I left the Idaho Youth Corrections Boy’s School in March of 1982, two days after my twentieth birthday.  There was no senior party or graduation ceremony with a tinny high school band playing Pomp And Circumstance, no caps, gowns, or march up to the podium to receive a diploma, no inspirational speech by a nerdy valedictorian telling us that we were the future, and sure as hell no big drunk or getting laid afterwards.  It was really a prison and not an accredited school so there wasn’t even a diploma, just a recommendation to take the GED exam, and in my case the SAT test.  No official announcement was made of my graduation, just a notice posted on the daily list one night saying that Abbot, James, was to be transferred the next day.

            I woke up the next day with a boner, as usual, and lay in my bunk for a few minutes waiting for it to subside before going to the toilet to piss.  “Move over, dammit,” I told Paul, one of my other cellmates.  We all woke up needing to pee and we usually shared the pot, two or three of us going at the same time.

            Barry Someone, fourteen years old, stood fidgeting by his bunk waiting for us to finish.   He had only been there for two weeks and was too shy to piss with another guy.  He would get over that soon enough, and would also probably stop having nightmares.

            I dressed in yesterday’s shorts and tee shirt, then gingerly pulled on my socks, aware that one was still damp with last night’s jizz, then finally my slightly smelly shoes before brushing my teeth and lining up for the morning head count.  After that was morning PE, followed by a refreshing shit, the daily shower, weekly shave, clean clothes, and then breakfast, same as any other day.

            I was pulled from the line after breakfast and escorted to the ‘detachment center,’ where I would be ‘processed’ for transport to the courthouse.  No one leaves the school as a free civilian.  They always go before a judge before being freed or sent anywhere else.  Juveniles in Idaho don’t stand trial and aren’t sentenced, as such, but instead receive a hearing by a judge and are ‘referred’ to the school until a specific age, or in some cases until they can be tried and subsequently sentenced as adults.  I killed my stepdad and was referred to the juvenile system until my twenty-fifth birthday.  I had outgrown this facility and would now be placed in the Juvenile Offender’s wing of the state penitentiary to serve the remaining five years of my referral in what we called hard time, which was just work and confinement without further schooling, and fortunately, without contact with the older felons.

            The detachment officer was supposed to be some kind of doctor and if he was he trained under Joseph Mengele.  He first made me strip, which wasn’t unusual, and gave me a cursory physical before pulling on a pair of latex gloves.   He then retracted my foreskin and took a look there, then he grabbed my scrotum with one hand and ran his other hand all around it, supposedly feeling for hidden contraband with his fingers while the growing bulge in his pants revealed his true motive.  For a finale I bent over so he could do what was euphemistically called a body cavity search.  The last fag who had fucked around with my balls and my asshole had been castrated and damned near killed but I didn’t bother telling him that.

            I was then given the newest, whitest underwear that I had ever seen and a pair of socks that actually fit, along with a bright orange jumpsuit and a fresh pair of shoes.  Leg irons and handcuffs with a restraining chain belt completed my ensemble; I was ready to travel.

            There were six other passengers on the retard-sized school bus for the four-hour trip, along with the driver and two guards.  The other guys were all seventeen or eighteen years old, and all had been in the school for two years or less, and all would be released after their hearings.  They all talked about one thing.  Sex.  They spent the whole trip talking about how much they had missed it and what all they were going to do in their first night if freedom.  The guards just took all of this in with a slight smile; they’d heard it all before.  I had barely even been pubescent when I was sent up and had never even kissed a girl and the only way I had ever gotten off was with my hand.  I knew that at least one if not all of the other guys were lying about their degree of sexual experience, but it still bothered me that they knew something that I didn’t, and worse yet was the cold hard reality that I had another five years of forced celibacy ahead of me.

            The judge hadn’t aged much in the six years since I had last seen him.  He was still bald, rather fat, and had an irritating whine to his voice.  He obviously didn’t recognize me; he had probably referred hundreds of youths since my case and I now bore no resemblance to the fourteen-year-old lad that had stood before him six years ago.  I was now a strapping young man, six feet tall and fully-grown, although still essentially beardless.

