K. Morris's Blog, page 825
June 2, 2013
Feeling Queasy
The subject of paedophilia is a highly emotive one, “others rush in where angels fear to tread”. Over the weekend I wrote “An Act of Madness” in which we are introduced to Ian, a man with an unhealthy sexual interest in young teenage girls. Ian graduates from looking at images of child abuse online to raping a 13-year-old child who has been procured for him by an unsavoury pimp, Tom.
Although I wrote “An Act of Madness” in a period of only 2 days it is the most difficult story I have written. What Ian does is monstrous and I felt queasy throughout the composition of “An Act of Madness”. The best way to describe why I wrote this story is to say that I felt compelled to do so. One can not brush child abuse under the carpet and it is important to understand what causes men (and sometimes women) to sexually and physically abuse children. Of course to understand is not to condone, the monstrosity of child abuse can never be condoned, however by attempting to get into the mind of the paedophile we can, perhaps help to prevent him from offending or reoffending.
On the one level there is an inevitability in Ian’s offending. He has, for a considerable period and by his own admission maintained an unhealthy interest in very young teenage girls. This interest escalates from looking to physical and sexual abuse (the road from clicking on images of child abuse to the rape of 13-year-old girl is, for Ian all to easy). However Ian recognises that he has a problem, he has the opportunity to seek help, an opportunity which he fails to take. Had he listened to the wee small voice of conscience which cries out in the depths of the night he may, possibly have avoided the offending behaviour which leads to tragedy for both him and the children involved.
For “An Act of Madness” please visit http://newauthoronline.com/2013/06/01/an-act-of-madness-part-1/
Samantha by K Morris free from 7-11 June 2013
My book, Samantha which tells the story of a young girl forced into prostitution in the city of Liverpool will be available, free in the Kindle Store from 7 June to 11 June. For further information on Samantha by K Morris together with a 4 star review, please visit http://www.amazon.co.uk/Samantha-ebook/dp/B00BL3CNHI.
An Act of Madness Part 5
Below is the final part of my story, An Act of Madness. For Part 4 please visit http://newauthoronline.com/2013/06/02/an-act-of-madness-part-4/.
Ian woke to the sound of the dawn chorus. Even in the heart of Brixton the birds sing, Ian thought. For a few moments he was at peace listening to the sound of many birds singing fit to burst. All to soon the recollections of the previous evening’s debauchery came flooding back. He turned to see Lisa one arm around that beloved bear and the other draped over Angel. Despite being only 13 Lisa had attempted to protect Angel from Ian’s drug and alcohol fuelled lust. It had, of course been useless. Ian had struck Lisa a crushing blow across the face sending the girl flying across the room. As Lisa lay dazed on the floor Ian had raped Angel while she watched helplessly. Lisa’s face was deeply scarred where Ian’s ring had sliced into her cheek. Both girls face’s showed signs of dried tears mixed with the blood which Ian had drawn during his animal rage.
Ian turned away. He couldn’t look anymore. Getting out of bed he dressed quickly, opened the bedroom door and headed for the stairs. This time there was no Tom to detain him at the front door. Ian pulled back the heavy bolts and stepped out into the cool morning air. The birds still sang but Ian did not hear them. His thoughts where dark, no joy filled his soul.
“God, god what have I done? What have I done?”
Ian wandered aimlessly for over an hour. He wasn’t conscious of having been aiming for Brixton Tube, however, looking up he found himself outside. He entered, bought a ticket from the ticket machine and headed for the Victoria line.
The platform was relatively empty as at just after 6 am the morning rush hour had not yet begun in earnest.
Ian stood close to the yellow line, the point of safety which the public should not cross when trains are approaching. He felt nothing, absolutely empty. His life was meaningless. Looking into the future Ian saw more young lives blighted by him, scores of children stretching forward all brought to the depths of depravity due to his selfish desires.
A tube approached.
“Stand back, stand behind the yellow line” the underground official on the platform yelled at Ian.
“Sweet Jesus he’s jumped” could be heard over the radios carried by his colleagues.
It is often said that people who jump in front of trains frequently don’t die immediately. Rather they linger on in agony, sometimes for days before merciful death relieves them of their sufferings. Others do survive but with severe disabilities. In Ian’s case it was quick. The wheels of the train cut him in half. There was a moment of acute agony, a pearcing scream and then what had been the essence of Ian was snuffed out, forever.
