I want to confess that years ago I worked for a time as a prostitute during university. Now its about to come back and haunt me. One of my clients has moved into the town where I live.
For so long I've dreaded this happening, bumping into one of the clients. Every time since i stopped,when I would go somewhere where there were people, i would scan the room with my eyes to ensure i knew none of the men there. I could work for an intelligence agency i became that good at doing it so quickly. Only then could i relax. This would range from clubs, bars, restaurants, external work meetings, gyms or any place people would gather in a crowd.
Time has passed. Moved back near where i grew up. Done the whole domestic suburban thing. Marriage, mortgage, family. All that is short is a dog to complete the picture. Have a bit of a career (not a great career) with a good company that pays me very very well. In the last couple of years i relaxed. I'm in my 30's now. That whole prostitute thing is far behind me. I dont look like i did back then.I'm older, hair is a different colour and style.Old friends would know me but not a guy from a half hour of sex. I believed at some point that i wouldn't be recognised to a casual observer.
Then a couple of weeks ago, I was walking over to get my hair done for a party and passed a random man. Its the type of place thats small enough where people sometimes casually say hi or hello and carry on. As i passed him i smiled, he smiled and i just was about to say hello thinking he was someone i vaguely recognised from somewhere in town. I could see his face as we passed and he was thinking something similar that he knew me from somewhere. This all happened an instant. It felt like someone hit me.My heart nearly came out through my chest as I knew his face. I knew it from the past. The feeling of absolute dread came over me. I carried on walking. Got to where I was going and sat down. Got my breath back. While getting my hair done, realised that he may not be someone from my past. Even if he was, its most likely he was passing through or visiting someone in the town. I would have seen him around before otherwise. So i managed to relax. I used have a plan on what i would do if i did meet a former client. Nothing of that plan came back to me.
It's all going fine after that fright. Then on a recent morning school run, there he was dropping off his son. He said hello. I don't even know if i gave any reply. He asked if i remembered him and he named the university and city i had been in. I was grasping at the thought he we must have been in uni together. He was talking casually but, the way he was looking at me, the way he stood, I knew what was going through his mind. He was remembering exactly how he knew me. He's moved to the town I live in. I have no memory after that. Do not recall how i got to work, just that in work people were giving me a coffee and asking if i was ok. Some asked if I needed to go home.
2 days ago I met him again. When i say met, i could see him from down the street on the opposite side and he crossed over. He deliberately made a point to come up to me. You should have seen the sneer on his face when he said hello. I think it was meant to be a smile. I couldnt walk past him without making a scene of some sort so was stuck there with him. Part of the final conversation with him is that he remembers me and it was really good times. While he didn't say what he remembers, by the intonation of his voice and the look on his face, we both knew what he was talking about. His final words as i managed to walk away were about catching up on old times and his hoping he will see me soon again. He laughed when he said that.

So why am i putting all that on here. I need to do something. I cant sleep properly. I'm tired. I can't think. I want the whole thing to go away. It's not like i can tell anyone about all of this. I read somewhere one time, when you have a problem, write it all out. It clears the mind. Read it back and the whole problem becomes easier to manage.
So there, maybe it will help

I will confess, that tonight the 16 th of december ive booked an 18 year old girl to come to my house and spend the night .
I will pick her up from a place arranged before and she will be with me all night, 12 hours, and its only going to cost me �200, ive looked at all the escort agencies and they all want over �1000 for all night , well im so looking forward to this . any idea,s what to do to her ? she gonna be dressed up as santa,s little helper?.

MCFARTS.....
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I confess i been getting sick thoughts lately about fucking an older woman. Im talking a rea old lady, facefuck her and really pound it in her cunt. Like a 90 yr old . Where on earth can i find such a thing? I tried escort agencies and they dont have women that old and its kind of hard to find in public lol