            He kept me we waiting for a long time while he read some documents, and then finally spoke.  “Congratulations, Mr. Abbot,” he began.  “You have an excellent record and have obviously earned the respect of the faculty at the Corrections facility.”  I didn’t really give a shit what he had to say.  I was just there as a formality so he could pass me off to the next phase of my incarceration.

            “Six years ago you stood before me and admitted to the aggravated murder of your stepfather.  You claimed that he had attempted to sodomize you.  Is that correct, Mr. Abbot?”

            My cheeks suddenly flushed with a heat that was not the result of my having scraped off the peach fuzz that morning.  “Yes, You Honor.”  I replied meekly.

            “Did the Public Defender assigned to you explain the difference between sodomy and attempted sodomy, Mr. Abbot, and how it would influence this court?” 

            “No, Your Honor.”  The lawyer guy hadn’t questioned me further when I told him that my stepdad had tried to buttfuck me.  I had been too embarrassed to admit that I really had been fucked in the ass. I had taken his advice and admitted my guilt.

            “If you had actually been sodomized that would certainly have modified my decision,” he informed me, six years too late.  “The lawyer that represented you has since been disbarred, and just a few days ago I was presented with a sworn statement from another person testifying that he had been sodomized by your stepfather.  Now, Mr. Abbot, I’m not going to ask you to admit to a previous perjury, nor am I going to cause you further embarrassment by asking you to now admit that you had been sodomized.  The murder of your stepfather was a serious offence regardless of any mitigating circumstances, but I feel that you have been adequately punished and in all probability you have been reformed, so I am hereby setting aside the remainder of your referral.  I am also directing that you consult a counselor for monthly evaluations until your twenty-first birthday.  I will use those reports as my basis for renewing the set aside of your sentence, so please stay out of trouble.  Your records indicate that you are a bright young man.  Get your GED as soon as possible, and schedule your SAT tests.  You should have no trouble securing a merit scholarship.”  The judge rapped his gavel on the block, finalizing his decision.  “Bailiff!  Remove Mr. Abbot’s restraints.  Mr. Abbot, you are free to go.”

            I suppose I should have thanked him, but I was too stunned to even speak.  I had come in there expecting five more years in the State Pen, and now I was free!  I didn’t have a clue just what to do with my newfound freedom, however.  I had no living relatives, my mother having committed suicide right after I went into stir.  There was a small inheritance that I would eventually receive, but in the meantime I had no money, nowhere to live, no job, and I didn’t even know how to drive let alone have a license to do so.  Quite frankly I was terrified.

            The bailiff led me to a changing room where I was issued decent shoes, new jeans, underwear, socks, heavy shirt, and a coat.  Next I met with a social worker that issued me vouchers for a month’s stay in a cheap motel, some meal tickets at a nearby café, and a small amount of money for necessities.  She also made an appointment for me to take the GED test and also set me up with the name, address, and phone number of my counselor.  Finally, out of the goodness of her heart she drove me to the motel and helped me get checked in. 

            It was the first time I had ever been in a motel.  I turned on the TV, marveling at the selection of cable channels, and feeling slightly guilty about being aroused by what one of them was showing, so I went for a walk then had dinner, my first cheeseburger in over six years.  I embarrassed myself again and flustered the waitress when I picked up my dirty dishes and took them to the scullery counter, as I had done three times a day for about as long as I could remember.