An Act of Madness Part 4
Below is Part 4 of my story, An Act of Madness. For Part 3 please visit http://newauthoronline.com/2013/06/02/an-act-of-madness-part-3/.
Ian felt that sense of forboding which often afflicts one before the breaking of a powerful thunder storm. He craved yet feared the coming of the thunder and lightening. His temples throbbed and he needed release but how and when that deliverance would come Ian did not know but the thought of it thrilled and scared him half to death in equal measure.
The pent up sexual frustration churned around inside Ian struggling to get out. He became careless. Ian had long regarded Anna, the teenage daughter of the Browns who ran his local news agents as material for his fantasising about teen girls. At 14 Anna was tall, slim and blonde. She stood not quite on the cusp of womanhood and this state of becoming drove Ian wild with desire.
One morning as Anna pushed The Guardian through his letter box Ian, to her great surprise opened the door.
“Morning Anna. It is a beautiful sunny day. You must be hot, would you like to come in for a drink?”
It was indeed a baking hot summer’s day and Anna hesitated before answering
“No thanks Mr Right. I have water with me but thanks for asking”, then with a smile and a waive Anna turned and headed for the next flat.
Once the door closed Ian stood shaking uncontrollably in the hallway. He knew that had Anna accepted his invitation to come in and have a drink that he would have offered her the £50 he had in his wallet for sex. Had he done that Ian knew that Anna’s reaction would, almost certainly have been to run straight home and report
“that filthy pervert from number 5) to her parents. The police and possible imprisonment would have been the almost inevitable result.
“Thank Christ that she didn’t come in” Ian muttered.
It would, he thought be far safer to call Tom who could provide a young girl to cater to his needs with minimum risk of discovery. If he didn’t call Tom then Ian knew that sooner or later he would do something which would lead to him getting caught.
Ian wondered whether the number he had for Tom would still work. He guessed that people like Tom changed their numbers and location frequently to keep one step ahead of the authorities. It had been almost six weeks since he had visited that hovel in Brixton so it was quite possible that Tom (or whatever his real name was) would have long since moved on. There was only one way to find out. With a trembling hand Ian picked up his mobile and located Tom in his contacts. His finger froze on the call buttond. It was so easy to make that call and so simple to delete the number. Yes he would delete the number and seek counselling for his addiction. Obviously he wouldn’t tell his counsellor that he had sexually abused a child (they would be obliged to inform the police). He would, however confess to a liking for young girls and do whatever was necessary to co-operate with the counsellor in tackling his perversion. But no, he was beyond redemption. Once a paedophile always a paedophile. Slowly, almost imperceptibly Ian’s finger pressed down on the call button.
“Yeah?”
“Is that Tom?”
“Yeah”
“Its Ian not sure if you remember?”
“I thought that you had forgotten old Tom! I’ve something very special for you. Two girls, one you saw before, Lisa and the other, Angel. Angel’s petite and black. Real cute. You’ll like her. I like you man. You can have both girls for £600”.
Ian’s hand was trembling so much that he almost dropped the mobile.
“Are you there man?”
“Yeah”
“Wanna come over?”
“OK, is it the same place?”
“Yeah, see you in half an hour?”
“No, say an hour”
“OK man, see you then. You will love Angel, Tom don’t provide no rubbish”.
—
Ian sat on the top deck of the bus as it wended it’s way towards Brixton. Looking out of the window he saw a park full of bright flowers. The reds, purples and whites combined to make a magnificent floral display. Someone rang the bell. Ian half rose from his seat,he was tempted to get off the bus, forget about Tom and spend the day walking in beautiful parkland. His groin twitched at the prospect of the two young girls Tom had waiting for him. With a wistful look back at the now receeding park Ian returned to his seat.
June 1, 2013
An Act of Madness Part 3
Below is Part 3 of my story, An Act of Madness. For Part 2 please visit http://newauthoronline.com/2013/06/01/an-act-of-madness-part-2/.
For several weeks following his rape of the 13-year-old Ian dare not turn on his computer. He knew that, for him the internet signified searching for child pornography and, even worse young girls to abuse.
Ian wasn’t stupid. Some of the men on the paedophile forums which he had visited from time to time spun clever arguments that children enjoyed sex and that “caring” adults could introduce them to a world of sexual delight. Ian felt physically ill when he recalled how the teenager had begged him not to hurt her.
“I won’t hurt you” he said as he forced himself deep inside the child.
