Innocence Lost: The Abuse of Power and Childhood Exploitation
25:43 Share

America, we are endowed by our Creator with certain unalienable rights, life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. By honoring your sacred vocation of nursing, you impact your family, your friends, and your community. At Grand Canyon University, our online

It's been about a year since my last post here. I visit the site every now and then to read other people's stories, but haven't had much interest in contributing any of my own. The stories that I did share were mainly for entertainment.

What I mean by that is, I could recount those events with ease, because they virtually meant nothing to me, just interesting stories to tell. However, what I am about to share is not something that many of my closest friends or family even know about. The events that happened to me were traumatic, the effects of which have cemented in the way that I think, view people, and my ability to trust, or lack thereof.

I am afraid to admit this is not a story in which I showed immense courage or resilience. No, I buried these memories deep until recently. This is a messed up encounter story that is about a truly sick man, the kind that you hear about on TV or podcasts. The kind of evil man who managed to build something of himself despite his unnatural desires, only to use his wealth and resources to further manipulate and take advantage of kids.

Little background here: I grew up in a very poor part of New England, a Hispanic-dominated area. The city itself is pretty small and has always been a bit of a conundrum to me. The city is known for its drug use and violence, although it was once a prospering mill city, one where immigrants came to work and secure their own slice of the American dream. The city and many of its residents have since disintegrated like the stones that make up the massive factories that loom over the city.

The conundrum I speak of is while the city remains open to high criminal activity, the surrounding towns are doing great. Less than 10 miles north, you enter New Hampshire, where things are generally quiet, and south you will pass through multiple rich and thriving towns. The man I will introduce later would come down from New Hampshire to prey on the poor kids from my community. I was maybe 13 years old. It was definitely summertime, because I remember the heat. It was a fun summer.

My friends and I were outside all the time, and while none of us had a car, we made the most of walking where we needed to go. I was a bit younger than the guys I was hanging out with at the time, so they were always able to stay out later than me. Funny how everything that happens while you're not there feels like you've missed out on the best stuff. One day, while we were all just hanging around, a friend of mine mentions, "Maybe we can get Ryan to come by and buy us some food." Always feeling left out, I acted as if I knew who Ryan was.

the whole time thinking he was a teenager, perhaps someone in his early 20s. I let the conversation go on for a bit before I couldn't resist and asked, "Who's Ryan?" The response I got drove me crazy because it only furthered my frustration of not totally feeling like I was a part of the gang. "You don't know who Ryan is? We've been working with him for a few weeks now. He owns a junkyard and we go and strip cars, log spare parts, and just fuck around. We get him to buy us stuff.

and he lets us drive his cars. I thought, "How could this be?" I felt so embarrassed and betrayed. All my friends apparently had a job and were going out to eat and driving cars, and I was just finding out about it, wanting to fit in. I urged them to get me a job too. My friend Eli, a leading figure in our group, pulls out his cell phone and gives this Ryan guy a call. The way Eli was talking to him made it seem like Eli was in control, like he was bullying Ryan. He spoke to him aggressively,

and told him we were hungry and for him to come pick us up and buy us food. Ryan agreed. Shortly after, the man pulls up in his red pickup with a toe in the back and his company logo on the side of the truck. He was a white guy, mid-forties, short and chubby. He had a high-pitched voice that screeched out when he would laugh. When he arrived, he immediately turned to Eli and started talking shit to him, making fun of him, letting out that weird laugh.

It strangely made me feel at ease. It wasn't the way I expected an adult to act. It was like he was one of us, and you were in if you were cool with him. Eli introduced me to him and told him that I wanted to work. Ryan examined me and asked if I knew anything about cars. I told him I did, and he agreed we'd talk about it over lunch. He told us all to jump into his truck and asked me to sit in the front seat so that we could talk. I remember that drive like it was yesterday. We were listening to the radio.

Pat Benatar's "I Love Rock and Roll" was playing. I could see that he was singing under his breath, so I purposely started singing the sound out loud, acting as if I didn't know he was also singing. He noticed and turned the music up, looked at me, and started singing loudly. We did this the whole ride until arriving at an Italian place. The food was amazing.