            I went back to the motel and took a shower.  It was the first time I had been naked alone or showered alone in a long time, and it felt good to wash my cock and balls and ass without two hundred other guys around.  I stepped out of the shower and dried off, then noticed the full-length mirror.  I had never seen myself in one and I was momentarily startled.  I had always thought that I was a little substandard below the belt and had sort of envied most of the other guys for the size of their tools.  Seeing my reflection I finally realized that I was perfectly normal.  I finished drying, looked around for a hidden camera, and then slowly started stroking myself.  I had never seen myself erect, nor had I ever seen myself come.  I had always masturbated under the covers while lying on my side facing the wall, and the product had always been collected in a dirty sock.  To do otherwise would have resulted in possible punishment by the authorities and certain ridicule by my cellmates.  Nudity was common and accepted in the reformatory, but you never let another guy see you pop a boner, and jacking off with someone watching was unthinkable.

            My enlightenment was interrupted by a knock on the door.  “Just a minute!”  I hollered, then quickly stuffed myself into my skivvies and pulled on my jeans, hoping the bulge wasn’t too obvious.

            “Oh, hi, sorry to bother you.”  It was Sally Socialworker. “I forgot to give you the list of job contacts,” she explained.  “I was out jogging and I thought I’d drop it by.”  She diverted her eyes to my bare, nearly hairless belly while my own eyes were locked on the protrusions of her nipples in the jogging bra.

            I was totally without experience and somewhat naïve, but I hadn’t spent the last six years in a vacuum.  We had current magazines, TV shows, and a few movies in the school and access to just about every book ever printed.  Had I been a little less clueless I might have recognized her signals earlier in the day.  Now she was coming across loud and clear and my poor, deprived body heard every word. 

            I woke up late the next morning with my balls aching and slightly swollen, and although I didn’t have an erection my cock felt as if it was larger than it had been the day before.  I was totally spermed out and I still hadn’t seen myself come.

             The GED test was a breeze and I was sure that I had scored well and possibly even aced it.  The job I secured with an electrical contractor was minimum wage but had an opportunity for promotion, and could also accommodate a college class schedule.  Sally gave me a few more lessens before sending me out on my own.  I never even knew her last name.

            The next month was by far the happiest time of my life.  I moved from the motel into an apartment that I shared with a guy from work.  I was promoted from floor sweeper to receiving, and the boss liked me so well that he even proposed that I forego college and take out an apprenticeship, which was an excellent opportunity.  A bunch of the guys were teaching me to drive in the lot behind the shop, and they even took me out partying with them, although I refused to drink.  They also set me up with a few girls and my education in that area was coming along nicely.  I had everything a young man could ask for-- friends, money, and girls, and it would have been perfect except for the counselor.

            Robert Bertram had a PHD in something or other and he insisted that I address him as Dr. Bertram.  He had an office in his home with a wall full of diplomas and awards that were supposed to impress people.  He was officially a Certified Idaho Youth Counselor and Evaluator, and he was supposed to meet with me monthly for an hour or so to determine rather or not I was worthy of continued parole.  He was a small man with a big attitude.  I showed up right on time for my first meeting, only to be kept waiting in his vacant office for a half an hour before being summoned to his inner sanctum.  He always referred to me in the diminutive, calling me ‘boy’, ‘kid’, or ‘son’.  He advised me to schedule a retake for my GED because ‘hardly anyone of limited intelligence’ passed it on the first attempt.  He determined that I was ‘well suited for my current menial job’ and that a future apprenticeship as an electrician was ‘probably too much to hope for since I was a felon of low moral character.’  He implied that I was a moron because I didn’t have a driver’s license, and that the bicycle I tooled around on was ‘more suited to an adolescent than to a responsible adult’, but he signed off on me anyway and made me an appointment for the next month.

            I showed up again the next month, and after the obligatory half hour wait I showed Dr. Bertram my new Commercial Driver’s License and GED results.  I hadn’t aced the test, but definitely had scored extremely well.

            “Well, I must say,” he offered as congratulations,  “You must be an extremely lucky young man.”

            I said something about it to my boss, whom I greatly admired and respected, and he just told me that it was probably a part of the program to see how I responded to criticism, and to just roll with it and not lose my temper.

