I grew up in a small mining town in California, where a hundred years before I was born, the 49’rs had been digging for gold. There were old abandoned gold mines to be explored, as well as trees to be climbed, and wild flowers to be picked for both my grandmas who lived in their own houses next to ours. The house we lived in was an old two-story house built during the gold rush era. My parents were very strict and somewhat physically abusive. I don’t think life would have been too bad if we had stayed living there, but who really knows?

Then when I was almost 10, we moved to another small town and there was the neighbor kid, bigger and older than me. The oral rape and the gagging and the whole nine yards that goes with that. This went on for I don’t know how many years, at least five. The neighbor kid was bad but by no means the worst. Then there was the taxi driver he would take me to the beach and the county fair. This guy was really “nice” to me. I was a kid starved for love and affection my parents by this time were way more abusive then they had been before the move. I was now 13yo, almost 14. The crap was still going on with the neighbor kid. The taxi driver I thought could be my way to get away from the neighbor he was so kind. I remember one time at the beach, I was sitting on a log, the taxi driver sat down beside me and rubbed my back. I never knew before how good it could feel to be touched. Oh how I loved him. he told me that he loved me too. Life was good, my self confidence began to grow. I was making plans to tell the neighbor where to get off.

Then one day about 3 or 4 months after meeting the taxi driver, he took me to a little shack by the airport and explained to me what people do when they love each other. I knew it was a lie, I wanted to run but couldn’t. he was the only one who had ever “loved me.” So I let him take my pants off and I let him fondle me. I didn’t get a hard-on though. About that time, his dispatcher, my cousin, called on his radio and said that he had a call. I would always go with him to take the person wherever they wanted to go but this time he told me to stay and I had better get it up by time he got back or he would find someone who would. he needed someone who would do their part.

Oh how I tried to get it up, the whole time he was gone I tried. I couldn’t stand the thought of loosing him. When he came back, I could see the bulge in his pants, which by the way didn’t stay on long. he had me sit on his naked lap, I could feel his hard-on against my a** hole. “you don’t have a hard-on yet, you’re going to have to make it up to me or this is the last time you’ll be seeing me.” “F*** my butt,” I said. Oh how I hated it! Oh how bad it hurt. But then it started to feel good. Then I got a hard-on. When he was done he threw a dirty old rag to me and told me to clean myself up. The rag felt like it probably had been used before. My heart felt dirtier than the rag. he took me home and told me that he would kill me if I ever told. he also told me that he loved me. I went into my house, crawled into bed and cried myself to sleep.

I made sure I was never around where the taxi driver could take advantage of me again. I lost him after all. The neighbor kid however was not as easy to avoid.

There was also the teacher at the Christian school I attended. He never touched me inappropriately, but he did talk to me about masturbation and methods. I lumped him in with the taxi driver and the neighbor kid. In my mind, he also represented Christ so Jesus got lumped in with them too.

Then there was the roommate at the Christian boarding school my parents sent me to my junior and senior years of high school. he just took over where the neighbor left off. he was a bit younger than I, but I was so accustomed to being used that I thought it was how things were supposed to be. This continued with him even after high school, he would show up once a month or so and make me feel like a real no good. The last time he raped me was about 1:00 am on the day I got married in May of 1977. For whatever it is worth, I married a virgin. I knew that I wasn’t good enough for her. I couldn’t bring myself to call off the wedding, so I just had one more secret to keep.

That is pretty much the bad part of my story. I’ll post the good part later, and yes there really is a good part.

If a man would get his life on track, he must first go back to the place where it was derailed.