I had only ever really been out to eat a handful of times, and none of them were with my friends, ordering whatever we wanted and goofing off the whole time. It was a real treat, and only made me want to be in with Ryan even more. It was clear he played favorites, and those who he liked received more gifts. At the end of lunch, he agreed to give me a job, and made Eli agree to let me know the next time we had work. The next month or so felt like I was having the best summer of my life.

Ryan owned a junkyard in New Hampshire and also had a car rental service. He was expanding his business so there was a ton of construction going on. His office was in a construction trailer outside the yard. This is where you would find him if you needed anything. He would pick us up in the morning and bring us to the yard. For eight hours, we would all fuck around, walk to the very end of the yard, and hide out in the cars. We would take naps and scavenge through the hundreds of cars hoping to find valuables.

Occasionally, we would actually have to work, but even then, we would still mess around. All the while, we were getting paid. Not a ton in retrospect, but more than any of us had ever received at that point. More than the pay, what we all really wanted was a car. He easily had 30 of them, not including the cars he rented. Each car was in fair shape, and each day he would throw Eli a different set of keys, and it really made the rest of us jealous. You see, Ryan didn't care if you had a license.

Eli didn't, and he drove a different car every day. I had my eye on a Mazda sedan. I wanted the car so badly. When I approached Ryan, I nearly begged him for it. He agreed we would talk about it at the end of the day. I spent the whole day imagining my life with that car. How cool I would look, pulling up to places, getting girls' attention. A car at that time was like entering into a new world, and I just might have one at the end of the day.

The end of the day came and he threw Eli some keys and told him to bring everyone home, except for me. This wasn't alarming to anyone, because all I could talk about the whole day was how he was going to give me that car. After everyone left and the sun began to set, Ryan asked me to talk in the trailer. He started with how kids are always coming and going, trying to take advantage of him, stealing from him, explaining how ungrateful people are to his generosity. I strangely felt like he was speaking about me, but indirectly.

He asked me a lot of questions about drug use. "Are you on drugs? Have you ever taken any? How do I know I can trust you? How do I know if you will pay me back and not just ruin my car and never give me a dime?" My response to all of it was no, and I would thoroughly work off what I owed for the car. He then asked if I had anything in my pockets. I said no and willingly turned them out. Ryan said, "You really think I'm stupid? Like you would hide stuff in your pockets? I know you're hiding things in your clothes.

I had no warning bells ringing because a lot of what he was saying was true. We all stole from him, whatever we could, whenever we could get away with it. We all thought we were in control and using him. It's amazing how someone can get you to do something and to do it on your own accord, to feel like it was your own idea. No matter what I said, he kept repeating, I know you have something. I know you do.

Ensuring him that I didn't, I would move my shirt around and pull on my waistband, but it wasn't taking. He just kept repeating that he doesn't make deals with thieves. Then I got the idea, painfully in retrospect. I'll take my shirt off, show this guy that I don't have anything. Standing there with my shirt off, he just continued. So I then took my pants off. I stood there in triumph, thinking, "You see? I don't have anything." With only my boxers on,

I started to jokingly dance because I had won. I didn't have anything when Ryan said calmly and coldly, "Take off your boxers." "What?" I was so confused. I didn't have anything and why doesn't he believe me? Ryan just sat behind his desk and told me again to take off my boxers. I was frozen even though I hadn't said the words. I knew I was alone, far away from home and confusion just took over my mind.

Thoughts in my head ceased to exist. I was just frozen. He leaned forward and said, This podcast is sponsored by Talkspace. You know when you're really stressed or not feeling so great about your life or about yourself? Talking to someone who understands can really help. But who is that person? How do you find them? Where do you even start? Talkspace. Talkspace makes it easy to get the support you need.

Talkspace is here for you.

Plus, Talkspace works with most major insurers, and most insured members have a $0 copay. No insurance? No problem. Now get $80 off of your first month with promo code SPACE80 when you go to Talkspace.com. Match with a licensed therapist today at Talkspace.com. Save $80 with code SPACE80 at Talkspace.com.

