent, hoping that, if he didn’t respond, the man would leave him alone. When the man began to pull his trousers and undershorts down, it was useless to pretend any longer. He looked at the man and said, “Don’t! Please don’t!” his voice breaking in his fear.
The man looked up at him and smiled. “I won’t hurt you, beautiful boy. I just want to make you feel good.” The boy felt his penis begin to swell again, betraying him. Soon it was poking up once again at the tent roof. “That’s a good boy,” the man breathed quietly. “I want to show you something new tonight.” He leaned over the boy’s groin and kissed his penis before moving down and taking his testicles in his mouth. The boy was horrified. This was something he had never dreamed of. He tried to scream as Stephan had told him to, but nothing would come out. After a moment the man moved his mouth up and licked his penis. Then he took the boy’s penis into his mouth, moving his head slowly up and down. Again the boy felt the tension rise in his groin. This time, he arched his back a little as he came in the man’s mouth. The man continued moving up and down, sucking gently, even after the spasms had stopped. Taking his mouth off the boy’s penis he licked it gently, making sure he had all the cum. Looking at the boy again he smiled and asked, “Wasn’t that wonderful?” The boy didn’t respond.
They lay side by side, the man with his arms around the boy while the boy shook and wept silently. “What’s wrong?” the man asked. “Didn’t you enjoy that?”
Matthew shook his head.
“Well that’s too band,” said the man, “but now you’re going to do the same thing for me.”
“I can’t! I won’t!” whimpered the boy desperately. Again his voice cracked, from low to high, but he was so frightened he didn’t even notice.
“Oh, you will,” said the man. He reached over into his backpack and pulled out his fishing knife. Holding it so the point touched the boy’s scrotum, he said, “Because if you don’t, I’ll cut off one of your balls. And if you still don’t, I’ll cut off the other one. Do you know what happens to boys when they lose their balls?”
The boy shook his head fearfully.
“They never become true men. Their voices never finish changing. They’re never able to have sex. Do you want that to happen to you?”
Miserably, the boy again shook his head. He wanted to scream but was still unable to.
“Then do as I tell you.” The man lay back. “Come over here and lick my cock,” he ordered. Trembling, the boy did as he was told. “Lick all the way down and then lick my balls.” Fearfully the boy followed directions. “Good. Now, take my dick in your mouth.” Still quaking, tears streaming down his face, the boy did as he was told. “Now suck on it gently, sliding your mouth up and down...Not with your teeth; with your lips!” The boy continued, feeling the tension rise in the man. The man arched and a burst of cum splashed against the back of the boy’s throat, gagging him. Choking and coughing, but not daring to remove his mouth, he continued to move as more spasms of cum spurted in. When the man finished, he lay back and said, “Now, lick my dick just like I did for you.”
Finishing, the boy turned on his stomach and wept convulsively, constrictions clutching at his throat as he sobbed. Finally, he pulled his trousers up and began to exit the tent. “Where do you think you’re going?” demanded Uncle Bob.
“I have to piss.”
“You have five minutes.”
The boy went to the latrine they had dug and urinated. Then he returned to the tent area and lay down beside his cold fire, peering up in the moonlight at the shadowy branches. Soon, the man came out and found him. “Get back in the tent.” The boy shook his head. “I’m not asking you; I’m telling you.” Again the boy shook his head. The man stood looking down at him. Finally, sighing, he said, “Do you remember what I told you could happen to you?” The boy nodded. “Good. If you say so much as one word to anybody, I swear I’ll do it.” With that, he turned and re-entered the tent.
The boy lay awake the rest of the night. Eventually, his shaking calmed and his tears stopped. He watched the moon move across the sky. He watched the sky begin to lighten. He listened to the birds awakening and small creatures moving in the brush as the light filtered through the leaves overhead. In time, boys began to emerge from their tents, some of them coming over to him, laughing. One of the boys looked down at him asking, “What are you doing out here?”
“I got hot in the tent, so I came out to cool off.” They laughed again, all except Stephan, who gazed at him thoughtfully. He brushed the dirt off Matthew’s uniform and then sat beside him as the boy started to cook his breakfast.
Matthew looked sideways at Stephan, who was a little older than he. He’d looked at him several times previously, but never before when they were so close to each other. He knew the boy was gregarious and fun-loving. Now he realized that Stephan was a little bigger than he was. The older boy was beginning to fill out well, but was definitely not tending towards fat. His face was broad but well-defined and framed by dark, curly, jet-black hair, which he wore full. His dark eyes were set in deep hollows, so that at times it was difficult to tell whether or not they were open. His friendly, cheerful smile and his sense of humor made him popular among his contemporaries, although occasionally his jokes did not endear him to his teachers. Girls thought he was sexy, boys thought he was too cute, but everybody found him highly attractive.
Looking at Matthew, Stephan said, “He did it again, didn’t he?” Matthew, staring into the fire, blushed bright red. “Shit!” exclaimed Stephan. “Why didn’t you yell like I told you to?”
In a voice so low Stephan could barely make out the words, Matthew said, “I couldn’t. I was too scared.”
“I think he’s getting worse,” mused Stephan. “We need to find a way to stop him. I’ll get back to you on this. There’s no reason why you or any other boy should have to put up with this abuse.” Once again he gently patted Matthew on the shoulder and departed. After he was gone, Matthew realized that he had enjoyed the boy’s soft touch and wondered what that meant.
Uncle Bob kept them busy all day, cooking, putting up and taking down tents, practicing first aid, and finally, running an obstacle course. Parents began arriving about 4:30. Matthew’s mother helped him put his belongings in the car. As they drove home she said, “You’re very quiet. Did you have a good time?”
He nodded.
“What did you do?”
“Oh, just scout stuff. Hiking, cooking, pitching tents, stuff like that.” Try as she might, she could not get another word out of him.
At dinner that night, his parents talked and tried unsuccessfully to engage him. He stared down at his plate and ate little. “Are you sick?” asked his mother.
He shook his head.
“Then what’s wrong?” his father asked.
“Nothing...Can I be excused now?” he asked in the soprano half of his voice, which really annoyed him. It always seemed that his voice was high when he was anxious. He wished it would just finish changing so he had some control over it.
Leaving the table, he went to his room and tried unsuccessfully to read. Then he tried drawing, a favorite activity and one in which he could usually lose himself, but he came up with nothing but black scribbles. Finally, he went to bed and cried himself to sleep.CHAPTER 3
On Monday, Matthew rode his bicycle to school as usual. He had a terrible day, unable to concentrate on anything. Monday was usually his favorite day because he had art last period, but on this day he couldn’t paint anything that didn’t resemble a dark, amorphous blob. His teacher asked him about it, but he was unable to put his dark feelings into words, so he said little.
At home in his room after school, he heard the doorbell ring. A moment later his mother called to him, saying there was a friend at the door. A friend, he wondered, thinking that he didn’t have any friends. Reluctantly he went downstairs and saw Stephan at the door. “We need to talk,” said the older boy. “Is there some place more private?” Matthew shrugged and motioned to follow him upstairs. In Matthew’s bedroom, Stephan sat on the bed and Matthew sat apart from him in his chair. Stephan said, “We need to talk about what happened on the trip.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” replied Matthew.
“I think there is, but I think you’re too scared or too embarrassed or maybe both to talk.”
“Stephan, I really did appreciate it when you talked with me at my fire in the mornings. It helped me realize I wasn’t as alone as I thought at first, but I just can’t talk about it.”
After a pause, Stephan said, “Well, let’s try this. I’ll ask you some questions. If the answer’s yes, you don’t need to say anything. If the answer is no, then you need to tell me. OK?”
Matthew shrugged.
“First, did Uncle Bob touch you inappropriately on either or both nights?” Silence. “Did he jerk you off?” More silence. “Did he do anything else to you?” Silence. “Did he suck your dick?” Stephan asked in surprise. More silence, but this time Matthew got bright red. “My God! Did he make you suck him?” Continued silence. “Jesus, Matthew, no wonder you can’t talk about it. Did you try to resist?” Silence. “Did he threaten you?” Matthew looked down and gave a slight nod. “Shit! Damn him to hell! OK, Matthew, I get the picture. He never sucked or threatened either me or Billy, but then, we never tried to resist. Billy and I think he needs to be stopped — Now! Do you agree?”
This time Matthew said, “Yes.”
“OK. We’re going to the police tonight, and we need you to go with us. Can you do that?”
Matthew shook his head.
“Why?”
“Because you were right. I’m embarrassed and I’m scared shitless. If he found out I went to the police, he’d do terrible things to me, and I have no idea what my parents would do. I know you’re trying to help me, but I just can’t do it.”
“Fuck. He’s got you terrified. OK. Billy and I will go for now, but the police may want to talk to you.”
“I can’t. Can’t you just not tell them about me?”
“I don’t know. I think at some point it’s going to have to come out.” With that, Stephan went over to Matthew and tried to give him a little hug before he departed.
“Don’t touch me!” exclaimed Matthew, pulling back.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I just don’t want anybody to touch me.”
“Shit. He really got into your head, didn’t he? All right. I promise I won’t touch you until you say it’s OK. I’ll see you in school tomorrow.” At the bottom of the stairs, Matthew’s mother asked Stephan if anything had happened on the trip. “Yes,” replied Stephan. “I’m trying to get Matthew to talk about it, but so far I haven’t had much luck. I think eventually you’ll find out, but right now he’s just very afraid.”
“Of what?” asked Mrs. Long, astonished.
“I’m sorry, but I think he has to tell you that. If I said anything he would see it as betrayal, and he doesn’t need any more betrayal right now.” With that, Stephan left.
Matthew’s mother went up to his room but she couldn’t get him to say anything at all. That night at dinner he was silent, and he spent the evening crying softly on his bed.
On Tuesday, Matthew returned to another unproductive school day. He did see Stephan, but not when they could talk. From the time he got home, he lay on his bed until dinner. Once again at dinner, although his parents tried to draw him out, he said nothing.
As they were finishing dinner, the doorbell rang. Matthew’s father answered the door and Matthew heard him ask, “What’s the problem, officer?”
Matthew heard a voice reply, “We need to talk with your son.”
Oh, Crap! thought Matthew.
“Why? Is he in trouble?”
“Not at all. We just need to talk with him. This is Janice Harding, from Children’s Protective Services. She wants to ask Matthew some questions.”
Damn! What do I say to them? Matthew wondered.
His father called him and his mother and everybody went into the living room where the officer introduced himself and Mrs. Harding to Matthew and his mother. The adults all sat while Matthew curled up in a chair with his head down.
“Matthew,” began Mrs. Harding, “can you tell us what happened to you on the camping trip?”
