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REAP WHAT YOU SOW The girl appeared in the nondescript hallway, facing one closed door of the many. She was small, standing about five foot two, and appeared to be in her mid teens. She was dressed casually in a light weight, yellow knee length dress with cap sleeves; a pair of semi-sheer, ruffled ankle socks and sandals with a one and a half inch wedge completed her outfit. Her long auburn hair was held in a single braid and fell like a thick rope down to her lower back. She looked both ways down the length of the hallway then reached up to give the door a polite knock. "Come," a pleasant female voice sounded from the other side of the door. "Ahh, Gwendolyn, come in dear." The girl heard in invitation as she opened the door. "Did you wish to see me, Ma'am?" The girl asked politely as she entered. She stood demurely facing an attractive, yet comfortable, woman in her late forties. According to the nameplate sitting on the front edge of the desk she was leaning over, her name was Dr. Francine Silvera. Dr. Silvera was a statuesque woman; standing just a fraction under five foot nine. When one counted the two inch heels she wore as part of her business attire, she was a very daunting woman indeed. Her maroon skirt and blazer ensemble accentuated rather than hid a lush, shapely figure that contained just a few more pounds than her doctor thought it should. She was not overweight but the extra poundage gave her shapely body a comfortable, lived-in look. Her shoulder length, dark brown hair was pulled back from a warm and friendly face that was just a tiny bit too irregular for what is accepted as classic beauty. She wore very little makeup, lightly applied; giving off the impression that her use of cosmetics was more a bow to convention and her femininity than to any serious effort on her part. A pair of fashionable small framed glasses with bronze framing finished off her outfit and brought one's attention to her large deep brown eyes. In which shone passion and intelligence, as well as compassion and empathy. "Why, yes I did, dear. We have a visitor who wished to speak with you." The Dr. said with a smile while gesturing with her left hand toward one side of the room. The girl followed the direction of her gesture, turning to see a tall, well dressed man standing in the middle of the office's adjoining sitting area. He was a man of average height and slim build who owed his build more to genetics than any effort on his part. He wore a charcoal gray business suit that looks like it came off a discount rack. With an invitational sweep of her right hand, Dr. Silvera indicated that Gwendolyn should precede her into the sitting area. "This is Mr. Gerald Buckman, of the Attorney General's office," she continued as she guided the girl over to the nicely appointed comfortable seating area. "And he has some news for you, dear." She sat down on one of the large couches and indicated the girl should sit beside her. Once the girl had positioned herself demurely, back straight, legs together and hands folded lightly in her lap, her small shapely backside resting on the front of the seat cushion; Dr. Silvera wordlessly invited the man to sit himself and begin. "Ah, well... yes," the man started as he took his seat in a comfortable overstuffed chair facing the couch. "I have come at the direction of the Attorney General to deliver the following message to Mr. Stanford Michaels... I am sorry, madam," directing his comment to Dr. Silvera. "Let me start out by saying I have been involved with this project for over two years. With that said, I must say that I have been completely aware of the particulars of this experiment and have been made privy to the nature of the apparent changes made to the participants herein, as well as the reasons for those changes. Therefore, I am fully aware that this young lady sitting before me is, in fact, Mr. Michaels; but it is one thing to see reports and have an intellectual knowledge of those apparent changes and how they were brought about, it is another altogether to see them for myself... If you ladies will pardon my diversion from normal procedure, I think it would probably be best for me to just read aloud the documents I was charged with delivery to Mr. Stanford. It would probably be less distracting for me that way, and less garbled for you." "Of course, Mr. Buckman, however you feel most comfortable." Dr. Silvera agreed politely. The girl just sat quietly, gazing at the floor between the two adults. "Thank you very much. Anyway, to begin," Mr. Buckman said, more to himself than anyone else in the room as he pulled a slim file folder out of his leather briefcase. Opening the front cover, exposing the first page, he began to read aloud. "From, the State Attorney General's office. To, Mr. Stanford G. Michaels. Reference, review and disposition regarding participation in experimental treatment programs (sub-reference: Cullen vs. Michaels, 1115, State Civil Courts, 2012). 21 July 2015 Mr. Michaels, Upon recent receipt of documentation by proper authorities verifying reported completion of medical and therapeutic course(s) of treatment by the plaintiff, this office initiated a complete review of your status and participation in an authorized experimental Sex Offender treatment program. In accordance with the agreed upon terms of said participation, the above mentioned review was able to determine and confirm the defendant has, in fact, met all financial responsibility, and cleared all debt incurred in the aforementioned course(s) of treatment. Therefore, also in accordance with the terms of agreement, this office has petitioned the State Courts to grant a letter of completion and order the immediate release of the defendant. Said order of release, and a copy of this document, is to be hand delivered to the defendant, with a copy to go to Synetics Research Center, Inc. who will immediately effect defendant's release and return to public. Signed, David B. Larson Asst. Attorney General Sitting quietly, the girl, Gwendolyn, became more rigid, coming to, if possible, an even straighter posture than her original position as the Lawyer began to read. As he reached the end, she immediately sagged and went limp, like a balloon with a large hole in it, to lean, semi- reclined against the Dr's side. "Now Gwendolyn," Dr. Silvera chided the girl as she helped her back to her original sitting position. "Sit up and pay attention, dear." Gwendolyn blushed deep crimson as she righted herself and attempted to get herself back in some semblance of order. She tried to listen to what Mr. Buckman was saying but her mind wandered back to the last time she was face to face with a lawyer representing the state: FROM WHENCE WE CAME. "Has the jury reached a verdict?" The Judge intoned firmly, after the twelve people had filed in and seated themselves in the jury box. "Yes, your honor, we have." replied one woman, coming to her feet and preparing to read from a typewritten sheet. "On the charge, the first, eight counts of Contributing to the Delinquency of a Minor, we find the defendant, Stanford Michaels, guilty as charged on all counts. On the charge, the second, twelve counts of Mental, Physical, or Emotional Abuse of a Child, we find the defendant, Stanford Michaels, guilty as charged on all counts. On the charge, the third, eight counts of Gross Sexual Imposition of a Minor, we find the defendant, Stanford Michaels, guilty as charged on all counts. On the charge, the fourth, five counts of Statutory Rape, we find the defendant, Stanford Michaels, not guilty on all counts. Based on the victim's testimony, she was consenting and had achieved the legal age of consent, if not legal majority, prior to engaging in sexual intercourse with the defendant." Having completed her report, the woman silently resumed her seat. "Thank you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury." The Judge said politely before turning his attention to the defendant's