Rune Rofke - Glenn Emery
I am in New York now. I left Kansas this morning. I had a close brush with Satan a couple days ago.
After I gave my presentation about what happened to me in Topeka, Captain Swearson made me a captain. Nancy Breyfogle was with me, which was great because without her I don't think I would have had the confidence to start over.
But the chapter two attacks started almost right away. It was horrible. There wasn't a sister on the team I wasn't attracted to sexually. I wanted to have sex with all of them. I could hardly think about anything else, all day long. I felt like such a hypocrite. I was so paranoid too. It seemed like everyone could tell just looking at me what evil was in my mind. Yet everyone acted normal, or at least as normal as one can be on MFT.
We were deep in the prairie, fundraising small towns. It was blistering hot, even at night. We were far from Kansas City and there were no motels around. So I pulled into a small roadside rest and we crashed for the night. It wasn't so unusual. We did it all the time. We'd drive into town in the morning and get cleaned up someplace.
The nighttime was beautiful. There was a bright moon, and wheat in every direction as far as you could see. The scent of earth and wheat was intoxicating. We opened the doors and windows of the van to get as much breeze as possible, but it was stifling hot. Everyone slept on the seats and on the floor. I slept sitting up in the driver's seat, something I'd done a thousand times before.
I woke up a couple hours later. One of the sisters was stretched out on the seat directly behind me, snoring softly and deep in the dead-tired kind of sleep only MFT can induce. And in her sleep, probably because of the heat and humidity, her skirt had ridden up around her hips. Her panties were completely exposed, and I could see a soft mound of pubic hair bulging underneath. Her legs were slightly spread. The scent of warm musk hit my brain. The rush was so powerful, it was like being on acid.
I had been completely celibate now for three years. I had not even masturbated. And the sight and scent of this lovely little MFT sister sleeping in the van, with her skirt hiked up and little cotton panties just inches away from me was unbearable. I wanted to touch her so badly. I wanted to lie down next her. I wanted to have sex with her right then and there.
Despite the drought-like heat of the summer night, a chill came over me. It was like a presence, urging me to slip my hand into her panties. The more I thought about it, the colder I got. I began shivering uncontrollably. I was freezing. The shivering became even worse, almost like convulsions. I was trembling violently, unable to take my eyes or my mind from the opportunity before me. I couldn't make it stop.
The next thing I knew I was ejaculating in my pants. It was explosive. I thought it would never stop. It was so powerful, followed by pain so intense I hallucinated for a few seconds. The whole prairie was lit up in swirling psychedelic colors, like a van Gogh painting. All that pent up pressure -- building up for years -- suddenly released in one spontaneous combustion. I felt like I had been kicked repeatedly in the balls. It took me several minutes to catch my breath. The agony was overwhelming.
When I finally recovered, I reached over and gently pulled the sister's skirt down below her knees, where it belonged. Then I went outside to try to clean myself. I had to throw my underwear away. It was soaked. The smell was unbelievable.
I got back in the van and spent the rest of the night staring out at the moonlit wheat field, wondering what unspeakable evil I had just allowed to happen. I felt about as guilt-ridden and low as I ever thought possible. I felt I had violated this innocent sister because of my evil thoughts. I deserved whatever terrible fate now awaited me. I was sure it would come by morning. So I sat and waited.
There was no doubt how this happened. It began last December in a motel room in Killeen, Texas, when my commander made a homosexual grab while I slept. I was so startled that at first I didn't believe what had just happened. It had to be a mistake. We're celibate. And sexual temptation is between men and women. The notion that my own commander -- an MFT brother! -- was a closet homosexual was too absurd to contemplate. So I had pretty much convinced myself by the next day that it hadn't happened, that I was mistaken, and everything was okay.
But that night he did it again. And this time when I woke up he didn't stop. Now I was terrified. It was real after all. I hadn't imagined it. My central figure was molesting me. I didn't know what to do. Of course, I wanted to jump up immediately and get away, but in my head were all the stories in the Bible, which are taught in the advanced Principle lectures, about how God sometimes did things that seemed immoral for a higher purpose.
There was Noah who got drunk and fell asleep naked, and when his sons saw him, they were ashamed and covered him with a blanket. Yet this angered God, and actually was a bad condition that Satan was able to claim. And of course there was Tamar, who seduced her own father in law, Judah. And that was also part of God's plan. So what was I to think? This guy, my central figure, my direct link to God, somebody I looked up to and believed was more spiritually mature and pure than myself, was really just a fag? It wasn't possibly. Yet here he was, stroking my dick, trying to make me come for his own selfish pleasure. I felt physically ill.
I couldn't stand him touching me so I got up and went to the bathroom and locked the door and spent the rest of the night lying on the tiles wondering if I had done a terrible thing by A) not stopping the abuse immediately, or worse B) had failed God somehow by not going along with it. Either way I felt doomed. I felt mortally wounded. I had failed, plain and simple. It was over for me.
This internal dilemma, which had festered now for six months, plus my deteriorating physical health, combined to pull me down to this point where the sight of a sister's panties had caused a waking wet dream. I felt that W's sin was now my own. It was now only a matter of time before I would begin finding ways to have a physical relationship with a sister. I was going to fall. No doubt about it. I was sure of it. The hairline crack that W had caused in my spirit was now a large fracture that my hard-fought-for soul was leaking out of, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. Satan had found a way in.
So the next day I tearfully called Mr. Sawamukai and reported what had happened over the phone. I would have rather drunk battery acid than had that conversation. I knew there would be hell to pay. A couple days later I had to report to Nancy what I'd done. I hated doing that because I knew how disappointed she would be in me. I felt so ashamed having to admit to such hideous fallen nature. But I had to do it. It was the right thing to do.
Now I'm at Mr. Kamiyama's house, known as White House, just down the street from Jacob House, where I'd had my MFT workshop in January 1976. This is a workshop for problem members. I'm embarrassed to be a problem member. I had always looked down on them as weak and faithless. Now I am one, and a miserable one at that. The lecturer is Dale Garratt.
My future in the church is very uncertain.