Matthew said nothing, but a tear trickled down his scarlet cheek.
“Did somebody touch you in a bad way?”
At that, Mrs. Long gasped. “Matthew, dear, tell us what happened.”
Matthew simply stared at his knees.
“Matthew,” Mrs. Harding continued, “we know you didn’t do anything wrong, but we need to know what happened. Who touched you?” Matthew did not respond. “Would you feel more comfortable talking with a man you could trust instead of a woman?” After a moment, Matthew nodded, almost imperceptibly. “I can arrange that, but not until tomorrow morning. Again the little nod. “All right. Mrs. Long, if I could have your phone number I can call you in the morning and tell you who will see Matthew at the CPS building.”
As she gave Mrs. Harding the phone number Mrs. Long begged, “Isn’t there anything you can tell us?”
“At this point, no. I have some privileged information which I can’t yet share. Meanwhile, I think you should simply try to comfort Matthew and make him feel secure without asking him any questions.”
“If that’s what we have to do, then we will, for now.”
After the visitors left, the three family members sat without speaking for a long time. Finally, Mr. Long said, “Matthew, I’m not going to ask you any questions, but I want to remind you that your mother and I both love you very much, and, no matter what has happened, it will not affect our love. Do you understand that?”
Matthew looked up, tears in his eyes, and nodded. “I just can’t talk about it, Dad. I’m really embarrassed and scared,” and he began sobbing. The three of them sat in silence until finally, when his sobs had subsided, Matthew went to his room. In time they all went to bed, but nobody slept very well.
Wednesday morning, as they were having breakfast, the phone rang. Mrs. Long answered, listened, and then said, “I’ll have him there at 9:00.” Hanging up, she turned to Matthew saying, “We have an appointment at CPS.”
“Should I come too?” Mr. Long asked.
“I don’t think so. If they need you, I’m sure they’ll call.”
He nodded and went to work. At 8:30 Matthew and his mother departed for the CPS building in town. When they arrived, they were shown into a small but comfortable waiting room. After a short wait a door opened and a pleasant looking young man stepped out. Introducing himself as Warren Johnson, a child psychologist, he invited Matthew into his office. When Mrs. Long rose to go with them, he politely but firmly said he needed to talk with Matthew alone.
Mr. Johnson and Matthew went into the office, Mr. Johnson seating himself in a comfortable chair and motioning Matthew to the sofa. “Matthew, I understand you’re having a very difficult time. I’m here to help you, not to hurt you in any way. Whatever you say in this office does not go beyond that door unless you give your permission. That’s the law, Matthew, and you can trust it one hundred percent. Do you understand?” Matthew nodded, but kept his head down.
“Now, let me tell you what I already know and then I want to ask you some questions. OK?” Matthew nodded. “I know that two of your friends went to the police but you did not. Can you tell me why?” Matthew shook his head. “OK. I also know that you were on a scout camping trip and that you slept in a tent with the Scout Master. I know that he touched you in inappropriate ways in that tent. I believe that he threatened you, but I don’t know how. I want to ask you some questions to just take you through the two nights. It’ll be painful for you, but if you can talk about it, that will, in the long run, help the pain.” Matthew stared at the floor without responding.
“All right, on that first night in the tent, did Uncle Bob say anything wrong to you or touch you before you went to sleep?”
For the first time, Matthew looked up, saying angrily, “Don’t call him ‘Uncle Bob!’ He’s not my uncle and I hate him!”
“OK. How about calling him ‘Mr. Sinclair?’ Is that better?” Matthew nodded. “Now can you answer my question?”
“He didn’t say or do anything wrong before I went to sleep.”
“OK. Did you wake up the middle of the night?” Matthew looked down and nodded. “And what woke you?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Why?”
“I just can’t.”
Mr. Johnson waited a moment before asking, “Are you afraid?” Matthew nodded. “Of me?” After a pause, Matthew shook his head. “Of Mr. Sinclair?” Again he nodded. “Are you afraid of anything else?” Once again, Matthew nodded. “Are you afraid you’ll be punished for what happened?” A tear formed in Matthew’s eye as he nodded. “Matthew, I know you haven’t done anything wrong. Whatever happened, it wasn’t your fault. Certainly, I won’t punish you, and, remember, I can’t say anything to anybody else, even your parents, without your permission. I think you need to trust me and tell me what woke you up.”
“I can’t.”
They sat in the office virtually silent for nearly half an hour, Mr. Johnson hoping that Matthew would begin to talk and Matthew hoping that he could leave. Occasionally the doctor asked a question but got no response. Finally he said, “Matthew, I know that talking about all this is very hard for you, but I want you to think about it before you come back. Mr. Sinclair’s a pedophile; he’s sick. He has to be stopped and that won’t happen unless you tell me what occurred in the tent. But even more important for you is that you have all this shame and fear and lack of trust built up inside you, and if you don’t let it out it will burst. Please, please think about this before you come back tomorrow.” Slowly Matthew nodded.
With that, they went out together and the doctor told Mrs. Long that he needed to see Matthew again in the morning. On the way home Matthew’s mother tried to talk with him, but he was totally unresponsive. She asked him if he wanted to go to school. He said no. When they arrived home, Matthew went to his room and lay on his bed, thoughts once again tumbling through his mind. He was exhausted, and at some point he fell asleep, not awakening until his mother brought him some supper, which he picked at only to please her before he fell back on the bed. He did think about what Mr. Johnson had said; he thought a lot. He remembered the psychologist had said if he didn’t talk about it he would burst with his bottled up feelings. He remembered the man had told him that whatever happened wasn’t his fault. But he couldn’t bring himself to the point of talking about what had happened and he no longer had any idea who he could trust.
In the morning, Matthew and his mother returned to the CPS building. In his office, the doctor asked Matthew if he had thought about what he had said the day before. Matthew nodded. “Can you tell me now what happened in the tent?”
“No. I can’t.”
“Are you still scared?” Matthew nodded. “Are you ashamed?” Again the boy nodded. “Do you trust me?” Matthew shook his head.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t know who I can trust anymore.”
“Do you remember what I told you about things not going out of this office and that the law makes that very clear?”
Matthew nodded.
Mr. Johnson said, “Matthew, I promise you that you can trust me. I work with a lot of kids who have been abused. I have never betrayed their trust and I never will.” Matthew sat in silence as Mr. Johnson thought and studied him for a time before going to a shelf and returning with a naked male doll. He held it out to Matthew, who took it. Then he asked, “Can you show me what happened?”
“No.”
“Too scary?” Matthew nodded. A pause. “Too embarrassing?” Again the nod.
They sat in silence for several minutes before Mr. Johnson said, “Matthew, I know that you were sexually abused. I know that it’s very hard to talk about. I have other patients who are dealing with the same problem and it’s a real struggle for them too. Honestly, the ones who can talk about it begin to feel better, but the ones who can’t continue to have all the feelings you have now. I know that it wasn’t your fault. But for your own sake you need to talk about it. If you don’t, it will affect you for your whole life.”
After more silence, Matthew looked down at the doll. With tears in his eyes he began to rub the doll’s back. He looked up at Mr. Johnson, who nodded encouragingly. Then, as the tears poured down his face, he turned the doll over and rubbed its chest. Then he stopped.
“What happened then?” asked Mr. Johnson, gently.
Feeling overwhelmed, Matthew cried, “I can’t! I can’t! I can’t!” More tears welled in his eyes. He put down the doll, took some tissues which Mr. Johnson offered him and tried to dry his face.
“It’s OK, Matthew. We’ll rest for a minute.” They both sat, looking at the doll. Then, without saying anything, and with tears still flowing, Matthew reached down and began rubbing the doll’s penis.
“Thank you, Matthew. Believe me I do know how hard that was. Remember, you don’t have to be afraid of me or anything in this office. Now, let me be sure I have this right. Mr. Sinclair rubbed your back, and then your chest, and then your penis. Is that correct?” Matthew nodded. “Did you reach a climax?”
Matthew looked up. “What does that mean?”
“Do you know what it means to ‘come’?”
Matthew looked horrified but finally nodded.
“And did you?”
Still the horrified look before another nod.
“You’re doing fine Matthew. Now, did Mr. Sinclair tell you to do the same to him?” Matthew reluctantly nodded. “Did you do it?” A long pause before another hesitant nod. “And when you were done did he tell you that what happened was a secret between you?”
Surprised, Matthew asked, “How did you know that?”
“Because that’s typically what abusers say. Of course they don’t want anybody else to know. Now, did anything else happen that night?” Matthew shook his head. “Was the next night different?” Matthew nodded. “Can you tell me about it?” Matthew shook his head.
After waiting a few minutes, Mr. Johnson said, “OK, Matthew, I think we’ll leave that for another day. Can you be thinking about how to tell me about the second night?”
“Yes,” the boy said in a soft voice.
They went together out into the outer office, where Mr. Johnson said that Matthew had made some progress but he wanted to see him again the following Tuesday.
On the way home, Matthew’s mother tried to get him to talk, but he rode silently and went again to his bedroom when he got home.
That night he worried about talking about the rest of the abuse. He lay shivering, trying to decide if he would or could. He knew that Mr. Johnson had said he would feel better when he talked about it, but so far he didn’t. He still wasn’t sure he could trust Mr. Johnson, although he knew the man hadn’t told his mother anything he had learned. Could he trust the man? Could he bring himself to talk about the rest of what happened? He finally fell asleep still fearful and anxious.
CHAPTER 4
On Friday, school again passed slowly for the miserable boy. He was unable to concentrate on any of his work. His inability to pay attention in addition to his two absences that week made his teachers begin to wonder what was wrong. The only bright spot in the day was when he sat with Stephan at lunch. Unable to get into what had happened to Matthew, they talked about other subjects and began to realize they had quite a bit in common. Stephan asked if he could visit on Saturday, and Matthew agreed.
While Matthew still said next to nothing at dinner, he looked a little less sad. In the evening, back in his room, he began to draw. He drew a grotesque, knife-wielding, hulking monster with slavering lips and blood-stained teeth and claws. Lying on the ground in front of the monster was a naked boy, tears flowing out of his eyes. The boy’s huge penis was pointing accusingly straight up at the monster. Finishing the picture, he studied it, sighed and went to bed, but sleep did not come for several hours. When it finally came, it was fitful and filled with nightmares.
