During one of my worthiness interviews while I was a teenager, my bishop informed my that my best friend and I were too close, and that people were talking. He proceeded to drill me for an hour about what we did when we were alone. Did we hold hands, had we kissed, had we ever shared a bed during sleepovers, what type of touching went on between us? Our friendship was never the same after that.
I found out later that she received a similar interrogation. It made me question my sexuality, identity, and resulted in me marrying the first returned missionary that would have me. My marriage was disastrous, and ended up nearly destroying me. While the bishop was accusing us of something that (even if it had been true) was no one’s business, his first counselor was raping little girls in the ward. A fact that was conveniently swept under the rug up until one of the parents went against the bishop’s instructions, and reported it to the police.