When I was 13 years old I had my first sexual experience with someone older: my adult camp counselor. He had been my counselor for three years, was a school teacher somewhere, and was very kind to me.
My first year in camp I was very home-sick and this kind and gentle man would hold me close to him, in private, and allow me dignity as I cried onto his shoulder. He held me, stroked my back but in no way did he take "advantage" of me.
Over the next two years I had my parents request this man, whom I believed to have been in his late 30s, to be my counselor because I liked him and thought he was a very nice man.
During my third and final year I began having sexual desires for him, wanted him to kiss me, and tried to give him several hints. While other boys were working their way towards medals and projects they could take home, my project was to climb in bed with this man.
My chance finally came on a rainy night after all of us went to bed. I could not sleep and instead I went into his private quarters where he invited me to climb under the sheets.
He finally took the chance and fondled me finally kissing then sucking me over and over again. It was the most exciting sexual experience I have ever had.
The next day and for the final week of camp we reacted toward each other as if nothing had happened. I left camp never to see or hear from him again.
As a gay man in my early 30s I am not now attracted to children but to older men; perhaps thinking of my counselor. But my case is one to refute the charges that once molested as a child, a person grows up to be a molester of his own. I was not molested. I was loved and I feel I am better for it.