table. His gaze targeted and locked directly on me. To be the only person standing in a large, well populated room, while waiting for someone to pass judgment on one's previous actions made public, is probably the most humiliating and terrifying experience the average person could ever have. Worse, I still had a hard time coming to grips with the fact I was the one standing here. Never in my life had I ever thought that I would be labeled a sex-offender. I never thought of myself as a pervert and I wasn't some kind of sex fiend. I mean, I like sex, have thought about it a lot, and spent a great deal of the past seventeen years in the quest for sex; but then, that is pretty much normal for every male, starting at about the age of fifteen. I guess I had always figured I was pretty average and normal. I've chased girls, had one night stands and weekend flings, and had monogamous relationships. Granted, they were not as long as I would have liked but that's not unusual for my age group. Unfortunately, when you lack the looks, money, prospects, and most importantly, the self-confidence to be attractive to a woman, you get yourself taken off the prime mating candidate list; usually at the junior high school age. One gets used to being told 'no' (sometimes in not so polite, hurtful ways) a lot. A person can only take so much rejection before they pull themselves in and attempt to isolate themselves from the pain and humiliation of constant rejection. They try to convince themselves that they are the ones who are rejecting the system, refusing to play the game, and that they are happier being alone. There is a flip side to this phenomenon though; when they do meet someone who is interested in them as a romantic partner, they jump at the opportunity. But the emotional baggage they carry tends to make them clutching and 'needy' to some degree. In some cases, if the partners share a strong enough emotional bond, this neediness can be worked out and will often dissipate eventually; ultimately evolve into a true mutual partnership between two people. In other cases, the neediness is incorporated into the defining parameters of the relationship as a means to deal with them; with the needier partner often taking some form of secondary or submissive position and role in the relationship. Both of these outcomes are time consuming and, therefore, only work out over time if the parties involved are willing to put the time and effort necessary into making them work. What happens most often though is a clutching, needy person tends to drive their partner away. Especially in a new or young relationship; the baggage a needy person brings to the relationship just proves to be too much for their partner to accept or deal with, regardless of the level of attachment or emotional involvement, in light of said partner's own personal issues (we all have issues; some are personal, some are professional, some are born out of ambition, upbringing, or experiences, but we all have them). That is what brought me to where I am standing today. You already know my name but I prefer to be called 'Stan'. I am probably what the world would call the average man; standing 5'8" with a slim to medium build. I have worn glasses since I was in the third grade and, thanks to a genetic gift from the men on my mom's side of the family, I have a slightly receding hairline and thinning hair marring the overall appearance of my collar length mid brown hair. I do have a face but if I were asked to point out my best feature, I would have to say the fact that I was spared the ravages of pubescent acne would have to be it. Everything else on the list is pretty non-descript: two eyes in working order (sort of), a nose that isn't too big, a plain ole mouth, and a pair of ears, hanging one each on either side of my head, pretty much covers the issue. All in all, if I were to have to pick my own standings between dream boat and shipwreck, I would have to call myself a boat, period. My career has always been that of a general laborer. This, of course, means that I have been on the bottom rung of the corporate ladder since I entered the workforce. This is not because I am deficient or disabled but, I suspect, it's because it has always been easier for me that way. Most of the jobs I have held, I have gotten through temp services of one kind or another; then I would work for that company for ninety days until they either hired me on directly or I was laid off. At which point, I would then move on to something else. So as you can see, both my cash flow and my prospects were not the greatest. The one good thing about this is I could validly justify a resume longer than my arm. I was the proverbial "jack of all trades". That is the reason I was up at Harmony Lake in the first place. Harmony has been around forever according to the locals. In actuality the Army Corps of Engineers created it in the late '30's as part of the state's flood control system. It boasts over three hundred miles of continuous shoreline, beautiful woodlands stretching right to the shore in some places, and some truly spectacular bass and trout fishing. Up until about twenty years ago, it was really known only to the locals (mainly for their water toys and for offroading opportunities) and a small number of dedicated fishermen from around the state. Twenty years ago the lake had only one landing, sitting on the south shore and operated by the state department of recreation, and a whole lot of farmland around it's remaining perimeter. Today, that one landing is wholly owned by one family and they offer everything from bait and tackle shop, what they call the ship's store, and a full scale, full service family restaurant to boat repair and storage as well as a full service marina so you can leave your boat at the lake for the entire season. Surrounding the landing/marina is a vacation housing development loaded with overpriced houses (quaintly called cabins and cottages) on small lots, a retail village, and even a country club with full amenities, including an eighteen hole, par 72 golf courses. Stretching around the lake, there have been additional homes periodically popping up like weeds. This occurred because realtors began to buy out the existing farmers and, instead of going through the licensing, legal, and construction expenses of building houses for sale, they found it quicker and easier to make a buck by just parceling the land and selling lots to those who were able to afford to build to suit. I was living in the caretaker's apartment, above a four car garage, of one of the original farm houses around the lake. The house was original but the location was not. At some time in the past, the then owner had the house moved from its original location at the opposite end of what was a one hundred and twenty- five acre farm and had it placed less than one hundred feet from the shore. Mr. Jamison, the current owner, inherited the house and its two and a half acres from some family member a few years ago and now feels that he is in a comfortable enough position, financially, to restore the place. I'm here because I have sufficient construction and carpentry experience to know what steps to take, and what to do before reconstruction can begin. I also happen to have a mother who belongs to one of the social/ civic groups that Mrs. Jamison belongs to. She knows I need the work because I had recently lost my job due to company closure. She also thinks that this would be good for me as a way to forget, or maybe just get over, Julie. She was my last girlfriend. We had been together for almost seven months, not a record for me but close, when she told me that I was smothering her and she couldn't take it any longer. Mom heard about the house project from Mrs. Jamison and came up with a good plan; although it probably didn't work out the way she planned. After meeting with Mr. Jamison, he hired me and provided the apartment. In return, I was responsible for doing most of the necessary demolition to clear