This story was inspired from a recent holiday trip to Cambodia as part of a 3-month vacation tour of Asia. You hear and read so much about the place that it’s hard not to let your imagination run wild.
I liked the idea of setting up this story in part on a truthful account of my visit. It’s a mix of fantasies and real-world feelings I had when I was visiting Phnom Penh or during my occasional trips to the brothels of the infamous Svay Pak.
Don’t go around getting yourself in trouble though: while there is certainly some truth to the sexual exploitation of children in south-east Asia, there is no evidence that the phenomenon is as rampant and as accessible as what I write in the story. Don’t believe that because this is a poor nation kids are for sale at every street corners. I saw no evidence of that and was never offered anything of the sort during my stay.
Child-sex is a dangerous business in Cambodia: there is ample information regarding foreigners being caught and jailed for decades. NGOs, Non Governmental Organizations, are also very active and regularly launch raids when suspect activities are reported or spotted.
While this story is written as the diary of a pedophile finding his luck in Cambodia, I certainly do not condone the abuse of children. It’s OK to fantasize, write and read about it, but those trying it for real deserve what happens to them when they get caught.
I view writing about those dark fantasies as a way to exorcise them, to put some order into my head while letting out some steam.
I like to see a parallel between my situations and the one suffered by the Marquis de Sade, who is to me unparalleled in his depiction of sexual depravation : he wrote as a way to escape and liberate himself from the real-life imprisonment he was subjected to for this political writings. While he wrote the most horrid stories of perversion and murder, his life as an hedonist was a lot less extreme, indulging in nothing more extreme than sodomy, scatophilia and blasphemy.
I am of course not physically locked in a cell, but to some extent everyday life and its social expectations and norms have sometimes a similar effect. Like Sade, writing liberates me, like an anarchy of the mind.
Saturday – 12pm
Here I am, in Phnom Penh, Cambodia.
I finally succumbed to my demonic temptations at 4pm yesterday, and bought the ticket. I took the plane this morning early and am now writing this from my hotel room, in front of a panoramic view of the sprawling city.
I haven’t been out yet, just a quick walk around the hotel, but there wasn’t much.
I expected more taxi and motorbike drivers waiting for potential customers, but the hotel is not right in the middle of the city and it seems no-one is interested in waiting for an hypothetical customer at that time of the day.
It doesn’t matter, I’ll go have a walk along the river front in a few minutes and wait for seedy characters to make the first step and offer me what I want. I’ve decided that I would not initiate the discussion on what I’m really after. Instead I’ll let the opportunity present itself, although with only 2 nights here, the opportunity might need a hand to present itself.
For now though, I’ll just let the burden of starting a risky discussion on the shoulder of those who think they have something to offer.
This trip will be the real test.
I have held against such a purposeful action for a very long time. I came very close to fulfilling my fantasies in Bangkok, and to some extent, banging a 13 year old could be considered success, but this time I don’t want tits or pubic hair to avoid any ambiguity.
I don’t know if I’ll have enough courage to muster the actual act, but if there is an opportunity that I judge safe enough, I might very well take it.
To be honest, I don’t really know if I’ll find what I want, and if I find it, if I’ll act upon it. This will be the Great Test I presume.
After that, something in me will be changed, for sure. I won’t be able to hide my true nature from myself, to pretend that it’s OK because I’ve never done anything for real.
Well, if I do rape a preteen, it will be unequivocal.
Sunday – 9am
Well, last night was something to remember.
I took a motorbike to the river front, where most bars and hotels are. I went along the promenade a couple of times. There were a lot of locals sitting around, selling stuff or simply enjoying the end of the day.
Kids were running everywhere, begging for money. I bought some candies that I distributed to a crowd of them. They were very happy and kept pursuing me until it was clear that I had nothing left.
I saw a programme on TV a few months ago where they were relating the stories of kids selling themselves to tourist along the river front. I was not approached by any, but I saw that some seedy-looking guys were sort of looking expectantly at me. What made them suspicious was the fact they were standing there, doing nothing.
I didn’t want to talk to anyone in such a public place: there were cops everywhere, and too many foreigners looking from the balcony of their hotels or from the terraces of cafes. I spotted a few foreign women going along the promenade as well, and I had the feeling they were playing spot-the-pedophile game.
I saw a few suspicious westerners, not very good looking, and I was certain they were pedophilia looking for opportunity to engage conversation with kids or providers. I found the experience amusing, but contrary to what I said yesterday, I didn’t let myself be approached: I kept walking and didn’t encourage anyone to start talking to me. The environment was too risky. I even spotted a parked car which was undoubtedly belonging to some “protect the children”-type NGO and I thought it would be better just to behave.
There might be opportunities for a cheap and dirty fuck, but to me it wasn’t worth the risk.
When it was completely dark, I walked back to the hotel, had a drink and rested a few minutes and when I went out a couple of guys hailed me. I said no to the motorbike driver -too dangerous at night- and went straight with the taxi.
When he asked me where I wanted to go, I just said I wanted girls and, without flinching, he told me that we should go to Svay Pak and off we went, after negotiating a very generous U$15 for the trip and back.
As we started talking I asked him if there were any other places to get girls closer to the city centre and told me that most were for locals, apart from one expensive place.
- Why is it expensive?
- Because it’s for westerners who want special girls, but I never went there.
- What do you meant “special girls”?
- Younger girls, young girls.
At that point I thought things were getting interesting.
After a couple of weeks visiting Thailand -and having some fun in the process- I decided to go back to Cambodia for a few days.
