Untitled

This is a bare bones version of the story. There are some missing details and character names. It needs a lot of fleshing out. I just needed to finally get it down.

This is intended to be a transcription of a personal journal, published in a publication on criminology/psychology, with a commentary by a professional essentially twisting every word into evidence of guilt. This in turn would be an exhibit in a museum. But I don't know the appropriate writing style for such a publication. I also don't know enough about police and legal procedure for those segment either. the spelling and grammar mistakes at the end are deliberate. This is just to map out the overall structure of the story. Advice would be appreciated.

My name is ________

I am a paedophile.

I'm going to try my best to describe who I am, and how I came to be in this situation. I'm not sure how much time I have left.

I had a pretty normal childhood. I had friends. I had family. I had pets. I went to school. Everything just how you'd expect it.

But then I hit puberty.

It happened when I was 12. Summer vacation had just ended, and I was excited to start a new grade. I had always been a good student. But when I got to class, It became clear that something had changed. Suddenly, I couldn't stop thinking about my female classmates. When I looked at them, I was overwhelmed by a feeling I couldn't describe. Every thought in my mind was drowned out, and replaced with the thought of girls. The way they moved. The texture of their hair. The sounds of their voices. Every curve of their bodies. Curves I had never noticed before, and some I was sure had not been there before. I tried my best to listen to the teacher speak, but it felt like my mind wasn't working properly. I felt light-headed, and I couldn't concentrate on anything. There was one clue to what was happening, however. We'd had sexual education the previous year. At the time, I found it a little funny and a lot boring, but I did learn enough to know what an erection was, and I knew that I now had one. This is puberty, I thought to myself. This is normal. everyone goes through this. But never had any of our sex ed classes described the kinds of feeling I was experiencing. And looking around the class, I couldn't see anyone else who looked like they were experiencing the same thing. Maybe that should have worried me, but I couldn't think straight enough to be worried. All I could do was try to focus on the class.

Somehow, I managed to muddle through the first few periods. When lunch break came around, I went to the cafeteria, trying my best to hold one of my textbooks in front of myself. When I got my meal, I at down at a table by myself. I would have sat with my friends, but as I looked across at them, suddenly my female friends who I'd known for years seemed like something totally new. As I was looking, one of them got up and started walking over to me. I started to panic.

"Hi _____. How was your summer vacation?"

"Uhhh g-g-good." I stared at my food. My heart pounded in my chest.

"Did you get to visit your grandmother?"

"Y-yeah." My vision blurred. My pants felt tight.

"How do you like the new teacher? I think he's cool."

"Ah uh I guess s-so." My hands shook. My face flushed. I couldn't breathe.

"Do you want to come eat with us?"

"N-n-n-no, I'm o-okay." Just go away. Please just go away.

"Oh, okay. Um, see you later I guess."

Finally she walked away. I glanced over at her as she did, but the instant I caught a glimpse of the way her hips moved as she walked, I felt a jolt that was like getting punched in the stomach while having a heart attack. I quickly looked away and stared at my food again; and hoped these feelings would wear off eventually.

But over the next few weeks, those feelings continued to frustrate me. But things only got more confusing.

Some of our classes were taught by a new teacher. She was in her early 20s and fresh out of college. She gave me the exact same feelings as the girls my age. She was a lot more developed than they were, with more defined curves. That excited me. But it made her class especially frustrating, because it no longer did any good to focus on the teacher instead of my classmates.

But there was another thing that made things even more confusing.

The school library was in the elementary wing of the building. During library periods, we had to leave the high school wing and walk through the elementary halls to get to the library, which was used by all grades. I would walk past students who were anywhere from my age to as young as 5. Including girls.

They gave me the same feelings. Their curves may have been more subtle, but they excited me just as much, as did how small and delicate they looked. It was different from the high school girls, and different from the teacher, but the feelings it gave me to see them was exactly the same. It was that same feeling of overpowering beauty.

The thing is, while it registered on some level that it was pretty unusual to feel that way about girls that young, the entire experience of feeling that way about anyone at all was so new and overwhelming, that it didn't sink in for a while that this was any stranger. The whole experience was so new and overwhelming. I grew distant from my friends. My grades began to suffer. There were counselling sessions. There were psychiatrist visits. My parents and my teachers knew something was wrong, but I was afraid to tell them what it was. Ultimately, after a few months, I was taken out of school and began homeschooling.