On Saturday, Stephan arrived in mid-morning. The first time Stephan had visited, he was so focused on trying to get Matthew to go to the police he hadn’t even really noticed the boy’s room. This time, when he entered the room, he took a few moments to look around. Being on the third floor, the room had two sloping walls angling down from a peak to about four feet from the floor, where they became vertical. Each had two dormer windows. Except for a small landing at the top of the stairs, with a bathroom to the left and a closet to the right, the room stretched the entire length and width of the house. There was a twin bed, a desk with the usual clutter on it, and most prominently, an easel and a draftsman’s table. Beside them, against the end wall were shelves full of art supplies – paints, including oils and water colors, brushes, markers, charcoal, pastels, all sorts of pencils, three or four kinds of glue, as well as materials for constructions. As he sat on the bed, Stephan looked about in wonder while Matthew again sat in his desk chair.
Finally, Stephan asked, “How are you holding up, Matthew?”
“Not well.”
“What can I do to help?”
“Nothing...Stephan, Ever since Black Weekend — that’s what I call it in my mind — I don’t trust anybody.”
“You can trust me, Matthew.”
“I guess I know that, but how can I ever figure out who I can trust and who I can’t? I was supposed to be able to trust a Scout Master but look what happened.”
“I honestly don’t know, Matthew. I just know that, if we can’t trust anybody, we’ll be terribly miserable and lonely. So I suppose it comes down to being willing to take chances, knowing that usually you can trust people but that every once in a while you can get hurt.” Stephan continued, “Matthew, have you seen anybody like a psychologist or a psychiatrist?” Matthew said he had seen one twice. “Is that why you were out of school for two days?”
Matthew nodded. “I was so upset each day by the time we finished that I just couldn’t go back to school.”
“Did it help?”
“I don’t know. His name’s Mr. Johnson and he’s a psychologist at CPS. The first time I went I wasn’t able to tell him anything. The second time, I finally told him about my first night. It was really hard, and when he asked me about the second one, I just couldn’t go on. Now he wants to see me on Tuesday and I don’t know whether I can tell him any more or not.”
“Do you trust him?”
“I think maybe a little, but how do I know? He says that according to the law he can’t tell anybody else what I say even if he wanted to, but I still don’t know that he wouldn’t. What if he told my parents? That really scares me.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m ashamed, and I have no idea how they would react. They might get mad at me. They might even stop loving me. I can’t risk that.”
“Do you want to know what I think?” Matthew nodded. “First of all, I don’t believe your parents would get mad or stop loving you, because nothing that happened was your fault. There was absolutely nothing you could have done or that you need to be ashamed of. I know. I’ve been there.” Matthew looked at him thoughtfully. “Second, I think he’s right about the law, and I think he would lose his job if he told anybody. So I don’t believe he would tell anybody. Someday soon, Matthew, you have to trust a grownup, and he seems like a good bet to me.”
When Stephan left, Matthew thanked him several times for trying to help him. He knew Stephan was right. He had to trust somebody and he had to talk about what happened if he ever wanted to feel better, but he still didn’t know if he could talk with Mr. Johnson about it.
The weekend passed slowly, with the boy still saying little and his parents worrying.
On Monday Matthew biked to school. The day went a little better, but he was still so distracted that the other boys in his classes began to laugh at him, which made him furious. Again he sat with Stephan at lunch. Although he didn’t say so, he thought that Stephan was the most attractive boy he had ever seen. When he looked at him he immediately sprang an erection, so he had to look away and let it subside before he left the table.
Bicycling home, Matthew thought again about his meeting with Mr. Johnson the next morning. Deep in his thoughts he rounded a corner near his house and nearly ran into Mr. Sinclair, who grabbed the bike, forcing him to stop.
“You little bastard,” snarled the man. “You told the police, didn’t you?”
“No! I didn’t say anything to the police or anybody else! I promise!”
“That’s a lie because I’ve been arrested. I’m tempted to beat the shit out of you right now.” Matthew was terrified. “I’m out on bail until the trial in a few weeks. If you say anything at all at that trial and I go to jail, I swear, when I get out, I’ll do to you exactly what I described the other day. Do you understand?”
The boy, feeling cold from head to toe and silently crying, looked down and nodded.
“Don’t forget or I’ll have your balls!” declared the man, releasing the bike and walking away.
Struggling for control, Matthew wiped his eyes and walked his bike to his house, where he went upstairs and closed the door. Soon there came a knock on the door and his mother walked in. “Matthew, did something happen today?”
Matthew nodded.
“Can you tell me about it?”
He shook his head, hard.
“Can you talk with Mr. Johnson about it?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
“I know you’re suffering terribly, Matthew. I know you’re very afraid. That’s not going to stop until you tell somebody about it. Please think about telling Mr. Johnson. OK?” Matthew agreed that he would think about it.
He again had frightening dreams that night, waking up several times in a sweat. Three times he had to change his pajamas and sheets before he was finally able to get a few hours of sleep.
In the morning, he and his mother drove to CPS. Mr. Johnson greeted them and took Matthew into his office, where they sat as they had before. The doll was on the sofa beside Matthew.
“Matthew, how are you today? Do you feel any better for having told me about the first night?”
“Not really...Well, maybe a little.”
“Then that’s why it’s important to tell me about the second one. You need to unload the whole story. So let’s talk about that second night. Did something wake you up?”
“Yes,” the boy answered reluctantly.
“Tell me about it.”
“I don’t know that I can.”
“Can you show me?” Matthew had known that this moment was coming and he had tried to figure out what to do, so after gazing at the floor for several minutes, he sighed and went to the shelf and returned with a doll-sized shirt and trousers which he carefully put on the doll. Looking up to be sure that Mr. Johnson was watching, he proceeded to unbutton the shirt and pull down the pants. He looked up again.
“Good, Matthew. What happened next?”
“I can’t. It’s just too hard.”
“You can, Matthew. You were brave on Thursday and you can do it again. Just take your time and show me.”
Again, Matthew thought for several minutes before tearfully, hesitantly, he took hold of the doll’s penis, put his head down to it and made sucking sounds. He stopped and looked up, reaching for the tissues again.
“Thank you Matthew. That was very hard, wasn’t it?” Matthew nodded. “You should be proud of yourself for getting through it. Did Mr. Sinclair tell you to do the same thing to him?”
“Y...Y...Yes.”
“Did you?”
“Mr. Johnson, this is torture!”
“No it’s not, Matthew, even if it feels that way. What is torture is all the feelings you have inside which need to come out. Please trust me.”
Again there was a long silence. Finally the boy said, “I didn’t do it at first. I told him I didn’t want to, but then he made me.”
“What did he do?”
At that Matthew began to sob aloud, huge, convulsive sobs. He fell sideways on the sofa, covering his head. Mr. Johnson waited patiently. Finally he asked, “Did Mr. Sinclair threaten you?”
From the sofa came a muffled, “Y...Y...Yes.”
“How did he threaten you?’
“I-I just can’t say it.”
“OK, Matthew, I’m impressed with how much progress we’ve made so far. Let me see if I have the second night straight. Nothing happened when you went to bed, but during the night you felt Mr. Sinclair unbuttoning your shirt and pulling down your trousers. Then he sucked on your penis. Is that right?” Matthew nodded. “And you reached a climax again.” Another nod. “In his mouth?” A nod. Then he told you to do it to him, and when you refused, he threatened you. Then you did it. Another nod. Did he climax in your mouth?” A sobbing nod.
“All right, Matthew, I think we’ve done enough for today.” Matthew looked up, relieved. “I want to reassure you that you did nothing to be ashamed of. You had no choice but to do what Mr. Sinclair told you to do. And again, you did very well and I do know how difficult it was. For now I think you need to go home and rest. Try to live in the days ahead as normally as you can, because that will help you. I’ll see you again soon. Before we go, may I have your permission to tell your parents what happened?”
“NO! NO! NO!” Horror flooded his face.
“Are you afraid they won’t love you or are you embarrassed?”
“Both.”
OK. At some point soon they’ll need to know, but we can figure out together how that will be done. For now, as I promised, I won’t say a word without your permission.”
With that, they went out of the office. Mr. Johnson told Matthew’s mother that they had made good progress but that he needed to see Matthew again, perhaps several times.
“How much does this cost?” she asked a bit fearfully.
“Nothing. This is a service we provide. Please don’t ask Matthew about any of this unless he volunteers information. It’ll all come out eventually, but first Matthew and I need to agree about how that will happen. Could I see him on Friday at the same time?”
Mrs. Long agreed, and together she and Matthew left. Arriving home, Matthew went straight to his room, closing the door. Later, his mother brought him some lunch. By the time they sat down to dinner, she thought he looked a little better, but he still said nothing.
After he left the table and went to his bedroom, Mr. Long told Matthew’s mother that he had visited the police, who had told him they believed that Matthew had been sexually abused by Mr. Sinclair. They didn’t yet know the details, but that was undoubtedly what was upsetting Matthew. They agreed not to bring it up at present in order to give Mr. Johnson a chance to help him work through his feelings.
In his bedroom, Matthew took out a piece of paper and began, once again, to draw. Again he drew the monster, larger this time and more frightening. While the drawing was in black, he used red to show blood dripping from the monster’s fangs, claws and knife. In the monster’s other paw were two small, round, bloody objects. Then he drew the crying boy lying down with his huge erect penis pointing upward. He added blood where the testicles would be. Thinking for a minute he drew a man standing over and protecting the boy, with a sword raised in his right hand and a shield in his left. He gazed at it thoughtfully before putting it with his first drawing.
Tuesday night was another struggle for him, with bad dreams, cold sweats, and waking to change pajamas and linen. Wednesday passed slowly and miserably and the night was just as bad.
After school on Thursday Stephan came to visit. He asked Matthew again how he was doing. Matthew said he was still feeling terrible, although he had moments when he felt a little better. Then he asked, “Did you know that Sinclair was arrested?” Stephan shook his head. “When I was coming home on Monday he was waiting for me at the corner. Stephan, he said that he’d been arrested but was out on bail and if he went to jail, when he got out he would find me and do terrible things to me. Now I’m more scared than ever.”
“Damn. I wonder why they let him out on bail. I guess it was because he’s an ‘upstanding citizen’ and not a flight risk, but the cops need to know that he could really hurt you. They don’t, do they?”
Matthew shook his head.
Stephan asked if he had made any progress with his psychologist and Matthew talked about telling Mr. Johnson about the second night. “But I didn’t tell him how Sinclair threatened me,” he continued.
“Can you tell me?”
Matthew sighed. He was feeling an urgent need to tell somebody, but was afraid to trust anybody, even Stephan, to keep silent. Finally he asked, “Can I trust you, Stephan? Can I really trust you not to not talk about it with anybody?”
“Absolutely. Anything you say to me won’t be repeated to anybody else, I promise.”
