Digesting the Teacher Sex Phenomenon

Six years in a federal "pound-you-in-the-ass" penitenary. That's what you get if you are a female and you smuggle a 13 year old boy to Mexico for sex. Kelsey Peterson was just sentenced last week, and good riddens.

In an exclusive interview with ABC News, Ms. Peterson describes her illicit affair and the resulting relationship. The article is well worth a read, but just in case I linked the page with the juiciest bits.

One thing that I never picked up on growing up is exactly how horny teachers are. With extremely few exceptions most of my teachers, even through college, were old and unattractive. There was the rare cute twentysomething here or there, but for better or worse I was more focused on leaving their care with an A for effort, not A for adultery. Even in college, most of my TAs were men or ugly, and my university graduated few teaching majors.

Living in ATL, however, there are plenty of cute teachers - many of whom are attractive, and often drunk and horny. Since this is the big city there is plenty of options for companionship; the educators of Laurens County, SC aren't so lucky. Even so, women who prey on teenagers, or worse allow themselves to be seduced by them tend to follow some kind of pattern.



Since this is my first effort at profiling since the Spy Tech gear came out in the late 1980s (which was awesome), I will make this simple. If you know the life situation of an adult woman, and see the warning signs, you know to lock up your son (or daughter)... or at least make sure he has protection.

Life situations:

• Lonely and Neglected: She could either be single with few friends, or married with a busy husband. Without friends her own age to keep her grounded or provide advice, hooking up with a teenager could make since. Hell, her father may have a huge age gap with her mother. Plus, there is nothing like giving complements to a woman who is starved for them.


• Ugly duckling: I believe every womans attractiveness over time can be charted on a bell curve. Some peak in high school, others in college, and still others may not peak until their late 30s. Katey Seagal looks more bangable in Sons of Anarchy (2008) than she ever did in early episodes of Married... With Children (1989). So what happens when a girl is ugly or nerdy in high school and is ignored by the cool kids, but when she gets older the popular kids in her neighborhood start checking her out and telling her how hot and "cool" she is? I once met a woman who hoped her kid's friends would call her a MILF when she got older. Never underestimate a woman's capacity for low self-esteem.


• Under 30: This paints a broad stroke, but women this age can still relate to most high school students on many levels. If they had a thing for jocks at that age, there is a chance they still might. Plus the adventurism from college may not have run its course.
• Just plain bored: I think this describes Debra LeFave the best. Good husband, solid life, no excitement. Hooking up with a good looking teenager and ducking the cops really gets the blood pumping.

Now that we understand the situation, let's see the warning signs.

• Few age appropriate friends: If all your contacts are significantly older or significantly younger, age really is just a number. Especially if you here a woman pointing out how manly and mature a 13 year old kid is.
• Immature attitude: No regard for sacrifice or pleasure deferred equals a recipe for disaster from a woman in one of the above life situations. Also this is apparent in women who cannot properly develop adult relationships outside the family.
• Excessive socializing with minors: If you party or drink with kids a lot, bad things can happen.
• Resistence to reason: If you find someone in an above life situation, notice the warning signs, you give the "Come to Jesus" speech and they still relent - well, my suggestion is to back up and watch the fireworks.

So now you know how to identify a woman who will bang a kid before she gets caught. Hey, blackmail may be illegal, but it is effective at negotiating win-win solutions. (wink!) Happy hunting!

One of the things I like about myself (and I have in common with my friends) is that if we aren't enjoying an experience, we are out. Doesn't matter where, or with whom, or how inebriated we happen to be - we are just gone. When great conversation turns dull, or when the hottie we wanted just left, sometimes it's time to just get the hell out - no matter what the guests left behind think.

It's rarely an impulse decision, but based on a through understanding of the best and worst case scenario. And when the worst case is bad and very likely, and the best case is not much better - then it is time to go.

I was out with a new group of Arabic and Hispanic folks the other night, and I was invited out by a girl who I never met face to face (it's a long story). It was a bit awkward, given I only knew two people (who didn't know anyone else), but I can handle awkward. Anyway, one of the girls there was this Columbian knockout - who looked like the final product back from when God took itemized orders from horny guys when he was making women. Great skin, hot face, sultry accent, huge tits, everything you want. Aside from the minor stretch marks indicating that she spent a hell of a lot of time in the gym to look the way she did - she was pretty much hotter than any girl I could reasonably expect to pick up at Twisted Taco or anywhere else0 in Midtown Atlanta. So after my friends left, I stuck around.

The conversation got a little insane... the Colombian turned out to be married to the guy next to her (although she wore no wedding ring, or had a visible shadow on her ring finger), and also turned out to be a stripper. Suddenly her admission that she had a thing for black guys, and the constant touching of my hands and my knees lost all material signficance. Another woman at the table was a tall white girl with huge tits and turned out to be a former stripper. She spoke with an air of a life fully lived, but with plenty of bruises inside and out from when life decided to kick her ass for a while. She steered the conversation at the table towards ideas that she picked up during her prize fight with life, with the expectation that those ideas count as wisdom. The biggest (and funniest) thing to come out was the magic formula to take home a girl from a bar (it involves a specific number of shots and lies), as well as why you should avoid complementing a girl on her period.