Over the next few years, I became more and more isolated. I lost touch with all my friends. Gradually I began to understand that being attracted to children was something people viewed not merely as strange, but as the very height of evil. There seemed to be a universal consensus among people that absolutely every paedophile wants to rape children and will do so if given the chance. I went through a period of self-doubt, and began to fear that maybe that was true; that maybe I was some kind of monster. During that time, I came close to suicide several times. Eventually I started to realise that it was beyond my ability to do the kinds of things people assume paedophiles would do. It was a long process, but I came to terms with that I was.

But being okay with myself was just not enough. If people knew what I was, my life (such as it was) would be over. I found myself unable to trust anyone, afraid to be around other people, and absolutely scared out of my wits of children. I lived in absolute fear, with the awareness that almost everyone I met would want me dead if they knew about me, and that I simply did not fit into the world in which I lived. I continued to struggle with the urge to kill myself.

By the time I was in my 20s, I was living alone, and barely supporting myself by working a retail job. I would stock shelves, avoid talking to anyone, and go home. When people were shopping with their children, I would do everything I could to avoid them. It was extremely stressful, but it was necessary to support myself.

There was a cashier that I worked with who took an interest in me. Her name was Eirene. She was beautiful. She would often try to talk with me, and sat with me on my lunch breaks. I couldn't look her in the eye without it taking my breath away. But in spite of my efforts to avoid her, we ended up talking. We started having online conversations. We were about the same age and had a lot in common. We liked a lot of the same things, and shared a similar sense of humour. She had such an intelligence and compassionate nature. Despite all my effort to stop it, we became good friends. But I still could not look at her. Most of our interactions were online. They went well, until one day the conversation went somewhere I did not expect.

[chat where she expresses a dislike of her own appearance and assume's that's why he isn't interested in her, and he confesses that in fact he is]

For a while after that, I was even more uncomfortable around her. But since we had both voiced our feelings, things began progressing terrifyingly fast. At first we just sat together during our breaks trying to work up some courage. The first time I touched her, I simply put my hand on her knee as she sat next to me. I felt like I was soaring. I just sat there and softly stroked her thigh and felt a bliss like I had never experienced. Over the next few days, we progressed to holding each other and kissing. I could finally look her in the eye, and it was thrilling beyond description.

The first time we spent the night together was both incredibly joyous and incredibly terrifying. The first time we had sex, I was so nervous that I could not finish. She certainly wasn't complaining. But as they say, practise makes perfect, and eventually we got it right. I never thought I could experience such joy.

For a few of months, I was the happiest I had ever been. I could think of nothing but her. I wanted to give her every joy and every pleasure. When we were together, in mind and in body, it was like being made of happiness. We felt like we could hold each other and climax together forever. But behind it all, and growing ever louder, was a single nagging thought.

If she finds out what you are, she will hate you.

There is nothing more unbearable than caring for someone so completely, and having to keep a secret from them. Could I really continue a relationship that way? Would I have to conceal my paedophilia from her for years? For the rest of my life? What if she wanted to have children? What was I going to do?

As these worries rose from a whisper to a scream in my mind, I became more distant from her. Then one day I told her I didn't want to see her anymore. She asked me why, and I couldn't tell her. She begged me to change my mind, and I refused. I said goodbye to her as she cried. I went home and wept for hours. She did not come to work for the next 2 days. When she did return, she was clearly upset by my presence, and I felt ashamed to be seen by her. I asked my supervisor to change my shift, and the next week I began working late night hours.

It was then that I met _____.

I could tell from the beginning that he was unusual. [description of various unusual, unnerving, and somewhat suspicious behaviours]. Since I generally kept to myself, he seemed to very much enjoy bothering me, making dirty jokes and trying to distract me from my work. But he was the only person who talked to me, so I put up with it.

One day I was setting up a display of paper towels, when a young girl, about 8 years old, ran up to me and asked me where to find something in the store. I don't even know what it was she asked, but I blushed and stammered out some sort of answer and she ran back over to her mother and disappeared out of view. As I tried to catch my breath and calm myself, I was startled by a voice behind me.

"Damn, she was hot, huh?"

