Little Steve, Slave to a Sadistic Serial Killer at Age 4
****************Warning****************
If you’ve read the previous parts of my story, you know what this warning is about. This is my story of being trafficked from ages 4 to 6. Currently I’m four years old and this is at the beginning. I telling this in the way it happened when no sugarcoating, no metaphors, just the raw truth of what happened. What follows is graphic and violent almost beyond belief. Below are the links to the first four parts of my story if you wish to read it. This is very difficult to read, it was even more difficult to live through. Be warned this is very disturbing.
Little Steve, How I Survived Trafficking at age 4, 60 years ago. Triggers definitely Part 1
Little Steve, The Basement: A Four-Year-Old Shown His Fate Part 2
Little Steve, Sexual Programming, A Horror Story Part 3
Little Steve, I watched a boy killed, as a warning Part 4 Extreme Trigger Warning
Before I pick up the thread from my last part, I wanna share a little bit about what happened afterwards. For whatever reason, uncle Bill let me go. My family moved away to another part of the country. I resumed what I consider a normal childhood, I went to school, I made friends, I played. For the most part, I was a normal boy for I had no real conscious memory of this, and although it was in my subconscious from day to day, I was just a regular kid. As I grew up, I did normal kid stuff. I was a Cub Scout when I went into junior high I played in the school band. I became a Boy Scout and no nothing happened. For the most part, I was a pretty normal kid in a lot of ways, and a lot of ways I wasn’t. I have ADHD, I’m autistic, I have OCD, and if you know about kids like us, I was hypersexual. I’m not gonna get into that part of my life right now maybe later.
As I graduated high school I was very interested in medicine and in helping people. I was seriously considering becoming a doctor and my preferred specialty was emergency medicine. It would’ve been a huge commitment for like the next 15 to 20 years of my life, so I decided to become an EMT first so I could see if emergency medicine is really what I wanted to do. I absolutely loved it to the point, I didn’t even consider going to medical school anymore. I just love doing what I was doing. I was helping people, I was saving lives and I truly enjoyed it. After about five years. I started to become restless for a change and I moved out to San Diego, California. I became fascinated with the military, and I joined the Navy and became a NAVY Corpsman (medic). I went to work in the ICU at the Navy hospital doing critical care nursing and I absolutely loved it. Because of a medical condition I was retired, but I came back to the Navy hospital as a civilian and worked in infectious disease, preventive medicine, and working with people who have HIV.
Throughout my life helping people was a big theme for me, some of the other things, I was a reserved deputy for many years, I worked with challenged adults and kids in hippo therapy (horses). I was a big brother for eight years to a young man with ADHD and autism. I’ve volunteered in various capacities in other ways that help people. What I wanna convey to you is the fact that after all of the horrible things that happened to me, I spent a significant amount of my life helping people, and I think in a large part, it was because of what happened to me even though I didn’t remember it consciously. I always felt a need to help people and make their lives a little bit better.
Before we jump ahead, in my journal I talked about how I thought Sherman was gonna save me and keep me safe. And as a four-year-old, I wouldn’t understand how that would work other than what he promised.
Journal Entry September 7, 2025: 3:52 PM today’s session I was expecting more from the boy that died, but that hasn’t come at all. What I remember now uncle Bill was at his desk at home working on paperwork, Sherman was standing next to him and I was standing behind. Sherman asked uncle Bill, “Can I keep him?” Uncle Bill asked him, “You’re not getting attached, are you?” Sherman replied, “No father.” He lied. He lied to his father. This is a man that killed children with a baseball bat and he lied to him to protect me. Uncle Bill thought for a second then he said, “Yes.” He put it to his father in a way that his father would see it as Sherman following in his footsteps, allowing him to keep his first boy, his first slave, but he had to make sure that it wasn’t because of attachment to me. I can’t even imagine what uncle Bill would’ve done if he found Sherman lied to him about anything. This is a man who lived violence and the thought that his son would lie to him about something important was inconceivable. The consequences would’ve been terrible and I know why he did it, but I just couldn’t explain it. His father was a human trafficker who bought and sold children, killed them and tortured them. He killed them himself personally, with a baseball bat, and his son lied to him to protect me. This is the house he grew up in, this is the life he was born into and for the first time, I showed him love, he was raping me, but I still loved him. I looked up to him, and I smiled. I was happy to see him. I played with him. He held me in his arms. I hugged him, probably for the first time in his life somebody actually cared about him and gave him love. I was a child. It was unconditional love. He was weird and I still loved him and I showed him I loved him. He’d probably never had that at all. Maybe some of it from his mother, but never from anybody else in his entire life. I probably showed him love like what I did and he kept that love. He made me a promise. “I’ll keep you safe”, that he lied to his father so that he could keep that promise. That he was smart enough to figure out how to do it. Uncle Bill was sure that Sherman wasn’t doing it because he loved me, because he was affectionate toward me. Anything else would’ve been OK, just like a boy with a puppy. If he was playing with me, we were laughing and having fun, that would’ve been OK. It would’ve changed the fact that to uncle Bill I was his property. I was his slave, I was his boy and it would’ve been OK for him to be able to laugh. He would’ve recognized him just being a child but in Uncle Bill‘s mind, he wouldn't have seen it. His son is finally following his footsteps. He’s got his first boy. It would’ve been OK for him to have some fun, after all he was a boy. Yet he’s only 12 he wouldn’t yet expect him to have the understanding of an older teenager or adult. It would’ve been expected to be able to have fun and stuff.
