Please do not Read this if you are easily offended by subjects such as Religion, Sex, do not understand what the word SATIRE means, or think that I would in actuality try to justify molestation in any way, shape, or form. That being said understand that if you read this and get upset, be upset at a situation that would make a story like this possible, not the writer who wanted to write something more substantial than what i had been writing.
I am the victim. I was minding my own business and I was seduced. Seduced by the innocence of youth and trust, I had no recourse. My whole life I’ve had no urges, even all through seminary and as I was a young priest I was in control, just me, my parish, and the Lord in our little corner of Ireland. This all changed when I saw him.
For years it has been the practice of the church to keep quiet anything that could be considered a scandal, this decision coming from the Pope himself. I don’t, however, see this as an excuse to run wild, though more as an omission that the church is run by humans and as such there is the possibility for fallibility, especially with the more basic human desires.
I was at my most basic when young Alan stepped through the church doors. He was already young, 11, and looked young for his age. He was to be an altar boy and for some reason my heart skipped a beat. I saw him put on the robes, carrying the cross for me and I could not control myself. With him primped and polished for the Sunday service, dressed in his little suit he must have known what he was doing, enticing me to a level that was nearing torture. Then he asked me for an audience and I was in trouble.
He sat in my office fidgeting making nervousness the new cute and then he spoke in his clear, angelic voice. “I’m worried that as my body is changing, I’m starting be attracted to people. More specifically my best friend Tommy.” For some reason all I heard was bells, this was my in, he was totally coming on to me. I told him, we all have urges, and then I put my hand on his and told him that it all depends on whether we act on them. To illustrate this I acted, waiting for his reaction, our romp lasted ten minutes.
After we finished our meeting it seemed like he had this look of regret, he had this foreboding little pout that just melted my heart. I knew I was fucked. He had tears in his eyes, and I could not understand why. He had made himself look adorable, he had insisted on meeting me alone in my office, he told me about his urges about his probably fictional friend Tommy and the associated feelings he was developing for him. Alan had planned and executed my seduction, and now he was having regrets? I could do nothing but pray that the lord would forgive me my weakness and grant me clarity to know what to do moving forward.
Now I’m sitting in holding cell hearing words thrown around that chill me to the bone; “pedophile,” “molestation,” “no-good son of a bitch that deserves everything that befalls him,” “man of the Lord me arse.” As I dwell on this I can’t help but feel victimized. I was seduced, I opened myself, I was the one who was betrayed, I was the one who lost his livelihood. I am the one who was sitting in a cold cell, being glared at by large angry men. I couldn’t help but feel that I would be victimized again, all because Alan looked so damn cute.