Time is a luxury for us, especially if you're a mom. That's why we need a skincare routine that's easy, fast, and gives us results. Plus, what if your products had thousands of five-star reviews, were natural and affordable? Well, say hello to Dime Beauty. Dime Beauty is clean, high-end skincare that is affordable, and it really works. Not sure where to start? I highly recommend the Work System.

Thank you.

Are you going to make me go over there and take them off for you? Weird how I still didn't think I was being taken advantage of. My brain still thought, this fucking guy really thinks I stole something.

"What the fuck could I hide in my boxers?" I said to him again, "I didn't have anything." And well, he completely dropped the whole stealing bit. "I want to see your dick. Pull it out." I didn't know what to do. It really sucks you don't have any options to just freeze time, to actually think about what is happening. Instead, you're forced to make a choice as fast as you would choose the words while having a conversation. My brain went into survival mode, and that mode was not to look at the situation for what it actually was. And I did what he asked.

choosing to believe that it just wasn't a big deal. He just sat there and looked at me, and thank God that's all he did. I began to shake, and that's when I grabbed my clothes. He snapped out of whatever world he was in and started moving things around on his desk, looking in drawers. I couldn't meet his eyes. I was ashamed and confused. He eventually spoke and said something like, "Don't crash it," as he threw me the keys to the Mazda.

I caught the keys and left, trying really fucking hard not to think about what had just happened. I didn't want to face it. That's why when I got home, I chose not to say anything. My father, who I am sure would have killed Ryan, I was embarrassed to try to tell him anything, knowing he would think "why did you do that? Why didn't you fight? I raised you to be tough, why would you do that?" Nope, I just showed up like any other night, except this time, I had a car.

I clearly didn't think things through because I was like 14 and I just came home with a car. My parents were pissed. They told me to call one of my friends and have them pick up the car. They also said I couldn't work there anymore and I truly wasn't upset. The next day, I told Eli I was quitting and asked if he could pick up my last pay. He tried to convince me not to quit, but I stuck to what my parents had said, being adamant about quitting.

Eli would eventually call me a few days later and tell me Ryan wouldn't give him what he owed me. Instead, I had to get it myself. I never tried to get that money. I knew I couldn't face him. Fast forward a few months. I was with some of the guys and my friend Joe said something. "Did Ryan ever ask you guys to show him your dick?" To my surprise, everyone said yes, but they all said that they didn't do it. I lied to them all and made up some story where I freaked out and threatened him.

Over the years, I found out all the kids did it. There were 8 of us. One kid did it with his mom waiting outside in the car to pick him up. Not sure if Ryan knew she was outside, but the kid never said a word. We all just buried it. We were tough guys, or wanted to be, and no one wanted to remember that. Fast forward again, maybe 7 or 8 years. I was 22 or 23, and a newer friend of mine who was struggling to get work tells me he landed a job at a junkyard in New Hampshire.

except the guy who owns it asked him to get naked in exchange for the job. My mind almost exploded at that moment. By that point, I had grappled a bit with it and developed anger. I completely freaked out, asked my friend to tell me everything. He said, "The guy's known to pick people up for work." And after a couple of days of working with him, he invited my friend into his trailer and basically did the same thing that he did to me. What disappointed me was my friend who was in his twenties,

Just did it. Even now I understand the craziness of the request and how he's able to get you to do it, but I so badly wish my friend acted the way that I wish that I did. Knocking his fucking teeth down his throat. What's even crazier is while he was telling me this, a girlfriend we both had overheard him and says, "Are you guys talking about Creepy Ryan?" Again, my mind is almost obliterated.

She tells us he's gotten multiple people over the years and just can't be touched, that people have tried, but he does tow work for the city and PD of that town and has since made connections. Now, I don't know the details of these reportings, whether or not investigations were underway, but people told the truth and he was still out there doing whatever he wanted. While hearing he was still out there was shocking, my thoughts on him ended with that drunk conversation. But I'm going to fast forward another three or four years,

I was about 25 or so. I was out after a night of bar hopping. A couple and I decided to get chicken at a late night spot that everyone goes to after the bars close. While there, I was approached by a guy who recognized me, and I didn't recognize him at first, but then realized that it was an old friend of mine, Brandon. We were friends during our teenage years, and we both worked for Ryan. Last I had heard, Brandon had a bad heroin addiction, and the rumors were certainly true because I could barely recognize him.

