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Selynt's book Hidden Stories

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Selynt
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Selynt's book Hidden Stories

Příspěvekod Selynt » 26.1.2018 10:08:30

Hidden Stories
Written by Selynt

Foreword

This book is a compilation of short stories. I am going to be posting them gradually as I feel they are done. I’ll make a separate thread to discuss this book. Please do not post responses in this one. I will some day release these stories to the public. I’m also largely using this site to measure the public perception of this book, and so it is subject to change as I see fit.

This is not intended to be any sort of erotica, in fact, as you’ll see, these stories are all horribly tragic. I write them purely (artistically, and philosophically) with the intent to shed light on how society’s ethics are flawed, and how these flaws can damage the lives of innocent people. These stories are not intended to place blame on anyone, but where there is blame to be placed, you will place it. I’ll let you, the reader, decide who is right and wrong in these stories.

All stories told in this book are based off and inspired by true stories involving real people.
No real names were used in this book.
I do not condone the actions of any individuals in any of these stories.
These stories are not reflective of me as a person, or of my life.
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Selynt
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Selynt's book Hidden Stories

Příspěvekod Selynt » 26.1.2018 10:22:56

Addison

The biggest crime against a child is to take away their happiness. To deprive them of the one thing that they need more than anything. This is exactly what happened to me. I was harshly abused early in my life. My father began molesting me when I was only three years old. I remember the first time like it was yesterday.

It was the winter of 2009 in Chicago, Illinois. If you know anything about Chicago, you’ve probably heard that it’s winter is among the coldest, and most bitter in the United States. I was sick, and laying in my dad’s bed in our home, 36 floors above N State St. He held me, sneezing, in his arms, underneath several thick blankets. He kissed my mouth tenderly, and assured me that I would be alright, that I just needed to rest. My arms were wrapped as far around him as they could reach.

Slowly and delicately, he slid his warm hand up the back of my shirt. Feeling his moist skin touch my own made me feel safe, as if he was guarding me from evil. In a few short moments, I found myself slightly confused, and completely naked, clinging on to my dad, who was also naked. I asked him why he took our clothes off, and he told me it was so we could be closer. He loved me more than anything, he wanted to be as close as we could be.

Warm tingles chased his hands up and down my body and caught them in between my legs. I greatly enjoyed the feeling. It was unlike anything I’d ever felt before. It was indescribable as anything other than orgasmic. He asked me if I liked how it felt, and I responded with positive gestures rather than words. I clinged to him harder than I ever had, and felt a bond stronger than anything I’ve felt since. I completely forgot I was sick. He loved me more than anything. He would never hurt me in any way.

We continued to have a sexual relationship for the next five years. We would pleasure each other, willingly, with our hands and mouths, once a week or so. I slept with him in his bed every night. We would always fall asleep facing each other, him holding me tight. I never had a nightmare; and when he did, he forgot about it as soon as he awoke with me in his arms. It was the perfect relationship. We loved each other dearly. We spent every second with each other until I started kindergarten. We slept together, ate together, showered together, shopped together, and played together.

Anything I wanted to do was the best idea in his mind. He took me traveling the US, to the most interesting, and fun places for a kid to be. Don’t think that just because we were sexual with each other that I wasn’t still a child. He gave me the childhood anyone would’ve wanted. He got me every toy that I wanted, he got me whatever food I wanted, and above all else, he loved me more than any other parent loves their child.


I know what you’re thinking now, 'Those kind actions don't justify the abuse he put me through.' Right? You would be right, had he abused me, but I never felt abused. He never hurt me then, and still now, I'm not hurt at all by what we did. He was the best father I could have imagined.

If you recall me mentioning that I was harshly abused, you’re not wrong. However if you thought that it was because of my sexual relationship with my dad, you were very wrong.



My abuse began in the third grade. I overheard a group of kids talking about how gross it was that I kissed my dad on the lips when he dropped me off for school every day. Crying, I asked my teacher to go see the nurse, I told her my stomach wasn’t feeling well.

Once in the nurse’s office, while she was checking my temperature, I asked her if it was normal to kiss my dad on the lips. She described how it was a normal way to show my dad that I loved him. I told her then that my dad must really love me because he kisses me a lot. I told her that he kisses me all over my body too. She giggled and seemed nonchalant about it at first. The nurse then asked me, gesturing towards my crotch, if he ever kissed me down there. I wish my father had prepared me how to answer that question.