This is where the true arc of my life started, that I would become a protector, a compassionate person, a good person. It was a good response to the evil that uncle Bill did. It was because Sherman showed me that he was willing to risk his father‘s wrath to protect me, because he loved me and I love him. He showed me true courage and what he was willing to do to have love in his life and have somebody love him. He risked what his father would do if he figured it out to keep the love from me. I looked up to him. I loved him. I smiled at him. I was happy to be with him, even though he still hurt me, I still love him in spite of it. He probably never experienced it at all in his entire life, I showed him love, unconditional love. He risked his father seeing what he did so he could keep that love and I felt the love back from him. This is why I had such a hard time seeing him as an abuser and as evil. It just never seemed to fit, and I didn’t understand why I couldn’t feel that way about him, now I do understand. It’s because my subconscious mind knew what had happened. That’s why I couldn’t make it fit the way I thought it should. It was my unconditional love of Sherman and he took the risk of defying his father and lying to him. He did exactly what he said. He said, “I’ll keep you safe” and he did and the risk to him was not trivial. I’m glad I started to tell his story because his story and my story are part of the same story. I became who I am now, not because of uncle Bill and all those horrible people did to me but because of a 12 year-old boy, his love for me and a great risk to himself, proved it by protecting me. Where I came from that was at the core of who I am. Love, courage. In the face of great risk Sherman was the one who taught me what love means, and I’ve carried that through my entire life without understanding it. I finally understand it now, I really wish I knew what happened to him, because in spite of the abuse, if I could see him again, I would give him the biggest hug and thank him for his courage and his love. And for saving my life.
Things have changed quite a bit since I wrote that, as I’ve read more about other boys that were trafficked and what happened to them. I’ve learned that it seems like most of these rings had a universal playbook. Especially in one aspect they use the older boys to hurt the younger boys. I would’ve thought that Sherman was different being his son, but he wasn’t. It’s obvious now that uncle Bill was training him to be like himself. And he was gonna teach him regardless of whether Sherman wanted to or not. We’ll get into more of that at the end of this part.
The next two weeks or lots of things about Sherman and uncle Bill's relationship, understanding what was going on and not so much about recovered revelations and memories, that of course started to change.
Now I finally understand triggers. I was out for my morning walk that my therapist recommended as a way to reconnect with the world. I saw a couple walking their beagle, a male beagle. That triggered another memory that came. I was in a basement and I was playing with a beagle that looked very similar to the one that I saw. I was on the floor, I’m wearing a yellow shirt and blue shorts and tennis shoes and it was jumping around and licking me in the face, and I was laughing and giggling. And then the man there took off my clothes, but not my shoes. And I don’t know why this sticks with me, but he left my shoes on. He had me get on all fours and put his hand on my shoulder to hold me in place and the dog went around to my rear and started licking me and then mounted me. He penetrated me completely. It was painful and then he knotted me. It was very painful, and I started crying. The man pulled his hand up and he was gonna back hand me across the face, I stopped crying. Because I was a good boy and so I endured that without crying. I didn’t know at the time he was not allowed to hit me.
The next trigger was actually the same day. I was reading some survivor stories on the website. And they were talking about guns and I had another memory come back.
Journal Entry September 27, 2025: Well it triggered me, I’m naked on the bed. It’s a white bedspread with a floral pattern on it yellows And some white, blues and I’m rolled up on my back and I’m being held with a hand around my right calf rolling me back and I don’t see who it is. I’m watching from about 5 feet away on the other side from him holding my leg. There’s a silver revolver with a long barrel and its all greasy and he’s rubbing it over my genitals, and I’m erect, and and he puts it inside me and he moves it now and pulls it out and rubs it over my genitals again and puts it back in and he keeps doing this until I finally orgasm. He didn’t pull the trigger, but he used it like a penis. He also put it in my mouth briefly.
This next trigger was a lot different. I'm in the midst of getting ready to have cataract surgery and I was in my eye doctor's exam room, and after they left, and shut the door and I started getting very uncomfortable in there. In fact, I started to have a panic attack and I don’t know why. Finally, I couldn’t stay in there with the door closed, so I opened the door and that relieved a lot of the pressure. Through the next couple of visits I experienced the same thing until finally the image came. I was nine, almost 10, and this was several years after Uncle Bill let me go and we moved away. We had just moved back to a city nearby, several hours away, but still a major city in close proximity to the original city where I was trafficked. I don’t know if the eye doctor was able to pick up on the fact that I was an abused boy or the other possibility is he knew me. He may have even been somebody who abused me in the past, I don’t know. But it came back that I had to give him oral sex, and that he bent me over the exam chair and penetrated me. All this while my mom was waiting out in the waiting room. For some reason I had to come back quite a few times to get checked, which you normally don’t have to do after getting glasses. I’m sure it was just an excuse so he could abuse me further. The really strange thing about this incident was he kept my underwear, he took my underwear off and he kept it. When I left the exam room of course I went to the bathroom like I’ve been trained to do. The strange part is, this bothered me more than getting raped, the fact that he kept my underwear. It was about this time that I stopped wearing underwear and still don’t to this day, I have to wonder if maybe in my thoughts since he wanted the underwear if I didn’t have underwear, maybe it wouldn’t happen again.
As you can tell, these were all incidents that I got triggered by, as I told you at the end of my last part, things got worse and they did. And I’m not referring to what was above what was coming I started remembering what happened in uncle Bill‘s house.
