It was a strange feeling being confronted with the photograph of the man who sexually abused me over 40 years ago. Very strange.
My seeing of his nasty image came about by the tweets that suggested that I was about to take my life: I did walk out of my house and plan just such a thing.
Later that day my friend in London 'phoned me and chatted to try and calm my suicidal thoughts.
W had Googled the name of my abuser thinking that this might be the cause of my depression. W is one of the few people that told early on in our friendship about my early life. Twitter wasn't even a glimmer in anybody's eyes then.
W sent me the link on my email and I opened it and was confronted by the person who in essence was about to again remove my sexual naivety my 'virginity'. I had also been sexually abused by a relative.
My abuser, was a Woodwork teacher at my school. He took advantage of any of the children in his care who displayed any acumen for woodwork. I was one of them.
He acted like one of the 'lads'. Making suggestive sexual remarks that, at the age of 12 or so, the kids found fascinating and funny at the same time.
He slowly groomed the susceptible children; the ones who displayed some weakness.
I was one of them. I was having a disrupted home life; my Mum was a depressive.
I told him, confessed to him, in a quiet moment that I had been sexually abused. I didn't call it that; I think I painted a picture of what happened to me. I saw him as a confidant; a word I knew little of. Also I saw him as a friend.
He was someone who was 'rude' and funny about things that made 12 year old vulnerable boys' laugh. We had a secret that no one else knew. He had a secret about me that no one else in the World knew too.
He told me stories about his prolific sexual prowess with women.
He rapidly drew me in to his world, his, our secret world.
He had a stash of pornography; which was early 1970s crude Polaroid photo's of straight couples having sex, this stash was hidden in the resources room attached to the workshop that he taught in. He was careful not to allow anyone see where he put it. It appeared like magic at 'special' times. He showed this pornography to me at lunch breaks; this was in the guise of showing me how do a complicated woodwork joint or letting me choose special wood to make an item out of.
I felt that I was special and felt wanted.
He always told me that I was better than the other boys in the class.
Then the real sexual abuse started.
He took me to the Farnborough Airshow. This was to be no free ride. He expected payment. He took me back to his house and out came more pornography.
I need not, and do not want to, share the graphic details of that encounter.
This was not a one off. Many such trips followed. Each trip had a pay back clause. He made it all seem so natural and not abusive. He continually pretended to be a straight bloke helping me find out about sex. I was being told about things that other kids my age didn't know. He boasted about how many women he'd fucked. It all seemed to be boys together stuff.To me it seemed natural and caring. But scary too. He had power over me.
Then in 1970 my older brother was killed by a lorry driver.
My abuser took great advantage of the mental turmoil I was in. He made sure he comforted me at school, made sure that I was well. This natural depression piggy backed on my already depressed nature. In 1967 I had attempted suicide at 11 years old.
The sexual abuse continued.
He told I had to: "....fucking cheer up", or he would not take me out again. I was frightened at that announcement.
Little did I know that he had a quite a few boys that he was grooming. I must have met some of them. However he made me feel individual and special. I remember little of the lunch break encounters and people save for the sexual content of them; they were dressed up as extra classes for the talented few.
One of these boys went home and told his Dad about the Teacher.
My abuser was convicted in 1971 of the sexual abuse of a minor. He got 5 years in prison. I was not part of that trial but was held in abeyance; the Police thought that we had too many problems to deal with at the time: My elder brother's death and my delinquent brothers' behaviour. I was stood down as a witness.
When I was in the Sixth Form I saw him standing outside the school laughing with the Resources Technician.
I was shaking.
He then got into the car of another teacher. He had been in prison for 2 years maximum.
I hid until he went away.
He was out of prison.
In July 2012 he was sentenced to 20 years minimum for the sexual abuse and rape of children. With an accomplice he had been taking the children back to the same house that he had taken me to. He was also using the same modus operandi as he used on me. This was enhanced by the use of the internet and mobile 'phones.
Am I glad? I am on one count; that he is in prison and will, hopefully never come out. I would have liked to have been part of the trial that first had him imprisoned.
He is in prison. He will stay there now.
I am glad.