He was happy to see me, and asked if I could spare a few bucks or a cigarette, then asked if I could give him a ride to where he was staying. Brandon said he was abandoned, and needed to get back up to his friends in New Hampshire. I really didn't want to take him, but he was insistent, and wouldn't stop asking despite my body language, and what I'm assuming was a distasteful look on my face. Eventually, I agreed. I needed to get my car, so I took his number down and told him I would call when I was outside. He didn't believe me.

and kept begging that I wouldn't ditch him. Looking back though, I wish I had. While we were driving, I was contemplating how Brandon was going to kill me, trying to stay alert just in case he tried anything crazy. I was aggravated because I didn't want to do this, and realizing more and more that we were never friends in the first place. I barely knew him years ago. He was practically a stranger. On the road, he tells me to take a left, and I get a weird familiar sense of where we are, and that's when I ask.

"Where are your friends?" Brandon replies. "Did you ever meet Ryan?" Like every time I heard that fucker's name, my mind blew up. I shouted, "You're staying with Ryan? That guy's a fucking piece of shit pedophile who takes advantage of kids. What the fuck are you doing here?" I assumed that fucker was in prison. Brandon just laughed and said, "Yeah, I work with him. He's weird, but you just need to smack him up a bit, and he doesn't try that weird shit on you." I was pissed.

and kept trying to explain to Brandon how fucking severe this guy was and how it wasn't a small issue. Brandon just kept shrugging it off though and said many people had paid him visits and put him in the hospital a few times and something about him being kidnapped and having to pay money to families threatening to kill him. He also said the cops had paid him multiple visits and there was a charge against him but he had paid fees and maybe on some registry but he still has everything he had before. None of that was satisfying to hear.

I wanted to hear that he was rotting in prison, or dead. I refused to drive him all the way there and dropped him off at the top of the street. I said good luck and sped the fuck out of there. I was so fucking angry the entire drive home. He was still out and walking around. I passed out when I finally got home and slept in late the next morning. When I woke up, I had a missed call and a voicemail. I listened, and it was Ryan. I'm assuming Brandon told him that I gave him a ride, and perhaps the things that I said.

He said that I needed to call him back so we could talk, that Brandon was in bad health, and he needed to talk to me. I was shocked and terrified. Hearing his voice seriously gave me chills. It was like I was 14 all over again. I paced around my apartment and decided to call back. When I got Ryan on the phone, I absolutely lost it. I screamed at him, calling him a pedophile, and told him that I was going to kill him.

I reminded him of what he did all while swearing and describing how I wanted him dead. He eventually hung up on me, and I immediately blocked the number and started mentally preparing myself. I thought I had just started war and told myself I needed to get ready for him to come. The sick fuck would try and kill me because I wanted to expose him, but no one ever came. My paranoia eventually went away. I would go on to move a couple of years later and can say that I haven't heard his name again, and I pray that I never do.

Please, people who hear this, if you have kids, watch out for them. There are real psychos out there, and even though you think you're well put together, things can happen to you, or the ones that you know and love. I was ashamed for a long time for not coming forward and doing all that I could to stop the prick. It was just easiest to bury it deep and act as if it never happened. That unfortunately comes with consequences. It changes you.

I don't trust anyone, and I make up the worst intentions for people. I will never forgive him, and I truthfully couldn't care less if he died a painful death. I've done my best to grow from this, and I've moved on, but it does sting more than a little knowing that he never faced the punishment that he so rightfully deserves. At your job, do you ever have to deal with a nose roller? How about a snub pulley?

Well, if you're installing a new conveyor belt system, dealing with the different components can sound like you're speaking a foreign language. Luckily, you've got a team ready to help. Grainger's technical product specialists are fluent in maintenance, repair, and operations. So whenever you want to talk shop, just reach out. Call, click Grainger.com, or just stop by. Grainger, for the ones who get it done.