Sexual Abuse – Sage Telling Your Story

September 16, 2016February 26, 2019

Visits with the Doctor on Summer Afternoons by Ricky

By March 1968, I was fresh out of Air Force basic training and assigned to Goodfellow AFB, Texas, where I entered training to become a “radio intercept analyst.” These are the military personnel who work from remote and isolated locations, like mountain tops, listening to radio transmissions from countries to collect secret intelligence data. Of all the jobs that were available when I was still in basic training, this one seemed the most interesting and challenging.

I completed phase-one training with the highest score in my class. All thirty graduates of the class performed base details for three months while awaiting the Top Secret phase-two training to begin. I never entered the second phase of training because of a doctor; the base psychiatrist to be specific.

Some background information is needed here for clarification as the story unfolds. From the age of 10 in 1958 until I left home for college at 18 in 1966, I lived in what is now known as South Lake Tahoe. I had little to no social life outside of weekly Boy Scout meetings and periodic campouts because my ten-year younger twin brother and sister needed babysitting. Our parents were alcoholics and were mostly absent during the week until 1 or 2 AM, after the bars closed.

Consequently, I became very naïve about life in general and living in the adult world. Emotionally incomplete I was not prepared to face college away from home and continued to have no social life maintaining a hermit-like existence. As a result, I failed my first year of college and needed to join the Air Force in 1967 to avoid being drafted into the army or worse yet, the marines.

At Goodfellow AFB, I continued to be socially awkward and so rapidly developed a case of home-sickness. I requested my commander or first sergeant to let me talk to a counselor, but no appointment was ever made. During the break between classes, an investigator interviewed all of us waiting for the next phase of training to begin. His purpose was to gather enough information to complete a background check to see if we could be cleared to have access to Top Secret material.

During my interview, he asked me if I ever had any homosexual experiences. I told him that a friend and I once mutually masturbated each other when we were 16. He then asked if I had ever talked to a psychiatrist about it. I replied that, I had read such behavior was considered “normal” so I wasn’t worried about it. He inquired how I was “doing” in the military environment and I replied that I was a bit home-sick but otherwise okay. He wanted to know if I wanted to talk to someone about it and I told him that my commander or first sergeant was supposed to be getting me an appointment but nothing had occurred yet. He told me don’t worry, I will get you one. One week later I had my first appointment, not with a counselor but with the base psychiatrist.

I don’t really remember his face or specific age, but I do remember that he was not “old” or “elderly” in my point of view. That first visit took place about 2PM in his assigned offices. The female receptionist took me to an examination room, told me to undress down to my shorts, and the doctor would be with me in a few minutes. I did as she asked. The doctor came in and introduced himself and told me to sit on the exam table. He then proceeded to give me what was a common physical examination which included the “turn-your-head-and-cough” hernia check. I was too young to need a prostate check, thank goodness.

After the exam, he had me dress and meet with him in his office so we could talk about why I was there. I told him about the home-sickness and we talked for the remainder of an hour. Over the next few weeks, I met with him four or five more times. The only difference was each of those following times, the appointment was at 4:45 PM and so the receptionist would leave for the day prior to the doctor seeing me. In other words, we were alone in the building. Each time he began our sessions by giving me a complete physical exactly the same as before. I always wondered why at the time, but he was an officer and a doctor. As a doctor I didn’t question him and since I was taught to obey all officers, I didn’t question him either; I just did what I was told to do.

The very last appointment was different. It began benignly enough with the physical exam, but this time after having me stand for the hernia check he had me lay back down on the table naked (with my hands at my side) and began to ask me questions about my relationships with my relatives and friends back home; questions we had discussed in our previous meetings in his office. Partway through the questioning he began to flip my penis back and forth using his index finger. I was surprised to say the least, but as I said previously, he was a doctor and an officer so I said nothing other than to answer his questions.

