The prison was dark and lonely. I sat in my cold cell, waiting for the warden to bring my latest meal. I wasn't in isolation because of bad behavior, but, rather, because the other inmates couldn't stand me. The wardens said my very existence was "inciting violence". Two years ago, I was hailed as a hero, loved, respected… how could I have fallen this far?

Of course, if I really thought of it, the answer was right there in front of me. I had lost everything because of one man. The man I couldn't stop thinking about no matter how hard I tried.

Derek Morgan.

I hated him, oh, how much I hated him. Some nights I would lie awake, picturing the ways I would hurt him if I got the chance again. Feeling his blood slide through my fingers, scratching him, watching the fear in his eyes when he first wakes up and sees me standing over him. The way his face would contort with disgust and revulsion and beautiful pain as I raped him, over and over again.

Because, despite all of my hatred, I was just as attracted to him as I was on the day we met.

He wasn't the first boy I molested, not by a long shot, but he was the one that stayed with me. I was in a "relationship" with another boy, Marcus, when Derek's father brought him in to the youth center. Michael Morgan used to volunteer there, and he brought seven year old Derek with him one day while his wife and daughters were out of town.

"Derek, this is Mr. Buford," Michael said in a deep voice while his son peered at me from his father's side. "Well, say hello. Be polite, son."

"Hello, Mr. Buford," Derek said, pulling himself away from his father and reaching out his hand for me to shake. For a moment all I could do was stare. Derek had the most beautiful face I had ever seen, perfect brown sugar skin and flawless lips. An odd urge to kiss those lips swept over me, but I shuddered and resisted it. Kissing a seven year old boy would be wrong.

I resisted the instant sexual attraction for years. Michael helped me; despite my attempts to hide it, he had seen a flash of emotion in my eyes for his son. Michael had never trusted me, and from that moment on, he kept Derek as far away as possible. As I looked back on it, I was really lucky that Michael died when he did. Ten years later, and Derek would have been out of my reach forever.

Michael had obviously never told Fran about his suspicions. When she brought Derek in, twelve years old and in desperate need of what Fran called "fatherly guidance", she lost no time in handing him over to me.

I resisted the urge to take him for over a year.

Derek was thirteen when I finally gave in to the urges that had plagued me for six years. A boy like Derek had to be wooed; so I was kind to him, offering him the father figure he so obviously craved. I liked to imagine that every time I did something for him that Michael should have been doing, my former rival was turning in his grave. I wanted Michael to turn, wanted him to watch as I seduced his son, while he remained powerless to stop me. I taught Derek to play football, I watched the grace in his body as he moved, and I imagined everything that I wanted to do to him and I resisted for over a year – he should have been grateful.

I made the first night I took him special. I was at my cabin, a place more sacred to me than anywhere else. I took him swimming, took a small taste of what was to be mine later that night. Derek was confused when I asked him to take off his swim suit, but he relented. The boys always relented.

Derek was so easy that I was almost disappointed. The first time I brushed against him, he looked slightly confused, but he didn't say anything. He went with me willingly to the table. He drank the wine I set in front of him, and the shot of tequila that came after. Derek was only half-conscious when I carried him up to his room. To this day, I'm not sure how much of the first night he remembered.

I made sure he was aware for the next one.

Fran was delighted at all the gifts I sent home with Derek. I spent thousands on that kid, more than I did for any boy before or after. Football equipment, hospital bills, fees for classes. Derek owed me, didn't he? Shouldn't I take what was rightfully mine?

As a child, Derek understood that. He never refused me anything I wanted. Anything. I convinced myself that if he really didn't want to be with me, he didn't have to. All he had to do was say 'no'. Say 'no', just once, and it would have been over. But he never did. I knew he wanted to say it; sometimes in the cabin he would scream it in his sleep. But while I was taking him, while whispering in his ear how much I did for him, and how grateful he ought to be, Derek never said a thing. The only sounds he made were soft sobs as I took out my only request on him.

As a child, Derek Morgan knew his place.

As a man, however, Derek had changed. He was no longer grateful for what I had done for him, no longer cared about how much work and money I had spent. All he could think about was the one tiny price I enacted! The one time I had taken what was rightfully mine! Well, he would see. Softly, I turned over the key in my hand, the key that just happened to open the door to my cell. After all, a prison guard isn't that different from thirteen year old boy.

He could have said no.

Well, not anymore.