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The Pond and the Tadpole

Robert Jones Jr.

    Children are so innocent, so pure, so naïve, they have a curiosity that transcends remarkably. It amazes me when I see adults with their kids outside in the parks and other open spaces, letting them be carefree and teaching them lessons in morality. Having that innocence excites me, it titillates me endlessly to a point where I’m unable to hold back. They make me hungry for them, picturing what’s underneath their clothing, fondling their bodies. The girls have this confused look on their faces, asking why am I doing this to them, what does it all mean Mr. Allen? I tell them to trust me, I won’t hurt them at all. Every time I touch their bodies, I almost burst with passion, but then I become sad at the very thought of these children who I consider to be tadpoles. Instead of becoming either a frog or toad, they’re going to undergo puberty, that awkward adolescence, before they become adults. And soon enough, I won’t be attracted to them anymore. They’ll leave my pond forever.
    Turning fifty-one years old, I would be thankful to God for allowing me to be alive, but to be frank, fuck Him and His Son Jesus Christ, bringing ignominy to mankind and condoning wickedness in His perfect world. He has robbed me of purity, and if He expects me to come to Him now, He can bend over and take my dick up His ass. That’s what I think, and I don’t fucking care what God thinks. It’s His fault He created me to have an attraction to children. My wife Chloe took my daughter Carrie away from me, because Carrie told her mother that I touched her chest and what was between her legs. She threatened to call the police officers, but instead Chloe left with our daughter, and never looked back. It was almost twenty-five years ago. God pulled the rug from underneath my feet, He robbed me of my blessing, the sacredness of my marriage. Fuck you God! Fuck you Jesus Christ! Come off your mighty throne and face me! I’m all alone in a modest house, wishing my family were back with me.
    Recently, I retired from my job as a registered nurse. It’s too soon to do so, but I don’t care. This will hopefully keep my mind off the family who abandoned me, because if I ever see my wife again, she will regret the day she ever knew me. Summertime is approaching fast, which means children will be out of school for the summer. Children outside playing with other children, so young, so callow, so impressionable, and yet, so irresistibly desirable. There are so many of them I don’t know which one to pick, or all of them. I’ll do a haphazard search for one.
    A new morning has arisen for me and look at God being so gracious to me. What must I do to acknowledge this exalted king? I smirk, knowing full well of what I really think about Him. I thought about my parents, since the thirteenth anniversary of their deaths has recently passed, they died within hours of each other, from a debilitating illness I chose not to remember. Perhaps if they were alive, I would give them a sizable chunk of my mind. Wherever their souls are at now, I hope they’ll never know rest or peace. They had the nerve to try to introduce me to God and said He was loving and forgiving. Yeah, right. As I step outside the front door to pick up the newspaper, there are a few adults who don’t look happy to see me. To be honest, I don’t care, they haven’t addressed their concerns to me. If it doesn’t apply, let it fly.
    As I walk around the city of Philadelphia, I come across different parks, full of children, screaming with joy and wonderment, giving me a sudden rush. I feel my endorphins kicking in and having this keen desire to take a child and have my way with her. Young girls are so sweet, with a subtle naivete about them. I remember being young once, and looking at girls, admiring their bodies, I smiled. But then that smile faded the minute I was alone at home one day with a family friend. The details of what happened are a mystery, but what I can recall is this man who had a full head of hair and was physically fit, he touched me, and I resisted. I closed my eyes and faded to black. When I woke up, I was sore and bleeding when I went to the bathroom. I never told my parents; they would tell me to trust God and that’s when I realized God knew about this and did nothing. It was His fault for me having an attraction to young girls. Fuck Him!
    There’s this one girl at the park I can’t keep my eyes off, she looks familiar. Her crimson cheekbones, her sallow face that’s in contradiction to how healthy she looks physically, her hair in those golden pigtails, wearing her red, satiny dress, and the way she walks. First, she ambles, then she saunters, next she strolls from the grass and onto the pavement before she jumps for joy and giggles uncontrollably with a woman not too far from her. That must be her mother.
    “Hi mister.” The little girl says, admiring me from the bench.
    My tadpole, how about you take a swim in my pond?
    “Hi little girl, where’s your mommy and daddy? You know what’s not the right thing to do? That’s talking to strangers.” I respond sweetly.
    “Hey Penny, what do you think you’re doing? What did I tell you about talking to people you don’t know?” The woman asks sternly.
    I sit and wince at the reprimand she gives Penny, before hitting her on her hands. It almost makes me want to open my mouth and tell this woman how I feel, but she stops and looks at me, her eyes cold and penetrating, now saying, “You look familiar. You live across the street from me. Now I remember, you have the nerve to show your face in public, after what you did to your wife and daughter. Get out of here this instant!”
    “This is a public place; I’m not bothering you. You need to leave me alone, because I remember you now and there are a lot of things I can say, including about your daughter.” I mouth, where’s her real father at? The woman cringes and takes her daughter, if that’s really her daughter and walks away. As I watch Penny walking away, I become excited at the very thought of touching her, making her feel comfortable, and keeping her with me forever. I must have Penny all to myself, I think.
    Once I get home after being at the park for almost four hours, I can’t stop thinking about Penny. Penny, it’s such a great name for a little girl. It reminds me of my daughter Carrie and if she were here, I think they would get along fine. This entire day, I keep thinking about Penny. Penny, Penny, Penny! Sweet, tender Penny, my eternal tadpole. Welcome to my pond, get wet and stay awhile. Don’t even get older. Penny, Penny, Penny! I look at the window and see who it is, Penny. I run out to the front door, seeing the sun ready to set, the woman is walking with her, and they don’t pay attention as they’re walking by my property. I give a wide grin and head back to the house. I head upstairs to the bathroom, remove my clothes, and get in the tub. Once I turn on the water, I let it take me away, flood my mind of thoughts of Penny. I must have her.