PRETTY




Pretty house, pretty flowers, and all the pretty people. That could be the start and end to the story there. However, what story wants to just be pretty? You can have your pretty dress and pretty white stallion, but in the end, the stallion just drops dead.
So, imagine this scene. You have two people, let’s say Steve and Martha. They've been together since high school and raised two pretty girls who are almost through high school themselves. Steve has his perfect dream job as a novelist. Plus, he has his fucking millionth copy sold party next week at The Garches. Martha stays at home, the biggest fucking prettiest house in the Upper Valley. She probably just lays around and suntans all day, trying to be that much...prettier for her husband. Not that it would matter much, they've already been to Hawaii twice this year, and it's only March!
Oh wait, sorry, getting a bit off topic there.
So, back to the story.
The couple Steve and Martha then go to Steve's millionth copy sold party, which they just decided to call their "Zeroooooo" Party. Of course they did. Here's where the story gets a little more interesting. So, their eldest daughter, a pretty little thing, just turned 18, let’s just call her Belle to simplify things. Well, she has this boyfriend, jock, quarterback, straight “A” student. A nice guy really. However, unknown to Steve and Martha, she decides to date this other dude. Well, dude not exactly anymore. Sex change, though, would have just been a little prettier. Let's say he is a "duder". As in, all grapes add the "r" when they become raisins. The duder is about 65 now, which only gives him a couple more years before he can retire from the exotic books business. The party is also going to be the platform for Steve to announce his new book. The duder goes up to the stage, and pulls back the curtains to the new jacket cover. Let's just skip all the pretty words, and the fight, don't forget the arson and the restraining order. However, let's not forget Steve and Martha's new jobs at Feed Freddies, the move to Downton Street, and the divorce. Also, Belle's perfect quarterback boyfriend broke up with her when she started wearing more clothes than Queen Elizabeth to school. At very least, the strip club is getting even busier with the Belle, sorry royal ass Eliza, running the show.
Pretty ending to that story, eh? Well, that's just the beginning. This is all just hypothetical, of course. Let's not forget that.
Now, imagine this strip club in the Lower Valley. It’s already been established that pretty young Eliza would be the up on stage shaking her two big moneymakers. You got to love the girls with daddy issues! Let’s say that her tips are pretty good, but it is never enough. Eliza then starts taking the men back stage for her fucking specialty. OK, probably shouldn’t go there.
There is this one fucking ugly duder that would always come in with the prettiest flowers, lilies to be exact. He had a fetish of making Eliza into his pretty yellow picture. Sure, things are going pretty and well for Belle, sorry Eliza, but why does the story have to end there.
So, her estranged father, Steve comes in during one night in carnival. Oh, that place is decked out in all kinds of pretty, from the pretty beads down to the pretty masks. Steve has a right old time, drinks some beers, has a couple nice views. He goes home later and neither of them are any the wiser.
Then, it is a week into Lent that something really happened. The duder is busy working with his Eliza canvas when in walked Belle’s former quarterback dude and his buddies. OK, true, they aren't 21 yet, but who cares when they come in with some perfectly pretty fake I.D.’s. Imagine it going down like this. The dude tries to cop some feels from his former girlfriend when she is covered in all the lilies. Naturally, Eliza tries to cover herself and run. Here’s the best part. The duder fucker grabs her ankle and trips her. He then pulls out a gun and tells her to don’t fucking move again. Before he can start arranging his flowers again, the dude grabs the duder. The dude then gets shot in the head, and so does pretty little fucking Eliza when she goes to help out. The old fucker runs and gets away.
Don’t you just love where these are going? At very least, it would sound better for the story if Belle/Eliza and the quarterback didn’t die.
OK, maybe it is time for a little change of pace, maybe something a little prettier. It probably would be a good idea to give this second duder a name, to make things a little easier to remember. His name will be Ralph, after this guy...Oh never mind. So, Ralph escapes from the Lower Valley. Let it just be said that he does get away with murder. OK, so, Ralph then goes to Amsterdam in the Netherlands. Flowers, flowers everywhere, but so are the pretty people. He especially loves frequenting the Red Light District. That old fucker does what he wants. So, the moral of the story is that Ralph finds a little money on the streets, goes and buys some dope, does it up with a cop outside, and gets arrested.
Justice served, well no.
Actually, there is an explosion the next day in the lobby of the jail. All those mother fuckers die but Ralph. He escapes and no harm done. Then, he goes out and buys a lottery ticket and make some good dough. Next, he invests some of that, and due to a great surge in the economy, he brings in all the big bills. Afterwards, he starts a modeling agency, where he can look to his hearts desire, each of which become a canvas of his own. His business goes under in a couple years, but would cares; Ralph got to live his dream. That is so much prettier than all those people.