"What?"

"That girl. I saw that little display. You're a pedo, aren't you?"

"Huh?! No, I-"

"Then what do you call that?" he said, pointing.

It occurred to me then that there was a subtle tent in the front of my pants. I quickly knelt down and tried to look very intensely focused on a lower shelf.

"C'mon, just admit it. You thought she was hot and you got hard."

"I-I don't know what you're-"

"I don't blame you. She had an awesome a*s. I'd f**k her."

"..."

"You're not the only one who likes little girl tail, man. I'm a pedo too."

"...Really?"

"C'mon, who wouldn't wanna bend that little b***h over and make her squeal?"

He creeped the hell out of me. A person shouldn't even talk like that about adult women. But he knew what I was, and I had little doubt he'd tell someone if he thought he could gain something from it, so from that day on I was pretty much forced to endure his company. Besides, what choice did I have? Who else could someone like me associate with? Beggars can't be choosers, right? He would make the most sleazy remarks, objectifying every girl we saw. He'd go on about how uninteresting adult women were, and I was too uncomfortable to say that I disagreed. He would even send young girls to me whenever they asked a question. It was incredibly unnerving, but I didn't know what else to do but put up with it.

A few weeks later, as I woke up in the afternoon and was getting ready for my shift, I turned on my TV and saw something that saddened me deeply. A little girl in the city had gone missing. A 7 year old named _____. Apparently a few days earlier, one of her friends saw her get into a vehicle they didn't recognise, and she wasn't seen since. They showed a picture of her. She was beautiful.

I sure can't blame anyone for wanting her, I thought. But I can sure as hell blame them for taking her.

But there was nothing I could do about it, so like anyone else, I tried to put it out of my mind and get on with my day.

I went to work. I put up with _____'s s**t. I stocked shelves. I avoided children. Just a normal day.

Near the end of my shift, ____ came up to me and said "Hey man, you should come by my place after work. I've got something you'll want to see."

"Uh, okay" I said sheepishly.

After we clocked out, we got in his car and drove to his house. It was an older house in an unpleasant looking neighbourhood. We walked up the crumbling steps and went inside. It was a normal looking kitchen. He offered me a beer. I declined. I asked him what it was he wanted to show me. He led me down the stairs into the basement.

It was a typical dank unfinished basement. In one corner I saw a computer and a video camera on a desk. Against another wall was a tripod. Another was standing nearby with a camera on it. It was pointed over to another corner of the room where-

Suddenly I felt sick.

Locked into a pair of handcuffs bolted to the wall, was the girl who was on the news. She was stripped naked; her tear-streaked face bruised, with tape over her mouth. Looking down at the old mattress on which she sat, I saw it stained with blood dripping from between her-

"Awesome, right?" ____ said. "I grabbed her the other day. I've already had my fun, so I thought I'd give you a turn."

It was at this point that his nose shattered.

As did two fingers on my right hand.

This was understandable given the rate at which they collided with each other.

I'm not a violent person. I'm not quick to anger. But as I struck him again and again, there was only one thought in my mind. No, thought isn't the right word for it. But if I were to put it into words, this is probably the closest way to describe it:

DON'T

HURT

BEAUTY!!!

I don't know how many times I hit him, but eventually I realised that he'd stopped moving. I ran over to the girl. Handcuffs. Key. Had to be somewhere. I saw one on the desk and I grabbed it. I freed her hands and gently pulled the tape off her mouth. She put her arms around me and sobbed. I sobbed too, and kept repeating to her that she was safe now and nobody was going to hurt her anymore. I grabbed a nearby blanket and wrapped it around her and carried her up the stairs. I set her down in a chair in the kitchen and grabbed a phone to call the police. They told me to stay on the line, but I just let the phone drop and went back over to ____. She put her head on my shoulder and continued to cry.

I wanted nothing more than to make her pain and anguish go away. How could anyone put someone so fragile through such horror? How could I not have known have known that this person I had worked with was capable of something like this? How could anyone be capable of something like this?

I hadn't noticed the sirens, but when the door flew off its hinges, that caught my attention. _____ screamed as a cop tackled me to the floor, breaking my cheekbone. One of them carried her to an ambulance as I was cuffed and led to the back of a car.

