versions
***TRIGGERS***
…he untied my hands and told me to have sex with the other bound boy. I ran off and locked myself in another room…

That’s the story of a selfish coward. It’s a telling of a pathetic person who scurried off. It is also only loosely based on what happened:
…he untied my hands. He told me I could do whatever I wanted to the other bound boy. I didn’t feel any desire. Was this a test? Was I the homosexual I thought I was? I knew taking advantage of his helplessness was wrong. I knew I wasn’t that. Without thinking, I went into another room and stealthy locked the door…
How did the first version become the story I told for decades? True, in no version did I rescue him. In those moments, I never considered untying the other boy. At the time, I understood the stakes to be much more benign. Our mentor was having us face our fears. Tying us up was simply another of countless exercises we’ve done with him. As a 14-year-old, most were mysteries I barely grasped. In the moment, there was no danger.
…later that night. I woke up to our mentor molesting me. He attempted to force his rank, dirty dick into my mouth. I pushed him off, and he tumbled over. I ran and locked myself in a bathroom. When the guard made his morning rounds, I ran from the building…
At some point, after it was over, I condemned myself as an accomplice. I felt responsible that the other kid was there in the first place. My guilt wasn’t clever enough to understand his cunning grooming. He already had access to the kid, who was, by all standards, a good-looking boy. Agreeing he was attractive was just another checked item in his plan.
On top of that, I had come to believe the other boy had been abused after I left him there. All in all, I felt responsible for whatever hell befell him. Over time, the version I told was formed by my guilt.
I was not the monster that horrible night. I was a boy, not a superhero. As much as I wish one flew in for us both.
The night was in August 1973.
The location is the dressing room in a college auditorium.
The image is the room I went into.
…he untied my hands and told me to have sex with the other bound boy. I ran off and locked myself in another room…

That’s the story of a selfish coward. It’s a telling of a pathetic person who scurried off. It is also only loosely based on what happened:
…he untied my hands. He told me I could do whatever I wanted to the other bound boy. I didn’t feel any desire. Was this a test? Was I the homosexual I thought I was? I knew taking advantage of his helplessness was wrong. I knew I wasn’t that. Without thinking, I went into another room and stealthy locked the door…
How did the first version become the story I told for decades? True, in no version did I rescue him. In those moments, I never considered untying the other boy. At the time, I understood the stakes to be much more benign. Our mentor was having us face our fears. Tying us up was simply another of countless exercises we’ve done with him. As a 14-year-old, most were mysteries I barely grasped. In the moment, there was no danger.
…later that night. I woke up to our mentor molesting me. He attempted to force his rank, dirty dick into my mouth. I pushed him off, and he tumbled over. I ran and locked myself in a bathroom. When the guard made his morning rounds, I ran from the building…
At some point, after it was over, I condemned myself as an accomplice. I felt responsible that the other kid was there in the first place. My guilt wasn’t clever enough to understand his cunning grooming. He already had access to the kid, who was, by all standards, a good-looking boy. Agreeing he was attractive was just another checked item in his plan.
On top of that, I had come to believe the other boy had been abused after I left him there. All in all, I felt responsible for whatever hell befell him. Over time, the version I told was formed by my guilt.
I was not the monster that horrible night. I was a boy, not a superhero. As much as I wish one flew in for us both.
The night was in August 1973.
The location is the dressing room in a college auditorium.
The image is the room I went into.