Matthew was beautifully built, about average height for a thirteen-year-old, with a slender, well-proportioned body. His skin was smooth and, especially in summer, golden. His arms and legs had not yet begun to develop adolescent muscle, but his butt was round and tight, like a firm pillow. His face was narrow, his nose slender and slightly turned up. He had a shy smile which girls and his female teachers found very attractive, although he was totally unaware of his smile’s effect on them. He wore his fair hair longer than many boys in the early eighties. It was full and wavy, and, when it flopped down in his face, he casually flipped it higher on his head, a gesture which the ladies found endearing. His most arresting feature was his eyes, sometimes blue, sometimes green, and even, occasionally violet, but always mesmerizing. His laugh was quiet and reserved, as if he was enjoying a private joke. His voice had begun to change, cracking and squeaking at embarrassing moments. In groups he was always the silent observer, watching, listening, but almost never participating. His classmates neither liked nor disliked him. In fact, they didn’t know him because he didn’t allow them to.
Matthew had only been a Boy Scout for six weeks. As a result, although he was nearly fourteen, he was still a Tenderfoot. In the summer of 1981, he and his family had moved from a small farming town in northern Vermont where there had been no scout troop, and he had eagerly anticipated joining the local troop. The scouts met on Monday evenings in the junior high school gym, where they practiced first aid, learned about nature, wrestled with tying knots, and worked on other scouting activities. The scout leader, telling the boy to call him “Uncle Bob,” had welcomed him enthusiastically. Although intensely shy, Matthew had quietly joined in all the activities and enjoyed them thoroughly.
When it was announced that they were going on a two-night camping trip, he had been excited. His parents had bought him a used sleeping bag but they couldn’t afford a tent. He had told Uncle Bob, the Scout Master, that he couldn’t go because he didn’t have a partner and he didn’t have a tent, to which the man replied, “Don’t worry about that. There’s room for you in my tent.”
Now he sat on a log in front of his fire preparing to cook some bacon and eggs, thinking of that terrible night just past and worrying about what might happen in the coming night. As he put the frying pan over the fire, Stephan Demos, another scout, walked over and sat beside him. They watched the fire in silence for a few moments before Stephan asked, “So, did he touch you last night?”
A shock went through Matthew. How did he know? Still staring at the fire, he said nothing.
“It’s OK, you know. You can talk with me about it. Uncle Bob had me two years ago. Did he tell you that you were beautiful?”
Another shock of recognition. What else did Stephan know? He continued to say nothing.
“That bastard!” exclaimed Stephan. “He’s terrified you, hasn’t he?” No response. “You know, he had Billy last year. That was terrible because Billy’s not even gay, but I still don’t think he should have done it to me. Are you gay?”
Am I gay? wondered Matthew. He wasn’t even sure what it meant to be gay. Did it mean perverted? Was Stephan gay? He hadn’t said so, but he had implied it. Again he gave no response.
“Listen, Matthew, he has no business doing anything to you. If he even touches you tonight I want you to scream bloody murder. We’ll all come and help you. He has to be stopped and now’s the time. OK?”
Still Matthew did not speak, but he gave one nod of his head. Stephan patted his shoulder and walked away.
The troop was going to take an eight mile hike that day, so after breakfast, Matthew packed a lunch and was ready to go. The hike was uneventful. For part of the time, Stephan walked beside him. A few times, Billy gave him a knowing look. But nobody said anything and he kept his silence. All the boys in the troop knew Matthew from school and understood that he was very shy so while they chattered around him, they didn’t expect him to respond. Following lunch at a trail junction, they took the other trail, which led back to their campsite. There was time for a swim before supper, but Matthew didn’t feel like swimming, and he knew the water was cold, so instead he sat on the bank watching the other boys swim and splash each other. After they cooked and ate supper, they had a campfire where Uncle Bob told scary stories. Then it was time for bed.
Matthew had decided not to undress to sleep. It was still too warm for his sleeping bag so he lay once again on top. After Uncle Bob went around to all the tents to be sure the boys were settled for the night, he crawled into the tent. Looking at the boy he asked, “Why do you still have your uniform on?”
“I just wanted to sleep this way tonight. That way, in the morning, I won’t have to waste time dressing.”
The man smiled and asked, “What were you and Stephan talking about this morning?”
The boy had anticipated the question and replied, “Just some scout stuff. He was helping me learn the Scout Law.”
The Man stripped down to his shorts, unzipped his sleeping bag and climbed in although he did not zip it up again. They were quiet then, and soon the boy heard the man’s gentle breathing. He lay awake, frightened, tears again filling his eyes. He wondered if the man would touch him again or leave him alone. Finally, sleep overtook him.
He awoke much later. The flashlight was on and the man was leaning over him. Having unbuttoned the boy’s shirt and undone his belt buckle the man was proceeding to unzip his fly. The boy remained silent, hoping that, if he didn’t respond, the man would leave him alone. When the man began to pull his trousers and undershorts down, it was useless to pretend any longer. He looked at the man and said, “Don’t! Please don’t!” his voice breaking in his fear.
The man looked up at him and smiled. “I won’t hurt you, beautiful boy. I just want to make you feel good.” The boy felt his penis begin to swell again, betraying him. Soon it was poking up once again at the tent roof. “That’s a good boy,” the man breathed quietly. “I want to show you something new tonight.” He leaned over the boy’s groin and kissed his penis before moving down and taking his testicles in his mouth. The boy was horrified. This was something he had never dreamed of. He tried to scream as Stephan had told him to, but nothing would come out. After a moment the man moved his mouth up and licked his penis. Then he took the boy’s penis into his mouth, moving his head slowly up and down. Again the boy felt the tension rise in his groin. This time, he arched his back a little as he came in the man’s mouth. The man continued moving up and down, sucking gently, even after the spasms had stopped. Taking his mouth off the boy’s penis he licked it gently, making sure he had all the cum. Looking at the boy again he smiled and asked, “Wasn’t that wonderful?” The boy didn’t respond.