the way for the contractors who would do most of the restoration. Then, he and I would come back to do the painting and finish work. Mr. Jamison would be able to get free and join me on weekends but during the week I would be basically on my own. He provided the tools and equipment and we went over the plans in minute detail. Although he called this a restoration, it was actually a major remodel from the outer walls in. for the first few weeks what I was doing was more like destruction than demolition; one doesn't usually think of a chain-saw as standard construction equipment. I had started at the end of April, and I met Zoe (not her real name) about the first week of June. She, and her little brother, had come up to stay with her grandparents for the summer while her parents went on a cruise or something. Her grandparents owned the house next door to the Jamison's and lived there year round. Although, "next door" is kind of misleading here, as, there was roughly two hundred and fifty feet, not to mention a thirty-eight foot wide strip of trees between this house and theirs. I had actually met both kids and their grandfather at the same time. Apparently they had heard the noise I was making and had come to investigate; they had been under the impression that the house was empty and had no idea that anybody was working on the place. At that meeting I had reserved my comments to Mr. Castle; I explained my connection to the Jamisons and the work I was doing, as well as explaining that I was living on the property. I gave him the phone number for Mr. Jamison so that he could verify my story. Although I was talking to her grandfather, I had a hard time keeping my eyes off of Zoe. I could see that she was obviously a teen and therefore off limits but I could also see that she was very attractive. She stood 5'5", with long brown hair worn straight, she was very pretty but took pains to hide it, and she had a lithe, almost thin body. I guessed her bust to be an A cup from what I could see through her large, loose t- shirt. She had it tied around her waist which only served to accentuate its small size and her hips curved out from below that waist quite smoothly before tapering once again down to her long sleek legs. She may be off limits but I found myself hoping that I might see her in a bikini before the summer was over. I didn't see much of her at all for the first few weeks after that initial meeting but I did see quite a bit of her younger brother. He first started coming around to see what I was doing out of boredom. After a short time, he asked if he could help; I could use the help and said it was okay with me if it was okay with his grandpa. One day soon after that, Mr. Castle came over to talk to me about his grandson, explaining that the boy had asked permission to help me. After some discussion he gave his permission and Justin started immediately. I had started paying him out of pocket but that changed the first weekend Mr. Jamison came out to the house. He saw what the kid was doing and, after talking to his grandfather, told me to keep track of his hours and he would pay. None of this would be germaine to the story except that it provided the means for me to get to know Zoe a little better as she would often come over to collect her brother at the request of one of her grandparents. Looking back, I know I was being stupid and acting like a moonstruck kid; I also know that I wouldn't have been as tempted by her presence, or as susceptible to her charms, had I not been trying to get over my former girlfriend. This is not an excuse but I think it has bearing on all that followed. Like I said before, Zoe was very pretty but made no effort to put that on display. She usually wore no makeup (unless forced to by her grandmother) and kept her hair in a ponytail. She tended to be shy and, at first, barely said 'hi' to me when she came over to collect her brother. As this went on, she slowly began to talk a little more until one day just before the beginning of July; she came over to tell me that Justin would not be over as he had a doctor's appointment or something. Rather than giving me the message and leaving as she usually did, she stuck around and we began to talk a bit. I learned that she downplayed her looks because she wanted to be taken seriously in school. She was very interested in getting into college and wanted to be an astronomer. She was entering into her sophomore year come fall and was already requesting college prep classes. We talked for quite some time that first time and it became a regular occurrence from then. Her brother was not real impressed by her hanging around but I was quickly finding myself anticipating her company. I spent many nights castigating myself for my feelings and my desire to see her but my efforts were wasted. No matter how many times I told myself that she was off limits, that I was being an idiot, the response was always the same; I had fallen in love with her, at least I was convinced that I had. I knew it was wrong but I started to flirt with her; at first politely and as she responded, a little more seriously. I knew I was deluding myself but I found her maturity attractive; her wit and intelligence enticed me, and her vibrancy ensnared me. At the time, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world the first time I leaned over to kiss her. To my utter amazement, she returned my kiss ardently before fleeing to the safety of her grandparent's house. I didn't see her again for several days; during which time I alternated between missing her and wanting her on the one hand, and cursing myself and figuratively beating myself up for my actions on the other. I can't say I didn't know what I was doing, I knew it was wrong but I couldn't help but wanting her and wanting to take care of her. I vowed to myself, if I ever saw her again I would leave the poor girl alone; I would control myself and be the responsible party. Unfortunately, that vow lasted all of twenty minutes the very next time I saw her. She had snuck over to the house while her grandparents and brother were out; she told me that she had stayed away because she felt confused and wanted to get her head straight before seeing me again. We sat and talked about our kiss and what it might have meant. I was so taken, so impressed, by how well-spoken she was, by her logic, and by her apparent interest that I broke down and told her how I felt. I didn't use the 'L' word but I told her I liked her a lot and wanted to get to know her better. I informed her that I realized that she was only fifteen and we would have to be careful as most people would not understand that we were in a mutual relationship. They would probably see nothing more than an adult molesting a child. I didn't want to molest her, I didn't want to hurt her, and I just wanted to be a part of her life and to be with her. She said she understood and asked me if I were asking her to be my girlfriend; to which I readily and enthusiastically agreed. And so it began; she started coming over more often; ostensibly it was because she wanted to help out with the house too. At least, that is what she told her brother and grandparents. She did help, too; when her grandfather came over one day to check on her, he found the three of us hard at work clearing the rubble from one of the rooms in the house. We were teasing each other good naturedly about the work and different things at the time and that apparently appeased Mr. Castle. At first, this was enough for both of us as we were able to spend time together. We had managed to sneak kisses to one another even with her brother around. A few days after Mr. Castle had come to check up on the kids, he took Justin out for a day of fishing on the lake. Zoe came over to the house by herself; that was the day everything changed. Not by design, not by intent, but it happened anyway. For the first time in our relationship we could be open about our affection. She came to me in the empty and dusty