    The next day, I wake up in a cold, empty bed, and the house imbued in desolation. However, I’m happy to have Penny on my mind, erasing whatever thoughts and feelings I just had from my head. In a strange way, a part of me is starting to believe it’s wrong to have these predatory desires for a child, a child that has an uncanny resemblance to Carrie. When I think about Carrie telling her mother that I touched her, I had evil thoughts of what I would do to my daughter. When I was growing up, I kept hearing the phrase from different adults, “There are two people who will tell you the truth—a drunk and a child.” Telling my wife, I had fondled our daughter, my wife could have called the police and have them take me to jail or worse. Carrie is my daughter and I love her deeply, and now thinking about Penny, I want her to not only envelop that love I will give her, but to be the epitome of Carrie. Penny will be the quintessential little girl, just like Carrie, my forever Penny.
    As I go outside, feeling the slight breeze, admiring the sempiternal blue sky and now seeing Penny standing outside the house across the street in her sunflower dress, spinning slowly before picking up speed. Soon she stumbles, her tiny legs not firm enough to keep her upright. She may fall hard on her smooth, supple bottom, crying helplessly. But not to fear, I will protect her from harm. I run to her, thinking she’s going to fall on the ground if she keeps spinning and losing her balance.
    “Stop little girl, you might hurt yourself.” I say, out of breath.
    Penny keeps spinning, not listening to a word I’m saying. Then I grab her shoulders, I turn her around to face me. She looks puzzled and I smile at her, reminding me of my daughter, “Don’t worry Penny, I’m not going to hurt you.”
    “How do you know my name?”
    “I heard your name at the park. You saw me and I saw you.”
    I look at Penny’s eyes, so innocent, and full of wonder, “Where’s your mother?” I ask calmly.
    “She’s in the house. She’ll be back out.”
    “I’ll tell you what. Let’s go to my house for ice cream, and don’t worry, your mother knows me well. Do you trust me?”
    She nods her head and I grin. I give her my hand and once she grabs it, we head across the street to my house. All I keep thinking about now is how to make her feel good. Make her feel good my sweet Carrie, I mean Penny, Penny, Penny! I look at her hair, so perfect, that I want to rub my hands through it, assimilating her youthful beauty, her ability to be curious, while having this ignorance about her. Oh, my benighted child, I don’t know how much longer I can hold off my desires for you. You don’t understand it now, but you’ll learn and I’m ready to teach you. These thoughts are growing by the second, and I can’t turn back now. As we enter my house, Penny lets go of my hand and surveys my home, while I begin to wonder what thoughts are running through her mind.
    “I want to go home. Take me back home to my mommy now!” Penny whines.
    “Penny, you just got here. Your mommy trusts me, and she knows I won’t hurt you. Just relax. Would you like a glass of lemonade?”
    She shakes her head insolently as she keeps saying that she wants to go home. I try to remain calm and excited, but it’s becoming hard if she’s not listening to me. I try my best to offer Penny my hospitality, but she’s not appreciative. Adults teach their children lessons in morality by adults. They also teach children the inherent and fundamental difference between right and wrong, to say “please” and “thank you,” and respect an adult, never to defy authority. This child will not disrespect me, Carrie surely didn’t. She knew better than that, I know she did.
    “Listen Carrie, now I’m not going to tell you again to respect me.” I flush, now realizing I called Penny by my daughter’s name, “I’m sorry Penny, a slip of the tongue.” I laugh, hiding my embarrassment.
    Penny walks closer to me, putting a smile on my face. I pat her on the head. We both walk to the couch; I sit on the couch and have her sit next to me. She tries to get up, but I pull her back, drawing her closer to me. I hear her muffles as I press her face on my chest. I stop to look at her face, admiring her scarlet cheeks. Just seeing not only the redness of her cheeks, but now her somber eyes. I don’t want her hurt, I will protect her, I will keep her perfect and unharmed, “I’m sorry Penny, baby girl.” I kiss her forehead furiously, then I draw closer to her, kissing her nose and now her lips. She resists, but I keep her close, touching her body.
    Soon I take off her dress, admiring her naked body. She looks confused, asking me what’s going on. She begins to cry and goes back to saying that she wants to go home to her mommy. No, Penny will never go home again. You see God, You robbed me of my family. Have them come back to me, then I won’t bother with children again. She is the perfect fit, my tadpole. God, look at what You wrought! So perfect, and in Your supreme wisdom, You created suffering and evil, and is allowing it all to happen. Thank you, God, for giving me Your blessings, I chuckle at the thought.
    “Now come here Penny, I want to love you. My tadpole.” I say, I can feel my eyes gleaming with want and desire.
    “Leave me alone mister.” Penny draws back, and then starts screaming.
    Insolent child! I’ll teach this little bitch what happens when a child disobeys me, I think, giving a grim smile. I move closer to her, then grab her by the hand and kiss her hard, touching her again. She now bites me on the arm, and I scream, causing me to let her go. I hear footsteps and a door opens, I run to the front door to see her running across the street. A woman comes out, shrieks, asking the little girl what happened and the little girl points across the street and sees me standing in front of my house. I stand silently, as I see the woman go inside with the girl. Ten minutes later, I see three or four police cars summoned to my house. I raise my hands and one of the police officers puts the handcuffs behind my back and reads me my rights. I smirk, refusing to regret anything I have done. Penny is indeed the perfect girl for me, and if I ever get out of prison, I will find her.