Matthew went to his bed and lay face down, thinking. After a long silence, he began quietly, “When Sinclair told me to suck his dick and I refused, he took out a knife and held it first in front of my face and then down pricking my balls. Then he said that if I didn’t do what he wanted he would cut off one of my balls, and if I still didn’t do it, he would cut off the other one. He asked me if I knew what happened to boys who didn’t have any balls, and when I said no, he told me my voice would never finish changing and I would never be able to have sex.”
By this time, he was sobbing, tears pouring into his pillow. Stephan instinctively reached over to touch him and then, remembering what Matthew had said a few days ago, pulled his hand back. Instead, he gave forth with the longest string of swear words Matthew had ever heard. There was silence for a moment, and then Stephan heard giggling muffled by a pillow. “You liked that, did you?”
Matthew looked up and, for the first time since before the camping trip, smiled. “Jesus, Stephan, where did you learn all those words?”
“Well, I have an older brother and I listen carefully. To be honest, I think that’s the first time I’ve said some of them and I’m not even sure what they mean, but somehow, they seemed to be called for. Matthew, you have to tell your psychologist about this.”
“I don’t think I can, not yet anyway.”
“Well, you at least have to tell him that Mr. Sinclair threatened you again.”
“I’ll try.”
Finally sighing, Matthew sat up on the bed beside Stephan. Stephan looked at him, saying, “Matthew, I get the feeling from seeing you around school that you don’t have many friends. Is that so?”
“Yeah, I suppose it is, probably because I’m so shy.”
“Well, I want to be your friend if you’ll let me. I think you’re a cool kid, and I want to get to know you better. What kind of things do you like to do?”
A cool kid!? Never in my life have I been called cool, Matthew thought before answering, “Art is my passion, but I love to read, too.”
“Do you have any pictures you’ve done that I can see?”
Matthew brought out a few that he’d done at school, and Stephan admired them. “Anything else?” he asked.
Hesitating, Matthew then pulled out his two monster pictures and showed them to Stephen. “My God, Matthew. These are wonderful, but they’re really scary. When did you do them?” Matthew told him. “Is this how you’re feeling inside?”
“I suppose it is. I didn’t even really think when I drew the first one. It just came out. The second one I thought about when I added the knife, the blood, and the balls.”
“Who’s the man standing over you with the sword looking like he’s protecting you?”
“I guess it’s Mr. Johnson, my psychologist. I know he’s trying his best to help me, and I’m beginning to trust him.”
“Matthew, I really think you should show him these. They may tell him a lot that can help you. Maybe then you won’t have to actually say anything scary.” Matthew nodded.
“I have to get home. Would you come to my house on Saturday so we can talk?” Matthew nodded. Stephan turned to him. “Matthew, I really want to give you a little hug, but I won’t if you don’t want me to.”
“I just don’t think I can do that, but thanks for the thought. You may not know it, but you’re helping me a lot.”
Stephan gave Matthew a little wave and left, reminding him that they were going to meet on Saturday.
That evening at dinner, Matthew was a little more talkative than he had been, and he ate enough for three boys as his parents sent silent signals to each other across the table.
When he went back to his bedroom, Matthew took out another piece of paper, again beginning by drawing the drooling monster with the bloody fangs and claws. He drew the prone boy with the penis and the bloody crotch. He drew the bloody knife and the testicles. Then he drew the man with the sword and the shield. Pausing a moment, he drew another figure also standing over the boy. This figure was a little smaller than the man and had black curly hair. It too had a sword and shield, threatening the monster. He took out the other two pictures and put them side by side, gazing down at them. A little smile of satisfaction came over his face. Rolling the three of them up he put them where he could retrieve them the next morning to take to Mr. Johnson.CHAPTER 5
Following breakfast on Friday, Matthew and his mother rode to the CPS building, Matthew holding his rolled pictures in his lap. His mother asked what he had, but he simply replied they were some pictures he wanted to show to Mr. Johnson.
“May I see them?” she asked.
“Maybe some time. I’m not ready yet.” His mother was a little hurt but she didn’t press the point.
When Matthew and the psychologist were seated in his office, Mr. Johnson asked Matthew how he was doing.
“Terribly!”
“Has anything happened since the last time we met?”
Casting his eyes down, Matthew replied very quietly, “No, but something happened earlier. Stephan thinks I should tell you about it.”
“Who’s Stephan?”
“He’s a friend of mine from scouts and from school. He’s one of the boys who went to the police about Sinclair.”
Mr. Johnson noted the omission of the “Mister,” but said nothing. “OK. So what can you tell me?”
Matthew sat, staring at his lap. Finally, he began. “When I was bicycling home from school on Monday, I was ambushed by Sinclair. He swore at me and accused me of telling the police. When I said I hadn’t, he called me a liar and threatened to beat me up right then. He told me he had been arrested and said that if he went to jail he would do terrible things to me when he got out. I was so scared I couldn’t even ride my bike the rest of the way home; I had to walk.”
Mr. Johnson thought for several moments before saying quietly, “Matthew, I need your permission to tell the police that Mr. Sinclair threatened you twice.”
Matthew paled. “But then he’ll come after me again and I’m terrified of him.”
“No, Matthew, we need to get him off the streets. If I tell the police they can get his bail revoked. That’ll put him back in jail. Then you’ll be safe. If I don’t tell them, you’ll be in danger until the trial.”
“If I’d known you wanted to tell the police, I wouldn’t have told you about it.”
“But I’m glad you did. We need to keep you safe. However, again, I can’t tell them without you’re permission. May I have it?”
The boy sighed heavily and finally nodded. Then he asked, “Mr. Johnson, you said that Sinclair was sick, and you used a word I don’t know. What does it mean?”
“The word was ‘pedophile’,” Mr. Johnson answered. “It means somebody who has sex with children. That’s different from being ‘gay’. Do you know that word?” Matthew nodded. “OK, gays want to have sex with men about their own age, not with kids. Do you understand?” Matthew nodded.
“Good. And Matthew, I want you to remember to tell the prosecutor about Mr. Sinclair’s threats when he interviews you. What Mr. Sinclair did is called ‘intimidating a witness,’ and he could get even more jail time for that.”
“What’s a prosecutor?”
“It’s a lawyer who presents the evidence against the accused.&r
CHAPTER 1
The boy lay on his back, staring into the darkness, listening to the rain splatter softly on the tent roof and the man beside him breathing deeply in his sleep. The boy was shaking but he wasn’t cold. His eyes were full of tears. Shame and fear tumbled about in his mind. What had happened? Why? Was he in trouble? What would happen tomorrow? He felt dirty, but he wasn’t sure he’d done anything wrong. Sighing, he tried to go back to sleep, but he couldn’t because he was tormented by his racing thoughts.
Trying to remember what had happened, he thought back to awakening in the night. It had been an especially warm night for late September, an Indian summer kind of night. He had been asleep in just his undershorts on top of his sleeping bag. He had awoken to feel a hand, gently rubbing his back. A flashlight had been on in the tent.
“You’re awake,” the man had said.
The boy had rolled over and looked up. “What are you doing?” he had asked.
“Just rubbing your back. Doesn’t it feel good? I wanted to make you feel good.” Now he had started rubbing the boy’s chest. “Did you know that you’re beautiful?”
“No, sir. Boys aren’t beautiful.”
“You are.”
The boy had been amused, but then he had begun to feel mounting anxiety. “Here,” the man had continued, reaching slowly, gently into the boy’s underpants and tickling his pubic hairs. “How does that feel?”
“No! You shouldn’t be doing that.”
“Why not? Am I hurting you?”
“No but it’s not right.”
“Why not? It feels good and it doesn’t do any harm.” With that the man had said, “Raise your hips for a minute.” As the boy had done so, the man had gently pulled down his underpants, exposing his now hard penis pointing straight up. “You’re getting a nice crop of hair down there,” the man observed. Slowly, the man had slid his hand up and down the boy’s organ. Despite himself, the boy had felt a familiar tension begin to rise in his groin. The feeling had grown stronger and stronger until suddenly, he had exploded, liquid splashing on his chest as his penis pulsed and throbbed. He had groaned involuntarily but had immediately worried whether he should have enjoyed it or not.
“Now,” the man had said, “you can give me the same pleasure.” He had rolled onto his back and pulled down his underwear. The boy didn’t want to do this. He knew it was wrong. “Come on,” the man had insisted, “I gave you pleasure now you need to pleasure me.” Reluctantly, afraid to anger the man, the boy had reached over and touched the man’s penis. At the touch, it sprang up from the man’s belly. It was hard and huge. The boy didn’t know they grew so large. Imitating the man, he had put his hand around the penis and slid it slowly up and down. The man had groaned and begun to raise his back and even his hips off his sleeping bag. Higher. Higher. Then, like the boy, he had exploded, his penis spurting over and over. Finally stopping, the man had relaxed. “That was wonderful!” he said. “Thank you.” Reaching into his backpack, he had pulled out some tissues and dried himself and the boy off before turning off the flashlight.
As they both lay on their backs in the dark, the man had said, “Matthew, this needs to be our secret. Other people wouldn’t understand that we were just harmlessly enjoying ourselves. OK?”
“Yes, Uncle Bob,” replied the boy reluctantly.
Soon the man had fallen asleep. Now the boy lay awake, shaking and silently crying. Why had this happened? Did Uncle Bob do this with other boys or only with him? Did Uncle Bob love him? He didn’t think he loved Uncle Bob, but he wasn’t sure, because he didn’t know what that kind of love, the kind that included sex, was like.
Was what they had done good or bad? Would he get into trouble? He couldn’t sort it out. He had been told not to let strangers touch him, but Uncle Bob was certainly not a stranger; he was the Scout Master. The boy knew about jerking off and had been doing it for months, but he wasn’t even sure whether that was good or bad, he just knew it was irresistible and it felt wonderful. If what he and Uncle Bob had done was good, why had the man told him not to tell other people? Was he afraid of what they would say? Was he worried that the other boys would be jealous of Matthew? If it was a good thing, why did he feel dirty? Of course his mother had always told him that playing with his penis was dirty, but what about this? What would happen in the morning? Would he be punished? Would Uncle Bob even mention it? Would it ever happen again?