confines of the house and walked straight into my arms. We kissed one another fervently as she draped her slender arms around my neck. One kiss led to another and we decided that we would play hooky for the day. We spent the day up in my apartment although we confined our activity to necking and heavy petting. This was to become our 'normal' routine for the next few weeks; she would come over, often sneaking out of her grandparent's house at night, and we would make out and talk. Often I would be drinking a beer in the evening and if she showed up I would naturally let her have one as well. August second was her birthday and she went out to spend the day shopping with her grandmother before her grandparents took her out for a birthday celebration; so I didn't get to see her on that day. In the days leading up to her birthday, our make out sessions had grown more serious and more involved. They had grown to involve stripping off our clothes, mutual masturbation, and even oral sex. We had already agreed that we would not attempt intercourse until she was ready and was of legal age of consent; we had convinced ourselves that would cover us and allow us to make our relationship known. We had a number of close calls during that time as Justin had come close to catching us; but he never said anything that might make us think he had actually seen us doing anything. It wasn't until later at the trial that we discovered he had, in fact, been spying on us. He was the one who had informed his grandfather that we were having sex the night I was arrested. Justin had known, almost since the beginning of our relationship that we were seeing each other and making out; he just never said anything for reasons of his own. It wasn't until one night in August, when his grandfather went to Zoe's room to check on her, that everything came out. It was late that evening when Mr. Castle discovered her 'missing' and he panicked; he woke everyone in the house and started questioning them. Justin told him not to worry, she was probably over with me; obviously that was the wrong thing to say to a distraught grandparent. When Mr. Castle broke open the front door to my apartment, I nearly had a heart attack. He found us together, naked, in my bed; we had made love earlier and had apparently fallen asleep in each other's arms. He became enraged and started towards me with murder in his eye. Zoe jumped out of bed and tried to come to my defense; she held onto him and tried to tell him that she was of legal age and this is something that she had wanted. I was also trying to explain things to him; explain that I loved his granddaughter, that I wanted to take care of her, and that I would never do anything that might hurt her. Luckily, for everybody involved, Mrs. Castle had phoned the police as soon as her husband had left their house. They arrived from the village before things could get physical, or progress much beyond raised voices. The cops who responded physically separated all parties involved while they investigated and took statements. They then allowed me to dress, while they watched, and took me into custody. I never saw Zoe again; she was represented at the trial by her grandparents. Chapter 2 I sat beside Dr. Silvera, forcing myself to remain upright and sit properly as I had been taught, blinded by my own tears. I couldn't see Mr. Buckman, nor could I really understand what he was telling me. My mind was a whirl, all I knew was that I was to be released; I was free. Soon, I would be released from the program and free to move on with my life. Sure there would be what they call 'after-care' programs that I would be required to participate in, and I would have to start all over in the job market, but the organization had resources set up to help me with those. Within a year, I would be back on my own and able to go as far in my life as I possibly can. "Gwendolyn, are you paying attention, dear? Are you alright?" Dr. Silvera asked politely with some concern as she gently put her arm around me. She had seen the tears in my eyes. "I'm sorry, Ma'am, I am just so happy to hear this news; I can't help myself." I managed to reply. It was obvious that my emotions had gotten the better of me so she didn't press me. "It's okay dear; it will be over in a couple of minutes. Then we can talk about the details later. For now, let's let Mr. Buckman do his job, okay?" She encouraged. I tried to listen as the fussy functionary continued reading aloud from a number of sheets of paper. He asked me questions to verify information and I responded woodenly. He then passed several sheets over to me, one at a time, and I signed where Dr. Silvera indicated I should. It was very hard to remember to sign my name as 'Stanford Michaels' rather than Gwendolyn. This is reasonably understandable when one takes into consideration that I haven't been addressed, for any reason, by my masculine name for over three years. The last time I was addressed as 'Mr. Michaels' was when I got a visit from a representative from the organization while I was still waiting in county jail, before my sentencing hearing. Luckily, my signature on various forms signaled the end of that particular interview. Dr. Silvera then released me to go back to my dorm; she told me that the paperwork would take about three weeks to process and we would discuss the details later, after I had a chance to calm down and come to grips with all of this. She also told me that from this point I would be taken off all assignment schedules, to allow for the necessary out processing. I was then dismissed and headed across the quad to my dorm. As I made my way to my dorm, I ran into a number of girls that I knew and was reasonably friendly with and was able to share the news that I was being released. I got a few hugs and a number of congratulations in passing but my mind was on deeper things. Before I get into that, perhaps I should tell you a bit about where I am. This facility looks like a private school, with a great big, huge main school building that houses classrooms, the library, the cafeteria, and the main administrative offices. It looks like it was originally built in the late eighteen hundreds but is completely modern on the inside. Behind this massive edifice, arranged in a large rectangle, are all the out buildings; dorms, labs, service buildings, and additional classrooms. The whole is utilized as a special girl's school run by the organization for the purpose of sex offender treatment. I finally reached my room and, after closing the door, threw myself onto my bed. I kicked off my shoes and lay on my bed in a very unladylike manner. I really didn't care about "proper" behavior at this point; I had things on my mind. As I lay there, I began to think back over my life for the past three plus years; where I was at now and how I came to be here, both physically and mentally. I began to think back to when I had first been introduced to the organization. I was sitting in my jail cell, my trial had taken place only a few days before and I was now a convicted child molester; much to my shame and utter amazement. I was being held in segregated status due to this fact, in order to keep me away from the other inmates and keep me safe; child molesters don't usually fare well in a general population prisoner setting. Be that as it may, I wasn't doing too well for all that I was being kept safe from physical harm. I was dealing with the emotional and mental stress of knowing what had happened, the results of those events, and a very real and tangible fear of what may lie ahead. Like most everybody else, I had heard the horror stories of being in prison and I knew, without doubt, that I would be living some of those stories for a long time to come. I had tried to convince myself that most of the stories I had heard were just that...stories but some part of me assured me that they weren't. The ones that scared me the most were the ones that made it clear that I was very liable to become some guy's