I was a vulnerable child. I was born with an autistic spectrum disorder and a severe speech disorder. As a result, I was a socially isolated child.

My school placed me in a self contained special ed classroom. There were 6 students, 2 teachers, and 4 teachers aids. The other students had more much severe intellectual disabilities than myself. As a result, I felt isolated.

My school tried to integrate special ed students with the rest of the student body through a program called "inclusion." Several times a day, a special ed classroom would merge a regular class for things like lunch, gym, art class.

When I was with the regular class, I yearned to be accepted by the other students. Unfortunately, children are often mean to anyone who is different. Special ed students are an especially appealing target for bullies. My memory of inclusion is predominantly one of being called a "retard" by the other students.

Like many children with autistic spectrum disorders, I had issues with masturbation. It felt good, so I masturbated nearly continuously. Adults were uncomfortable with my behavior. They told me to stop, that what I was doing was dirty, and that it was something that I should do in private.

When I was 7, my parents enrolled me in Cub Scouts. I generally enjoyed my experience. Most of the other boys accepted me. I wasn't treated like a "retard".

One of the Scout leaders was took a special interest in me. "Mr. A" listened to me like no other adult ever did. He always understood what I said, despite my speech disorder. He protected me from the bullies. He made me feel accepted in the way every socially isolated little boy yearns for.

In particular, Mr. A never reprimanded me for masturbation. He didn't get mad about the thing that it seemed like every other adult hated me for.

Mr. A earned my parents trust. He was a positive influence in my life. Mr. A offered to pick me up for camping trips. The first few times were uneventful. Mr. A picked me up and we went camping with the other scouts.

After a few camping trips, Mr. A did something different. He picked me up, but instead of meeting with the other boys, he took me to his house. He told me that instead of going camping, we would spend the weekend together at his house. I was elated at the chance to spend an entire weekend with my hero. There was only one condition: I had to promise to keep it secret from my parents. I eagerly agreed

Mr. A's house was every 8 year old boys dream. There were boxes full of toys. He had every video game on the planet, including the ones my parents said were to violent for me to play. I could have as much ice cream and soda as I wanted.
After Mr. A dropped me off at home, I kept what really happened that weekend secret. It was the most fun I ever had. I don't want to get in trouble for eating to much or playing violent video games.

Mr. A began told my parents that since I was getting older, the scouts would be camping more often. What he really meant was that every other "camping trip" would be at his house.

Soon, the weekends at Mr. A's house began to change. He let me drink "big boy sodas" aka wine coolers. He found excuses to see me naked my clothes were dirty or it was to warm in his attic.

The next step is something I'm still ashamed of. I was playing video games and masturbating like I always did. Mr. A put his hand in my crotch and began rubbing it for me. It felt so good, better than when I touched it. My only friend was making me feel good. He was helping me with something every other adult said was dirty and had to be done privately.

Mr. A did other things to me, but it hurts to much to write about it now. When I was 10, I tried to say no to his advances. His response was to threaten me with castration before holding me down and raping me. When I was 12, he moved away, much to my dismay at the time.

The memories were suppressed until I turned 17, at which point I attempted suicide several times