So many questions with no answers. He sighed and again tried to sleep. Eventually he must have dozed off, because when he woke he heard movements around the campsite and other boys talking. The rain had stopped. Uncle Bob was pulling on his uniform. He looked at Matthew, winked, and put his index finger to his lips. Matthew nodded in understanding and put on his own uniform before they both went out of the tent and Matthew began to build a fire for breakfast.CHAPTER 2
Matthew was beautifully built, about average height for a thirteen-year-old, with a slender, well-proportioned body. His skin was smooth and, especially in summer, golden. His arms and legs had not yet begun to develop adolescent muscle, but his butt was round and tight, like a firm pillow. His face was narrow, his nose slender and slightly turned up. He had a shy smile which girls and his female teachers found very attractive, although he was totally unaware of his smile’s effect on them. He wore his fair hair longer than many boys in the early eighties. It was full and wavy, and, when it flopped down in his face, he casually flipped it higher on his head, a gesture which the ladies found endearing. His most arresting feature was his eyes, sometimes blue, sometimes green, and even, occasionally violet, but always mesmerizing. His laugh was quiet and reserved, as if he was enjoying a private joke. His voice had begun to change, cracking and squeaking at embarrassing moments. In groups he was always the silent observer, watching, listening, but almost never participating. His classmates neither liked nor disliked him. In fact, they didn’t know him because he didn’t allow them to.
Matthew had only been a Boy Scout for six weeks. As a result, although he was nearly fourteen, he was still a Tenderfoot. In the summer of 1981, he and his family had moved from a small farming town in northern Vermont where there had been no scout troop, and he had eagerly anticipated joining the local troop. The scouts met on Monday evenings in the junior high school gym, where they practiced first aid, learned about nature, wrestled with tying knots, and worked on other scouting activities. The scout leader, telling the boy to call him “Uncle Bob,” had welcomed him enthusiastically. Although intensely shy, Matthew had quietly joined in all the activities and enjoyed them thoroughly.
When it was announced that they were going on a two-night camping trip, he had been excited. His parents had bought him a used sleeping bag but they couldn’t afford a tent. He had told Uncle Bob, the Scout Master, that he couldn’t go because he didn’t have a partner and he didn’t have a tent, to which the man replied, “Don’t worry about that. There’s room for you in my tent.”
Now he sat on a log in front of his fire preparing to cook some bacon and eggs, thinking of that terrible night just past and worrying about what might happen in the coming night. As he put the frying pan over the fire, Stephan Demos, another scout, walked over and sat beside him. They watched the fire in silence for a few moments before Stephan asked, “So, did he touch you last night?”
A shock went through Matthew. How did he know? Still staring at the fire, he said nothing.
“It’s OK, you know. You can talk with me about it. Uncle Bob had me two years ago. Did he tell you that you were beautiful?”
Another shock of recognition. What else did Stephan know? He continued to say nothing.
“That bastard!” exclaimed Stephan. “He’s terrified you, hasn’t he?” No response. “You know, he had Billy last year. That was terrible because Billy’s not even gay, but I still don’t think he should have done it to me. Are you gay?”
Am I gay? wondered Matthew. He wasn’t even sure what it meant to be gay. Did it mean perverted? Was Stephan gay? He hadn’t said so, but he had implied it. Again he gave no response.
“Listen, Matthew, he has no business doing anything to you. If he even touches you tonight I want you to scream bloody murder. We’ll all come and help you. He has to be stopped and now’s the time. OK?”
Still Matthew did not speak, but he gave one nod of his head. Stephan patted his shoulder and walked away.
The troop was going to take an eight mile hike that day, so after breakfast, Matthew packed a lunch and was ready to go. The hike was uneventful. For part of the time, Stephan walked beside him. A few times, Billy gave him a knowing look. But nobody said anything and he kept his silence. All the boys in the troop knew Matthew from school and understood that he was very shy so while they chattered around him, they didn’t expect him to respond. Following lunch at a trail junction, they took the other trail, which led back to their campsite. There was time for a swim before supper, but Matthew didn’t feel like swimming, and he knew the water was cold, so instead he sat on the bank watching the other boys swim and splash each other. After they cooked and ate supper, they had a campfire where Uncle Bob told scary stories. Then it was time for bed.
Matthew had decided not to undress to sleep. It was still too warm for his sleeping bag so he lay once again on top. After Uncle Bob went around to all the tents to be sure the boys were settled for the night, he crawled into the tent. Looking at the boy he asked, “Why do you still have your uniform on?”
“I just wanted to sleep this way tonight. That way, in the morning, I won’t have to waste time dressing.”
The man smiled and asked, “What were you and Stephan talking about this morning?”
The boy had anticipated the question and replied, “Just some scout stuff. He was helping me learn the Scout Law.”
The Man stripped down to his shorts, unzipped his sleeping bag and climbed in although he did not zip it up again. They were quiet then, and soon the boy heard the man’s gentle breathing. He lay awake, frightened, tears again filling his eyes. He wondered if the man would touch him again or leave him alone. Finally, sleep overtook him.
He awoke much later. The flashlight was on and the man was leaning over him. Having unbuttoned the boy’s shirt and undone his belt buckle the man was proceeding to unzip his fly. The boy remained silent, hoping that, if he didn’t respond, the man would leave him alone. When the man began to pull his trousers and undershorts down, it was useless to pretend any longer. He looked at the man and said, “Don’t! Please don’t!” his voice breaking in his fear.
The man looked up at him and smiled. “I won’t hurt you, beautiful boy. I just want to make you feel good.” The boy felt his penis begin to swell again, betraying him. Soon it was poking up once again at the tent roof. “That’s a good boy,” the man breathed quietly. “I want to show you something new tonight.” He leaned over the boy’s groin and kissed his penis before moving down and taking his testicles in his mouth. The boy was horrified. This was something he had never dreamed of. He tried to scream as Stephan had told him to, but nothing would come out. After a moment the man moved his mouth up and licked his penis. Then he took the boy’s penis into his mouth, moving his head slowly up and down. Again the boy felt the tension rise in his groin. This time, he arched his back a little as he came in the man’s mouth. The man continued moving up and down, sucking gently, even after the spasms had stopped. Taking his mouth off the boy’s penis he licked it gently, making sure he had all the cum. Looking at the boy again he smiled and asked, “Wasn’t that wonderful?” The boy didn’t respond.
They lay side by side, the man with his arms around the boy while the boy shook and wept silently. “What’s wrong?” the man asked. “Didn’t you enjoy that?”
Matthew shook his head.
“Well that’s too band,” said the man, “but now you’re going to do the same thing for me.”
“I can’t! I won’t!” whimpered the boy desperately. Again his voice cracked, from low to high, but he was so frightened he didn’t even notice.
“Oh, you will,” said the man. He reached over into his backpack and pulled out his fishing knife. Holding it so the point touched the boy’s scrotum, he said, “Because if you don’t, I’ll cut off one of your balls. And if you still don’t, I’ll cut off the other one. Do you know what happens to boys when they lose their balls?”
The boy shook his head fearfully.
“They never become true men. Their voices never finish changing. They’re never able to have sex. Do you want that to happen to you?”
Miserably, the boy again shook his head. He wanted to scream but was still unable to.
“Then do as I tell you.” The man lay back. “Come over here and lick my cock,” he ordered. Trembling, the boy did as he was told. “Lick all the way down and then lick my balls.” Fearfully the boy followed directions. “Good. Now, take my dick in your mouth.” Still quaking, tears streaming down his face, the boy did as he was told. “Now suck on it gently, sliding your mouth up and down...Not with your teeth; with your lips!” The boy continued, feeling the tension rise in the man. The man arched and a burst of cum splashed against the back of the boy’s throat, gagging him. Choking and coughing, but not daring to remove his mouth, he continued to move as more spasms of cum spurted in. When the man finished, he lay back and said, “Now, lick my dick just like I did for you.”
Finishing, the boy turned on his stomach and wept convulsively, constrictions clutching at his throat as he sobbed. Finally, he pulled his trousers up and began to exit the tent. “Where do you think you’re going?” demanded Uncle Bob.
“I have to piss.”
“You have five minutes.”
The boy went to the latrine they had dug and urinated. Then he returned to the tent area and lay down beside his cold fire, peering up in the moonlight at the shadowy branches. Soon, the man came out and found him. “Get back in the tent.” The boy shook his head. “I’m not asking you; I’m telling you.” Again the boy shook his head. The man stood looking down at him. Finally, sighing, he said, “Do you remember what I told you could happen to you?” The boy nodded. “Good. If you say so much as one word to anybody, I swear I’ll do it.” With that, he turned and re-entered the tent.
The boy lay awake the rest of the night. Eventually, his shaking calmed and his tears stopped. He watched the moon move across the sky. He watched the sky begin to lighten. He listened to the birds awakening and small creatures moving in the brush as the light filtered through the leaves overhead. In time, boys began to emerge from their tents, some of them coming over to him, laughing. One of the boys looked down at him asking, “What are you doing out here?”
“I got hot in the tent, so I came out to cool off.” They laughed again, all except Stephan, who gazed at him thoughtfully. He brushed the dirt off Matthew’s uniform and then sat beside him as the boy started to cook his breakfast.
Matthew looked sideways at Stephan, who was a little older than he. He’d looked at him several times previously, but never before when they were so close to each other. He knew the boy was gregarious and fun-loving. Now he realized that Stephan was a little bigger than he was. The older boy was beginning to fill out well, but was definitely not tending towards fat. His face was broad but well-defined and framed by dark, curly, jet-black hair, which he wore full. His dark eyes were set in deep hollows, so that at times it was difficult to tell whether or not they were open. His friendly, cheerful smile and his sense of humor made him popular among his contemporaries, although occasionally his jokes did not endear him to his teachers. Girls thought he was sexy, boys thought he was too cute, but everybody found him highly attractive.
Looking at Matthew, Stephan said, “He did it again, didn’t he?” Matthew, staring into the fire, blushed bright red. “Shit!” exclaimed Stephan. “Why didn’t you yell like I told you to?”
In a voice so low Stephan could barely make out the words, Matthew said, “I couldn’t. I was too scared.”
“I think he’s getting worse,” mused Stephan. “We need to find a way to stop him. I’ll get back to you on this. There’s no reason why you or any other boy should have to put up with this abuse.” Once again he gently patted Matthew on the shoulder and departed. After he was gone, Matthew realized that he had enjoyed the boy’s soft touch and wondered what that meant.
Uncle Bob kept them busy all day, cooking, putting up and taking down tents, practicing first aid, and finally, running an obstacle course. Parents began arriving about 4:30. Matthew’s mother helped him put his belongings in the car. As they drove home she said, “You’re very quiet. Did you have a good time?”
He nodded.
“What did you do?”
“Oh, just scout stuff. Hiking, cooking, pitching tents, stuff like that.” Try as she might, she could not get another word out of him.
At dinner that night, his parents talked and tried unsuccessfully to engage him. He stared down at his plate and ate little. “Are you sick?” asked his mother.
He shook his head.
“Then what’s wrong?” his father asked.
“Nothing...Can I be excused now?” he asked in the soprano half of his voice, which really annoyed him. It always seemed that his voice was high when he was anxious. He wished it would just finish changing so he had some control over it.
