I’m going to hell, and here’s why. During my year long placement with L’Arche Canada (a non profit org that helps and supports individuals with intellectual disabilities and congenital disorders) I lived in a communal houses with individuals who have down syndrome. There were six of them, predominately all varied within the same range of Trisomy 21 type down syndrome, the most common type, except one who had a slightly severe type known as Partial trisomy 9 but also suffered ACC (Agenesis of the corpus callosum) For confidentiality, we’ll call and her Stacey. It’s a miracle that Stacey has lived as long as she has with her disorders and has shown growth over the 24 years she’s been alive, something that’s unheard of with cases like her. However, she still needed daily help most of the time for basic routines, help getting dressed, bathing, getting up down stairs, general mobility. Although with a severe speech impediment, you could have extensive conversations with her despite her intellectual disorder by using basic ASL.
Over the course of a few months, I came up with the idea of reading to everyone after dinner, like story time before bed, and it was a hit. From once a week, usually Fridays,turned to five times. That was so much fun, reading Tintin and Asterix, pantomiming their adventures. The third month comes, and Stacey was my buddy, this meant I held the responsibility of helping for a lot of her needs, getting her up, dressing her, even bathing which seemed inappropriate at the time since we have only just met, but I soon found out that Stacey was comfortable with it. Basically being her go to helper.
As I got to know Stacey, I learned that most of her cognitive abilities won’t ever really improve, reading comprehension, complicated reasoning, language dictation, mid level problem solving, etc, even though she had an impressive vocabulary. She really enjoyed story time and it became a thing after I tucked her to sleep, reading to her the Redwall series, a coincidentally shared favourite childhood series. She also had a beloved pet goldfish Romsca, a character from the series.
Even with her deformities, she was well developed as a woman and I began to fantasize doing things to her. Perverted thoughts I could ignore at first, but bathing her, dressing her, I couldn’t help but come in contact with her sensitive parts, which I tried to avoid much as possible but was averted a lot of the time, which did not at all help with the ill-fitted fantacies. and this began to build a week until the day I intentionally gropped her large breasts when putting on a bra. Which made the most excited in years. It was brief but that compelled me to ‘help’ her wash her private parts the following night. That line I drew between my thoughts and actions had disappeared. And I became what I dreaded most.
The really fucked up part wasn’t that fact I had crossed the line, it was the fact that Stacey wasn’t capable of understanding what was going on which gave me the assurance that I could get away with this. When reading to her, I started placing my hand on her ankle under the bedsheet whilst I read and gradually made my way nearly to between her legs over a few days. That night I came in, told her not to be afraid and put my finger inside her, not all the way in as she was a virgin and used pads instead of tampons. She moaned, but I couldn’t tell if was from pleasure or fear. I told her to go back to sleep. My mind and heart were racing, but had never been this excited since I was a teenager. One of the quickest wanks of my life.
The following night I came in and lay next to her under the covers, she didn’t understand, I told her I was going to make her feel good. Got both my fingers in and then popped. She yelped, I put my hand over her mouth and said, you’re only having a bad dreams. I gently pulled out and told her everything is going to be fine. That coming morning was a loud one, quite a bit of blood stained the sheets. She cried and told everyone it was a bad dream.
Later that day, I discovered that she also suffered endometriosis and had surgery which left scars on her Fallopian tubes, which gave me the insidious thought that I could fill her up and not worry about pregnancy but i********** for her will always be painful.
A few nights later, I made her cry.
I was exhilarated. Making her promise never to tell anyone about this, if she did, I’d come back and flush Romsca down the toilet.
This happened nearly every nights of the week for the rest of my placement.
A guilty person would confess and attempt to atone for their sin.
But guilt doesn’t apply to a person who doesn’t regret it, right?
According to, they tell me Stacey has never been the same since I left, that was 4 years ago.
I miss that look she game me every time I entered her with the last inch.
I’m currently working with individuals who are effected with athetoid cerebral palsy. Her names Katelyn, shes 13… maybe this is where I shouldn’t cross the line.
