[This account was written by an incarcerated individual. All identifying information has been altered. This is the first of a number of narratives that I am receiving in letters. The other  narratives will be added as I receive them and am able to prepare them for the site. The first part of this narrative appears to be something that was originally written for a sex offender treatment program.]

I have never given much thought to the situation that led to my being locked up. I was what you would consider isolated socially when I offended.

My concerns for sex offender therapy are my lack of trust in people, fear of what people think of me, and fear of letting people down. Also groups make me anxious ...

In my work life I can supervise large numbers of people and direct them on their jobs; but away from work is where my problems start, especially when I'm off my medication: the longer I am off, the more my life takes over and I'm along for the ride.

When I was a coach/referee for soccer, basketball and softball for all ages of children, I can say with 100% certainty that I never had one "sexual" thought at all. I just enjoyed seeing them enjoying themselves. They put their hearts into the game. If they lost, their hearts were broken; I didn't enjoy that, but it was part of the game. They were all winners to me.

So let me be extremely clear about my position. I don't promote child pornography, nor any illegal acts against minors. I support nonjudgmental sex offender therapy. I'm not judgmental about other's past offenses or the charges that brought them to prison.

I have never accepted the fact that I'm not totally sure of whether I'm heterosexual, bisexual, or gay.

... When I was 10 1/2 years old in the Boy Scouts, the assistant scout leader showed me close friendship. He helped me get my awards, picked me up to take me out to eat or see a movie, or just took me on a drive in the country. I enjoyed the friendship. I had brothers and sisters, but we didn't do much together. Then on my first camp out he set up a tent with me. He asked me to keep a secret between us since we are friends.

I said yes.

He said "I'd like to teach you something that if you really truly care about someone you would do for them, no matter what, to show your care. Do you care about me?"

I said "yes!"

He undressed me completely, I was on my sleeping bag. He then began playing with my dick. Then he asked me to do him.

I said "It doesn't feel right."

He said, ''you said you care to care about me. That's what people do for each other who care. They allow others to be happy doing for them. You do wish for me to be happy and show you care for me?"

I answered, "Yes!"

We turned me over, you know. It was real painful. I asked him to stop, but he said it only shows you care. He didn't stop. Then he got up and dressed.

Then a short time passed while I was laying there crying. Then a different boy scout, just a little older than me, came in to sleep in the tent with me. The boy said "the counselor told me to comfort you and make you feel better. It gets better. It was hard my first time too."

I said "I'm fine." I still had tears in my eyes.

He said, "No you're not, I have been there!" He put my underwear on me. Then he got undressed to his underclothing and he held me, rubbing my chest and hair. I fell asleep crying in his arms.

The next two nights the scout leader did the same thing to me. He left me crying but the other boy made me feel better.

Over the next five years sometimes the scout leader took me home and picked me up when we went on camp outs. He was always showing me new things to do for him. It seems like after six months, every time we were together, even if Scout meetings, he and I were doing something together, and he was always saying the same thing every time: "You show you care if you do this for me. It always shows you care about someone when you do it for them".

I started staying the weekend with the boy from scouts. He made me feel better. Then after a year as friends we started doing things for each other, if we felt like it. Most of the time it was just holding each other.

After the first year the counselor started to get other scout leaders. He would say, "you care for me, right?

"Yes!"

"Go in with him and let him do what I do to you. Show you care. I promise you, he will be easy on you." I did as he requested. That lasted for a few years until I turned 14.

I told my friend after the first time. He said he did the same to him. "That's why he put us together, because I understand what is going on in your life with him. When we boys do it together to show each other we care and love each other, we truly care". Then he said we were not alone. "When you stay this weekend I will explain."

When I went over to stay the weekend he introduced me to other boys who were going through the same thing. Their ages were 8 to 15 years old. They all stayed the weekend, each telling his story to everyone. Some were from the scouts and others not. The one I still remember the best was the eight-year-old. His brothers and dad had been doing him since he was five. They called him the girl of the house. We all promised to keep each other's secrets. I didn't feel we were lonely anymore. We were a group of boys who really loved each other and shared our hearts and our bodies with each other, "showing we care". When one was hurting, they would call and all of us would come together for support. None of us trusted adults or talked to adults about how we felt -- only to each other.

This was how my life was until I was 14 years old. Then the boys got older. We started growing apart. It was not what I wanted, but they wished to put it behind them. By the time I was 21 years old, none of them ever called anymore. I have over the years tried to get in touch with them all, and sometimes I did. They were glad to see me but they had family and kids who didn't know about anything that had happened. My friends had said nothing to them. They said they still cared very much for me and wished me the best in life. If I wished to call or meet away from the family, they would be glad to talk and help me. But, as one of them said, "I'm trying to keep the past life apart from my new life."

A few years later I felt like killing myself. I called my friend from scouts. He came down and spent the whole weekend at a hotel with me holding me. I felt like I was 11 years old again. All my cares in the whole world were gone. We talked all weekend. On Monday morning he said "Call me if you get like this again." But I never saw him again. I did try but his phone number was no good. I wrote to his address, and he did not live there anymore.

[This was in a note he added for me.]

The name of the eight year old boy in our group of friends was Michael. When he was in the group, he was still having sex with his brothers and dad. The 12-year-old brother stopped, and the other brother stopped when he was 14. But his dad continued until one day before his 17th birthday. On his birthday Michael asked me to come over at 6:00 AM in the morning. I figured something must be wrong. I showed up at 5:30. His dad told me to go to his room. I wished him a happy birthday. We hugged and kissed and then lay back on his bed holding hands and looking at each other. I ask why did he need me to come over at this time.

He said "My dad got me something for my birthday that you will not like, and I don't know how I feel about it. He is sending me to a private treatment unit for young boys that have been sexually mistreated. The treatment lasts for a year, but they said the person would be emotionally normal again."

I ask why his dad was doing this to him.

"My dad is dying. He is sorry for how he treated me, but I don't hold that against him. He was just showing he loved me and I was showing I loved him."

I was emotionally confused. We held each other for the next hour, and then had some cake and ice cream and watched cartoons together. I saw him after he got back from the treatment place. They changed him very much. His eyes didn't have that youthful energy. I tried to give him a hug. He said men don't hug. He shook my hand and said I'm "I'm glad to see you."

I said "I do miss you!"

He said "Men don't have emotional feelings for other men."

I was thinking, if his dad was still alive, I would kick him in the head for fucking up William's mind.

After that day I didn't see him anymore. He got married and had a child. He went in the service, and was very good to his child. His brothers didn't have a part of his life except at family get-togethers.

But I guess, like the movie "Stand By Me" said, we never have friends like we do when we are children.