"Don't worry! They'll take care of you!" I yelled to her.

The next few hours are a blur. I think I was in shock. But eventually I found myself sitting in a room, with bandages on my hand, holding ice against my face, and sitting across a table from a cop.

"I've got to express my apologies for how our officers hurt you when they entered the house. We didn't know the exact situation, and our priority was to get the girl to safety."

"I understand."

"Sounds like you're a real hero, my friend."

"I-I don't know. It happened so fast."

"I know it's probably very confusing right know, but I'm going to need you to try and concentrate and tell me what happened. I'm going to ask you a few questions, okay?"

"All right, I'll try."

"How did you come to be at that house today?"

"I went there with _____."

"Mr _____. How do you know him?"

"We work together."

"Why did he bring you to his home?"

"He said he wanted to show me something."

"What was it he wanted to show you?"

"...The girl."

"He told you that he was keeping a child prisoner?!"

"No, he didn't tell me anything. He just brought me there and showed me."

"Do you have any idea why he wanted to show her to you?"

"......Uh...He..."

"Go ahead."

"Well.... He knew that I was a... Paedophile...."

".....You are a paedophile."

"......"

"Excuse me."

He got up and left the room. I was left alone for quite some time. I couldn't believe I'd actually told him that. I was torn between feelings of panic and relief. Were they going to keep my secret? Was it all going to come out? It's all over. I'm going to become a pariah. I'll probably get lynched. I-

No, wait. He called me a hero. I saved a little girl's life. Surely that changes things. Maybe people will finally see that paedophiles aren't all dangerous. Or at least that I'm not. Maybe this is what I've been waiting for. Maybe this is when my life gets better. I-

Why was I thinking about myself? ____ was all that mattered. Whatever happened to me didn't matter as long as she was out of that nightmare.

After what must have been a couple of hours of these thoughts, the officer came back in. He no longer seemed so friendly. He asked me some more basic questions. But before I knew it, things were getting out of control. They told me they had spoken to ____. He was going to cut a deal with them. He was pinning everything on me in exchange for a reduced charge. He told them I had coerced him into taking part in the abduction, and they were believing him. I spent the next few hours having accusations screamed at me. Other officers came in. At one point one of them slammed his fist onto my already broken fingers. When I begged for a lawyer, they said one was on the way and just kept battering me with horrifying allegations. By the time a lawyer arrived hours later, I was taken to a cell for the night. I wept for hours before passing out from exhaustion.

The trial was quite high profile. Cameras shoved in my face every time I entered or left the courtroom. My lawyer didn't believe my side of the story. Nobody did. The lack of evidence that I was ever in that house before that day didn't seem to matter. It was all over after a few days, and I was sentenced to spend the rest of my life in prison.

This is where I have been for the last several months. I'm living alongside thieves and arsonists and rapists and violent offenders, and they see me as the biggest monster in here. I have been beaten several times. I do my best to stay out of everyone's way and stay alive. I've tried contacting every expert and every advocacy organisation I can think of, all to no avail. I found out about what happened to _____ after they got her out of that house. Apparently they gave her so much so-called therapy that she now remembers me as her tormentor. She'll hate me for the rest of her life. I've begun to give up all hope of ever getting out of here. The only thing I can think to do is write this all down and hope that mayb


I just overheard some of the prisoners talking to one of the guards. They were bribing him to delay doing his rounds. Theyre going to kill me and they want him to look the other way

To my family and friends Ive neglected all these years Im sory Eirene I loved you so much I never meant to hurt you Please dont remember ne that way Im so sorry [...] nt beleive what they s [...] urt anyo [...]

[The last few lines are obscured by a smear of blood]


[This segment is followed by a sort of case study and commentary article, in which the entire journal is rationalised as revealing the author's culpability for the crime and being an elaborate psychological construct to shift the blame to others. It warns that there are an unknown number of such disturbed minds, and of the harm they can do.]


[The entire journal and article are exhibited in the Alan Turing wing of the United Earth Sexual History Museum in Kandahar Afghanistan in the year 2136, next to the Matthew Sheppard memorial. Beneath is a plaque describing the history of the systematic persecution of minor-attracted individuals since the mid 19th century, and reminds people of the dangers and the tragic human costs of institutionalised hatred of people because of feelings they did not choose.]