bed-warmer unless I could fight my way out of it. I was neither a fighter nor had I any interest in gay sex but I had begun to see that I would have to spend most of the rest of my life doing one or the other of those things; and that terrified me. I had been surprised when one of the correctional officers came up to my cell door and announced that I had a visitor; that my lawyer was here. I quickly donned my orange jumpsuit and slipped into my shower shoes for the trip to the visiting area. This was the only type of visits I ever got; my parents, while they tried to be understanding and supportive during the trial process, they even paid for my attorney, but they never came to visit me in jail. This also was a matter of concern to me; I didn't know how they felt about all of this, or what they would do if I received a long sentence. We all knew that I was looking at a very long sentence for my offenses; if the punishments imposed were to be run consecutively (which is the normal procedure) I could be looking at a maximum sentence of forty-five years. In light of the current sentencing laws, that would mean that I would have to serve a minimum of forty years before I was eligible for parole. Of course, I could also, at least theoretically, receive as little as a term of probation and maybe community service but I never even considered that would happen. That kind of thinking is obviously wishful at best. Such were the thoughts running through my head as I made my way, with my correctional officer escort, through the hallways of the county jail toward the visiting rooms. As I approached the visiting booth, I could see two faces in the inch thick security glass that separated prisoners from the outside world. One was male, thin, balding, and wore glasses; he was my attorney and I felt that he had really made every effort on my behalf since this all started. I didn't recognize the other one though. She was very pretty with a calm and comforting look on her face. She wore her dark brown hair loose and it fell to her shoulders, she didn't seem to be wearing any make up but her fashionable glasses did seem to make her eyes large and appealing. I sat down and picked up the sound powered phone so I could talk to them. At first my attorney seemed to ignore the presence of the woman as he brought me up to date on the particulars of my case. We had finished the trial phase with a guilty verdict and were now waiting for the sentencing phase to be scheduled. To his mind, the good news is that the evidence presented in the trial phase painted me as an average guy who made a simple error in judgment rather than some monster who preyed on young girls. The fact that we had a 'relationship' and that the victim seemed to have entered into that relationship willingly should go a long way toward helping my cause during the sentencing phase; despite the prosecution's attempts to vilify me. The bad news is that the family of the victim is pressing for maximum sentencing and, in light of the publicity this case has received; they have a very good chance of getting it. Then he dropped a bomb on me; he told me that he had found a possible reprieve from a long sentence in prison if I were interested. He warned me that it would still be hard on me but it would keep me out of prison and would offer me the opportunity to regain my freedom a whole lot sooner than I could expect with a prison sentence. It was only then that he introduced the woman sitting next to him. He introduced her as Dr. Silvera and told me that she was a part of the opportunity he had spoke of; if I were willing to listen, she would explain the particulars. He then handed the headset to the woman beside him. Dr. Silvera greeted me politely before jumping right into the business at hand. She told me that she represented an organization comprised of medical, therapeutic, and technology professionals who, together, had created a treatment system for sex offenders that emphasized offender therapy and victim empathy, all wrapped up in a high tech interactive computer game, to effect treatment. "Basically, Mr. Michaels, what we have is a high tech video game, kind of like the Sims ? game that you may be familiar with; only with much better graphics. What we will do if you agree to work with us is put a virtual reality headset on you and, instead of playing the game, you will feel like you are in the game. You will have complete control of your 'character', you just wont have to use a hand controller to do it. We have spent a great deal of time to develop the game and the scenarios within the game for maximum performance and results. The results we are looking for are simple; as you proceed through the game, you will be learning about yourself; the game is designed for that. Everything you learn about yourself will assist you in opening doors in your own psyche and allowing you to recognize, and therefore deal with, your own personal issues. This is the true purpose of this technology; the computer generated nature of the game just gives the subject a 'safety-net' of sorts to help the subject buffer the emotional and psychological stresses of those issues. Of course, you will have complete therapeutic support throughout all of this; you will meet with a personal therapist daily during the course of the program who will have full knowledge of such events which have unfolded within the confines of your computer generated experiences. While much of what you will experience will be geared toward your history and the events that led to your current conviction, you and your therapist will also be serving a greater task; that is the information pertaining to the offenses for which you were convicted will be entered into an expanding database. While the information collected from any single offender will not provide much in the way of empirical data, it is hoped, and the ultimate intended goal of this program, that by collecting data from a number of offenders we will be able to gather sufficient data to finally answer the question of, 'why do offenders commit their offenses?' We will do this by comparing the information from as many offenders as possible and look for connections or similarities in their personal histories, as gleaned from their memories. What you have to understand, Mr. Michaels, is that the questions of sex offenders and sex offense have been the subject of intense study for over forty years and we are really no closer to understanding it, or finding a cause, now than we were when we first started. Of course most of those studies have depended upon case study and court transcript for their base information. Our organization has long held the belief that the only way to get the empirical data necessary to finally answer this all important question is to go to the source; we have to ask the offenders themselves. Unfortunately, at least so far as our work is concerned, most sex offenders are not mindless, heartless monsters; by which I mean they are not unthinking or unfeeling. Offenders often feel the same sense of revulsion, disgust, and hatred about sex crimes as the rest of society; but they also have the additional burdens of shame, guilt, and self- loathing for becoming something that they hate. This creates emotional and mental stresses that can, in a very real sense, fracture, even shatter the psyche. As a result of these stresses, the offender's mind attempts to find answers that allows the offender to 'save face' to their own eyes when they look in the mirror. The tools the mind uses for this purpose are usually rationalization and justification; if the mind can rationalize the events, or find some reason to justify a person's actions, it is no longer the offender's fault and their actions lose some of their devastating immediacy. What we have been trying to do, Mr. Michaels, is to help the offender to recognize, address, and accept their actions in such a way that circumvents the mind's natural defenses while at the same time creates a buffer