That's it, done; let's end the story right there. There were rich people who found out their daughter was fucking some duder. Don't forget the naked cover. It doesn't matter too much, those people got what they desired anyway. Then, the next scene had that pretty girl from the first tale who works at a strip club. She doesn't even realize when her own shithead father comes into the place and takes a couple peaks. Her promiscuity at least was the end of her anyway, when this God awful duder shows up. Shoots her and her ex boyfriend. The story ends on a high notes when the duder travels to Amsterdam, and makes lots of money doing what he loves.
That could be the end of it; it just could. However, why do stories always have to end just when the going gets good? There are always those hardworking people out there that want to make more money. Those are good people and their work have to be honored.
More, more, more, that is all anybody wants now a days. Let's give the people want they want.
OK, imagine this girl...since this is a sequel, it would make sense to bring back at least some of the characters from the first part. So, this girl is Steve and Martha's other daughter...Trudy. She may not be the prettiest girl, but everyone says she's beautiful on the inside with doves flying out of her ass at least twice a day. Trudy is two grades younger than that ex-stripper sister of her's Eliza, Belle, whatever her name is. It doesn't matter anymore. The dove girl sings to all the other birds and dances on the moon. Well, at least before that was before her slut sister was rightly shot in the head. Then, Trudy becomes very introverted, thinking more about her pretty self than to that cruel, ugly world out there. She ends up dropping out of school as soon as she turns 16, and emancipates herself from her now deadbeat parents. Don't worry, she has a perfectly good job next to Feed Freddies at a place called Happy Harvey's; it's a pub. No, she doesn't serve the drinks. Instead, Trudy works at the daycare in the back watching over all the pretty children.
Not long after she started working there, she began to wear this pretty sequenced red dress everyday. That was the only dress she could afford anyway. She did it for this regular that would come in, taller, youngish. He made Trudy feel beautiful again. This dude was not a pervert; he would never touch her. Well, that was until she turned 18, and then they humped it out like hippos.
One day, she over hears him saying he lost his job, so she offers for him to stay with her. He was too much of a mutch not to take it. They lived, they humped, oh life was good. Things soon got more serious, and prudy Trudy was finally falling in love. Ah, isn't that sweet. Let's fast forward now to the part of the story where she finds out he is already married. The mutch only thought she was his friend. Trudy beats the shit out of his pretty head for that. It's pretty, no, beautiful seeing the sight of the bastard afterwards. He must have lost at least 100 pounds with all the stuffing knocked out of him. Now, his wife cop from down in the Lower Valley may have not fucked or, for that matter, seen the fucker for awhile, but she is definitely the daughter of a bitch. Saying she got even is good, but retribution sounds much better. Oh, that poor girl's beauty was just pouring out of her, glistening like a rainbow.
Let's make one this perfectly clear, Trudy does not die EVER! For, that girl's hind is as tough as her hippo brethren. Oh course, that girl did have to go to some physical therapy afterwards. With her new training she can consider herself equal, and close brethren to the asses.
So, imagine a pretty physical therapy center on the edge of suburban bliss. It is a place where stallions run as free as well, stallions. OK, the fence probably keeps them a little more contained than that. Anyway, the center uses the stallions as part of the therapy. Trudy loves the new freedom and the fucking feeling of wind running through her hair. There was just one snitch in her new found happiness, the stallion, Woody, collapses onto it's side while she is riding him. Trudy's other leg is crushed and then amputated. Oh well, lesson learned.
She returns to the therapy center a while later, overjoyed to find Woody is being helped right beside her. He is slowly becoming lame. It doesn't take long for Trudy to start to hate the pretty white stallion. She is becoming Woody's bitch, lower than an animal, as it turns out. Nobody could stay mad at those bit brown eyes for long and soon she no longer minded her pretty third class status. Even more pretty was the sight of her in her red dress, which now made her look like a fruity flamingo.
Enough, enough, story time.
So, uh, losing her leg doesn't stop her from riding Woody all she wanted, slowly of could, he was just too big, and one more blow would spell the end for each of them. The riding slowly got faster and faster as they grow more used to each other. Soon, it was love, big old stallion love. To put it a big more blunt, Woody is soon getting plenty of fill from his sweet little flamingo. So much so, he fell down again during their faster riding sessions. He cracked a couple of his pretty ribs, fractured his big old pretty skull. At very least Trudy continued living, but perhaps not too happily ever after.
Oh come on, the beginning did say exactly how the story was going to end. Get a pretty fucking grip!

