Michele And The Predator
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The Horrible Case Of The Sexual Predator free porn video
I saw the news on the Smoking Gun website. "The 37-year-old Arkansas woman is the 3,496th teacher to be arrested this year on charges that she had sex with an underage student." This was quickly followed by the news that a Texas teacher, a former Miss Texas contestant, was arrested for having sex with an 18-year-old student. Miss Texas? The lucky fucker! For some reason, I was incredulous that that many teachers had been arrested. Apart from the obvious reaction that every man has, 'Where were these teachers when I was in school?' which includes the arresting officer, the prosecutor, the judge, and all the rest of the men involved in the hypocritical process, I wondered why would a grown woman want to have sex with a skinny pimple-faced teen? Then I read that as many as 20% of students have had some sort of sexual contact with a teacher. Man, that's a lot of hanky panky in the schools. I started researching the saga of one such teacher who's story didn't make it into the main-stream media.
Roberta
Roberta was mentally ill, as a number of prominent mental health professionals had testified. Mental illness is always defined by deviance from societal norms. Roberta's behavior was outside the norm, at least outside the acknowledged, admitted norm, even if it was not really outside the norm of the actual behavior of people. For example, a brother and sister desiring to marry would be considered mentally ill, as well as criminals, today. But in the Egyptian and Incan civilizations, it was quite the norm; in fact, it was a religious imperative, ordained by God, for the ruling families. There's proof that God is a woman. Look how often she changes her mind on what is right or not. One hundred years ago, an uncle marrying his niece was normal. Voltaire set up house with his niece. Today, he would be classified as a sexual predator and undergo court mandated mental counseling until he overcame his illness. Poor insane Voltaire, and he didn't even know it. He thought he was Enlightened. One hundred years ago, and still in some places today, the age of consent was as low as twelve. The first Age of Consent law was enacted in Britain because girls as young as ten were being forced into prostitution. The law made the age of consent 12 so that girls could not be forced into prostitution until that age. The Puritanical elements in America forced various states to follow Britain's lead. The age limit has crept up over time as do-gooders tried to stop sex until the age limit isn't congruent with real world behavior. Any law violated by 60% of the population makes no sense. Today, having consensual sex with a person under eighteen makes one a molester. Same behavior is normal yesterday, but makes you a wacko today. Or is that the other way round? Come on Ms. God, make up your mind.
That is why Roberta stood in front of a judge, her lawyer at her side, the prosecutor looking smug because he had gotten tons of publicity from this trial and helped his re-election chances immeasurably. Justice doesn't matter when re-elections are involved.
"Miss Edwards," the judge intoned. "Your conviction carries a sentence of up to twenty years in State prison. Normally, you would undergo counseling during incarceration. It has been pointed out to me by your counsel that the women's prisons in this state do not have the necessary counseling."
The prosecutor was starting to look a little uneasy at this point. He had pushed for a twenty year sentence. That sort of sentence was good for the law and order vote. The six o'clock news would be full of his face trumpeting the conviction of a child molester. In this case, the child stood six-foot-two and weighed in at one-ninety-five, but that was beside the point. The Judge was weaseling a little and the prosecutor was worried. 'Necessary counseling, my ass, ' he thought. 'Just give her twenty years, you old windbag.'
"Taking into account all of the relevant facts, especially the testimony of both the defense and prosecution expert witnesses..." the judge glanced at the prosecutor.
The prosecutor fumed, 'Shit! The judge is going to blame it on me. "The prosecution's expert witness," my ass.' He was already composing his outraged comments to the press.
The judge continued, "... it is my opinion that the need for counseling outweighs the necessity of confinement. The expert testimony of the mental health professionals that you represent little or no danger to society with counseling and with the obvious benefits of counseling, compel me to sentence you to five years probation, the term of the probation to be shortened if you successfully complete the recommended counseling program. If you fail to complete the program the sentence will revert to twenty years in State prison. In addition, you are to have no contact, and I mean no contact, with the victim in this case. Also, you will have no contact with minors unless supervised during the period of probation. Do you understand these terms?"
"Yes, your Honor," Roberta said quietly.
"Good. See that you adhere to them rigorously. I will most certainly impose the sentence of imprisonment if you violate the terms of your probation," the judge said sternly.
"I understand fully," she said.
"Make sure you complete that counseling satisfactorily. Court is dismissed," he said, rapping his gavel.
"All rise."
As the judge disappeared, Roberta was hugged by her lawyer.
The prosecutor said nothing as he hurried past, hoping this wouldn't wreck his campaign. "I'll need a quick high profile case that I can win," he mumbled to himself. Maybe he'd have the vice squad raid a couple of massage parlors and take the news guys along. That was always good for coverage. The news guys loved filming the scantily clad women, the public loved the salaciousness of it, and the parlor would be back in business before the week was out so no one was hurt. Except for the women with the arrest record, but the DA didn't care about that.