Yes he felt a deep sense of self loathing, this was, however mixed with sexual excitement. When he recalled his encounter with the girl a frisson of excitement drove him to masturbate.
“Masturbation is my safety valve. My fantasies are hurting no one” Ian told himself. However Ian knew in his heart of hearts that the pleasure he derived from masturbating stemmed from the recollection of his rape of a child, it wasn’t a harmless fantasy, rather it merely served as a means of further exciting his interest in young girls.
When at last Ian finally went back online he searched for 18-year-old escorts who catered to “the schoolgirl fetish”.
“I can have fun and not hurt a child” Ian said to Lucy a petite 18-year-old who arrived at his flat wearing the uniform of a sixth form schoolgirl under her long coat.
“That’s good mate. Fantasising never hurt anyone” Lucy replied as she slipped out of her uniform.
“If only you knew the truth” Ian said to himself.
The visits of Lucy and other girls helped to scratch Ian’s itch. However in the dark recesses of his brain he longed to indulge his lust for very young teens. At night Ian would lie awake often into the small hours fantasising about young girls. Masturbation and the attentions of escort girls in their late teens no longer served to satisfy what Ian knew to be his perverted desire for underage girls.
Ian grew pale through lack of sleep. His bosses raised concerns regarding the quality of his work. If he didn’t pull his socks up Ian would be “out on his ear” his employer said in no uncertain terms.
An Act of Madness Part 2
Below is part 2 of my story, An Act of Madness. For part 1 please visit http://newauthoronline.com/2013/06/01/an-act-of-madness-part-1/.
Ian knew that he had a problem. For a long time he had convinced himself that he could control the fantasies. There was after all no harm in fantasising Ian told himself. Indeed if everyone was locked up due to what went on in the darkest recesses of their brain then half the population, perhaps three quarters would be behind bars.
Ian had for so long as he could recollect felt an attraction to young girls. This did not present a problem when, as a boy of 16 he fantasised about girls a year or so younger than him. However, as he grew older the fantasising intensified. As a man of 25 he found himself making excuses for taking public transport at times when he knew that the buses would be full of teenage girls on their way to or from school. He would sit on the bus pretending to read the paper while allowing his eyes to take in the school girls as they sat giggling with their friends. On reaching home he would dash into the toilet or his bedroom and masturbate while the images of the teenage girls remained fresh in his mind. After he had obtained his release the temporary feeling of elation would soon give way to one of utter self loathing.
“You fucking pervert, you should be locked up” he told himself.
For a while he managed to stop. At the times when he knew that the school buses would be full of young girls he stayed at home and attempted to read the paper or a book. It was no good, the words on the page made no sense, his mind was far away on the bus watching teen girls giggling with their friends or flirting with boys of their own age.
At first he saw the internet as a way of safely indulging his fantasies.
“I’m not harming anyone, they are only pictures. I’d never, ever, ever touch a child!” he reassured himself.
Initially he searched for “teen girls” and found mild stimulation in the pictures of nubile 18 and 19-year-olds in various states of undress or engaged in sexual activity. However bordom soon set in. “Teen girls” was soon replaced with “barely legal teens” and “underage sex”.
Every time he turned on the computer he felt his heart start to thump. The sense of breaking a taboo, of kicking against convention caused excitement to course through his body. Still, he reassured himself he was only looking. He would never harm a child. It was pure fantasy, where was the harm in that?
Then it happened. He was looking at a site displaying teens many of whom where clearly under 18-years-old when a pop-up advert directing him to a teen contact website appeared on screen. Ian’s heart began to thump so loudly that he fancied that the people in the neighbouring flat could hear it. With sweating palms he clicked on the pop-up and was directed to a poorly designed webpage with a line of text
“For teen fun call –“.
There where no pictures, just the single line of text. Ian could feel his manhood stir.
“No this is so, so wrong, close the site, forget you ever saw it” the voice of conscience and common sense whispered.
Another voice chipped in
“What harm is there in calling? It will be an advert for 18 or 19-year-old hookers. Maybe you can have some safe legal fun with a teen girl. You can indulge your fantasies and scratch that itch once and for all”.
Ian reached for his mobile. Several times he started to dial only to delete the number and replace the phone in his pocket. Eventually he dialled and pressed the call button. The phone rang. On the second ring a man answered
“Yeah man?”
“I saw the advert and …” Ian trailed off not sure how to continue.