They lay side by side, the man with his arms around the boy while the boy shook and wept silently. “What’s wrong?” the man asked. “Didn’t you enjoy that?”
Matthew shook his head.
“Well that’s too band,” said the man, “but now you’re going to do the same thing for me.”
“I can’t! I won’t!” whimpered the boy desperately. Again his voice cracked, from low to high, but he was so frightened he didn’t even notice.
“Oh, you will,” said the man. He reached over into his backpack and pulled out his fishing knife. Holding it so the point touched the boy’s scrotum, he said, “Because if you don’t, I’ll cut off one of your balls. And if you still don’t, I’ll cut off the other one. Do you know what happens to boys when they lose their balls?”
The boy shook his head fearfully.
“They never become true men. Their voices never finish changing. They’re never able to have sex. Do you want that to happen to you?”
Miserably, the boy again shook his head. He wanted to scream but was still unable to.
“Then do as I tell you.” The man lay back. “Come over here and lick my cock,” he ordered. Trembling, the boy did as he was told. “Lick all the way down and then lick my balls.” Fearfully the boy followed directions. “Good. Now, take my dick in your mouth.” Still quaking, tears streaming down his face, the boy did as he was told. “Now suck on it gently, sliding your mouth up and down...Not with your teeth; with your lips!” The boy continued, feeling the tension rise in the man. The man arched and a burst of cum splashed against the back of the boy’s throat, gagging him. Choking and coughing, but not daring to remove his mouth, he continued to move as more spasms of cum spurted in. When the man finished, he lay back and said, “Now, lick my dick just like I did for you.”
Finishing, the boy turned on his stomach and wept convulsively, constrictions clutching at his throat as he sobbed. Finally, he pulled his trousers up and began to exit the tent. “Where do you think you’re going?” demanded Uncle Bob.
“I have to piss.”
“You have five minutes.”
The boy went to the latrine they had dug and urinated. Then he returned to the tent area and lay down beside his cold fire, peering up in the moonlight at the shadowy branches. Soon, the man came out and found him. “Get back in the tent.” The boy shook his head. “I’m not asking you; I’m telling you.” Again the boy shook his head. The man stood looking down at him. Finally, sighing, he said, “Do you remember what I told you could happen to you?” The boy nodded. “Good. If you say so much as one word to anybody, I swear I’ll do it.” With that, he turned and re-entered the tent.
The boy lay awake the rest of the night. Eventually, his shaking calmed and his tears stopped. He watched the moon move across the sky. He watched the sky begin to lighten. He listened to the birds awakening and small creatures moving in the brush as the light filtered through the leaves overhead. In time, boys began to emerge from their tents, some of them coming over to him, laughing. One of the boys looked down at him asking, “What are you doing out here?”
“I got hot in the tent, so I came out to cool off.” They laughed again, all except Stephan, who gazed at him thoughtfully. He brushed the dirt off Matthew’s uniform and then sat beside him as the boy started to cook his breakfast.
Matthew looked sideways at Stephan, who was a little older than he. He’d looked at him several times previously, but never before when they were so close to each other. He knew the boy was gregarious and fun-loving. Now he realized that Stephan was a little bigger than he was. The older boy was beginning to fill out well, but was definitely not tending towards fat. His face was broad but well-defined and framed by dark, curly, jet-black hair, which he wore full. His dark eyes were set in deep hollows, so that at times it was difficult to tell whether or not they were open. His friendly, cheerful smile and his sense of humor made him popular among his contemporaries, although occasionally his jokes did not endear him to his teachers. Girls thought he was sexy, boys thought he was too cute, but everybody found him highly attractive.
Looking at Matthew, Stephan said, “He did it again, didn’t he?” Matthew, staring into the fire, blushed bright red. “Shit!” exclaimed Stephan. “Why didn’t you yell like I told you to?”
In a voice so low Stephan could barely make out the words, Matthew said, “I couldn’t. I was too scared.”
“I think he’s getting worse,” mused Stephan. “We need to find a way to stop him. I’ll get back to you on this. There’s no reason why you or any other boy should have to put up with this abuse.” Once again he gently patted Matthew on the shoulder and departed. After he was gone, Matthew realized that he had enjoyed the boy’s soft touch and wondered what that meant.
Uncle Bob kept them busy all day, cooking, putting up and taking down tents, practicing first aid, and finally, running an obstacle course. Parents began arriving about 4:30. Matthew’s mother helped him put his belongings in the car. As they drove home she said, “You’re very quiet. Did you have a good time?”
He nodded.
“What did you do?”
“Oh, just scout stuff. Hiking, cooking, pitching tents, stuff like that.” Try as she might, she could not get another word out of him.
At dinner that night, his parents talked and tried unsuccessfully to engage him. He stared down at his plate and ate little. “Are you sick?” asked his mother.
He shook his head.
“Then what’s wrong?” his father asked.
“Nothing...Can I be excused now?” he asked in the soprano half of his voice, which really annoyed him. It always seemed that his voice was high when he was anxious. He wished it would just finish changing so he had some control over it.
Leaving the table, he went to his room and tried unsuccessfully to read. Then he tried drawing, a favorite activity and one in which he could usually lose himself, but he came up with nothing but black scribbles. Finally, he went to bed and cried himself to sleep.