            The following month I was about four minutes late to the appointment.  I had just purchased a used VW and hadn’t figured the travel time correctly.  This time he reamed me out for being late and wasting his valuable time.  Responsible adults respected the busy schedule of professionals, I was told, and did whatever it took to make sure they were on time.  He would let it pass this time, because I was obviously too dumb to know any better, but if it happened again he would have to inform the judge.

            I took the tests and interviewed with the apprenticeship committee, and with the help of a strong recommendation from my employer I was inducted as a first year apprentice electrician.   I took this information to my next meeting with Dr. Bertram, thinking it might get him off of my ass.  I wasn’t looking for praise from the asshole; I already knew he was incapable of that.  I only wanted to impress him with the fact that I was doing as the judge had instructed, in that I was staying out of trouble and bettering myself.  The apprenticeship positions are hard to obtain and I had done well to secure one.  I wasn’t anything special, but a lot of the guys my age were more interested in drinking and partying than working, and I had spent what amounted to six years in high school and had managed to pick up a lot of math and physics along the way, which helped a lot on my placement test.

            Dr. Asshole took one look at the copy of my acceptance letter that I had brought.  I had hoped he would add it to my file, but instead he merely shitcanned it and announced that it had the same value as a coupon cut from a cereal box top. 

            “What’s that on you neck?”  He asked, referring to a hickey I had gotten a couple of days ago.  “Are you sexually active?”  He accused.

            “Uh, yes sir.”  I stammered, not realizing it was a crime.

            “I assume you take precautions to avoid infecting innocent girls with whatever diseases you might have contracted in the prison system?”  He said.

             That pissed me off.  To start with I wasn’t a queer, and even so we had all been given regular checkups.  “Usually, Doctor.”

            “If you can’t learn to control your baser urges you owe it to the innocent public to always wear a condom,” he said, as if I was a mad rapist or pervert or something.  This was in 1982 and AIDS was still confined to very specific ethnic groups and not considered to be a threat to normal people.   “I have been trained to screen people for some of the common sexually transmitted diseases,” he informed me.  “Step over here and drop your pants.”

            I hesitated.  Daily nudity and occasional genital examinations had been part my life only a few months ago.   I thought I was through with all of that shit and now this asshole wanted to check my cock.

            “I’ll mark that down as ‘resisting authority’”, he announced, reaching for my evaluation form.  I finally stood up and dropped my pants and underwear to my ankles.  No matter what else happened I wasn’t going to go back into an institution.

            “Please retract the foreskin.”  He ordered.  He then came around his desk and knelt down, looked closely at the head of my cock, then wet the end of his finger and rubbed the slit a few times with a circular motion before pulling his finger away, checking for infection the same way real doctors, and as I learned later, whores did.  “Uncircumcised cocks are disgusting.  I don’t know what your mother was thinking, not having you circumcised like a normal boy,” he said, taking the disgusting thing into his mouth.

            We were pretty trash-mouthed in the school, at least when we were out of earshot of the faculty, and I had heard and probably even used the word ‘cocksucker’ to or denigrate a teacher or guard, and the phrase ‘bite me’ or ‘suck my dick’ was a common response to another student, and in retrospect I’m sure that some of the offers were accepted.  Some of the boys that claimed to have gotten blowjobs from girls said that it was the best thing that could happen to a guy but I shoved him back and turned away.

            “Okay,” he said, wiping his hand across his mouth, “if that’s the way you want it to be you can just go back inside for another five years.”

            I turned as red as I had ever been.  The situation itself was embarrassing enough, but worse yet the few seconds of fellatio had caused my supposedly heterosexual dick to rise to full attention.

            “You know you want it,” he said, pointing at the obvious indicator.  “Is your manly pride worth another five years?”  

            I went to my apartment afterwards and spent a long time in the shower, trying to cleanse the shame from my body.  I broke the date I had made for that night; even if I did get lucky I don’t think I could have gotten it up.  It was only later, just before falling asleep, that I realized he hadn’t said anything derogatory about the size of my cock or the quality of my emission.