It is said that men think with their penis. It is not possible for the penis to think, but I can tell you it is completely difficult for the brain to concentrate while the penis is demanding attention and more blood. By the time he asked me about my relationship with my father I was nearly brain dead for speech. My penis was only half erect and I told him that he should stop. He said, “Why?” and I replied, “Because you are beginning to turn me on.” He said, “You let me worry about that.” and continued to flip it back and forth. He suddenly switched from flipping it to masturbating it slowly, but it only got a bit more erect. By this time he was not asking any more questions. Shortly, he asked me if my penis got harder. I told him it did and he told me to make it hard. So now I became the one masturbating myself in front of him. I was so nervous that after about two minutes my penis would not get any more erect than 75% of what was possible. I stopped and told the doctor and he told me to get dressed and come to his office.

Once in his office, he wanted to know what I had meant when I said he “…was turning me on.” I explained that I only meant he was giving me an erection. He then told me he was removing me from further training because he did not think I “… could stand the strain of an isolated or remote assignment.” I was shocked and dismayed and pleaded with him not to do this; but to no avail.

Soon thereafter, I was transferred to Hurlburt Field (Eglin Auxiliary Field #9) near Ft. Walton Beach, Florida, 50-miles east of Pensacola. (This was the airfield that General Doolittle trained his pilots and aircrews for the 30-seconds over Tokyo attack during WW2.) When I left Goodfellow AFB, I just put the memory away as unimportant because I did not know or recognize that he had done something illegal and totally unethical. The rest of my life continued from that point and location, but in a different direction from what I had been expecting.

Strangely enough, in my official Air Force medical records, the only record of my appointments with the psychiatrist is of the first appointment. None of the rest are documented in my medical records and any mental health records are also missing or non-existent. It would be quite surprising, if the doctor had left a medical record of his molesting a patient.

Does anyone else have a similar experience with a military or civilian doctor?

About the Author

I was born in June of 1948 in Los Angeles, living first in Lawndale and then in Redondo Beach. Just prior to turning 8 years old in 1956, I began living with my grandparents on their farm in Isanti County, Minnesota for two years during which time my parents divorced.

When united with my mother and stepfather two years later in 1958, I lived first at Emerald Bay and then at South Lake Tahoe, California, graduating from South Tahoe High School in 1966. After three tours of duty with the Air Force, I moved to Denver, Colorado where I lived with my wife and four children until her passing away from complications of breast cancer four days after the 9-11 terrorist attack.

I came out as a gay man in the summer of 2010. I find writing these memories to be therapeutic.

My story blog is TheTahoeBoy.Blogspot.com

August 4, 2014February 26, 2019

Don’t Touch Me There by Will Stanton

This topic seems immediately to imply unwanted physical contact. Perhaps that’s what the person who chose it was thinking. I suppose one could, by extension, think of “touching the mind,” or “touching the soul.” But then again, maybe that’s stretching it; those approaches sound too philosophical for such a small presentation.

So, what can a person such as I write about unwanted touching? Any form of touching is foreign to my experience growing up and into my early adulthood. Coming from a rather Puritanical home where touching and expressions of love were extremely limited, I craved the kind of attention that psychologists have learned is so important for helping to develop happy, healthy people with a good sense of self-esteem. I’m speaking of wanted touching, of course. I would not have been comfortable with unwanted touching. In my case, that was not a problem. My having had a very controlled childhood, apparently I never was placed into a situation where I was vulnerable to unwanted touching.

So, rather than my speaking of my own limited experience, I’ll address the fact that the human need to be touched, to be held, to have sex, is a powerful need; and if a majority of people, or those people with power and authority, feel that some expressions are outside their experience and therefore not normal, they tend to make such expressions taboo. What human expressions are deemed to be abnormal and worthy of being demonized or punished has changed from era to era and country to country. This certainly is true with same-sex relationships and relationships of individuals of disparate ages.

What once was accepted may no longer be accepted. The spreading of the Judeo-Christian mindset and influence in the West and the Muslim belief-system in the Middle East is what turned same-sex attraction taboo and instilled greatly varying limits upon age-of-consent. Societies do change. To exist in contemporary society, one needs to makes certain rational accommodations if for no other reason than for self-preservation. Such accommodations, however, should not result in denying the reality of one’s own nature or the acceptance of the facts of human nature in general. Ignorance and fear should not negate empathy and love for other people. Unfortunately, that ignorance, intolerance, and even stupidity continue to be pervasive, and with terrible consequences to the health and wellbeing of individuals and society as a whole.