Journal Entry September 27, 2025: My voice was really weak yesterday, now I know why, here’s what I thought was coming from yesterday. I’m naked sitting on the rim of the toilet in uncle Bill‘s bathroom. I know what it looks like now. Uncle Bill is standing in front of me and I’m trying to pee, but I can’t. I tell uncle Bill, “I’m trying uncle Bill, but I can’t pee“ uncle Bill leans down, and puts his hand around my throat and picks me up by my throat. I go limp, he's holding me over the toilet and he leans down and puts his face in mine and he says, “ When I tell you to go, you go” he squeezes my throat and I can’t breathe and the pee starts coming out. He keeps squeezing until I stop peeing and he starts shaking me and he says, “Do you understand” there’s tears running down my face, I can’t breathe. He puts me back down on the toilet and he’s staring into my eyes. I’m choking and coughing and grabbing my chin, tips my face up and says, “Do you understand” I tell him “Yes uncle Bill I’ll be a good boy I promise uncle Bill I’ll be a good boy I’m a good boy uncle Bill I promise uncle Bill I’ll be a good boy.”
He turns around and leaves the bathroom as he’s walking out he says, “Get dressed.“
Now at uncle Bill‘s house I know what the kitchen looks like, I know what the living room looks like and now the bathroom. I’m having a very strong sense of foreboding because I’m afraid I’m gonna find out what the basement looks like.
I realized a while back that although during the summer, there were a lot of opportunities for uncle Bill to rent me out, but during the school year, I was in school so that took away a lot of my availability during the week. On the weekend my dad was home and my family did a lot of things on the weekends. So in a lot of ways I was kind of hopeful that although there were gonna be a lot of chances where I was rented, it was gonna be a limited amount of times he was able to rent me out. I was wrong.
In the past couple of days, I began to realize as a sense of foreboding that grew about uncle Bill‘s house, that was not going to be the case. We lived a block and half away and I could be over at his house anytime after school in the evening. They were going to be three years worth of opportunities and very few limitations.
Just like with the bathroom, I was going to be in that house a lot over the next couple years, and everyone of those would be an opportunity for uncle Bill.
I didn't know what the basement stairs looked like. At first, I wasn’t sure the image I got was his stairs leading up to the ground floor. The next series of memories take place in uncle Bill‘s basement. These were pure somatic. I didn’t get any images till yesterday.
Journal entry October 1, 2025: 1:40 PM I started to get the feeling it’s like before. I first got the feeling that uncle Bill killed a boy in front of me and how that progresses into more understanding and finally genuine certainty. This is different but it’s the same, it has to do with the basement and uncle Bill‘s house. Not the other one that I called the basement. I’m referring to the basement in uncle Bill‘s house. And it’s actually not a feeling about something specific but just I’m just kind of feeling a little freaked out about it and that’s a feeling I’m getting. And it started today. I don’t know if it has to do with the fact of what happened in the bathroom or what but I thought killing that boy in front of me was the worst thing. I don’t think that anymore. I think what happened in the basement in his house is the worst or at least just worse than him killing that boy. I don’t have anything specific yet, but just this 10 of 10 foreboding, that what happened down there is really bad. And I don’t know if it’s because he choked me out over the toilet to get me to pee on command or if it’s just feeling that something really bad happened down there I don’t know but it’s a feeling. I don’t have any specific memory yet of the basement in his house or where it was and I still don’t have anything from the bedrooms. I don’t know why, but I just don’t think there was anything heavy in his bedroom. Maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t have any strange feelings about that. I don’t remember Sherman‘s bedroom either, not yet. But I’m really I guess uneasy isn’t even the word freaked out is the word. But the thing is, this is here now. This is just memory and I survived it and I know that so whatever it is, I can see it. I just have a feeling it’s bad.
The interesting thing is the disassociation had stopped some time ago. I really hadn’t been disassociating for quite a while more than actually a month and a half almost and all of a sudden I was disassociating again and pretty severely. I think that contributed a lot to the foreboding. The fact that I was dissociating before a memory actually came up. In the past, the disassociation would fluctuate, but it was basically continuous. Sometimes it would get a little better, sometimes it would get worse, but it was day after day after day. This was happening in the morning and it lasted up until this happened.
7:09 PM disassociation zero now. I’m OK, but it was a really rough one. It was pure somatic, but I know it was in uncle Bill‘s basement. It's one of those I don’t know how I know, but I know. It started with this pressure on my head like a ball cap but it was painful, it kind of covered that area and then the pain moved to my face on the right side. Next was pressure on my stomach and then pretty soon it was pain on my feet like they were tied with something pulling them down, but it was my whole foot, I was laying on something stretched out. Then the pain started in my arms, my hands, my feet, my legs, my penis and my face. I don’t know what was causing the pain, but it was actually pretty bad. It wasn’t enough for tears in the present, but it was about seven out of 10. Little Steve would’ve been crying and probably screaming at times. It varied, the feet to the hands and the head, but never let up. I was brought to full erection and in the past probably orgasm twice. It was pain, almost everywhere at one time or another, the bottom of my feet, my back and the part I was laying were the only areas that were spared. I don’t know what he had on my head, but I said it covered the area where you would wear a ball cap and then down on the right side of my face, my ear on the right side around my eye, my cheek, at times were burning sensation on my arms and some of my chest.
The high intensity stuff went on for about an hour, during that time is when I would’ve had the orgasms in the past. Then there was about another half hour of somewhat less intensity and then the final half an hour was just basically I could feel the restraints and it finally stopped.