I told her the truth, that yes, he kissed me down there a lot, and I kissed him there too. I could see the nurse panicking. She was shaking. She told me to stay right there, and that it was going to be alright. She left the room, and came back several minutes later with the school’s police officer.

The officer politely asked me to come with him, and he took me to his office. He began asking about what other things me and my dad do, and I, ignorantly, told him everything. I didn’t know that it was against the law for him and I to be doing those things, he never told me. It just felt like a normal, happy childhood to me. I never felt anything wrong with it until the officer began saying things down the lines of my dad not being able to hurt me anymore. He never hurt me, he loved me, but the law didn’t see it that way.

They began treating me like a PTSD victim, as if I’d had the most unspeakably evil things done to me. As more and more people crowded into the room, I began panicking as well now. I had no idea what was going on, why they thought that my dad was hurting me, or why the were so concerned about it. I began to feel as though I did something wrong.

Later I found myself in the police station crying and begging the officers to let me see my dad, screaming that he didn’t do anything wrong. The police thought he brainwashed me into liking the torture he was putting me through, but in reality, they were the ones torturing me. I begged and begged the officers to let me see him and to let him go; but instead of meeting my request, they told me that I was never going to see him again.

They told me time and time again that my father was a bad man, he was hurting me, and that they were keeping me safe from him. They made me feel like I was supposed to be traumatized even though I wasn’t.

Before I knew it, I was living with my aunt and uncle who repeatedly made me feel the same way. I began to feel guilty for enjoying what my father and I had done. I cried every single night. They talked about him as if he was a murderer, and I was a victim of his whom barely survived.

I went through counseling, therapy, and I was given medications. All of my peers at school began alienating me. I even started pretending to be sick when I wasn’t just to avoid their condescending gestures. Suddenly I was always the center of attention, and I hated it. There was only one person whose attention I wanted, and I couldn’t have his.

Eventually, in the fifth grade, I withdrew from public school, and have been homeschooled since. I’ve lost all of my friends, and I’m no longer allowed to play soccer. I’m not even allowed to leave the house without my aunt or uncle who are almost always too busy to do things with me.

I just want to be happy, and every source of happiness is gone now, all because of what? Because my father and I made love to each other? No, because he was arrested and placed in a prison. A prison where two weeks ago, he was stabbed fifty-seven times while the correctional officers just watched and let it happen. He gave me the greatest childhood I could’ve imagined, but that childhood ended at the age of eight, when he was taken away.

This is my story. This is the reason why in the year of 2018, at the age of twelve, I took my own life.
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Selynt
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Selynt's book Hidden Stories

Příspěvekod Selynt » 5.2.2018 10:05:28

Alleyson

I realize now that I have been a pedophile since the age of eleven. I used to masturbate looking at pictures of young children’s swimwear models online. It didn’t mean anything to me at the time. I was still a kid myself; why would it matter that I liked kids seven or eight years younger than me? Well, it started mattering at the age of sixteen when I found myself teaching kids swimming lessons at a city pool in Chicago.

It’s not just that kid’s physical features turned me on. They do, but it’s more than that. I found pleasure in children’s happiness. Seeing a little girl or boy smile was far more stimulating than seeing them naked. Considering that I was a swim coach, I got to touch the children quite a bit; but I never touched any of them inappropriately at all!

I used to have dreams of kissing and cuddling this one little boy named Matthew. He was four years old. Much like myself, he had brown hair and brown eyes. He wore this superhero hero themed swimsuit every day to class. Admittedly I gave him more attention than the other kids, but I did my best to treat them all equally.
My crush on Matthew eventually got to the point where I was looking for every excuse to talk to him and to touch him. He didn’t mind, but I think his parents could tell I was up to something. I got paranoid of this, and so I quit my job.

Everyone in my family was very shocked by my sudden decision to quit; I always talked about how much I loved my job, and how much I loved working with the kids. No one in my family at this time knew that I was a pedophile, but I had to tell someone. I just couldn’t keep hiding it, I had to get it off my chest, so I told my older sister, Adley. It would become one of our many “Addy-Adley Secrets” that we kept between us. I told her everything.