I have observed cases of persons suddenly developing extremely painful emotions with terrible shame and guilt when it has been drummed into them that they should, they must, harbor such destructive feelings. Churches with intolerant, antiquated dogma and social groups that have lived with such bias firmly ingrained for generations continue to contribute to a social atmosphere that harms rather than helps. The legal system and courts have exacerbated fears of human sex, both straight and gay.

In one case, the Denver County District Attorney charged a young man with ten felony counts for a several-month, mutually agreed-upon relationship because his girlfriend was not yet eighteen. Under the laws of age-of-consent in France, the relationship would have been legal. Those felony charges must have succeeded in causing life-long trauma to both individuals and also destroyed for life the reputation of the young man. I was so disturbed by seeing the young man crushed by the weight of authority and law that I could not stomach the idea of serving on the jury. I fortunately was able to have myself excused from the jury because of my work obligations.

In another example, had seventeen-year-old Daniel Radcliffe opened his play “Equus” in New York rather than London, he could have been arrested for public nudity because what was legal in England was not in New York. There are implied moral determinations here, too. What was moral in England would have been immoral in New York. A rational person would be right in questioning if this made any sense.

The news media also do their share of sensationalizing sex, too, turning human nature into titillating, yet shocking, tales of human depravity. The viewing audience and voting public, therefore, focus on sex rather than the important issues of the day.

Mind you, I’m not excusing unwanted touching or harming other people. Instead, I’m speaking of the profound need of humans for love and touch that often goes unmet. Years of psychological research has proved that emotional closeness and physical touch are essential for good mental and physical health. Without loving contact, the mind and body suffer. In addition, without them, the young, from frustration, may place themselves into undesirable situations, seeking that needed love and touch. A college friend of mine revealed to me that, during high school, he had been so desperate for love and touch that he briefly had turned to prostitution, not so much for money, but rather for hoped-for comfort.

I’ll relate a case of someone I met who described in detail his experience of touching. From his telling, it was hard to discern what his current feelings are regarding his experience, wanted or unwanted touching.

When I first met him, the scandal involving the Catholic Church was just breaking. At thirty, he still looked very boyish and attractive, although he also had made a macho place for himself in society by forming a successful concrete-cutting company. During a group-conversation about the apparent molestation of boys by priests, he ironically quipped, “None of the priests touched me. What was wrong with me?”

I say “ironically” because what he experienced was far more significant than a mere occasion or two being fondled by an adult. His experience also began at an age that even ancient Greeks thought to be too young, eleven; and the man was twenty-one.

There were stereotypical aspects to his childhood, such as a totally dysfunctional family and an absence of love. Lacking guidance, support, and affection, he was an easy target, as often is the case with such boys. Yet, the boy and the man apparently derived sufficient comfort and satisfaction from the relationship because it lasted ten years. One would assume that, as he grew into adulthood and gained some more mature perspective of his situation, he might have felt more comfortable withdrawing from the relationship if he had developed growing misgivings. Apparently, he had not.

As it turned out, it took an outside force to radically change his perspective. The disharmony and dysfunction within his family had only increased, so he sought professional help. Now, I know something about how to work constructively with patients, and immediately imposing one’s own, personal beliefs upon a patient, especially when such beliefs are intolerant and deny human nature, should be avoided. Apparently however, avoidance is precisely what this therapist did not do. When he was informed of the ten-year relationship, the therapist told the young man that he had been taken advantage of, abused, molested, scarred for life, that he always would feel guilt and shame. Not surprisingly, he consequently concluded that the therapist must be right and developed agitated feelings of having been scarred for life and shamed. So rather than coming to comfortable terms with his homosexuality, he became confused and angry.

All this occurred unbeknownst to the older man. To celebrate his young friend’s birthday, he had delivered to him a nice, new television set. Still feeling his new-found rage, the young man walked it over to the other’s home and smashed the TV on his front porch. Obviously, that was the end of their relationship.