So I guess uncle Bill is a pure sadist in addition to being a killer. There were no visuals at all, no sound. It was like those training sessions when they were linking pain, arousal and fear, just pure somatic. When it was over, the disassociation was gone. I still don’t have an image of what the basement looks like in his house, I’m sure that’ll be coming at some point at some point.
I’m pretty sore. It’s amazing that I can experience these memories like that and the amount of physical pain and discomfort, muscle soreness, and everything afterwards. It's not as intense as when it happened, but it’s still reliving it well, one down who knows how many to go, oh my God almost 3 years. I guess I know what uncle Bill was doing when he didn’t have time to rent me out.
One of the other guys on the forums is a no marks boy as well and he was wondering why they took the trouble. I know why he took the trouble because he wanted me. The rental part was just gravy. What he really wanted was me. It obviously was personal. He wanted me as his boy, his slave. I think the commodification was just extra as the saying goes. I must’ve been his type.
I wish I remembered what uncle Bill‘s youngest son looked like, if he was his son. I wonder if he looked like me, I don’t remember. One of the things I wonder is, did Sherman watch or participate in some way. I thought the worst was when uncle Bill killed that boy in front of me. I don’t think that way anymore. There are worse things than death. Being a slave to a sadistic serial killer is one of them. Oh Jesus,
Now that I know what happens in uncle Bill‘s basement and that this went on for three years the enormity of what happened is just starting to really unfold. Because I was over there all the time it wasn’t uncommon for me after coming home from school to go over there pretty much every day till dinner. I consoled myself at this point with the fact that there were probably gonna be a lot more instances like this, but that they were gonna be somewhat limited and the fact that uncle Bill wouldn’t be doing this every day.
Journal Entry October 3, 2025: I think yesterday affected me more than I thought because I realize now that, yeah uncle Bill did market me but it was personal. He wanted me, after experiencing what I did yesterday I know there’s a lot more to come so yeah he did rent me out, but I don’t think that was the main objective, that was just a side deal. He wanted me for his pleasure, to torture. That’s what he really wanted. He let Sherman use me, but that was just a side deal. He wanted to torture me that’s what he really wanted.
Unfortunately he had a lot of opportunities, I mean, renting me out yeah but there were a lot of limits on that cause I had school and stuff, but I spent a lot of time at his house. I thought the basement (part 1) was bad and then worse when he killed that boy, but this. I was the object of his lust, his desire to torture and break me. What he did in the bathroom was nothing compared to what he did downstairs. I feel very weird about this. I don’t know, but it’s really different.
I mean with the basement (part 1) and then the clients and stuff I guess I could understand what he was doing. It’s an opportunity to make money and he had to break me in to make me compliant. Make sure that I wouldn’t tell.
This is a whole different level. He pick me specifically because he wanted to torture me, not any boy, me. I spent three years in his clutches, I think that’s why I had such a sense of foreboding, disassociated so badly yesterday. This is not just picking a random boy out of the neighborhood.
Link in case the image doesn’t load.
This is what I looked like when I met uncle Bill, this is a little boy he wanted to torture. My bright smiling face, I just, I don’t know how to feel about all this. It wasn't random. It wasn’t just because my dad wasn’t around, this was personal. He wanted me, this little boy and he wanted to do horrendous things to me and he did. And he didn’t just wanna take me. He wanted to make it worse. He wanted me to have to live with my family and go to school and pretend to be normal while he did all these things.
I can’t even comprehend the evil that he was. I always had a fascination with serial killers and I understand now that that came from wanting to understand uncle Bill, at least on a subconscious level. I can’t comprehend what this man was at all. It’s completely beyond me. I have no understanding of how he could do things like this. How he could take pleasure in doing this. I think in some way, I thought Sherman saved me, I’m not so sure anymore. I think letting me go with the ultimate fuck you the pièce de résistance to the whole thing. Like I was some kind of special project, take this boy, torture for years. Force him to live a normal life while all this is going on. Then when you fucked him up so badly, turn him loose so he has to live the rest of his life like that, in some ways it makes kind of sense in the most absolutely warped way.
It wasn’t just that he enjoyed it. He wanted to fuck me up, torture me and let me go, figured I’d probably crash and burn, but if not, I’d live the rest of my life with what he did. I think he’s that warped or I should say it was.
What he didn’t count on his little Steve was one tough little motherfucker, and I spoiled his plan. I became a good person and had a good life so far and I’m gonna have more and yeah what he did carried through my life in really bad ways but it also made me who I am and I helped a lot of people, which I’m sure was not his intent at all.
I suppose just destroying boys wasn’t enough fun for him anymore, that was too easy, he had to have a challenge, me. But in the end he lost because I did become a good person in spite of everything that he did.
I’m starting to come to the realization that it was more than just picking a boy to traffic. He had all the boys he wanted to traffic. He was in charge of the Ring. He could’ve had a dozen boys if he wanted. That’s not what he wanted and he didn’t pick me just because I was available. There were a lot of difficulties in using me. I had a family in his neighborhood which did make his access easy. But he had to go to the trouble to become friends with my family, to work his way into their confidence. I was a no mark‘s boy and that limited some of the things that he could’ve used me for. And he already had a “son“of the right age that he could have used as well. I think it was a lot more than all of that because I’m coming to understand I don’t think his plan was just a traffic me, I think he wanted to ruin me, torture me, and in the end, let me go to suffer what he had done to me rather than kill me.