between the psyche and the full psychological impact such recognition entails." She said emphatically before continuing in more conversational tones. "You have already been convicted as a sex offender but are not a violent offender. If you were to consent to participate in our experiments, you would be required to continue until completion of the program; which would mean a minimum of a three year commitment. I think that we could help each other; our efforts would help you to come to terms with the inferiorities that you seem to be dealing with and your work would allow us to collect the data we need to expand our database which will eventually help us to find a root cause for sex offense." I really didn't know what to say to her at this point. I was a convicted sex offender, according to the court, but I really didn't feel like one. I will admit to having committed a series of serious errors in judgment, in fact I have already admitted to those in court; but I am not the type who would sexually attack somebody just to get my rocks off. I questioned her statement that I had inferiority issues but not out loud. This woman had only known who I was for a few minutes, how could she possibly know what was going through my head; either at the time when I fell in love with Zoe, or now when that love is being vilified. I had a thousand questions ricocheting around in my head; with no real answers forthcoming. I tried to ask some of them but they came out too incoherent, too scattered to make sense. Dr. Silvera suggested that I give some thought to what she was proposing, she would leave some information with me, and get back to her in a couple of days. If this turned out to be something that I felt I could get involved with, she would come back and discuss details with me. For all her self assurance, she seemed to be in quite a bit of a hurry to get me to agree. It bothered me enough that I asked her about it. She told me that the paperwork takes some time to accomplish and it had to be completed before my sentencing hearing. "Something to bear in mind, Mr. Michaels, is that you will be sentenced." She explained. "Enrollment in the program does not preclude that. What will happen, should you join, is that your sentence will be suspended in favor of program participation. Once you complete the program, your record will be expunged; it will be as though you were never accused of your offenses. On the other hand, should you not complete the program, once you have joined, either through refusal to participate, complete assigned tasks, or by breaking established rules, then your previous sentence will be re-imposed; minus of course time spent in the program. This is not an escape from justice, this is an opportunity; we hope to provide an alternative to prison." She had given me something to think about as I was escorted back to my cell. Whatever they were doing with this program, they did seem to be trying to make a difference. Did that mean that something good could come out of what I had done, what I am going through? There sure seemed to be incentives for my participation. I have to admit that the idea of getting my life back after all of this was done was very appealing. As it is, I was looking at several years of incarceration, a time that I was pretty sure that I wouldn't enjoy, followed by classification and registration as a sex offender. This would mean that I would be required to register with law enforcement and my name and face would be plastered all over the internet; as a classified non-violent offender, I could be expected to register once a year for a minimum of ten years. Even if I completed the registration requirement, I would be known as a sex- offender for the rest of my life. I sat and read the information she had given me and found I had more and more questions. I grabbed a piece of paper and started writing my questions down. I finally realized that I didn't have enough information to make an informed decision, so I followed the instructions given and sent a message to the staff psychologist expressing my interest in the experimental sex offender project. The very next day I was again called out of my cell and taken to the visitor's area. Dr. Silvera was there waiting for me. After a few minutes of pleasantries, we got down to business. I showed her my list of questions and she went through them one at a time to give me an answer. We talked about the program and my participation for almost four hours before I felt that I had enough information to make a decision; I told her before we separated that I would volunteer for the project. Dr. Silvera accepted my offer and told me that she would return in two days with the necessary paperwork, which she needed me to sign. Once I had it signed, she would take it to the courts and have it filed. I was then told that it would take about three weeks to process. That sounded like a long time and I asked her about it. I was told it was because the paperwork that we were filing would take my case out of the realm of criminal justice and make it a civil matter. She asked me again if I understood that my signature on the forms she brought me would make me financially liable for my victim; this would include medical, therapeutic, and financial support for as long as my victim may need it. How long that would be will be determined solely by the physicians and therapists to whom she was assigned. This treatment would continue as long as the victim met the basic requirements of said treatment, attending such meetings and medical appointments as her physicians decreed. Should she discontinue her treatment program, or should her physicians determine she no longer needed them, she will be determined to have completed treatment and capable of looking after herself. I asked her how I was supposed to assume financial responsibility if I were locked into an inpatient treatment program. I was told that arrangements had been made for this while I was enrolled in the program and any outstanding monies would be treated as a 'student' or any other no- interest loan once I complete the program. If we got the paperwork filed in time, I would not hear anything about it until my sentencing hearing. If the judge agreed to the proposal, he would announce the fact in open court. Part of that agreement is acceptance by the victim; because my victim was, in fact, a minor, this would mean that her parents would have to accept the proposal as well. If every one involved agreed, the issue would become a civil matter; which would mean that I could not be further prosecuted for it. Of course, there is a clause in the contract that states that any failure on my part to meet the terms of the civil contract will be punishable by immediate and automatic re-instatement of my original criminal status and punishment as recommended by the criminal courts system. So that is why I have to have my sentencing hearing before the contract is accepted. If the contract is accepted before my hearing, the courts could not impose a sentencing hearing if I failed to meet the contract. It was a long three weeks as I waited for my sentencing hearing. I had met with Dr. Silvera, and others associated with the project, during the course of that time. It was during some of these meetings that I learned what to expect at the hearing. The hearing would go on as any other sentencing hearing and, when those proceedings were complete, the judge would introduce the proposed contract as part of the process where he imposes sentence. He will read the contract and the proposed procedure and ask all parties if they do, in fact, agree to the terms of the proposed contract. As long as all parties do agree, the judge will order that sentence be suspended in favor of the contract. Should all parties not agree, it will be thrown out arbitrarily without discussion or hearing. I was truly sitting on pins and needles during the hearing. I thought I was going to come unglued while the prosecuting attorney gave his arguments