Prisoners are Not Good People
When I was in college, I met a guy. He was overweight and not very attractive, but (shallow as it might be), he was studying to become a doctor so I decided to go to dinner with him.
The dinner was ok. Sure he was smart, and could be funny, but there was an underlying creepiness that put me on edge. Even so, he was going to be a doctor, so I told myself I was being ridiculous. Maybe the creepy feeling had more to do with me than him, so I went out with him again to find out.
I deluded myself for maybe three more dinners and a walk in the park, but eventually I followed my gut. I knew if I waded into the waters much further with him, I would be signing up with a relationship with someone who wasn’t safe, so I decided to move on.
Well, I would have moved on except that this guy was in love with me. So, either out of pity or probably more because I liked the attention, I talked to him on the phone. I decided I could keep him as a friend. Friends are always good to have, and as long as he knew we were never going to be an item, it was ok. After all, he was smart, and had a very different viewpoint of the world than I did and gave a unique perspective on things. I could have a friendship, couldn’t I?
We talked a lot on the phone from January to May; in fact the only thing that really got him to stop calling me was his going on to residency in another state. After that, I talked to him less and less, and eventually found a boyfriend that I genuinely did like and felt safe with.
I still heard from him though. Over the next 20 years, he would contact me sporadically, and when he did he was mean. He would taunt me on social media, and say nasty things referencing my “twat” and “crotch fruit.” In fact, it got so bad I blocked him from being able to see my posts.
Still, sometimes he could be nice. He would call and tell me things like he still remembered my old phone number. That the last 4 digits he routinely used for security pass codes.
Then one day last October, I found out he was in prison for possession of illegal pornography.
It wasn’t for one picture accidentally downloaded either. He had been accessing the stuff, full movies for five years; the entirety of time he had lived in New York state. He had likely been accessing this material for decades.
It took me awhile to digest the fact he had done this horrible act. In fact, at first I made excuses for him, but after coming to terms with it, the pieces fell together and I knew it was true: He was a pedophile.
There had been little clues the whole time. The way he had talked about porn as if I couldn’t quite understand (despite the fact that I certainly watch my share of X rated material) and the way he told me he had once been arrested, but wouldn’t say what for. Looking back, I always knew there was something he wasn’t telling me. Some kind of weird kink he had that was underground. Like a secret society I would never know about.
When I felt I could, I wrote him some letters. It took him awhile, but he finally responded.
For the most part, we picked up our relationship where we left off. I never asked for any explanations, but he tried to tell me he was on drugs. That he had a stressful job, that people do horrible things when under stress.
I didn’t believe it, but I also didn’t judge.
Still, I wonder if he can help it. If this is who he is, or if rejection by women or maybe by society in general pushed him into watching such distasteful sex acts.
What shocked me the most though is he’s mean sometimes and nice others just like he always was. He’s smart, sometimes funny…and I still feel that underlying evil is there just below the surface.
In some ways, my heart breaks for him. He has lived alone for 20 plus years. Reading between the lines any actual sex he had not watching pornography was with prostitutes or women who were just after his money.
What’s weirder is he claims to have a fiancee, but the details are strange, so I don’t know how much to believe. He claims she is hyper sexual, can’t get enough of him…but then has sexual relationships with women. She’s also long distance, hasn’t visited him in prison yet, and is too busy to write or take his calls very often, and has gone MIA for six months at a time.
I’m really not sure of what to make of this relationship, but I feel in some ways it’s a cover. He’s telling me he has someone so I won’t feel as though he wants a relationship, but she’s not close, so I’ll continue to contact him. Then again, maybe what he tells me is true, and I’ll be attending his wedding when he gets out. I don’t know.
In any event, I think I’m done with him now.
Now I’m at a place now where I dread checking the mail. Truthfully I’m afraid he will have written. I don’t want to hear from him anymore. Maybe there is a good person in him somewhere, but the bad part has won out, at least for now. I do believe people deserve second chances, but he hurt children. What’s worse is, because I can’t predict his reaction to anything I tell him, it directly hurts me as well.
I don’t think I’ll be writing to him anymore for the time being.
Pieces of Me 