Leaving the table, he went to his room and tried unsuccessfully to read. Then he tried drawing, a favorite activity and one in which he could usually lose himself, but he came up with nothing but black scribbles. Finally, he went to bed and cried himself to sleep.CHAPTER 3
On Monday, Matthew rode his bicycle to school as usual. He had a terrible day, unable to concentrate on anything. Monday was usually his favorite day because he had art last period, but on this day he couldn’t paint anything that didn’t resemble a dark, amorphous blob. His teacher asked him about it, but he was unable to put his dark feelings into words, so he said little.
At home in his room after school, he heard the doorbell ring. A moment later his mother called to him, saying there was a friend at the door. A friend, he wondered, thinking that he didn’t have any friends. Reluctantly he went downstairs and saw Stephan at the door. “We need to talk,” said the older boy. “Is there some place more private?” Matthew shrugged and motioned to follow him upstairs. In Matthew’s bedroom, Stephan sat on the bed and Matthew sat apart from him in his chair. Stephan said, “We need to talk about what happened on the trip.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” replied Matthew.
“I think there is, but I think you’re too scared or too embarrassed or maybe both to talk.”
“Stephan, I really did appreciate it when you talked with me at my fire in the mornings. It helped me realize I wasn’t as alone as I thought at first, but I just can’t talk about it.”
After a pause, Stephan said, “Well, let’s try this. I’ll ask you some questions. If the answer’s yes, you don’t need to say anything. If the answer is no, then you need to tell me. OK?”
Matthew shrugged.
“First, did Uncle Bob touch you inappropriately on either or both nights?” Silence. “Did he jerk you off?” More silence. “Did he do anything else to you?” Silence. “Did he suck your dick?” Stephan asked in surprise. More silence, but this time Matthew got bright red. “My God! Did he make you suck him?” Continued silence. “Jesus, Matthew, no wonder you can’t talk about it. Did you try to resist?” Silence. “Did he threaten you?” Matthew looked down and gave a slight nod. “Shit! Damn him to hell! OK, Matthew, I get the picture. He never sucked or threatened either me or Billy, but then, we never tried to resist. Billy and I think he needs to be stopped — Now! Do you agree?”
This time Matthew said, “Yes.”
“OK. We’re going to the police tonight, and we need you to go with us. Can you do that?”
Matthew shook his head.
“Why?”
“Because you were right. I’m embarrassed and I’m scared shitless. If he found out I went to the police, he’d do terrible things to me, and I have no idea what my parents would do. I know you’re trying to help me, but I just can’t do it.”
“Fuck. He’s got you terrified. OK. Billy and I will go for now, but the police may want to talk to you.”
“I can’t. Can’t you just not tell them about me?”
“I don’t know. I think at some point it’s going to have to come out.” With that, Stephan went over to Matthew and tried to give him a little hug before he departed.
“Don’t touch me!” exclaimed Matthew, pulling back.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I just don’t want anybody to touch me.”
“Shit. He really got into your head, didn’t he? All right. I promise I won’t touch you until you say it’s OK. I’ll see you in school tomorrow.” At the bottom of the stairs, Matthew’s mother asked Stephan if anything had happened on the trip. “Yes,” replied Stephan. “I’m trying to get Matthew to talk about it, but so far I haven’t had much luck. I think eventually you’ll find out, but right now he’s just very afraid.”
“Of what?” asked Mrs. Long, astonished.
“I’m sorry, but I think he has to tell you that. If I said anything he would see it as betrayal, and he doesn’t need any more betrayal right now.” With that, Stephan left.
Matthew’s mother went up to his room but she couldn’t get him to say anything at all. That night at dinner he was silent, and he spent the evening crying softly on his bed.
On Tuesday, Matthew returned to another unproductive school day. He did see Stephan, but not when they could talk. From the time he got home, he lay on his bed until dinner. Once again at dinner, although his parents tried to draw him out, he said nothing.
As they were finishing dinner, the doorbell rang. Matthew’s father answered the door and Matthew heard him ask, “What’s the problem, officer?”
Matthew heard a voice reply, “We need to talk with your son.”
Oh, Crap! thought Matthew.
“Why? Is he in trouble?”
“Not at all. We just need to talk with him. This is Janice Harding, from Children’s Protective Services. She wants to ask Matthew some questions.”
Damn! What do I say to them? Matthew wondered.
His father called him and his mother and everybody went into the living room where the officer introduced himself and Mrs. Harding to Matthew and his mother. The adults all sat while Matthew curled up in a chair with his head down.
“Matthew,” began Mrs. Harding, “can you tell us what happened to you on the camping trip?”
Matthew said nothing, but a tear trickled down his scarlet cheek.
“Did somebody touch you in a bad way?”
At that, Mrs. Long gasped. “Matthew, dear, tell us what happened.”
Matthew simply stared at his knees.
“Matthew,” Mrs. Harding continued, “we know you didn’t do anything wrong, but we need to know what happened. Who touched you?” Matthew did not respond. “Would you feel more comfortable talking with a man you could trust instead of a woman?” After a moment, Matthew nodded, almost imperceptibly. “I can arrange that, but not until tomorrow morning. Again the little nod. “All right. Mrs. Long, if I could have your phone number I can call you in the morning and tell you who will see Matthew at the CPS building.”
As she gave Mrs. Harding the phone number Mrs. Long begged, “Isn’t there anything you can tell us?”
“At this point, no. I have some privileged information which I can’t yet share. Meanwhile, I think you should simply try to comfort Matthew and make him feel secure without asking him any questions.”
“If that’s what we have to do, then we will, for now.”
After the visitors left, the three family members sat without speaking for a long time. Finally, Mr. Long said, “Matthew, I’m not going to ask you any questions, but I want to remind you that your mother and I both love you very much, and, no matter what has happened, it will not affect our love. Do you understand that?”
Matthew looked up, tears in his eyes, and nodded. “I just can’t talk about it, Dad. I’m really embarrassed and scared,” and he began sobbing. The three of them sat in silence until finally, when his sobs had subsided, Matthew went to his room. In time they all went to bed, but nobody slept very well.
Wednesday morning, as they were having breakfast, the phone rang. Mrs. Long answered, listened, and then said, “I’ll have him there at 9:00.” Hanging up, she turned to Matthew saying, “We have an appointment at CPS.”
“Should I come too?” Mr. Long asked.
“I don’t think so. If they need you, I’m sure they’ll call.”
He nodded and went to work. At 8:30 Matthew and his mother departed for the CPS building in town. When they arrived, they were shown into a small but comfortable waiting room. After a short wait a door opened and a pleasant looking young man stepped out. Introducing himself as Warren Johnson, a child psychologist, he invited Matthew into his office. When Mrs. Long rose to go with them, he politely but firmly said he needed to talk with Matthew alone.
Mr. Johnson and Matthew went into the office, Mr. Johnson seating himself in a comfortable chair and motioning Matthew to the sofa. “Matthew, I understand you’re having a very difficult time. I’m here to help you, not to hurt you in any way. Whatever you say in this office does not go beyond that door unless you give your permission. That’s the law, Matthew, and you can trust it one hundred percent. Do you understand?” Matthew nodded, but kept his head down.
“Now, let me tell you what I already know and then I want to ask you some questions. OK?” Matthew nodded. “I know that two of your friends went to the police but you did not. Can you tell me why?” Matthew shook his head. “OK. I also know that you were on a scout camping trip and that you slept in a tent with the Scout Master. I know that he touched you in inappropriate ways in that tent. I believe that he threatened you, but I don’t know how. I want to ask you some questions to just take you through the two nights. It’ll be painful for you, but if you can talk about it, that will, in the long run, help the pain.” Matthew stared at the floor without responding.
“All right, on that first night in the tent, did Uncle Bob say anything wrong to you or touch you before you went to sleep?”
For the first time, Matthew looked up, saying angrily, “Don’t call him ‘Uncle Bob!’ He’s not my uncle and I hate him!”
“OK. How about calling him ‘Mr. Sinclair?’ Is that better?” Matthew nodded. “Now can you answer my question?”
“He didn’t say or do anything wrong before I went to sleep.”
“OK. Did you wake up the middle of the night?” Matthew looked down and nodded. “And what woke you?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Why?”
“I just can’t.”
Mr. Johnson waited a moment before asking, “Are you afraid?” Matthew nodded. “Of me?” After a pause, Matthew shook his head. “Of Mr. Sinclair?” Again he nodded. “Are you afraid of anything else?” Once again, Matthew nodded. “Are you afraid you’ll be punished for what happened?” A tear formed in Matthew’s eye as he nodded. “Matthew, I know you haven’t done anything wrong. Whatever happened, it wasn’t your fault. Certainly, I won’t punish you, and, remember, I can’t say anything to anybody else, even your parents, without your permission. I think you need to trust me and tell me what woke you up.”
“I can’t.”
They sat in the office virtually silent for nearly half an hour, Mr. Johnson hoping that Matthew would begin to talk and Matthew hoping that he could leave. Occasionally the doctor asked a question but got no response. Finally he said, “Matthew, I know that talking about all this is very hard for you, but I want you to think about it before you come back. Mr. Sinclair’s a pedophile; he’s sick. He has to be stopped and that won’t happen unless you tell me what occurred in the tent. But even more important for you is that you have all this shame and fear and lack of trust built up inside you, and if you don’t let it out it will burst. Please, please think about this before you come back tomorrow.” Slowly Matthew nodded.
With that, they went out together and the doctor told Mrs. Long that he needed to see Matthew again in the morning. On the way home Matthew’s mother tried to talk with him, but he was totally unresponsive. She asked him if he wanted to go to school. He said no. When they arrived home, Matthew went to his room and lay on his bed, thoughts once again tumbling through his mind. He was exhausted, and at some point he fell asleep, not awakening until his mother brought him some supper, which he picked at only to please her before he fell back on the bed. He did think about what Mr. Johnson had said; he thought a lot. He remembered the psychologist had said if he didn’t talk about it he would burst with his bottled up feelings. He remembered the man had told him that whatever happened wasn’t his fault. But he couldn’t bring himself to the point of talking about what had happened and he no longer had any idea who he could trust.
In the morning, Matthew and his mother returned to the CPS building. In his office, the doctor asked Matthew if he had thought about what he had said the day before. Matthew nodded. “Can you tell me now what happened in the tent?”
“No. I can’t.”
“Are you still scared?” Matthew nodded. “Are you ashamed?” Again the boy nodded. “Do you trust me?” Matthew shook his head.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t know who I can trust anymore.”
“Do you remember what I told you about things not going out of this office and that the law makes that very clear?”
