The Paedophile

I was walking little Timmy out to the main entrance of Pine View Elementary. He was one of my second grade students and he was a bit weird and demented, or as they like to call it nowadays, “specially-abled.” He was missing teeth, his ears were too big, and he smelled like he lived in an old building where the people ate pop tarts for breakfast and you weren’t allowed to have a dog or a cat, but you were allowed to have hamsters.

He was also kind of a sissy. Or defied gender stereotypes. Whatever he was, he was a mess, and the other kids weren’t having any of it. People forget this about young children, but they’re mean little pricks. They have no conscience and no filter. There are reasons they aren’t allowed to vote or drive or do anything of consequence.

Timmy had to have his hand held whenever I or whoever walked him out. I tried to avoid him at the end of the day but he had latched on to me. So almost every afternoon, I took his moist little hand in mine and walked him out to the wide double doors in front.

Ms. Jacobs, or as we adults called her, Katie, was fresh out of graduate school. She was luscious and she liked to flaunt it. Tight little pencil skirts hemmed just above her ankles highlighted the curves of her calves as they arced up along her knees and hams; a form fitting camasile or t-shirt swelled past her plump breasts and hung loosely over her firm stomach. If it was cold she’d cram herself into a sweater that appeared to be made out of tinted cellophane. Everytime she dropped a book or a pencil we were riveted. Even the kids.

I was rounding a corner with Timmy when I spotted her up ahead down the hallway. She was yawning and stretching and her shirt had ridden up so I could see the small white of her back. I was entranced. I barely remembered walking Timmy past her and out the door.

The next morning, Principal Tucker called me into his office. It was about Timmy and Timmy’s mom and a few concerned staff members, but mainly Timmy’s mom. She couldn’t help noticing that I’d had an enormous erection when I’d arrived to deliver Timmy, that I was practically drooling as I’d handed him over.

I explained about Ms. Jacobs even though it didn’t need to be explained. She was driving all of us crazy. And had he seen little Timmy? The kid was a mess. If I was a paedophile, I would have chosen someone else. If there was one kid in the world who didn’t have to worry about paedophiles, it was Timmy. Whoever snatched him would be the laughingstock of the paedophiles. People can live with a lot of shame, but there are limits. It might actually improve Timmy’s self-esteem if someone tried to snatch him or lure him into a forest.

Principal Tucker asked me if I’d seen the sensitivity training videos. Of course I’d seen them. We’d all seen them. We had to watch an hour of sensitivity training every other month. Every other month, there was a new list of words and behaviors that were forbidden. Watching the sensitivity training videos was mandatory because the parents might sue. A teacher might sue. We were all terrified of Ms. Jacobs because even just standing next to her might get you into trouble. What are you supposed to do when someone like her talks to you? Are you allowed to look at her? Where are you supposed to look? And if you don’t look, you’re ignoring her because of the patriarchy.

The conversation was moot anyway. Principal Tucker had given me the courtesy of this meeting so I’d be prepared when the police came to arrest me. And he was very sorry, but he’d also have to fire me. Ms. Jacobs was abiding by the dress code. She hadn’t done anything wrong. And honestly, it wouldn’t have made a difference what she was wearing. She could come to school in a burka and flowing robes she’d still give people erections. It was my fault for being a human animal who wasn’t 100% in control of his physiological reactions 100% of the time. And my attitude towards the sensitivity training (I had always bad-mouthed the sensitivity training) and my big mouth in general hadn’t helped the matter.

I ended up pleading out and paying a $500.00 fine. I was barred from working with children and put on the sex offenders registry, which is unfortunate, because what they say about those who can’t do teaching? That definitely applies to me. I can’t do anything. I wasn’t even a good teacher. I was too distracted by Ms. Jacobs and the sensitivity training.

And little Timmy had given me hand-foot-and-mouth disease. That’s the kind of kid he was. You try to be friendly and invite him over for milk and cookies and he ends up pissing in your closet and embarrassing you the next day at recess because he thinks you’re best friends. You hold his hand because he’s a sissy and he ends up getting you fired, putting you on the sex offenders registry, and giving you hand-foot-and-mouth disease.

They interviewed Ms. Jacobs on the local news. She was wearing a tight pink camisole with her blonde hair up to show off her neck. She’d always thought that I was a pervert because I’d never looked at her; I was always looking away, like I was up to something. But now it all made sense.

I imagined the viewers at home nodding along with her, agreeing 100% that I should be drawn and quartered, while they imagined mounting her. Who could think about kids with a chick like that around?

If only they had shown a picture of little Timmy. They weren’t allowed to because he was a victim and victims have rights. But if they had shown him on TV, the viewers would have said or thought to themselves that if you’re going to go for a kid, why the hell would you go for that one? I mean I’m not into kids or dogs either, but I can still tell when a dog is ugly.

H. Seitz

H. Seitz

H. Seitz is the author of the Sci-fi novella "Iron Manimal" and a contributing writer at The Skull Island Times.
H. Seitz

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