The Multi-Purpose Room

They called it the M.P.R. (Multi-Purpose Room). It had a spring mattress bed, a metal cabinet filled with clean sheets, towels and pornography.
I was required by the sex offender treatment program at Western State Hospital to enter this room, at least once a week, preferably two or three times a week, lock myself in, and while my “buddy” sat outside waiting, masterbate.
I was strickly forbidden from fantasizing about my highschool girlfriend, Sharon, the only girl I had ever made love to at the time. She was 15 and I was 17, and we had both been in the same grade together. We had even talked about getting married and having children together after highschool. But according to the treatment program, fantasizing about Sharon would have been “deviant”, because I was an “adult” now.
So I was required to construct fantasies of sex with the women in the magazines. I struggled with this constantly. Since I was only 16 years old when I was arrested (for threatening a 14 year old boy with an empty gun and making him have oral sex with me i.e. “First Degree Rape”), I had no idea of what a “consenting adult relationship” even meant. I had to try to figure it out based on descriptions given to me by other men in the treatment group. These descriptions were heavily outwieghed by descriptions of every kind of deviant sex you can imagine (and many you probably can't imagine).
To me, the “responsible fantasies” that I was told to masterbate to were no more real, and no less strange, then the “deviant fantasies” that I heard over and over every day in the grouproom. But the deviant fantasies were usually more interesting.
Not to say that I did not try to stick to the fantasies of having sex with older women when I was required to masterbate, though it wasn't easy, and never got any easier. But I tried hard and met with mostly success, and when I failed, I dutifully told my “buddy” waiting outside the M.P.R. And I also told the group, of course.
I was determined to “get better”.
I even told my “buddy” after the time that I found very explicit “evidence photos” of a very young girl who had been brutally raped, laying naked on a medical gurney with her legs spread wide showing the world her bruised and brutalized privates. The images were part of a Playboy article about child rape. Apparently no one thought to remove those pages before placing the magazine in the M.P.R. Cabinet for the sex offenders to enjoy.
At first the images shocked me, and then they saddened me, then they confused me.
Why would someone do that to such a little girl? I asked “why?” compulsively, yet I also realized that these images were the starkly real results of the “deviant fantasies” I had been hearing about in group for more than a year by that time.
Finally the images aroused me, and I masterbated. And yes, I did tell my treatment group also, like I was supposed to do.