The Corral

When I was 20, I flunked out of college because I liked partying more than studying. Back at home, I had heard of a downtown restaurant where yuppies frequented the bar during happy hour; so, a friend and I decided to check it out. It was busy with standing room only. The men were loud and dressed in designer clothes. The women wore short dresses which showed their boobs and legs. We were dressed alike. A number of guys were hitting on us; and, one invited us to a house party. He said the owner was dripping with money and loved to party with his friends and business associates. The house was a lake-front mansion with walls around it and a pool. The owner was a guy in his 30s, who had inherited the house and a successful advertising agency when his parents died in a plane crash. His friends were mostly lawyers and small business owners. The owner was fairly attractive and sexy in a ruddy way. He was very self-confident and usually the center of attention. He came over and introduced himself to us when we arrived. Then he showed us to the bar and made us each a drink. He said that everyone could help themselves and to have a good time. He didn't seem to care if we were under the drinking age and didn't ask how old we were.

Some of the people were smoking joints and sniffing coke. We were told to just ask if we wanted some. Most of the people appeared to be single and older than us; and, the women appeared jealous that the men paid us a lot of attention. They seemed to be husband hunting. We were having a good time and getting drunk. One of the guys had his hand on my ass as we talked and maneuvered me to a corner and began kissing me. He was nice looking and I kissed him back. I let him feel my boobs before I inched my way back to the others. I guess they liked us because the owner (Ted) told us there was a party every Friday night starting at 8pm and that we were welcome to come when ever we wanted. We left the party around 2am.

Ted's parties became a regular Friday night thing for us. We drank and did some drugs with them. The parties lasted all night and people paired off and used all six bedrooms. I became a regular and began hooking-up with some of the guys who were also regulars. I learned that Ted had a "corral" of women that helped him entertain his clients. I was told that I should join; and, that there were benefits like sailing on the yacht docked in front of the house, vacation trips, dinners, and jewelry. I wasn't dumb and asked what entertaining involved. The answer was "what ever it takes". Over the next few weeks Ted and the others kept trying to recruit me for the corral until one night I agreed. I really enjoyed Ted's parties and his friends and was afraid I might be uninvited if I declined. I was asked to come at 8pm on a Wednesday night for initiation. I arrived on time and was very nervous about it. Ted gave me a drink and a pill to help calm me down. Four other guys arrived during the next hour. I was feeling pretty good by then. Ted explained that some of his clients expected sex for giving him their business and that I needed to provide that service, when asked. I said that I understood. He further explained that the clients would be angry if I didn't cooperate; and, said that the initiation was to prove that I would be cooperative.

Ted then asked me to stand in the middle of the room and do a strip tease for them. I guess the drinks and pill took away my inhibitions and I began dancing seductively swiveling my hips and bouncing my boobs. I closed my eyes and ran my hands over my ass and boobs. I reached back and began unzipping my dress to the waist and pulled my arms from the short sleeves letting it fall so that my boobs and half-bra were showing. I danced around a little that way and then pulled the dress over my head and off. I continued dancing in my bra and thong until someone said to lose the bra. I unclipped it and tossed it aside while hiding my boobs in my hands. Then, I let them free. When told to lose the thong, I did that as well dancing naked in front of them. They were taking photos with their phones; but, the danger in that didn't register with me at the time. Ted told me to sit on his lap; and, he began kissing me and squeezing my boobs and fingering my pussy. Then he passed me to the couch so that the others could play with my body. He removed his jeans and asked me to suck his cock. I got on my knees and licked him from his balls to the tip of his cock. He had a nice looking cock and it tasted good to me. I sucked him all the way in and went up and down. I had my eyes closed enjoying the taste and texture until he told me to look at his eyes while I was sucking. After about 10 or 15 minutes, he said he couldn't hold on much longer and took me to a bedroom and fucked me with a condom. He put me in a few different positions, filled me with his cock and slapped my ass and boobs a bit. He orgasmed right after me. Then he took-off the condom and had me lick his cock clean. He asked if I was on birth control and I replied yes. He said to stay in the bedroom and that one of the others would be next. All five of them fucked me that night and said that I was a "prime" piece of ass and a good addition to the corral.

