I was grateful for the lift so I madeconversation as best I could.About half a mile from my home, he stopped the car. It was raining. Youcould hardly ...ee through the windscreen. The man dropped his hand on myknee, then started to stroke the inside of my thigh. "You don't have tohome right away," he said. "You're a good-looking boy. We can sit here fora bit." I was paralysed. The hand kept stroking, fingers getting closer tomy lap with each brush. And I was getting an erection!The second he. I’d see campers on Sunday during coffee hour, a Methodist institution specified on the Wittenberg Door. Nobody wonders if the Parish Nurse might herself want coffee. My first one was Owen Krebs, 14.I knew Owen as always at the head of the potluck line, hardly a sin, though some older members might think so. You could hear him actually singing in youth chorus, not just mouthing, so that was a plus. As tall as me, but that didn’t prove much. All in all, a junior Methodist.“This’ll just take a. More

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