A lot of kids would be better off if there were more people like Stan

Joe reports of two relationships with men he had at the age of 10 and 13 respectively. The second one continues to this day.

Source: SOLR-Interview, personal, written notes

Full text and comments from Consenting Juveniles


Frank was in his fifties; he didn’t have long to go before he retired. He knew everybody in the whole town. He knew my mother and father, my brothers and sisters. We always got along pretty well with Frank. He was a good guy and he was always around.

Not long after I started working for him, Frank started doing funny things with me. He said his wife couldn’t have sex anymore. I think she had cancer or something. It was pretty innocent, masturbation, stuff like that, nothing serious. We did it on the gym mats stored in his office. He would take my pants off and masturbate me. It was all right with me. It didn’t feel wrong or anything. I enjoyed how it felt. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have done it. I just would have stopped. I’m sure he would have been fine with that. He wasn’t an aggressive old man. All I would have had to say was “No,” and it would have ended right there.

The first year or two with Frank, I didn’t even think it was sex, pretty much didn’t even know what sex was. But then I hit puberty around eleven. I had my first orgasm in his mouth. So it was kind-of confusing, about sex. But not a problem, I just thought it felt good.

It was just me and him but I’m sure that he had relationships with other kids too. I heard he had relations with older kids, years before me. It’s hard to tell who he was and who he wasn’t playing with. It was hush-hush but it seemed that everybody knew, small town talk. Frank was the elephant in the room. Everybody knew it was there, but nobody would talk about it. He told me he would have got in some serious trouble if people knew. I didn’t really think about it too much.


They took me out to lunch and we got to talking. Talked for a couple of hours. I had an inkling there was sexual interest but I didn’t really think about it. I kind-of felt the vibe. I pretty much knew the kind of people they were. And they were good people. They were friendly and I knew I could trust them. I gave them the number at my sister’s house and Stan said he’d give me a call. Then we all went to visit our friends at the foster home and hung out for a while. They left and I got a ride home from one of my buddies.

Stan called a couple of weeks later. He asked if I wanted to come out to the big city, to stay overnight and go back the next day. I’d never been to the city and I thought it was cool. I knew it was for sex and, unlike with Frank, now I knew what sex was. I was kind-of interested and that’s why I said yes. I didn’t think of it as a date at that time, but looking back on it now, it pretty much was.

He picked me up in the afternoon. We went out to eat and hung out. He showed me the sights and we went to a movie. Then we went back to his place. It was a nice, old house on the West Side. Just Stan and Chris lived there.

We hung out for a while, watched TV in Stan’s room. A couple of hours later, he got the nerve enough to grab my hand. We hugged and kissed, masturbation, groping. It was pretty mutual, except the oral sex was just him doing me.


As for Stan, I’ve always said, if I didn’t meet Stan when I did, I’d probably be dead, in jail, or hooked on drugs somewhere. Stan became the reason I stayed out of trouble. Because I knew there was somebody out there who cared. Who really cared. Who just wasn’t bullshitting, feeding me a line. I looked forward to seeing him. If I got in trouble, then I wouldn’t have been able to spend any time with him. And I knew that.

I looked up to Stan. I wanted to be like him when I grew up. To be happy, successful, a good person. He showed me a lot. And, he tells me, he learned a lot from me too.

I think a lot of kids would be better off if there were more people like Stan.


Stan and I are still tight. He’s still my best friend now, pretty much. It’s more than your basic friendship. It’s probably better.

I haven’t seen him since he moved away to Europe a few years ago. He calls me every week and we talk for a half an hour to an hour. We talk about how I’m doing and how he’s doing. Talk about the kids. Talk about Chris. Talk about my parents. We talk about surviving this life, getting through it.

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