I am a 55 year old widow whose son, now 24, was a year old when his father was killed, and the compensation from his death allowed us to have a comfortable life, one I did not plan for, but which is what it is now. I live together with my son in a pleasant part of a moderately-sized town, where I hold a position of responsibility. I am also part of the few percent of women who has an ongoing incestuous relationship with her son.
Our incestuous activity grew out of a very innocent and frank discussion we had one evening at the dinner table a couple of months before he was graduated from high school and just prior to his last prom of the year. My son was 18 at the time.
It started with a simple question about what intercourse was like. My son and I have always been able to talk fairly openly about most any topic, and he had often asked me to confirm notions about sexuality that he had heard either in class or among his schoolmates. On this occasion, he came straight to the point, and I explained as best I could, which is akin to telling a man what it is like to give birth to a baby. When I asked after a somewhat clinical and sometimes halting description if he "understood" from my explanation, he said, "Not exactly." I don't know if what I said next was born out of my own sexual frustration or out of compassion for the genuineness of his question or a bit of both, but I inexplicably and completely contrary to my normally staid demeanor asked him if it would help if he were actually to experience it. There was one of those pregnant pauses and the look on his face went through several transformations until he finally smiled, averted his eyes from mine, and asked with a sheepish grin, "What are you going to do, hire an escort to have sex with me?" My answer to this even surprised me.
"No, son. You would experience it from me. I don't want you to get some kind of STD from a perfect stranger. Physical intimacy is something to treasure, because it is the closest you will ever be ‘one’ with another person. Some say that a deep, physical bond allows a person to understand ‘God’ so much better, because He is supposed to represent complete love."
After his initial and understandable shock and embarrassment, he said somewhat shyly that he did want to experience it. To be certain, this was very awkward for both of us, but the door was opened, and we muddled through it. I said that it would happen under some very clearly understood conditions. First, he had to swear to me that he would never, under did any circumstance, reveal this to anyone in any traceable way, no matter what. We would also experience each other in total darkness (I did not want him to see my face when in the throes of ecstasy, if that were to happen, but rather, I wanted him to "see" me with his body). We were just going to have intercourse (I did not until several months on consider it "making love," which I believed would be reserved for his wife if he ever married). He agreed and we finished the rest of our dinner in a strained conversation, cleared the table, wiped the dishes, and then stood in the kitchen and just hugged with tender understanding. I could feel that he was trembling.
I told him that I would be waiting for him when I went to bed that night, and that he was just to enter my room, close the door, and feel his way to my bed. My heart was pounding when I said that, as I am sure his was also, for we were both blushing. He has what one would consider a "soft" and refined look to him, a bookish cut (he is bookish), and he is not a footballer or a great athlete, but he is tall and muscular, thinnish, not hard to look at. His skin is very pink and his blushing was obvious, as was mine, I'm sure.

That first time we had intercourse was awkward, to put it mildly, because, as he has since told me, he was confused about initiating anything that might hurt or disgust me, and I know that I was wondering if I had opened a Pandora's Box that I would regret despite all of the awkwardness, it was nevertheless turned out to be pleasant and exciting, considering that I had not slept with a man for nearly as long as he had been alive, and he had never experienced a woman sexually. And that we had entered a path most forbidden in our culture.
When he entered my room, he whispered, "I'm here," as if I didn't know it, and I whispered back, "Come to the bed. The covers are pulled back," and he crawled in ever so gently and lay down next to my naked body. He still had his T-shirt and underpants on, and I told him to take them off and lie next to me for a while. He did, and it felt wonderful. I then whispered to him to begin discovering my body with his hands, which he did with such gentle and tentative movements that I became as excited as when I had first made love to his father so many years ago. At first he began asking if he could do this or that, and I told him as softly as I knew how that he could do whatever he felt moved to do. Of course, he suckled my nipples and explored my vagina, at first very hesitatingly and then in response to my body's movements and cooing he became more confident. I, in turn, explored his body and discovered that his manliness was not tiny as it was in his boyhood, but it wasn't enormous, either. After what seemed to be a very long time, I encouraged him with tugs and quiet directives to get on top of me. My clitoris was throbbing, and I was more than moist. I was as wet as if I had just come from a shower of thick water. Then I grasped his penis and guided it into my vagina, telling him to push on in, which he did, again very gently and tentatively. He came almost immediately, or so it seemed, and it was as if he had been storing his load all his life, for it oozed from me in great quantities, even before he withdrew himself. All he whispered when he was lying next to me a moment after he had exploded was, "Wow, mom. That was so much more than you could ever have told me," and I caressed his face, saying, "And this is just the beginning, that is, if you want to continue doing this with me. You have much to learn."
I had come only once, but it was powerful, mostly because of the thought that it was so forbidden and because it seemed so new to me, too, as if it were the first time, as it was with my husband. I honestly had not been with another man for nearly 18 years, not because I didn’t want to, but because I could not trust any. My husband and I met in the agency in which we worked as partners, and I knew I could trust him. Our lives literally depended on each other’s trust.
The following day at breakfast table was awkward, too, since neither of us could do anything but give each other very furtive glances, mostly in silence, but that has since changed. He began entering my room when he had a need, rolled down the "blackout" screen to the windows if they're not already down, and entered my bed. My tubes are tied, so there was no worry about pregnancy. Besides, I was in the change. It was in the beginning of our relationship always pleasant, always satisfying, most always done in silence or with very few words, mostly guidance talk, yet always with tenderness and respect.
Within a couple of months, during the transitional summer between high school and college, something very unexpected happened: I began falling in love with him, and I believe he was falling, too. When we parted when he took off for college, we made some lovers’ promises to each other, and since it was only about an hour away, he did come home for week-ends, very regularly.