Across town, Jason sat in a quiet office listening to a matronly women talking. He had trouble keeping his eyes open.
"You must learn to deal with being a victim," she droned.
Jason laughed. Victim. Hell, every guy in school was begging him for details, hoping they could pull off boffing one of the teachers themselves. Every female teacher had hordes of boys itching for a chance to be the next Jason. Victim? He was a hero in the eyes of the guys. Jason also noticed how many of the girls flirted with him now. After all, if an adult woman like Miss Edwards had seen something in Jason, there must have been a reason. And the salacious details that came out in the trial of how happy he kept her, made wet panties common among the high schools girls.
And the admirers included his dad, who had clapped him on the back when he heard the news and congratulated Jason. That is, until his Mother practically took off Dad's head with her screaming about how her poor son had been abused. Dad had been publicly contrite after that. He would occasionally give him a wink when Mom wasn't looking. Jason knew his dad's real feelings. Jason was also well read enough to realize that his mother's reaction had more than a tinge of jealousy in it. It wasn't the fear that he had been hurt; he obviously wasn't hurt. He had a smile you couldn't take off with a blow torch when he was with Roberta. Jason's mother nearly had an attack when she found out 'that hussy' wasn't going to prison. Jason had really stirred the pot, on purpose, by innocently asking, "Does that mean we can have sex again?" His father had nearly choked on his Scotch as his mother turned pale and collapsed onto the couch.
So Jason sat, leaning back and trying to look attentive, as the doctor talked. She wasn't a real doctor to Jason. She was a PhD in Psychology. All she could do was talk. He remembered one of the first sessions he had with her. He had asked, "How long do we do this?"
"Jason, you know each session is fifty minutes."
"No, I mean how long do I have to keep coming?" he asked.
"Well, your parents want you to come, to help deal with the trauma," she said.
Jason laughed to himself. 'Trauma? The only trauma was all the beating off I had to do after they arrested her. Parents? Yeah right! Dad would never make me do this.'
"The school district is paying for these sessions, to help your recovery," she explained.
Jason thought about a comment his mother had made about not suing the district if they paid for the sessions. No one really cared about how this actually affected him, if it did at all. They only cared about what they were getting out of it. It all became too much and anger crept into his voice. "Yeah, and when the money runs out?"
"Jason, you won't be abandoned," she soothed.
He laughed, "Abandoned. I want to be left alone, damn it."
The doctor sat back. "Jason, anger at your therapist is quite common. It means we are moving forward. It is the anger towards your tormentor that is being re-directed at me. Let your anger out," she said.
"You mean Roberta?" Jason asked incredulously. The doctor nodded. Jason started laughing. "Oh my God. Angry at her?" He had to wipe away the tears. "Have you ever had sex?"
The doctor started, "This isn't about me..."
"I guess that means no. I'm angry at the police for locking her up. I'm angry at my mom for keeping me away from Roberta. I'm angry at the laws for being so completely stupid. I'm angry at you for not getting it. No wonder you are full of these stupid platitudes. If you ever had sex like Roberta and I had you'd know better than to say I was angry at her. My God, the stuff we did. I think I was in Heaven when I was with her."
"There is more to love than sex," the doctor tried to interrupt and bring the session back in line.
"Who said anything about love? It was sex. And we both enjoyed it. That's what's making you all so mad. We had sex and enjoyed it. That is the crux of the whole thing, isn't it?" Jason stood up. "Doctor, I have a confession to make. I had sex with a beautiful, lovely, intelligent, sexy woman and I enjoyed it. How are you going to make me feel guilty about that? Now, you can continue to collect your $150 an hour, but let's get one thing straight. I don't feel bad about what Roberta and I did. I wish we could still be doing it. And if you had ever experienced sex like that, you'd understand." Jason sat down.
For once, the doctor was speechless. There was a long, long silence as her mind frantically tried to fit this in with known DSM protocols. Of course, it was never going to fit because Jason wasn't a victim and he hadn't been hurt. There was nothing to cure. The dilemma for the doctor, as there is for so many counselors, was that she needed a victim in order to make money. No victim, no money. Most teens were easy to talk into being victims. They were used to being indoctrinated in school: how they should feel, what they should believe. Jason was different. After a long silence, she finally said, "I think that's all for today."
Jason smiled as he stood. "Thanks, Doc. I feel a million times better finally getting to tell the truth."
They had been caught by chance. While they weren't in love, they certainly were infatuated. They were carefree, blissful, and therefore not cautious. Roberta and Jason went to a theatre near her apartment, holding hands like the lovers they were. As they walked through the mall, laughing together just because they were happy, Edna Crankheit, embittered spinster and math teacher, saw them. They continued on their way, watched the movie, and retired to her apartment for an hour of sweaty sex before Roberta dropped Jason off at home.
Elle
- 05.05.2020
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