explaining why I should be given the maximum allowable sentence for my offenses; how an innocent young girl had that innocence stolen from her by a scheming predator. He allowed that my serving a long sentence would not bring that sense of innocence back but it would give her a sense of justice for the one who stole it. As bad as that was, it didn't get any better when my attorney stepped up. He argued that I was not some scheming monster who preyed on the innocent; I was simply a man whose own personal difficulties led him to fall in love with the wrong woman. He stressed the fact that my actions were not those of an attacker but a lover. I had treated her as well as possible considering the hidden nature of our relationship and I had willingly admitted to the wrongness of pursuing that relationship. Me personally, I just wanted to crawl under the nearest rock and pull it over on top of myself. The judge sat on the bench with absolutely no expression while the two attorneys made their arguments. When they finished and surrendered the floor, the judge started to look through the papers on his bench for several seconds. Then he addressed the court. He talked about the case and the court's responsibilities in a case such as this. He talked about the defendant, a.k.a. me, and my responsibilities to society, the law, and my victim. Then he talked about the law and what it said in a case such as this. The judge was very thorough and very professional but I sincerely wished he would just shut up and read the sentence. I knew it was rude, I knew it was the wrong attitude to take, but I had had all I could take; I felt like I was going to fly apart at any second and was really hoping not to do it in public. Just when I was sure I was going to suffer a very public and humiliating nervous breakdown, the judge finally got around to mentioning the existence of a proposed civil contract. He read, aloud, the accompanying letters of acceptance from all parties involved in the case; then he questioned both attorneys to determine if their clients were still in fundamental agreement with the contract and its terms. I swear, this guy should be writing mystery and suspense stories for Hollywood; he no sooner stopped talking about the contract proposal, then he started talking about what sort of punishments the law allows him to impose for the crimes for which I had been convicted. He talked about the charges, about the various counts for each charge, and then talked about the amount of time he was recommending for each count in my case. I was not a happy man; after doing some quick math in my head, I realized that he had just given me a total of thirty-four years. And that was after subtracting the additional nine years that the court had suspended. It was only after the judge had made his sentencing a matter of court record that he picked up the contract again. Once again, he started talking; this time about the contract and the project behind it. He spoke about the potential benefits of discovering the cause of sex offense and thereby eliminating it from society. Then, he again asked all parties if they were in agreement with the terms and conditions as stated in the contract before him. The only real difference is that this time he asked the victim and defendant personally; he wanted to hear it from us specifically. Once he had gone through that exercise, he pronounced the sentencing which he had previously recommended. Then he turned right around and suspended the entire sentence pending successful completion of the sex offender program as described in the civil contract that all parties have attached their signatures too. With that, he banged his gavel and my day in court was over; I hope it's an experience that I never have again. Chapter 3 I was taken back to the county jail after my hearing. One hour later, I was pulled out of my cell and loaded into a mini-van for the first leg of my trip to what was called the clinic. We drove through town and stopped at a motel on the outskirts. My driver was a man in what looked to be his mid-forties, who introduced himself as Dale. He was of what I would call medium build and although he had a friendly look about him, he didn't say anything to me until after we had parked in the motel parking lot. Only then did he turn to me, he began to lay out what he called my options in the game plan. Option one was that we grab a bite to eat at the truckstop next door then get on the road to the clinic. Option two was heading over to a nearby shopping center so that I could get some new clothes, then grab food. Finally, option three was the same as two but included getting a room for the night and heading to the clinic in the morning. I was kind of surprised by the offer of any of these options, never-mind the options themselves; so I questioned Dale about them. He, in turn, suggested that we go get food while he explained a little about what was going on. After we had ordered, Dale started to explain that he was a member of the project's legal staff; what they generally did is to keep an eye out for potential candidates for the program. They did this by case watching; that is, they watched out for the appearance and scheduling of court cases that meet a certain criteria such as non- violent, first time offenses. Once they find a likely case, they begin to investigate the offender and the case that offender is involved with to further determine if the offender can be matched up with other criteria the project's facilitators have created. If the criteria do match up, the file for that offender is sent to the facilitators for any further action. Dr. Silvera is one of the project facilitators. Dale then went on to explain that I am technically a free man; the contract I had signed had been accepted by the criminal courts and my case had been subsequently remanded over to civil action. This is the reason that I am not being transported by security personnel or wearing chains and an orange jumpsuit. I was wearing the same clothes that I had put on the night I was arrested. That being the case, there is the possibility that my clothes might not fit, or be fit for wearing, after being stored for such a long period of time. Dale then digressed to tell me that in a couple of cases they had collected a volunteer who had been in county jail for over a year and the client's original clothes had been ruined by mildew; that is the reason for the offer of buying clothing for the client. That made sense and I told him so. Then I asked him how long we would be travelling before we got to the clinic. He told me that the clinic was about three hours from where we are now; so we could easily be there tonight, or by late morning if we decided to stay overnight. We finished our meal and decided to just drive straight up to the clinic. There was not much in the way of talking as we made our way to the freeway but once safely up to speed, Dale started to tell me about the clinic. He told me that it had started out as an assisted living retirement home that had fallen on hard times. The organization bought the property and saved the company from bankruptcy. The organization had quickly renovated the property and moved in. He then told me that this was only one of the properties the organization had that was related to the project. This facility was acquired to serve as housing for volunteers. It is the first of its kind and the first full scale runs of the project's programs; all previous runs have been done in the labs and had involved operations of a much smaller scale. The acquisition and outfitting of the nursing home, as well as its general location, were a part of the organization's efforts to make the program available to state and federal government agencies. Dale then went on to explain to me that I was not the first to volunteer, or be recruited, for the project; although, I would be part of the first class to use the new clinic facility. This facility would be subject to scrutiny and supervision