If you’ve read the previous parts of my story, you know what this warning is about. This is my story of being trafficked from ages 4 to 6. Currently I’m four years old and this is at the beginning. I telling this in the way it happened when no sugarcoating, no metaphors, just the raw truth of what happened. What follows is graphic and violent almost beyond belief. Below are the links to the first four parts of my story if you wish to read it. This is very difficult to read, it was even more difficult to live through. Be warned this is very disturbing.
Little Steve, How I Survived Trafficking at age 4, 60 years ago. Triggers definitely Part 1
Little Steve, The Basement: A Four-Year-Old Shown His Fate Part 2
Little Steve, Sexual Programming, A Horror Story Part 3
Little Steve, I watched a boy killed, as a warning Part 4 Extreme Trigger Warning
Before I pick up the thread from my last part, I wanna share a little bit about what happened afterwards. For whatever reason, uncle Bill let me go. My family moved away to another part of the country. I resumed what I consider a normal childhood, I went to school, I made friends, I played. For the most part, I was a normal boy for I had no real conscious memory of this, and although it was in my subconscious from day to day, I was just a regular kid. As I grew up, I did normal kid stuff. I was a Cub Scout when I went into junior high I played in the school band. I became a Boy Scout and no nothing happened. For the most part, I was a pretty normal kid in a lot of ways, and a lot of ways I wasn’t. I have ADHD, I’m autistic, I have OCD, and if you know about kids like us, I was hypersexual. I’m not gonna get into that part of my life right now maybe later.
As I graduated high school I was very interested in medicine and in helping people. I was seriously considering becoming a doctor and my preferred specialty was emergency medicine. It would’ve been a huge commitment for like the next 15 to 20 years of my life, so I decided to become an EMT first so I could see if emergency medicine is really what I wanted to do. I absolutely loved it to the point, I didn’t even consider going to medical school anymore. I just love doing what I was doing. I was helping people, I was saving lives and I truly enjoyed it. After about five years. I started to become restless for a change and I moved out to San Diego, California. I became fascinated with the military, and I joined the Navy and became a NAVY Corpsman (medic). I went to work in the ICU at the Navy hospital doing critical care nursing and I absolutely loved it. Because of a medical condition I was retired, but I came back to the Navy hospital as a civilian and worked in infectious disease, preventive medicine, and working with people who have HIV.
Throughout my life helping people was a big theme for me, some of the other things, I was a reserved deputy for many years, I worked with challenged adults and kids in hippo therapy (horses). I was a big brother for eight years to a young man with ADHD and autism. I’ve volunteered in various capacities in other ways that help people. What I wanna convey to you is the fact that after all of the horrible things that happened to me, I spent a significant amount of my life helping people, and I think in a large part, it was because of what happened to me even though I didn’t remember it consciously. I always felt a need to help people and make their lives a little bit better.
Before we jump ahead, in my journal I talked about how I thought Sherman was gonna save me and keep me safe. And as a four-year-old, I wouldn’t understand how that would work other than what he promised.
Journal Entry September 7, 2025: 3:52 PM today’s session I was expecting more from the boy that died, but that hasn’t come at all. What I remember now uncle Bill was at his desk at home working on paperwork, Sherman was standing next to him and I was standing behind. Sherman asked uncle Bill, “Can I keep him?” Uncle Bill asked him, “You’re not getting attached, are you?” Sherman replied, “No father.” He lied. He lied to his father. This is a man that killed children with a baseball bat and he lied to him to protect me. Uncle Bill thought for a second then he said, “Yes.” He put it to his father in a way that his father would see it as Sherman following in his footsteps, allowing him to keep his first boy, his first slave, but he had to make sure that it wasn’t because of attachment to me. I can’t even imagine what uncle Bill would’ve done if he found Sherman lied to him about anything. This is a man who lived violence and the thought that his son would lie to him about something important was inconceivable. The consequences would’ve been terrible and I know why he did it, but I just couldn’t explain it. His father was a human trafficker who bought and sold children, killed them and tortured them. He killed them himself personally, with a baseball bat, and his son lied to him to protect me. This is the house he grew up in, this is the life he was born into and for the first time, I showed him love, he was raping me, but I still loved him. I looked up to him, and I smiled. I was happy to see him. I played with him. He held me in his arms. I hugged him, probably for the first time in his life somebody actually cared about him and gave him love. I was a child. It was unconditional love. He was weird and I still loved him and I showed him I loved him. He’d probably never had that at all. Maybe some of it from his mother, but never from anybody else in his entire life. I probably showed him love like what I did and he kept that love. He made me a promise. “I’ll keep you safe”, that he lied to his father so that he could keep that promise. That he was smart enough to figure out how to do it. Uncle Bill was sure that Sherman wasn’t doing it because he loved me, because he was affectionate toward me. Anything else would’ve been OK, just like a boy with a puppy. If he was playing with me, we were laughing and having fun, that would’ve been OK. It would’ve changed the fact that to uncle Bill I was his property. I was his slave, I was his boy and it would’ve been OK for him to be able to laugh. He would’ve recognized him just being a child but in Uncle Bill‘s mind, he wouldn't have seen it. His son is finally following his footsteps. He’s got his first boy. It would’ve been OK for him to have some fun, after all he was a boy. Yet he’s only 12 he wouldn’t yet expect him to have the understanding of an older teenager or adult. It would’ve been expected to be able to have fun and stuff.