    Being in the state penitentiary for almost ten years hasn’t been so bad, except that I’m not in isolation. The inmates constantly leer at me; they beat me up; they violate me daily; they threaten my life whenever they can. I don’t deserve to be in jail. I haven’t killed a child. Even as I think about Penny and how old she is now, in a strange way, she will always be my tadpole. All I have done is show love to give to a child, and I don’t think I have done anything wrong. I have given them affection. I have allowed myself to feel comfortable, though it doesn’t replace my daughter Carrie.
    There are times when I’ve spent time in the infirmary. Too many to count. I almost died multiple times thanks to the beatings from the inmates. They beat me beyond recognition. But being in jail, it has given me time to think. I deserve punishment for ruining what is sacrosanct in a child—their innocence. Those inmates have done a whole lot worse than I did, and I deserve a brutal beating by them? I shouldn’t have blamed God all these years, telling Him that He made me attracted to children. Even if I admit that I’m entirely at fault, what difference would it make? When I make my final exit from this earth and see God in eternity, I would like to have a long, detailed conversation with Him. He owes me that. In the meantime, I’m still alive in my sixties now, sitting in my locked cell facing the wall, and thinking about my wife Chloe and my daughter Carrie, and especially of the lovely girl Penny, hoping one day I will see all of them again.

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