Matthew nodded.
Mr. Johnson said, “Matthew, I promise you that you can trust me. I work with a lot of kids who have been abused. I have never betrayed their trust and I never will.” Matthew sat in silence as Mr. Johnson thought and studied him for a time before going to a shelf and returning with a naked male doll. He held it out to Matthew, who took it. Then he asked, “Can you show me what happened?”
“No.”
“Too scary?” Matthew nodded. A pause. “Too embarrassing?” Again the nod.
They sat in silence for several minutes before Mr. Johnson said, “Matthew, I know that you were sexually abused. I know that it’s very hard to talk about. I have other patients who are dealing with the same problem and it’s a real struggle for them too. Honestly, the ones who can talk about it begin to feel better, but the ones who can’t continue to have all the feelings you have now. I know that it wasn’t your fault. But for your own sake you need to talk about it. If you don’t, it will affect you for your whole life.”
After more silence, Matthew looked down at the doll. With tears in his eyes he began to rub the doll’s back. He looked up at Mr. Johnson, who nodded encouragingly. Then, as the tears poured down his face, he turned the doll over and rubbed its chest. Then he stopped.
“What happened then?” asked Mr. Johnson, gently.
Feeling overwhelmed, Matthew cried, “I can’t! I can’t! I can’t!” More tears welled in his eyes. He put down the doll, took some tissues which Mr. Johnson offered him and tried to dry his face.
“It’s OK, Matthew. We’ll rest for a minute.” They both sat, looking at the doll. Then, without saying anything, and with tears still flowing, Matthew reached down and began rubbing the doll’s penis.
“Thank you, Matthew. Believe me I do know how hard that was. Remember, you don’t have to be afraid of me or anything in this office. Now, let me be sure I have this right. Mr. Sinclair rubbed your back, and then your chest, and then your penis. Is that correct?” Matthew nodded. “Did you reach a climax?”
Matthew looked up. “What does that mean?”
“Do you know what it means to ‘come’?”
Matthew looked horrified but finally nodded.
“And did you?”
Still the horrified look before another nod.
“You’re doing fine Matthew. Now, did Mr. Sinclair tell you to do the same to him?” Matthew reluctantly nodded. “Did you do it?” A long pause before another hesitant nod. “And when you were done did he tell you that what happened was a secret between you?”
Surprised, Matthew asked, “How did you know that?”
“Because that’s typically what abusers say. Of course they don’t want anybody else to know. Now, did anything else happen that night?” Matthew shook his head. “Was the next night different?” Matthew nodded. “Can you tell me about it?” Matthew shook his head.
After waiting a few minutes, Mr. Johnson said, “OK, Matthew, I think we’ll leave that for another day. Can you be thinking about how to tell me about the second night?”
“Yes,” the boy said in a soft voice.
They went together out into the outer office, where Mr. Johnson said that Matthew had made some progress but he wanted to see him again the following Tuesday.
On the way home, Matthew’s mother tried to get him to talk, but he rode silently and went again to his bedroom when he got home.
That night he worried about talking about the rest of the abuse. He lay shivering, trying to decide if he would or could. He knew that Mr. Johnson had said he would feel better when he talked about it, but so far he didn’t. He still wasn’t sure he could trust Mr. Johnson, although he knew the man hadn’t told his mother anything he had learned. Could he trust the man? Could he bring himself to talk about the rest of what happened? He finally fell asleep still fearful and anxious.
CHAPTER 4
On Friday, school again passed slowly for the miserable boy. He was unable to concentrate on any of his work. His inability to pay attention in addition to his two absences that week made his teachers begin to wonder what was wrong. The only bright spot in the day was when he sat with Stephan at lunch. Unable to get into what had happened to Matthew, they talked about other subjects and began to realize they had quite a bit in common. Stephan asked if he could visit on Saturday, and Matthew agreed.
While Matthew still said next to nothing at dinner, he looked a little less sad. In the evening, back in his room, he began to draw. He drew a grotesque, knife-wielding, hulking monster with slavering lips and blood-stained teeth and claws. Lying on the ground in front of the monster was a naked boy, tears flowing out of his eyes. The boy’s huge penis was pointing accusingly straight up at the monster. Finishing the picture, he studied it, sighed and went to bed, but sleep did not come for several hours. When it finally came, it was fitful and filled with nightmares.
On Saturday, Stephan arrived in mid-morning. The first time Stephan had visited, he was so focused on trying to get Matthew to go to the police he hadn’t even really noticed the boy’s room. This time, when he entered the room, he took a few moments to look around. Being on the third floor, the room had two sloping walls angling down from a peak to about four feet from the floor, where they became vertical. Each had two dormer windows. Except for a small landing at the top of the stairs, with a bathroom to the left and a closet to the right, the room stretched the entire length and width of the house. There was a twin bed, a desk with the usual clutter on it, and most prominently, an easel and a draftsman’s table. Beside them, against the end wall were shelves full of art supplies – paints, including oils and water colors, brushes, markers, charcoal, pastels, all sorts of pencils, three or four kinds of glue, as well as materials for constructions. As he sat on the bed, Stephan looked about in wonder while Matthew again sat in his desk chair.
Finally, Stephan asked, “How are you holding up, Matthew?”
“Not well.”
“What can I do to help?”
“Nothing...Stephan, Ever since Black Weekend — that’s what I call it in my mind — I don’t trust anybody.”
“You can trust me, Matthew.”
“I guess I know that, but how can I ever figure out who I can trust and who I can’t? I was supposed to be able to trust a Scout Master but look what happened.”
“I honestly don’t know, Matthew. I just know that, if we can’t trust anybody, we’ll be terribly miserable and lonely. So I suppose it comes down to being willing to take chances, knowing that usually you can trust people but that every once in a while you can get hurt.” Stephan continued, “Matthew, have you seen anybody like a psychologist or a psychiatrist?” Matthew said he had seen one twice. “Is that why you were out of school for two days?”
Matthew nodded. “I was so upset each day by the time we finished that I just couldn’t go back to school.”
“Did it help?”
“I don’t know. His name’s Mr. Johnson and he’s a psychologist at CPS. The first time I went I wasn’t able to tell him anything. The second time, I finally told him about my first night. It was really hard, and when he asked me about the second one, I just couldn’t go on. Now he wants to see me on Tuesday and I don’t know whether I can tell him any more or not.”
“Do you trust him?”
“I think maybe a little, but how do I know? He says that according to the law he can’t tell anybody else what I say even if he wanted to, but I still don’t know that he wouldn’t. What if he told my parents? That really scares me.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m ashamed, and I have no idea how they would react. They might get mad at me. They might even stop loving me. I can’t risk that.”
“Do you want to know what I think?” Matthew nodded. “First of all, I don’t believe your parents would get mad or stop loving you, because nothing that happened was your fault. There was absolutely nothing you could have done or that you need to be ashamed of. I know. I’ve been there.” Matthew looked at him thoughtfully. “Second, I think he’s right about the law, and I think he would lose his job if he told anybody. So I don’t believe he would tell anybody. Someday soon, Matthew, you have to trust a grownup, and he seems like a good bet to me.”
When Stephan left, Matthew thanked him several times for trying to help him. He knew Stephan was right. He had to trust somebody and he had to talk about what happened if he ever wanted to feel better, but he still didn’t know if he could talk with Mr. Johnson about it.
The weekend passed slowly, with the boy still saying little and his parents worrying.
On Monday Matthew biked to school. The day went a little better, but he was still so distracted that the other boys in his classes began to laugh at him, which made him furious. Again he sat with Stephan at lunch. Although he didn’t say so, he thought that Stephan was the most attractive boy he had ever seen. When he looked at him he immediately sprang an erection, so he had to look away and let it subside before he left the table.
Bicycling home, Matthew thought again about his meeting with Mr. Johnson the next morning. Deep in his thoughts he rounded a corner near his house and nearly ran into Mr. Sinclair, who grabbed the bike, forcing him to stop.
“You little bastard,” snarled the man. “You told the police, didn’t you?”
“No! I didn’t say anything to the police or anybody else! I promise!”
“That’s a lie because I’ve been arrested. I’m tempted to beat the shit out of you right now.” Matthew was terrified. “I’m out on bail until the trial in a few weeks. If you say anything at all at that trial and I go to jail, I swear, when I get out, I’ll do to you exactly what I described the other day. Do you understand?”
The boy, feeling cold from head to toe and silently crying, looked down and nodded.
“Don’t forget or I’ll have your balls!” declared the man, releasing the bike and walking away.
Struggling for control, Matthew wiped his eyes and walked his bike to his house, where he went upstairs and closed the door. Soon there came a knock on the door and his mother walked in. “Matthew, did something happen today?”
Matthew nodded.
“Can you tell me about it?”
He shook his head, hard.
“Can you talk with Mr. Johnson about it?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
“I know you’re suffering terribly, Matthew. I know you’re very afraid. That’s not going to stop until you tell somebody about it. Please think about telling Mr. Johnson. OK?” Matthew agreed that he would think about it.
He again had frightening dreams that night, waking up several times in a sweat. Three times he had to change his pajamas and sheets before he was finally able to get a few hours of sleep.
In the morning, he and his mother drove to CPS. Mr. Johnson greeted them and took Matthew into his office, where they sat as they had before. The doll was on the sofa beside Matthew.
“Matthew, how are you today? Do you feel any better for having told me about the first night?”
“Not really...Well, maybe a little.”
“Then that’s why it’s important to tell me about the second one. You need to unload the whole story. So let’s talk about that second night. Did something wake you up?”
“Yes,” the boy answered reluctantly.
“Tell me about it.”
“I don’t know that I can.”
“Can you show me?” Matthew had known that this moment was coming and he had tried to figure out what to do, so after gazing at the floor for several minutes, he sighed and went to the shelf and returned with a doll-sized shirt and trousers which he carefully put on the doll. Looking up to be sure that Mr. Johnson was watching, he proceeded to unbutton the shirt and pull down the pants. He looked up again.
“Good, Matthew. What happened next?”
“I can’t. It’s just too hard.”
“You can, Matthew. You were brave on Thursday and you can do it again. Just take your time and show me.”
Again, Matthew thought for several minutes before tearfully, hesitantly, he took hold of the doll’s penis, put his head down to it and made sucking sounds. He stopped and looked up, reaching for the tissues again.
“Thank you Matthew. That was very hard, wasn’t it?” Matthew nodded. “You should be proud of yourself for getting through it. Did Mr. Sinclair tell you to do the same thing to him?”
“Y...Y...Yes.”
“Did you?”
“Mr. Johnson, this is torture!”