This is where the true arc of my life started, that I would become a protector, a compassionate person, a good person. It was a good response to the evil that uncle Bill did. It was because Sherman showed me that he was willing to risk his father‘s wrath to protect me, because he loved me and I love him. He showed me true courage and what he was willing to do to have love in his life and have somebody love him. He risked what his father would do if he figured it out to keep the love from me. I looked up to him. I loved him. I smiled at him. I was happy to be with him, even though he still hurt me, I still love him in spite of it. He probably never experienced it at all in his entire life, I showed him love, unconditional love. He risked his father seeing what he did so he could keep that love and I felt the love back from him. This is why I had such a hard time seeing him as an abuser and as evil. It just never seemed to fit, and I didn’t understand why I couldn’t feel that way about him, now I do understand. It’s because my subconscious mind knew what had happened. That’s why I couldn’t make it fit the way I thought it should. It was my unconditional love of Sherman and he took the risk of defying his father and lying to him. He did exactly what he said. He said, “I’ll keep you safe” and he did and the risk to him was not trivial. I’m glad I started to tell his story because his story and my story are part of the same story. I became who I am now, not because of uncle Bill and all those horrible people did to me but because of a 12 year-old boy, his love for me and a great risk to himself, proved it by protecting me. Where I came from that was at the core of who I am. Love, courage. In the face of great risk Sherman was the one who taught me what love means, and I’ve carried that through my entire life without understanding it. I finally understand it now, I really wish I knew what happened to him, because in spite of the abuse, if I could see him again, I would give him the biggest hug and thank him for his courage and his love. And for saving my life.
Things have changed quite a bit since I wrote that, as I’ve read more about other boys that were trafficked and what happened to them. I’ve learned that it seems like most of these rings had a universal playbook. Especially in one aspect they use the older boys to hurt the younger boys. I would’ve thought that Sherman was different being his son, but he wasn’t. It’s obvious now that uncle Bill was training him to be like himself. And he was gonna teach him regardless of whether Sherman wanted to or not. We’ll get into more of that at the end of this part.
The next two weeks or lots of things about Sherman and uncle Bill's relationship, understanding what was going on and not so much about recovered revelations and memories, that of course started to change.
Now I finally understand triggers. I was out for my morning walk that my therapist recommended as a way to reconnect with the world. I saw a couple walking their beagle, a male beagle. That triggered another memory that came. I was in a basement and I was playing with a beagle that looked very similar to the one that I saw. I was on the floor, I’m wearing a yellow shirt and blue shorts and tennis shoes and it was jumping around and licking me in the face, and I was laughing and giggling. And then the man there took off my clothes, but not my shoes. And I don’t know why this sticks with me, but he left my shoes on. He had me get on all fours and put his hand on my shoulder to hold me in place and the dog went around to my rear and started licking me and then mounted me. He penetrated me completely. It was painful and then he knotted me. It was very painful, and I started crying. The man pulled his hand up and he was gonna back hand me across the face, I stopped crying. Because I was a good boy and so I endured that without crying. I didn’t know at the time he was not allowed to hit me.
The next trigger was actually the same day. I was reading some survivor stories on the website. And they were talking about guns and I had another memory come back.
Journal Entry September 27, 2025: Well it triggered me, I’m naked on the bed. It’s a white bedspread with a floral pattern on it yellows And some white, blues and I’m rolled up on my back and I’m being held with a hand around my right calf rolling me back and I don’t see who it is. I’m watching from about 5 feet away on the other side from him holding my leg. There’s a silver revolver with a long barrel and its all greasy and he’s rubbing it over my genitals, and I’m erect, and and he puts it inside me and he moves it now and pulls it out and rubs it over my genitals again and puts it back in and he keeps doing this until I finally orgasm. He didn’t pull the trigger, but he used it like a penis. He also put it in my mouth briefly.
This next trigger was a lot different. I'm in the midst of getting ready to have cataract surgery and I was in my eye doctor's exam room, and after they left, and shut the door and I started getting very uncomfortable in there. In fact, I started to have a panic attack and I don’t know why. Finally, I couldn’t stay in there with the door closed, so I opened the door and that relieved a lot of the pressure. Through the next couple of visits I experienced the same thing until finally the image came. I was nine, almost 10, and this was several years after Uncle Bill let me go and we moved away. We had just moved back to a city nearby, several hours away, but still a major city in close proximity to the original city where I was trafficked. I don’t know if the eye doctor was able to pick up on the fact that I was an abused boy or the other possibility is he knew me. He may have even been somebody who abused me in the past, I don’t know. But it came back that I had to give him oral sex, and that he bent me over the exam chair and penetrated me. All this while my mom was waiting out in the waiting room. For some reason I had to come back quite a few times to get checked, which you normally don’t have to do after getting glasses. I’m sure it was just an excuse so he could abuse me further. The really strange thing about this incident was he kept my underwear, he took my underwear off and he kept it. When I left the exam room of course I went to the bathroom like I’ve been trained to do. The strange part is, this bothered me more than getting raped, the fact that he kept my underwear. It was about this time that I stopped wearing underwear and still don’t to this day, I have to wonder if maybe in my thoughts since he wanted the underwear if I didn’t have underwear, maybe it wouldn’t happen again.
As you can tell, these were all incidents that I got triggered by, as I told you at the end of my last part, things got worse and they did. And I’m not referring to what was above what was coming I started remembering what happened in uncle Bill‘s house.
