A COLLECTION OF STORIES BY LUKE TAGG
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SMOKE: Confiscated Porn

Originally published: 26 November 2004

I read a story yesterday about a police blunder in Australia that saw hundreds of schools being sent emails with child pornography pictures. The police arrested a man with child pornography and in an effort to identify the children the police doctored the photos to show only their faces.

They intended to send the doctored photos to a few hundred schools in New South Wales in the hope that teachers would recognise them, but some dumbass sent the wrong photos.

Big ouch. Lotsa red face. Some new child porn converts as well, no doubt.

Got me thinking about porn in schools and my own experiences with it. Not child porn - regular porn, being viewed by children.

I spent my junior school years at a unisex Catholic school so naturally there was bound to be porn, although I almost never came across it.

I had one porn incident at junior school which caused me years of anguish and after that I never saw another porn mag until well into my high school years.

It happened like this...

I went into the sport change rooms after a cricket practice and there was a group of four boys sitting huddled in a corner, looking at something. I went over to join them and saw that it was an A5 booklet magazine with sex cartoons.

I'd never even heard of sex at that age (I must have been 10 years old, and although these days they're having sex from age three, back then 10-year olds were still relatively innocent), but I pretended to know what was going on and chuckled away and pointed and stared.

The cartoons were my first ever exposure to females in a sexual way, but I couldn't understand what all the fuss was about. I hadn't reached puberty yet so I wasn't particularly turned on or excited - I was more concerned with trying to fit in and be one of the gang.

I left and went home and the next day we were sitting in class when two prefects came into the classroom and had a hushed word with the teacher.

You must understand - at Christian Brothers College the prefects had a lot of power, and it was never more apparent than during this episode.

The teacher nodded and went to sit on the edge of her desk, and one of the prefects called out the name of a boy and told him to bring his school bag up to the front of the class.

He did so and they upended the contents all over the classroom floor - all his books, his pens and pencils, his lunch, some personal possessions. Everything was dumped unceremoniously and the floor was covered in the guy's stuff.

The prefects rummaged around for a second and fished out the porn cartoon book, opened it up, thumbed through it in obvious disgust, showed it to the teacher and then took it back. They told the kid to accompany them, and he had to leave his personal belongings all over the floor as they escorted him out.

After five minutes one of the prefects came back into the room and called out four names - mine included. The little bastard had ratted.

We had to get up and pick our way through the debris on the floor and follow the prefects down to Brother Dillon's office. I was almost physically sick on the way, as most were who were summoned to that sadist's boudoir.

We were arranged in a row of five facing the Good Brother and with a wave of his scented hand he dismissed the prefects, who closed the door behind them.


Brother Dillon didn't look up from the cartoon book which he was reading - he just kept paging through it while we stood there. Knew a thing or two about psychological torture, did our man of the cloth.

Eventually he held it out with two fingers and disdainfully dropped it into his desk drawer, took off his spectacles and polished them a little, put them back on and then - for the first time since we had entered - he looked slowly up at us, his mouth a thin gash of whitening anger.

He was breathing quite heavily and obviously struggling to find the words to convey his disgust at our depravity, but eventually he leaned back in his leather chair, steepled his fingers together under his chin and began a lecture about moral decay.

I can't remember the things he said - I was just relieved that our beating was being prolonged - but I do know that by the end of his sermon we had been reduced to the status of ass-worms.

He then said he was debating two things: whether to expel us instantly, or whether he should call our parents and allow them to deal with the situation.

Neither was an appealing scenario - if I'd been expelled from school it would have been a family disaster of unprecedented proportions, and with my family being staunchly Catholic the porn thing would not have gone down well either.

I would have far preferred to have just been thrashed to within an inch of my life by the sadist with a whip or cane of his choice - that's how terrified I was of the two scenarios he was debating. It's a sad day when a kid has to pray to the Lord for a thrashing.

But nothing happened. Dillon left us with his debate hanging in the air, which was the cruelest thing he could have done.

He said he would decide on the most appropriate course of action and then dismissed us without a beating, and although I lived in fear of the day my parents would find out ... it never came.

I couldn't understand it, until years later.

Guess why good pal Dillon was breathing heavy? It wasn't with rage, I'll guarantee you that. What did he do with the confiscated porn? Last I saw he dropped it into his desk drawer. It was never seen again.

No parents were ever contacted. Nothing more was said or done. I'm a person capable of putting two and two together.

What kills me is that - upon reflection - it wasn't even proper pornography. It was just a few naughty cartoons. Ah - I just remembered the title of the cartoon book: Giggles and Gags. A bit of naughty humour some kid had swiped off his old man. Not exactly the depths of evil.

But Dillon obviously got his kicks from it, the poor, sad loser. I mean - being a Catholic brother and all means he can't have had a day's sex in his life. Well I've had tons and tons and tons and tons of it, pal, and believe me - it's all good. You'll never know what you missed out on.

Someone mailed me a while ago to say they heard he'd died. Good riddance. I can actually smell the stench of his flesh as it rots.

Burn, baby, burn.

All Smoked Out,
Luke Tagg
Spending time online does bad things to a person, but I'm OK.

Look at me now - all the way from Uitenhage to the bright lights of the big internet.

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Copyright © Luke Tagg. All rights reserved. A few lefts as well.

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