Any thinking person who has become familiar with history can not escape the realization that such desires and relationships are ubiquitous and have existed for many centuries. This is not a limited nor new phenomenon. If any rational person takes the time and makes the effort to dispassionately analyze this fact, some logical questions are raised. What kind of touching is, in the truest sense, natural; what kind unnatural? What kind of intimacy is healthful; what kind unhealthful? If society or religion make normal human needs taboo, and people’s attempts to meet their desires become misunderstood, feared, corrupted, and unnatural, its logical to conclude that the resulting behaviors may become fear-laden, twisted and unnatural. Harm may come to one or both parties. Skewed behavior may turn even to violence.

Nobody should take advantage of another person, young or old, to selfishly attempt to satisfy a need. This is especially true with very young people who have not yet developed their minds and personalities to the extent where they can make rational decisions for themselves. That is precisely why the ancient Greeks assumed that young adolescents where not appropriate for intimate relationships, although courting older ephebes was not only accepted but celebrated. A thinking person might conclude that ancient Greeks had a more normal, healthful attitude about sex than modern societies. For any person to hold intolerant beliefs and to instill in others self-destructive thoughts and feelings not felt naturally is thoughtless and harmful.

Too little effort has been made by professionals and the general public to understand natural human needs, needs that have gone unmet with so many people for so long. I have read some surprising comments posted on YouTube regarding the film “For a Lost Soldier,” an autobiographical account similar to my description of the relationship told to me. There were several posted comments from viewers who, when young, apparently had lacked the love and touch they so desperately needed. Several of them said, “I wish that had happened to me.” How the relationship in the story happened was not the most healthful or desirable; however, I can understand the feelings of those who still felt hurt that they were denied a loving touch.

About the Author

I have had a life-long fascination with people and their life stories. I also realize that, although my own life has not brought me particular fame or fortune, I too have had some noteworthy experiences and, at times, unusual ones. Since I joined this Story Time group, I have derived pleasure and satisfaction participating in the group. I do put some thought and effort into my stories, and I hope that you find them interesting.

September 25, 2013February 26, 2019

Mistaken Identity by Will Stanton

“Look! It’s George Clooney!” I was startled and quickly checked to see where the speaker was looking. There was no third person present. He was looking at me! A case of mistaken identity. The very next week, a trio of ecstatic teenage girls screeched, “Justin Bieber!” Again, I immediately looked right and then left, astonished that Justin Bieber would actually be in my presence without my having noticed. He wasn’t there; the girls were looking at me. Again, mistaken Identity!

No, of course that did not really happen. No one ever has mistaken me for someone famous. I don’t resemble any of them. Instead, I probably look more like the fictional person Dave Letterman jokes about, the old curmudgeon who shouts at the kids, “Get off my lawn, and take that mangy dog with you…and that dump that it just left on my grass!”

Instead, let me tell you about a remarkable story of truly mistaken identity, one that has been made into an excellent quality film and subsequently released on DVD. I have shown it to friends. I’ll tell you just enough of the story’s background, but I’ll leave the best bits for you to see for yourselves. It’s title is “AKA,” that is, an assumed name, an assumed identity. This actually did happen in 1978, and it is an autobiographical tale by writer and director Duncan Roy.

The main character is named “Dean” rather than Duncan. His advantages are that he is a very handsome seventeen-year-old with high intelligence, capable of being a fast study, and he possesses a quiet, pleasing personality. His disadvantages, however, are several and profoundly debilitating. He comes from a very poor and poorly educated home with an unseeing, ineffectual, dysfunctional mother and a father from hell who intimidates and abuses both mother and son but, also, who has had a history of frequently raping the boy even to the extent of occasionally allowing a buddy to engage in the abuse. The sad and painful consequence is that Dean’s feelings and thinking become severely distorted to the extent that he cannot relate emotionally or sexually to either females or males. If people express sexual interest in Dean, he equates that interest with rape, whether he allows them to proceed or not.

Two other points influenced Dean’s personality and his future. He had hoped to be somebody, to go to college and to make something of himself, although this was disdained and unsupported by the working-class father. The other influence was that his mother’s employment was as a waitress at a trendy London restaurant frequented by Britain’s aristocratic élite. His mother provided Dean with a daily run-down of which celebrities had appeared at the restaurant, and she would sit at the kitchen table with him, pouring over the gossip magazines, pointing out pictures of various aristocrats including a Lady Gryffoyn, who ran an art gallery as a hobby.