After the cigarette smoke that hung in the humid Atlanta air started giving me a headache, it was time to go. Especially since the Columbian started in on the speeches she gives to her marks in strip clubs about how she will never fuck them, yet they still pay her thousands just to talk. She even emphasized that she was treating me like the mark, only I didn't have to pay. Since I don't make a habit of seducing married women, especially when their husbands are sitting next to them; I didn't feel the need to break her down.

Some people feel the need to take on all comers when they are slighted. When it happens to me, I always do a quick reality check. A) Best/worse case scenario; B) Is it worth it. When a jackass tried to steal my parking spot on my first date with a hot girl, dammit I made it clear I will get out of the car and kick some ass. I got the space, and got the girl. I tend to never back down in bars, because too many guys are wanting to prove themselves, and too many drunk girls take stock in that kinda shit. At a table with no single women or guys I know, I am not gonna take down some girl if the best case scenario is having her sneak around her husband's back. It just isn't worth it.

I hope this made some sense.

A Strange Thing Happened On The Way To The Weekend

I like beer. It's tasty. It's delicious. I have proudly had a Guinness and a chocolate donut for breakfast, without shame. I know where the best beer specials are in Atlanta, and I try to sample them all.

At the same time, I work out to lose weight because I don't want to feel like Jabba the Hut when I have a girl with a better body than Princess Leia walking around the place. (Yes, it's a Star Wars reference. If there was a better one, I would have used it. Sue me. No, don't sue me. Please.)

However, the story I will tell you still annoyed me. One Friday night I was out with a couple folks from my fencing club. One of the group was a cute twentysomething who was a bit of a health nut who never ever went out. (Strangely, I know more than one girl like that here. I need to meet more people). Given that it was Friday, a nice beer seemed appropriate, especially since I wasn't hungry. We were at Taco Mac, a bar and grill known for its average Southwestern menu and its extensive beer list. To me, it made sense to pan the sub-par burrito, and go with the quality pale ale special. And then I hear this, "Don't do it. You don't want to gain weight, do you?"

My, my, what have we here. My first instinct was to reply, "You can kiss my black ass." And believe me, those words formed in my mouth. But a strange thing happened. I ordered a water with lemon instead.

I was tired from fencing, so the water tasted fine - but there I sat, cowed. Cowed not because I thought she was attractive (an understatement), not because I want to date her (I do, although our ideas of nightlife fun are worlds apart), nor even because I want to look good for her (if that was a make or break issue, I would have given up long ago). I backed down because she reminded me of one of someone from my past.

At first I thought the person was my older sister, but that would be too creepy. No, she reminded me of me - the me that existed before I went to that pledge assembly almost eight years ago. It was the night I was forced to listen to some fat white girl talk about how alcohol ruined her life. The same night I decided that this woman was a loser and full of crap, and that if she's sober, I need to be drinking. The eve before I failed my first and only class - and lived to tell the tale (and be better for it).

Before that evening, I was the arrogant smart kid who was extremely Christian and conservative. I would have late night loud arguments about abortion, I felt uncomfortable being alone with women, and I could convert binary numbers to hexadecimal numerals in my head. I listened to classical music, and only learned enough about hip-hop and Top 40 music just so I could communicate with my peers. Whenever I felt blue, I played chorales on my trombone. I dressed up for College Republicans meetings. My every waking hour not spent studying was spent with my nose in a book. And my nose was still hard and my head was still hot from all the fights and scraps in my public school career.

It was after that evening I learned that working my tail off for the rest of my youth was a sad arrangement. I realized that trying to convince people of anything against their will was a waste of time. I decided to master that easiest means of communication, charm. And I developed a taste for alcohol and other legal vices. My trombone was abandoned to its case, and I spent years rediscovering the music of the 1980s and 1990s that I had shunned when it was actually current.

That me is the one that convicted me that night. And as the topics strayed away from fencing and turned to the arts - opera, musicals, shows, etc; I couldn't help but realize as I watch the basketball game above my fellows' heads that I used to be interested in these arts - and I used to hate basketball. Then again, I used to hate sports and exercise in general. Part of me wanted to engage, but I felt like an outsider, a hanger-on who wanted no part of being the only cool kid at the table.

I don't feel I am worse off then before that fateful night. The charm and pragmatism that I picked up has helped prepare me for a much more lucrative and profitable sales career than of a hard-nosed analyst or something like that. I certainly have a LOT more fun, and people have even more fun around me. Even so, I still feel the need to oblige every now and anon the warnings of the spirit of my sober and less tactful past - even when it speaks through the mouth of a pretty Hispanic girl.