By the time he was a junior in college, I “gifted” him with light, and we began making love in the soft light of candles. But he was so used to the darkness, that he continued to “see” me with all of his other senses,” which simply heightened the sensation of everything.
Obviously our relationship has changed from parent-child to loving and respectful lovers, and oddly, our "in-the-daylight" relationship has grown steadily warmer and stronger. He has since been graduated and works in the small town on the outskirts of which we live in a comfortable home surrounded by a couple of acres. We now live as husband and wife, although our curious neighbors know us only as that secretive woman and her bookish son. In Europe or South America we live very openly as “husband and wife.” I simply cannot compromise anything about me while in the States.
I write to have a dialog with another mother who may also share the same or similar situation that is my present reality with my son.

I am looking for as many opinions as possible, from anyone. I am not a police officer nor do I have any connections to law enforcement or any governmental agency. I am a private citizen doing research on a subject. I am not here to judge you, sting you, rat on you, whatever. I don't care if you are a sex offender, someone with fantasies, or someone who is completely against the taboos discussed in this topic. I am a former student in Criminology (the study of criminal behavior). My younger brother is a convicted sex offender, sentenced to spend at least another 15 years (his offense was non-violent, and there was no actual victim involved- he was surfing chat rooms for adult porn. Another user sent him a hard drives worth of cp that flooded his whole comp with viruses that caused a whole bunch more cp to come in automatically. The perp also attached viruses that took screenshots of the hard drive, including credit information, then ripped my brother off while he was in prison. One of the cp files had an attachment courtesy of the FBI that ended up screwing him). Due to his case, I took an interest in so called "sexual deviants" and the studying of paraphilias. For one assignment, I had to choose an offender to interview. The instructor put up a list in the class with no information, just a number. At the end of the class, the number we chose from the list was the number file the instructor gave to us. That way, we did not know anything about the offender we were to interview prior to us choosing the case (I guess this way those that were squeamish could not avoid the assignment, and those that were way too interested in the subject could not choose a specific offender they were interested in. We had to work the case, no matter what. My subject seemed to be rather normal- he was a former intern for a doctors office that treated convicted sex offenders and broken families that had been hurt through domestic violence, rape, pedophilia, molestation, etc. During his employment, it was discovered he was stealing case files from the office and using them as masturbatory materials. After several months of lifting files from the office and fantasizing, he decided to act on the fantasy. He began dating a woman with young toddler age children, and gain their trust. One day while his girlfriend was at work, he hit her two year old daughter so hard that her brain severed itself from the spinal cord due to severe whiplash. She remained the rest of her life on life support in a hospital in a coma, as a vegetable due to this. Her mother finally took her off life support at age 4. During his incarceration, the subject was diagnosed with a brain tumor that had been growing in him since he was a teenager, and had it removed. After the removal, his urges seemed to subside for awhile. But after several months, he found himself masturbating in his prison cell to the same violent fantasies as before. Concerned the tumor came back, he went in for an emergency checkup. The doctors saw no return of the cancer, and no other neurological abnormalities in the brains function, and all chemical levels seemed to be balanced. Intrigued by this, I began doing background on the subject. He lived a normal childhood, in a normal middle class family. He was a a B average student all through school, had normal relationships and friendships with peoeple in his own age group, and had no sign of severe mental illness traits in either him or his family. Aside from his conviction and sexual urges, there was nothing in his environmental or physiological traits/background that would point to his reason for these desires other than the brain tumor. I discussed my subject with a neurologist who said the tumor could have changed the chemistry of the brain, but due to current scientific limitations, this isn't showing on any modern test. A sex therapist I went to for a professional opinion saaid that though the tumor caused the imbalance and urges to begin with, the reason she believes the urges continue is due to the fact that his sexuality was de-sensitized during his experience, and this is the only way he knows and is attracted to in order to orgasm. He does truly feel remorse for what he did, and most likely will not offend again if he can maintain the minimal self control he demonstrates by keeping his fantasies as fantasies and not trying to make them reality, while continuing therapy and treatment.