To prevent the mother’s belated discovery of his sexual abuse, the father throws Dean out of the house without money or any place to go. Dean wanders about Lady Gryffoyn’s up-scale neighborhood, hoping to find her and ask for a job. Instead, he is picked up by an aging ingénue who sees Dean as obviously quite young and very innocent. Dean stays for dinner, meets other guests who turn out to be outrageous queens who adore him for his youth and good looks. They make quite a fuss over him. He consequently feels appreciated and accepted for the first time in his life. This is the beginning of Dean’s transformation.

Dean tries for a menial job at the art gallery. On one hand, Lady Gryffoyn is an arrogant bitch, not used to doing anyone favors; however on the other hand, she had a reputation for enjoying the company of very young men. He lands a job, gradually is accepted more and more by Lady Gryffoyn to the point of being allowed to hang about the house and to meet her aristocratic friends, and even at times to wear her son’s clothes while there. Dean acquires bank credit and a credit card, privileges that he has no experience or desire to handle responsibly. In this pre-computer age, he is able quickly to run up a large debt, acquiring the clothes and accoutrements of a gentleman.

Eventually, Dean meets Alexander, Lady Gryffoyn’s son, who is the same age as Dean. Alexander is even more arrogant and disdainful than Lady Gryffoyn and verbally abuses Dean. Dean quickly learns that this gentrified class habitually identifies their own kind by expensive, tailor-cut apparel, posh accent, sophisticated demeanor, how much money they are willing to throw about without the least concern, what private schools the young have attended, and whether the lads will be attending Oxford or Cambridge, at least to receive an easy “gentleman’s degree.” They cruelly disdain everyone else. Dean is painfully ill-at-ease and unsure of himself, but he quietly watches and listens. His ability as a quick study begins to pay off. Briefly left alone in the house, he explores Alexander’s suits, photos, along with anything he encounters that deals with Alexander’s life. He loses his identifying working-class accent and gradually learns to imitate the sophisticated accent of British élite.

Not permitted to remain at the London house and having attracted the attention of the fraud squad, Dean takes the advice of a young American gigolo to go to Paris. The major turning point of Dean’s story is when he attempts to gain a job at a Paris art gallery but has had little experience and does not speak French. He is dismissed with the polite but not encouraging statement, “I’ll take your name.” After some hesitation, Dean finally says, “Alexander Gryffoyn.” The gallery owner immediately springs to his feet and, with a great smile, welcomes Dean with open arms. The aristocratic name works magic and opens all doors.

Step by step, with the right clothes, the appropriate accent, and occasional little white lies, Dean is introduced to the crème de la crème of Continental élite. This cream of society, however, is repulsively curdled. These people are the sort often referred to as “Euro-trash.” Some of them are British tax expatriates, avoiding paying taxes on their fortunes. Others are remnants of European nobility, people with money but with no purpose in life other than to feel important and to party endlessly. Alcohol flows, and cocaine is consumed as a matter of course.

What continues to happen in Dean’s life for more than a year becomes even more remarkable and fascinating. Popular, adored, catered to, Dean loves being, as his embossed invitations read, “Lord Alexander Gryffoyn.” To his sorrow, however, he never has been accepted and loved as Dean, his real self.

He eventually goes back to Britain to face the music. His identity theft makes the news, replete with many photos of himself posing as Alexander. Despite his having lived for a while under an identity that was false and not his true self, Dean ironically concludes that, in contrast to that snobbish SOB Alexander, he, Dean, had been a far better “Lord Alexander Gryffoyn” than the real one ever could hope to be.

This is all the teaser that I am going to give to you. For you to enjoy all the most remarkable bits of the story, as well as see the more intimate scenes, if that is your “cup of English tea,” watch the DVD. It is an amazing story of mistaken identity, well worth seeing. And frankly, Dean himself is worth seeing. I wouldn’t mind being mistaken for him.