“No it’s not, Matthew, even if it feels that way. What is torture is all the feelings you have inside which need to come out. Please trust me.”
Again there was a long silence. Finally the boy said, “I didn’t do it at first. I told him I didn’t want to, but then he made me.”
“What did he do?”
At that Matthew began to sob aloud, huge, convulsive sobs. He fell sideways on the sofa, covering his head. Mr. Johnson waited patiently. Finally he asked, “Did Mr. Sinclair threaten you?”
From the sofa came a muffled, “Y...Y...Yes.”
“How did he threaten you?’
“I-I just can’t say it.”
“OK, Matthew, I’m impressed with how much progress we’ve made so far. Let me see if I have the second night straight. Nothing happened when you went to bed, but during the night you felt Mr. Sinclair unbuttoning your shirt and pulling down your trousers. Then he sucked on your penis. Is that right?” Matthew nodded. “And you reached a climax again.” Another nod. “In his mouth?” A nod. Then he told you to do it to him, and when you refused, he threatened you. Then you did it. Another nod. Did he climax in your mouth?” A sobbing nod.
“All right, Matthew, I think we’ve done enough for today.” Matthew looked up, relieved. “I want to reassure you that you did nothing to be ashamed of. You had no choice but to do what Mr. Sinclair told you to do. And again, you did very well and I do know how difficult it was. For now I think you need to go home and rest. Try to live in the days ahead as normally as you can, because that will help you. I’ll see you again soon. Before we go, may I have your permission to tell your parents what happened?”
“NO! NO! NO!” Horror flooded his face.
“Are you afraid they won’t love you or are you embarrassed?”
“Both.”
OK. At some point soon they’ll need to know, but we can figure out together how that will be done. For now, as I promised, I won’t say a word without your permission.”
With that, they went out of the office. Mr. Johnson told Matthew’s mother that they had made good progress but that he needed to see Matthew again, perhaps several times.
“How much does this cost?” she asked a bit fearfully.
“Nothing. This is a service we provide. Please don’t ask Matthew about any of this unless he volunteers information. It’ll all come out eventually, but first Matthew and I need to agree about how that will happen. Could I see him on Friday at the same time?”
Mrs. Long agreed, and together she and Matthew left. Arriving home, Matthew went straight to his room, closing the door. Later, his mother brought him some lunch. By the time they sat down to dinner, she thought he looked a little better, but he still said nothing.
After he left the table and went to his bedroom, Mr. Long told Matthew’s mother that he had visited the police, who had told him they believed that Matthew had been sexually abused by Mr. Sinclair. They didn’t yet know the details, but that was undoubtedly what was upsetting Matthew. They agreed not to bring it up at present in order to give Mr. Johnson a chance to help him work through his feelings.
In his bedroom, Matthew took out a piece of paper and began, once again, to draw. Again he drew the monster, larger this time and more frightening. While the drawing was in black, he used red to show blood dripping from the monster’s fangs, claws and knife. In the monster’s other paw were two small, round, bloody objects. Then he drew the crying boy lying down with his huge erect penis pointing upward. He added blood where the testicles would be. Thinking for a minute he drew a man standing over and protecting the boy, with a sword raised in his right hand and a shield in his left. He gazed at it thoughtfully before putting it with his first drawing.
Tuesday night was another struggle for him, with bad dreams, cold sweats, and waking to change pajamas and linen. Wednesday passed slowly and miserably and the night was just as bad.
After school on Thursday Stephan came to visit. He asked Matthew again how he was doing. Matthew said he was still feeling terrible, although he had moments when he felt a little better. Then he asked, “Did you know that Sinclair was arrested?” Stephan shook his head. “When I was coming home on Monday he was waiting for me at the corner. Stephan, he said that he’d been arrested but was out on bail and if he went to jail, when he got out he would find me and do terrible things to me. Now I’m more scared than ever.”
“Damn. I wonder why they let him out on bail. I guess it was because he’s an ‘upstanding citizen’ and not a flight risk, but the cops need to know that he could really hurt you. They don’t, do they?”
Matthew shook his head.
Stephan asked if he had made any progress with his psychologist and Matthew talked about telling Mr. Johnson about the second night. “But I didn’t tell him how Sinclair threatened me,” he continued.
“Can you tell me?”
Matthew sighed. He was feeling an urgent need to tell somebody, but was afraid to trust anybody, even Stephan, to keep silent. Finally he asked, “Can I trust you, Stephan? Can I really trust you not to not talk about it with anybody?”
“Absolutely. Anything you say to me won’t be repeated to anybody else, I promise.”
Matthew went to his bed and lay face down, thinking. After a long silence, he began quietly, “When Sinclair told me to suck his dick and I refused, he took out a knife and held it first in front of my face and then down pricking my balls. Then he said that if I didn’t do what he wanted he would cut off one of my balls, and if I still didn’t do it, he would cut off the other one. He asked me if I knew what happened to boys who didn’t have any balls, and when I said no, he told me my voice would never finish changing and I would never be able to have sex.”
By this time, he was sobbing, tears pouring into his pillow. Stephan instinctively reached over to touch him and then, remembering what Matthew had said a few days ago, pulled his hand back. Instead, he gave forth with the longest string of swear words Matthew had ever heard. There was silence for a moment, and then Stephan heard giggling muffled by a pillow. “You liked that, did you?”
Matthew looked up and, for the first time since before the camping trip, smiled. “Jesus, Stephan, where did you learn all those words?”
“Well, I have an older brother and I listen carefully. To be honest, I think that’s the first time I’ve said some of them and I’m not even sure what they mean, but somehow, they seemed to be called for. Matthew, you have to tell your psychologist about this.”
“I don’t think I can, not yet anyway.”
“Well, you at least have to tell him that Mr. Sinclair threatened you again.”
“I’ll try.”
Finally sighing, Matthew sat up on the bed beside Stephan. Stephan looked at him, saying, “Matthew, I get the feeling from seeing you around school that you don’t have many friends. Is that so?”
“Yeah, I suppose it is, probably because I’m so shy.”
“Well, I want to be your friend if you’ll let me. I think you’re a cool kid, and I want to get to know you better. What kind of things do you like to do?”
A cool kid!? Never in my life have I been called cool, Matthew thought before answering, “Art is my passion, but I love to read, too.”
“Do you have any pictures you’ve done that I can see?”
Matthew brought out a few that he’d done at school, and Stephan admired them. “Anything else?” he asked.
Hesitating, Matthew then pulled out his two monster pictures and showed them to Stephen. “My God, Matthew. These are wonderful, but they’re really scary. When did you do them?” Matthew told him. “Is this how you’re feeling inside?”
“I suppose it is. I didn’t even really think when I drew the first one. It just came out. The second one I thought about when I added the knife, the blood, and the balls.”
“Who’s the man standing over you with the sword looking like he’s protecting you?”
“I guess it’s Mr. Johnson, my psychologist. I know he’s trying his best to help me, and I’m beginning to trust him.”
“Matthew, I really think you should show him these. They may tell him a lot that can help you. Maybe then you won’t have to actually say anything scary.” Matthew nodded.
“I have to get home. Would you come to my house on Saturday so we can talk?” Matthew nodded. Stephan turned to him. “Matthew, I really want to give you a little hug, but I won’t if you don’t want me to.”
“I just don’t think I can do that, but thanks for the thought. You may not know it, but you’re helping me a lot.”
Stephan gave Matthew a little wave and left, reminding him that they were going to meet on Saturday.
That evening at dinner, Matthew was a little more talkative than he had been, and he ate enough for three boys as his parents sent silent signals to each other across the table.
When he went back to his bedroom, Matthew took out another piece of paper, again beginning by drawing the drooling monster with the bloody fangs and claws. He drew the prone boy with the penis and the bloody crotch. He drew the bloody knife and the testicles. Then he drew the man with the sword and the shield. Pausing a moment, he drew another figure also standing over the boy. This figure was a little smaller than the man and had black curly hair. It too had a sword and shield, threatening the monster. He took out the other two pictures and put them side by side, gazing down at them. A little smile of satisfaction came over his face. Rolling the three of them up he put them where he could retrieve them the next morning to take to Mr. Johnson.CHAPTER 5
Following breakfast on Friday, Matthew and his mother rode to the CPS building, Matthew holding his rolled pictures in his lap. His mother asked what he had, but he simply replied they were some pictures he wanted to show to Mr. Johnson.
“May I see them?” she asked.
“Maybe some time. I’m not ready yet.” His mother was a little hurt but she didn’t press the point.
When Matthew and the psychologist were seated in his office, Mr. Johnson asked Matthew how he was doing.
“Terribly!”
“Has anything happened since the last time we met?”
Casting his eyes down, Matthew replied very quietly, “No, but something happened earlier. Stephan thinks I should tell you about it.”
“Who’s Stephan?”
“He’s a friend of mine from scouts and from school. He’s one of the boys who went to the police about Sinclair.”
Mr. Johnson noted the omission of the “Mister,” but said nothing. “OK. So what can you tell me?”
Matthew sat, staring at his lap. Finally, he began. “When I was bicycling home from school on Monday, I was ambushed by Sinclair. He swore at me and accused me of telling the police. When I said I hadn’t, he called me a liar and threatened to beat me up right then. He told me he had been arrested and said that if he went to jail he would do terrible things to me when he got out. I was so scared I couldn’t even ride my bike the rest of the way home; I had to walk.”
Mr. Johnson thought for several moments before saying quietly, “Matthew, I need your permission to tell the police that Mr. Sinclair threatened you twice.”
Matthew paled. “But then he’ll come after me again and I’m terrified of him.”
“No, Matthew, we need to get him off the streets. If I tell the police they can get his bail revoked. That’ll put him back in jail. Then you’ll be safe. If I don’t tell them, you’ll be in danger until the trial.”
“If I’d known you wanted to tell the police, I wouldn’t have told you about it.”
“But I’m glad you did. We need to keep you safe. However, again, I can’t tell them without you’re permission. May I have it?”
The boy sighed heavily and finally nodded. Then he asked, “Mr. Johnson, you said that Sinclair was sick, and you used a word I don’t know. What does it mean?”
“The word was ‘pedophile’,” Mr. Johnson answered. “It means somebody who has sex with children. That’s different from being ‘gay’. Do you know that word?” Matthew nodded. “OK, gays want to have sex with men about their own age, not with kids. Do you understand?” Matthew nodded.
“Good. And Matthew, I want you to remember to tell the prosecutor about Mr. Sinclair’s threats when he interviews you. What Mr. Sinclair did is called ‘intimidating a witness,’ and he could get even more jail time for that.”
“What’s a prosecutor?”
“It’s a lawyer who presents the evidence against the accused.&r
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