Adley expressed some level of disgust and disapproval at first. After about a week had gone by, she was very supportive of me and accepting of my unusual sexual orientation. She offered solutions such as to avoid interacting with children, or to start going to therapy; but therapy was too expensive, and we agreed that avoiding contact with children would probably just make me desperate, and more likely to act drastically.

We settled on a simple solution for my problem. I would become a preschool teacher. I would be able to have enough contact with kids to keep myself satisfied, but there would never be any opportunities for me to act inappropriately with any of the children. All public preschools are under video surveillance, and it’s very rare for any teacher to be left alone with a student for more than a moment anyway. If I did something I’d get caught.

After graduating high school and earning a BA of Early Childhood Education, I was hired as a teacher at a public preschool in River North. My coworkers, two young women named Tasha and Emma, and a middle aged man named Gerald, all seemed nice enough. The head teacher and owner was an older lady named Dallas. She was very kind to all of us, and allowed us all a good bit of flexibility when it came to teaching the kids, which I appreciated.

I worked at this preschool for the next four years with no major issues. I was occasionally put in a tricky situation over something I’d say, but with the help of Adley, I always found a way out. She offered constant emotional support to me that kept me from acting impulsively.

I developed feelings for many of my students, but nothing serious until I met Alexis. She was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. She was 3 years old, had blonde hair, green eyes, and the cutest pointy nose I could imagine. Her cheeks would get very pink from the cold wind, and I loved it. She had a very small voice, and spoke with a lisp. She reminded me a lot of my niece, Addison.

Just as I did with Matthew years ago, I gave her special attention, but this time, not enough to seem suspicious. I often held her in my lap, and would sometimes exchange cheek kisses back and forth with her.

One afternoon, during nap time, she was laying in a rather secluded corner of the classroom, just out of view of the cameras, and was out cold. I began just by stroking her hair, but when Gerald went to use the washroom, I capitalized on the opportunity.

I slid my hand into her diaper, and had my way with her. Luckily she never opened her eyes. I’m not sure if she was asleep the whole time or if she was just scared to open her eyes. I was gentle with her, and tasted my fingers after. I was lost in the feeling of ecstacy.

I heard the toilet flush, so I walked away from her and acted as though I was busy with something else. Gerald walked out of the washroom, and I walked in. I rinsed my hand off, and dried it. When I walked out, Gerald was standing next to Alexis. He smiled at me, and we continued to conduct class for the rest of the day.


A week later, Gerald and I were supposed to teach again, but I received a message from Dallas saying that class was cancelled. Later that night I saw a picture of Gerald’s face on the news with the caption, “Preschool Teacher Suspected for Sexual Abuse.”

Adley, whom I lived with, was in shock. Adley was under the impression that Gerald really was the one who sexually abused her; but it was me. I can only assume they suspected Gerald because he was the only male teacher at our preschool.

Dallas fired Gerald immediately, and hired a girl to replace him. Gerald quickly became the victim of harassment. The word, “Pedo” was spelled out across the windshield of his car which he occasionally drove to work. He called me crying several times, but I always hung up immediately. I couldn’t talk to him anymore; how could I? I was the reason he was going through all of this. I was the one who left Alexis with the rash in her diaper that was determined by the doctor to be a sign of sexual abuse.

He was a great teacher, and I hated for him to be going through this, but the alternative was me going through it. As long as I kept my mouth shut, they would never even suspect me to be the one that abused her. They would never suspect a young girl over a middle aged man. I just had to act as surprised as the other teachers and I would be fine.

Months later, in court, they showed the security footage of Gerald and Alexis together out of view of the cameras while I was in the washroom. I was called to the stand as a witness, and answered all of the questions exactly how I prepared myself to; I was astonished that Gerald could do such a thing to a defenseless child, and then lie about it with God as his witness. He was sentenced to twelve years in prison.


Over the past six years, I’ve become the teacher I wish I always was. I’ve learned to treat all the kids equally, regardless of my feelings, and to find pleasure only in their happiness and success. I realize now that it isn’t worth it to do anything sexual with them. I’ve seen first hand how it can ruin someone’s life; I’m glad it wasn’t mine.
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Larahenlen
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Re: Selynt's book Hidden Stories

Příspěvekod Larahenlen » 7.4.2018 19:20:25

I've read the first story, Addison. I loved it. At first it made me get warm, but it made me cry at last. You are really good, thank you very much!

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