by state and federal criminal justice and law enforcement agencies, and, it is hoped, will prove itself as an effective tool in the reduction of criminal activity. The plan of the organization is to first address itself to sex offense and then expand their efforts to the treatment of other violent crimes. We continued to talk for the rest of the trip; about the clinic, which Dale was more than willing to answer most of my general questions, and, later, we kind of just devolved into general conversation. Looking back, I have to say I am amazed at how calm I was during that trip. When I consider what I was doing and what I had come from, I would think that I would have been a nervous wreck driving down the freeway with someone I didn't know, going somewhere I have never been, to volunteer for some experiment that I couldn't fathom. Yet, even when we stopped for gas and refreshments, it seemed like an ordinary roadtrip. We eventually traded the freeway for a winding but well maintained state route in the northeastern part of the state. After several minutes of travel on this road, we approached a large town; or a small city, depending on how one looked at it. Anyway, it was well after dark but still early in the evening as we drove through town. I could see several people walking up and down the main drag as we drove through the downtown section; no where near the huge numbers I was used to in the larger city where I had spent most of my life but enough to let me know that this town didn't roll up its sidewalks at sunset. I was surprised to find that I was becoming kind of excited as we turned off of the quiet side street we had travelled down and into a long sweeping driveway. Passing through the gates to the clinic, my head was on a swivel as I tried to make out all of the details of what was going to be my new home for the foreseeable future. The grounds were large, well tended and almost park-like. The main building was actually round; a giant circular building that rose to a height of six stories. I had never seen a round building personally and the sight of this one kind of tickled my senses. There were several out buildings scattered around the main building but they held no interest for me and I didn't bother to ask what they were for. We pulled up to the front of the building under a large portico. As Dale and I were climbing out of the car, a pleasant looking woman in a nurse's uniform approached and introduced herself as Abigail Miner, the duty head nurse. She told me that she would help me to get registered then settled into a guest room for the night. Come tomorrow I would go through the in-processing and get my permanent room assignment. Thus started a whirling blur of activity as I was led into the building, presented with a number of forms that I had to sign while Nurse Miner cheerfully and professionally explained what they were and why they were necessary; finally I was introduced to a floor nurse, who had showed up out of nowhere, and told she would show me the guest room. My room was on the second floor of the clinic and, as we entered, I was truly and pleasantly surprised to see that it could have been lifted directly from any one of a number of reputable family hotel chains around the country. Whoever designed the d?cor for this room really made an effort to counter the impersonal nature of a 'guest-room' with warmth and vibrancy. All in all, it looked to be very comfortable and inviting, and I was actually kind of disappointed that I would only be in it overnight. My guide happily showed me around to the amenities and told me that the cafeteria was open twenty-four hours for guests. She informed me that the staff had been notified of my arrival and the reasons thereof; so if I wanted to get something to eat, all I had to do is sign the receipt at the register. Then she showed me that preparations for my arrival had included a set of pajamas and a bathrobe (typical hospital issue) so that I could shower and change out of my street clothes if I wished; before bidding me a polite and friendly 'good-night' and walking out of the room. As much as I found the idea of a shower appealing, my mind balked at the thought of appearing in a public cafeteria in a bathrobe; so I decided that a shower would have to wait until after I ate. I was rudely awakened by an alien sound that I hadn't heard in several months. The telephone had interrupted the first decent night's sleep I have enjoyed since all of this started. It took me several seconds to identify the sound that was penetrating my sleep fogged brain and then a couple more to find the thing as it sat on the bedside table. I answered it with less than graciousness only to find I was being called by the reception desk, they called it a courtesy call but I think it would have been more courteous to let me sleep. I was told that I would be met at the reception desk at eight a.m. to be taken for a physical and to finish processing. My night already shot, I thanked them before hanging up and made my way to the bathroom. I only had the clothes I had worn the previous day so I figured the best I could do is wash myself. I was sitting in the waiting room at five minutes to eight when Dr. Silvera walked up to the desk. At a sign from the receiving nurse, she turned to greet me before signaling that I should follow her. Without a further word, she turned and proceeded back down the hallway she had just come from. I quickly followed her and was able to catch up to her before we reached the elevators. As we entered the car, she quickly punched for the third floor; only then did she speak to me. She told me that I would undergo a complete physical as part of my processing and then I would be shown to my assigned quarters. Once the physical was complete, if there were time today, I would meet again with her for the purpose of verifying our contracts and basic orientation. If it was too late then we would do that first thing in the morning. We left the elevator on the third floor and she escorted me over to yet another reception desk. After introducing me as a newly arrived volunteer, she ordered that I have a complete physical. She looked at me and explained that due to the nature of the experiments I had volunteered for, I could expect some minor changes in things like body mass and possibly bio-electric activity. This physical would provide baseline or starter information that can be used to identify and track those changes. This was news to me and I asked her about these changes. She politely explained that she would get to the details during our orientation interview but some of the things I might experience is weight loss through loss of body fat, and possibly loss of muscle tissue; this loss would not be significant and would be easily correctable but it is a possibility that the staff would want to monitor and address if necessary. We were interrupted by the arrival of a pudgy man of middling height with salt and pepper hair and wearing a rumpled lab coat. He introduced himself to me as Dr. Chase after greeting Dr. Silvera. This is the doctor who would be performing and supervising my physical. After a few more seconds of conversation, I followed the doctor through the doors to the labs and my first ordeal began. I have to call it an ordeal because I have had physicals before, for several reasons ranging from requirements for high school sports to attaining permission to return to work after a workman's comp claim; but this one I would have to call a physical times two and a half. I was poked, prodded, weighed, measured, sampled and sampled again. The staff seemed to take an almost obsessive interest into every detail and aspect of my biology and biological functions. I swear, they did everything except take me apart to see what makes me tick. All in all, it took over six and a half hours before they were satisfied and released me; an orderly was then assigned to escort me to Dr. Silvera's office. I could clearly hear her as she politely respon