When asked what he thinks of during masturbation, he began recalling the case files he stole from his previous job: the man who tied his wife to a chair in the kitchen, then called their young 1 year old toddler in the room and began beating her while the mother was forced to watch. The mother/father team who beat, molested, and eventually began a full incest relationship (including a so-called marriage ceremony when one of the girls had her first period, and the father took the daughter into a pedophilic polygamous relationship- the girl was 11) all 4 of their children since before they could walk, and were not caught until the oldest child was in her mid-20s. The other mother/father rape team- a young woman (age 24) would masturbate while watching/video recording her husband (age 27) with their daughter (age 4) beating, slapping, pulling hair, choking, throwing, and twisting/locking her joints to the point of severe pain. They apparently also filmed several child rape videos with the child. I compared cases with another student in the class- her subject was found to be in a pedophilic incestuous relationship with his 7 year old daughter. He started with her when she was barely a newborn, performing oral on her, and masturbating/ejaculating on her. When she was 2, he sodomized her for the first time, and this activity continued until he was arrested. By the time she was 3, she was performing oral sex on him. When she was 7, he raped her vaginally. During school the next day, she went to the nurse with severe stomach pains. When the nurse was examining her, she noticed a large amount of spotted blood near the childs crotch area, and had the girl admitted to a hospital. That is when the sexual abuse was discovered, and the investigation began. When interviewed in prison, he showed no remorse, guilt, or shame in what he had done, claiming that he loves his daughter in the same way a man loves his wife, and believed he was showing acts of love whenever he touched or had intercourse with the child. His background is not unusual for someone who displays this type of behavior- rough childhood, parents who abused alcohol and drugs, physically abusive father who left the family for a stripper when subject was 9. His mother eventually abandoned him at age 15 on the street, since him living at home meant she couldn't afford her drug habit. He was in and out of jail as a teenager, and was raped at 13 by an older cell mate. The girl he was convicted of abusing was mothered by a prostitute the subject was dating, and has since improved her life as a healthy and happy young adult who runs support groups, and an inspirational speaker who specializes in abused women and children.

I am not here to pass judgement, support any viewpoint or suggestion, and am looking to remain completely neutral regarding any of this. I am mainly looking at it from a scientific point of view, and have a few curiosities on the subject.
Since my class, I have had the same questions mulling around my head, so I figured I would bring them to a board where I can find what seems to be a large variety of people (both those attracted to children, and otherwise):
1. How do you feel about the idea of a relationship with a child being sexual?
2. If you are sexually attracted to children, how do you define your attraction? Is it based out of power and control? Do you feel you are loving the child?
3. What is your take on offenders whose actions were less sexual and more violent? (IE, offenders who receive sexual satisfaction or fantasy out of watching women/children be hit, cry, or abused)
4. Do you have fantasies of violence, or love when it comes to children?
5. Are the children yours, or someone elses?
6. Do you have anything in your background that would influence your opinion? If so, what?
7. Do you feel modern day society has a large influence on your decision? Follow up question- how much sex and violence have you been exposed to throughout your life? (movies, magazines, games, books, interests, etc)

Thank you for reading my study, and any answers are appreciated.