Thailand is nice, but it’s child prostitution scene is grossly overrated, and quite expensive. I did have some fun, but it cost me more than I had budgeted. Beside, Someone I met during my travels mentioned a place I did not know about in Phnom Penh, and my mind started to wonder about what was going on there, until I couldn’t take it any longer and had to take a peek. Phnom Penh is less than one hour away from Bangkok, so there was really no reason for me not to go.
I arrived in the slum that is Phnom Penh on Friday, and I went back to the same hotel as last time. I’m writing this from the comfort of my room, shielded from the aggressive outside by luxury. This alone is so pleasurable: boosting your importance in the eyes of the locals by staying in a place that cost per night more than what most families make in a month. That power is so indecent that I initially felt guilty, but that guilt quickly transformed into wicked pleasure once I recognised how my position could be abused to my own ends. The power of money corrupts so much, and it is so easy, even when you’re not well-off by western standards, to tempt people in going against their sense of morality for a few bucks.
This time, I had taken enough cash to pay for the remaining moral barriers that prevented me from getting videos and pictures of my escapades.
I thought hard about the dangers of getting actual and long-lasting proofs of my crimes, but I am so deep into this that I have to start learning to live with my fear of getting caught. It makes me feel so alive and vulnerable, to be able to watch and re-live my excesses over and over again. Getting proof of my deeds also opens the opportunity to enter new trading circles as well: pedophiles are compulsive collectors and they get attracted to new porn like moth to a flame.
I don’t know how to contact those groups, but knowing that I have now a valid ticket to get their interest is a tempting first step toward finding out more about them. I’ll have to be satisfied about the level of privacy and security though, so it might take a while to get involved into something interesting. Hmmm, with a little luck, the future may be bright… dangerous, but bright.
Being a pedophile is a bit like being a secret agent: you get to do dangerous stuff that’s really exciting, but you can’t tell anyone about it. I suppose that in some ways I fulfilled my childhood fantasy of being James Bond…
Anyway, back to the events of today.
I arrived early this morning, and I lost no time. After refreshing a little at the hotel, I packed my backpack with my video camera, my digital camera and a compact-size tripod. I also took with me S500 in cash, leaving the rest in the hotel safe.
I spread the cash over different pockets, some in my bag, some hidden on me, to make sure that if I was coerced into giving it up, I would not have to give up everything.
I then took a motorbike ride to the Museum in the city centre and from there took another ride to the local Chinatown, a place where, as expected, Chinese migrants had regrouped their community.
It was a fairly hot day today, and after the second ride, I had to get a drink. The sun was high and little fluffy clouds were pasturing in the blue sky. Nice and beautiful like a late spring’s day back home.
As I explained earlier, someone I met in Thailand had mentioned in passing about his experience in Phom Penh while visiting the Chinatown area. He was just relating his disgust of how he was offered kids for sex at least 3 times in the space of a day by men most probably working for the local Chinese mafia. Of course, I played as “disgusted” as he was and got him to talk about this sordid episode. Fact is, he didn’t give me much details about the exact locations, and all I got was that it happened while he was walking alone along the streets of Chinatown.
Well, I didn’t know if I could provoke the same interest, but it sure was worth trying. At worst I would have lost a few hours visiting a not-so-interesting area of the city.
I started to play the tourist first, taking pictures of the markets, the people the buildings, then I started to look for small streets to wander in, slowing down my walk and making furtive but obvious eye contact when I spotted a potential look-out. I could feel the tension, the danger, the excitement, the perverse arousal arising from initiating contact, trying to appear like someone who is looking for something, but who doesn’t seem to find it.
After passing for the third time in front of a particular door where a man was standing, a man that I instinctively knew was a potential provider, I got approached:
“Are you looking for something sir? Maybe I can help you?”.
“Well, I don’t know if you can help me find what I want.”
Silence of a few seconds.
“Are you looking for lady, sir?”.
“Hmmm, not really…”
“You want man? lady man?”
“No, that’s not what I am looking for.”
Silence. Then I boldly ask:
“I am looking for young lady. You have?” …..
I was waiting, leaning against the dirty pastel green wall of the dark corridor while men were passing me by, some still adjusting their belts, to exit the building.
An aging neon light was flashing intermittently, illuminating their faces like a stroboscope as they came toward me, their eyes hard, their expression closed and impenetrable, almost casually indifferent. None lingered or sought my eyes. Their business was finished, and it was important for them to just go back to whatever they were doing before they were wooed inside the building by the discreet pimp in the street, just as I had been.
Doors closing, someone crying in the distance, the place was otherwise silent, the air still but cooled by the old air conditioners rattling far away.
I was taking in the mood of the place, the derelict dark and dank atmosphere were inspiring a world away from the outside, a world where other rules applied. Those were simple: make no fuss, pay up-front, do your business however you like it, and get out. No questions asked, anonymity guaranteed, possibilities endless.
I was taking it all in, trying to build my excitement, attempting to let my dark side take over the few remaining qualms I had, when the man who brought me in returned from the inner bowels of the building.
He motioned me to follow him, and in silence I walked behind him.
As we passed a set of double door I realized the corridor was actually spanning the entire length of the building. Like a hospital ward, there were rooms on either side of it. Most doors were closed. As we continue walking we passed a few that were fully open. It was hard to guess what was inside as they were really badly lit and my eyes were still adjusting, but I could see the outline of a large bed against one of the walls and a kind of sink with a side table on the opposite wall.
My guide suddenly stopped in from of a door on the right and opened it for me, smiling.
this not my story..i just found on the net