This is him:
http://www.guardian-series.co.uk/news/9803301.REDBRIDGE___Dangerous__paedophiles_sentenced_to_ten_years_minimum/
My seeing of his nasty image came about by the tweets that suggested that I was about to take my life: I did walk out of my house and plan just such a thing.
Later that day my friend in London 'phoned me and chatted to try and calm my suicidal thoughts.
W had Googled the name of my abuser thinking that this might be the cause of my depression. W is one of the few people that told early on in our friendship about my early life. Twitter wasn't even a glimmer in anybody's eyes then.
W sent me the link on my email and I opened it and was confronted by the person who in essence was about to again remove my sexual naivety my 'virginity'. I had also been sexually abused by a relative.
My abuser, was a Woodwork teacher at my school. He took advantage of any of the children in his care who displayed any acumen for woodwork. I was one of them.
He acted like one of the 'lads'. Making suggestive sexual remarks that, at the age of 12 or so, the kids found fascinating and funny at the same time.
He slowly groomed the susceptible children; the ones who displayed some weakness.
I was one of them. I was having a disrupted home life; my Mum was a depressive.
I told him, confessed to him, in a quiet moment that I had been sexually abused. I didn't call it that; I think I painted a picture of what happened to me. I saw him as a confidant; a word I knew little of. Also I saw him as a friend.
He was someone who was 'rude' and funny about things that made 12 year old vulnerable boys' laugh. We had a secret that no one else knew. He had a secret about me that no one else in the World knew too.
He told me stories about his prolific sexual prowess with women.
He rapidly drew me in to his world, his, our secret world.
He had a stash of pornography; which was early 1970s crude Polaroid photo's of straight couples having sex, this stash was hidden in the resources room attached to the workshop that he taught in. He was careful not to allow anyone see where he put it. It appeared like magic at 'special' times. He showed this pornography to me at lunch breaks; this was in the guise of showing me how do a complicated woodwork joint or letting me choose special wood to make an item out of.
I felt that I was special and felt wanted.
He always told me that I was better than the other boys in the class.
Then the real sexual abuse started.
He took me to the Farnborough Airshow. This was to be no free ride. He expected payment. He took me back to his house and out came more pornography.
I need not, and do not want to, share the graphic details of that encounter.
This was not a one off. Many such trips followed. Each trip had a pay back clause. He made it all seem so natural and not abusive. He continually pretended to be a straight bloke helping me find out about sex. I was being told about things that other kids my age didn't know. He boasted about how many women he'd fucked. It all seemed to be boys together stuff.To me it seemed natural and caring. But scary too. He had power over me.
Then in 1970 my older brother was killed by a lorry driver.
My abuser took great advantage of the mental turmoil I was in. He made sure he comforted me at school, made sure that I was well. This natural depression piggy backed on my already depressed nature. In 1967 I had attempted suicide at 11 years old.
The sexual abuse continued.
He told I had to: "....fucking cheer up", or he would not take me out again. I was frightened at that announcement.
Little did I know that he had a quite a few boys that he was grooming. I must have met some of them. However he made me feel individual and special. I remember little of the lunch break encounters and people save for the sexual content of them; they were dressed up as extra classes for the talented few.
One of these boys went home and told his Dad about the Teacher.
My abuser was convicted in 1971 of the sexual abuse of a minor. He got 5 years in prison. I was not part of that trial but was held in abeyance; the Police thought that we had too many problems to deal with at the time: My elder brother's death and my delinquent brothers' behaviour. I was stood down as a witness.
When I was in the Sixth Form I saw him standing outside the school laughing with the Resources Technician.
I was shaking.
He then got into the car of another teacher. He had been in prison for 2 years maximum.
I hid until he went away.
He was out of prison.
In July 2012 he was sentenced to 20 years minimum for the sexual abuse and rape of children. With an accomplice he had been taking the children back to the same house that he had taken me to. He was also using the same modus operandi as he used on me. This was enhanced by the use of the internet and mobile 'phones.
Am I glad? I am on one count; that he is in prison and will, hopefully never come out. I would have liked to have been part of the trial that first had him imprisoned.
He is in prison. He will stay there now.
I am glad.
This is him:
http://www.guardian-series.co.uk/news/9803301.REDBRIDGE___Dangerous__paedophiles_sentenced_to_ten_years_minimum/
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