Journal Entry September 27, 2025: My voice was really weak yesterday, now I know why, here’s what I thought was coming from yesterday. I’m naked sitting on the rim of the toilet in uncle Bill‘s bathroom. I know what it looks like now. Uncle Bill is standing in front of me and I’m trying to pee, but I can’t. I tell uncle Bill, “I’m trying uncle Bill, but I can’t pee“ uncle Bill leans down, and puts his hand around my throat and picks me up by my throat. I go limp, he's holding me over the toilet and he leans down and puts his face in mine and he says, “ When I tell you to go, you go” he squeezes my throat and I can’t breathe and the pee starts coming out. He keeps squeezing until I stop peeing and he starts shaking me and he says, “Do you understand” there’s tears running down my face, I can’t breathe. He puts me back down on the toilet and he’s staring into my eyes. I’m choking and coughing and grabbing my chin, tips my face up and says, “Do you understand” I tell him “Yes uncle Bill I’ll be a good boy I promise uncle Bill I’ll be a good boy I’m a good boy uncle Bill I promise uncle Bill I’ll be a good boy.”
He turns around and leaves the bathroom as he’s walking out he says, “Get dressed.“
Now at uncle Bill‘s house I know what the kitchen looks like, I know what the living room looks like and now the bathroom. I’m having a very strong sense of foreboding because I’m afraid I’m gonna find out what the basement looks like.
I realized a while back that although during the summer, there were a lot of opportunities for uncle Bill to rent me out, but during the school year, I was in school so that took away a lot of my availability during the week. On the weekend my dad was home and my family did a lot of things on the weekends. So in a lot of ways I was kind of hopeful that although there were gonna be a lot of chances where I was rented, it was gonna be a limited amount of times he was able to rent me out. I was wrong.
In the past couple of days, I began to realize as a sense of foreboding that grew about uncle Bill‘s house, that was not going to be the case. We lived a block and half away and I could be over at his house anytime after school in the evening. They were going to be three years worth of opportunities and very few limitations.
Just like with the bathroom, I was going to be in that house a lot over the next couple years, and everyone of those would be an opportunity for uncle Bill.
I didn't know what the basement stairs looked like. At first, I wasn’t sure the image I got was his stairs leading up to the ground floor. The next series of memories take place in uncle Bill‘s basement. These were pure somatic. I didn’t get any images till yesterday.
Journal entry October 1, 2025: 1:40 PM I started to get the feeling it’s like before. I first got the feeling that uncle Bill killed a boy in front of me and how that progresses into more understanding and finally genuine certainty. This is different but it’s the same, it has to do with the basement and uncle Bill‘s house. Not the other one that I called the basement. I’m referring to the basement in uncle Bill‘s house. And it’s actually not a feeling about something specific but just I’m just kind of feeling a little freaked out about it and that’s a feeling I’m getting. And it started today. I don’t know if it has to do with the fact of what happened in the bathroom or what but I thought killing that boy in front of me was the worst thing. I don’t think that anymore. I think what happened in the basement in his house is the worst or at least just worse than him killing that boy. I don’t have anything specific yet, but just this 10 of 10 foreboding, that what happened down there is really bad. And I don’t know if it’s because he choked me out over the toilet to get me to pee on command or if it’s just feeling that something really bad happened down there I don’t know but it’s a feeling. I don’t have any specific memory yet of the basement in his house or where it was and I still don’t have anything from the bedrooms. I don’t know why, but I just don’t think there was anything heavy in his bedroom. Maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t have any strange feelings about that. I don’t remember Sherman‘s bedroom either, not yet. But I’m really I guess uneasy isn’t even the word freaked out is the word. But the thing is, this is here now. This is just memory and I survived it and I know that so whatever it is, I can see it. I just have a feeling it’s bad.
The interesting thing is the disassociation had stopped some time ago. I really hadn’t been disassociating for quite a while more than actually a month and a half almost and all of a sudden I was disassociating again and pretty severely. I think that contributed a lot to the foreboding. The fact that I was dissociating before a memory actually came up. In the past, the disassociation would fluctuate, but it was basically continuous. Sometimes it would get a little better, sometimes it would get worse, but it was day after day after day. This was happening in the morning and it lasted up until this happened.
7:09 PM disassociation zero now. I’m OK, but it was a really rough one. It was pure somatic, but I know it was in uncle Bill‘s basement. It's one of those I don’t know how I know, but I know. It started with this pressure on my head like a ball cap but it was painful, it kind of covered that area and then the pain moved to my face on the right side. Next was pressure on my stomach and then pretty soon it was pain on my feet like they were tied with something pulling them down, but it was my whole foot, I was laying on something stretched out. Then the pain started in my arms, my hands, my feet, my legs, my penis and my face. I don’t know what was causing the pain, but it was actually pretty bad. It wasn’t enough for tears in the present, but it was about seven out of 10. Little Steve would’ve been crying and probably screaming at times. It varied, the feet to the hands and the head, but never let up. I was brought to full erection and in the past probably orgasm twice. It was pain, almost everywhere at one time or another, the bottom of my feet, my back and the part I was laying were the only areas that were spared. I don’t know what he had on my head, but I said it covered the area where you would wear a ball cap and then down on the right side of my face, my ear on the right side around my eye, my cheek, at times were burning sensation on my arms and some of my chest.
The high intensity stuff went on for about an hour, during that time is when I would’ve had the orgasms in the past. Then there was about another half hour of somewhat less intensity and then the final half an hour was just basically I could feel the restraints and it finally stopped.