“You want some fun with a young girl?”
“Yeah, so long as she is legal”.
The man at the other end of the line snorted with laughter
“Sure man you and me both no the score. I’ve got a real cutie, very young with blue eyes and blond hair. Slim”.
“What do I need to do? I’ve never done this before” Ian said through his constricted throat.
“Its £400 for the girl. Wana come over?”
“Yeah” Ian managed to whisper. His mouth felt like sandpaper.
“Is this your number?”
“Yes”
“OK, I’ll text you the address”, with that the line went dead.
An Act of Madness (part 1)
He awoke to a thousand little imps banging their tiny hammers inside his skull. Tentatively he opened his eyes. The battered old chair on which he had flung his clothes the previous evening with such wild abandon swam into view. Cans of beer some still half full littered the threadbare carpet but it was the scent of sex, cheap perfume mixed with the sickly odour of rutting animals which made him lean over the side of the bed and vomit onto the filthy brown carpet.
The act of vomiting made him feel a little better. Slowly his mind cleared. He focused on the girl lying beside him. She lay her head resting on the filthy pillow, her right arm clutching a battered old teddy bear. The bear had been brown long ago but the years had turned it almost black. The sheet had fallen away leaving the girl’s body exposed. Her almost hairless vagina and barely formed breasts showed that she was in her early teens, 13 or 14 but no older.
“Christ what have I done?” the man said.
His words spoken out loud made the girl open her beautiful blue eyes.
“Please, please mister don’t hurt me again” she said clutching the bear protectively against her.
“I’m sorry” he mumbled attempting to put his arm around her in what was, he hoped a comforting manner.
“Please, no more” she pleaded her eyes swimming with tears.
Without another word the man got out of bed and flung on his clothes. As he reached the bedroom door he looked back one final time at the girl. She lay her head buried in that bear her shoulders shaking convulsively with deep sobs.
The man descended the rickety uncarpeted staircase, his feet seemed unnaturally loud to him in this silent place.
“God I need to get out” the man muttered as he descended the final stair.
“Enjoy yourself did you man?”
The man’s heart leapt into his mouth. He haden’t seen the Jamaican standing, in the shadows at the bottom of the stairwell.
“Little cutie isn’t she. Just turned 13. I told you that Jo could find you fresh young meat. I didn’t lie to you”.
“No she was lovely” the man said. He wished the Jamaican would step out of the way of the front door so that he could get the hell out of that stinking flea pit.
“OK man, remember Tom and the next time you want some fun give me a call”.
The man nodded and Tom stepped out of the way allowing him to open the front door and leave.
Prime Minister’s Questions
The Leader of the Opposition
“Can the Prime Minister tell the House “how much is that doggy in the window?””
The Prime Minister
“The one with the waggerly tail?”
The Leader of the Opposition
“The Prime Minister knows full well which specific canine I am referring to”.
The Prime Minister
“my civil servants have made extensive enquiries and I am advised that, that doggy is not, in fact for sale. I do, however understand from my right honourable friend, the Foreign Secretary that “In Rangoon the heat at noon is just what the natives shun, but mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the mid day, out in the mid day, out in the mid day sun””.
The Leader of the Opposition
“I have a little cat and I’m very fond of that but I’d rather have a bow, wow wow”.
The Prime Minister
“Perhaps the Leader of the Opposition could put a doggy on his Christmas list, who knows what Santa might bring him. If the party opposite had handled the public finances more wisely when they where in office then more men and women would be able to afford to own a bow wow” (The Commons dissolves into laughter and Prime Minister’s Questions is suspended).
May 31, 2013
Night Terrors
Why do you sleep with the light on? Is it the fear of the bogeyman who crouches in dark dusty corners ready to pounce? Or is it the dread of the hand which, when least expected glides out from under the bed to grab your leg and pull you down, down, down? What causes you when I get up in the night, to ask in a voice full of forboding
“Where are you going?”
Is it the ghastly ghoul which makes you hold me tight, pull me close as though you will never let me go?
You say that you have no recollection of anything bad happening in your childhood. Do I believe you? I don’t know but there is something not right when a grown woman must sleep with the light on. What painted devil do you fear my dear?
May 29, 2013
Restless Nights
Lying in bed, thoughts, unbidden creep like unwanted guests into my head. Unable to sleep, listening to the rain I think of Larkin, the curtain edges undarken and postmen, like doctors go from house to house.