So I guess uncle Bill is a pure sadist in addition to being a killer. There were no visuals at all, no sound. It was like those training sessions when they were linking pain, arousal and fear, just pure somatic. When it was over, the disassociation was gone. I still don’t have an image of what the basement looks like in his house, I’m sure that’ll be coming at some point at some point.
I’m pretty sore. It’s amazing that I can experience these memories like that and the amount of physical pain and discomfort, muscle soreness, and everything afterwards. It's not as intense as when it happened, but it’s still reliving it well, one down who knows how many to go, oh my God almost 3 years. I guess I know what uncle Bill was doing when he didn’t have time to rent me out.
One of the other guys on the forums is a no marks boy as well and he was wondering why they took the trouble. I know why he took the trouble because he wanted me. The rental part was just gravy. What he really wanted was me. It obviously was personal. He wanted me as his boy, his slave. I think the commodification was just extra as the saying goes. I must’ve been his type.
I wish I remembered what uncle Bill‘s youngest son looked like, if he was his son. I wonder if he looked like me, I don’t remember. One of the things I wonder is, did Sherman watch or participate in some way. I thought the worst was when uncle Bill killed that boy in front of me. I don’t think that way anymore. There are worse things than death. Being a slave to a sadistic serial killer is one of them. Oh Jesus,
Now that I know what happens in uncle Bill‘s basement and that this went on for three years the enormity of what happened is just starting to really unfold. Because I was over there all the time it wasn’t uncommon for me after coming home from school to go over there pretty much every day till dinner. I consoled myself at this point with the fact that there were probably gonna be a lot more instances like this, but that they were gonna be somewhat limited and the fact that uncle Bill wouldn’t be doing this every day.
Journal Entry October 3, 2025: I think yesterday affected me more than I thought because I realize now that, yeah uncle Bill did market me but it was personal. He wanted me, after experiencing what I did yesterday I know there’s a lot more to come so yeah he did rent me out, but I don’t think that was the main objective, that was just a side deal. He wanted me for his pleasure, to torture. That’s what he really wanted. He let Sherman use me, but that was just a side deal. He wanted to torture me that’s what he really wanted.
Unfortunately he had a lot of opportunities, I mean, renting me out yeah but there were a lot of limits on that cause I had school and stuff, but I spent a lot of time at his house. I thought the basement (part 1) was bad and then worse when he killed that boy, but this. I was the object of his lust, his desire to torture and break me. What he did in the bathroom was nothing compared to what he did downstairs. I feel very weird about this. I don’t know, but it’s really different.
I mean with the basement (part 1) and then the clients and stuff I guess I could understand what he was doing. It’s an opportunity to make money and he had to break me in to make me compliant. Make sure that I wouldn’t tell.
This is a whole different level. He pick me specifically because he wanted to torture me, not any boy, me. I spent three years in his clutches, I think that’s why I had such a sense of foreboding, disassociated so badly yesterday. This is not just picking a random boy out of the neighborhood.
Link in case the image doesn’t load.
This is what I looked like when I met uncle Bill, this is a little boy he wanted to torture. My bright smiling face, I just, I don’t know how to feel about all this. It wasn't random. It wasn’t just because my dad wasn’t around, this was personal. He wanted me, this little boy and he wanted to do horrendous things to me and he did. And he didn’t just wanna take me. He wanted to make it worse. He wanted me to have to live with my family and go to school and pretend to be normal while he did all these things.
I can’t even comprehend the evil that he was. I always had a fascination with serial killers and I understand now that that came from wanting to understand uncle Bill, at least on a subconscious level. I can’t comprehend what this man was at all. It’s completely beyond me. I have no understanding of how he could do things like this. How he could take pleasure in doing this. I think in some way, I thought Sherman saved me, I’m not so sure anymore. I think letting me go with the ultimate fuck you the pièce de résistance to the whole thing. Like I was some kind of special project, take this boy, torture for years. Force him to live a normal life while all this is going on. Then when you fucked him up so badly, turn him loose so he has to live the rest of his life like that, in some ways it makes kind of sense in the most absolutely warped way.
It wasn’t just that he enjoyed it. He wanted to fuck me up, torture me and let me go, figured I’d probably crash and burn, but if not, I’d live the rest of my life with what he did. I think he’s that warped or I should say it was.
What he didn’t count on his little Steve was one tough little motherfucker, and I spoiled his plan. I became a good person and had a good life so far and I’m gonna have more and yeah what he did carried through my life in really bad ways but it also made me who I am and I helped a lot of people, which I’m sure was not his intent at all.
I suppose just destroying boys wasn’t enough fun for him anymore, that was too easy, he had to have a challenge, me. But in the end he lost because I did become a good person in spite of everything that he did.
I’m starting to come to the realization that it was more than just picking a boy to traffic. He had all the boys he wanted to traffic. He was in charge of the Ring. He could’ve had a dozen boys if he wanted. That’s not what he wanted and he didn’t pick me just because I was available. There were a lot of difficulties in using me. I had a family in his neighborhood which did make his access easy. But he had to go to the trouble to become friends with my family, to work his way into their confidence. I was a no mark‘s boy and that limited some of the things that he could’ve used me for. And he already had a “son“of the right age that he could have used as well. I think it was a lot more than all of that because I’m coming to understand I don’t think his plan was just a traffic me, I think he wanted to ruin me, torture me, and in the end, let me go to suffer what he had done to me rather than kill me.
