Did I meet a paedophile?

Amsterdam at dusk

Amsterdam at dusk

The day had gone well.  We had made it to a friend’s wedding in the nation’s capital: Amsterdam.

I hadn’t seen her for six years.  My daughter whom she had cradled as a baby, was now a feisty seven-year old. The bride was thrilled to see us, as we were to see her. Her wedding had been an intimate ceremony; beautiful, mostly family with a freshly-married husband dotting on her, and a mum regaling the rest of us with tales of her youth. The food was delicious, the music grande.

It was held in the afternoon on a boat in Amsterdam. It was scheduled to end at midnight, but we had to tear ourselves away from the festivities earlier by 9.00pm.  To stay over at a hotel would have been quite costly, so we took the direct train from Amsterdam Amstel to S’Hertogenbosch, and sat on the metallic bench waiting for the train to Tilburg.  I talked to my daughter, willing for time to go fast, humoring her with stories and jokes.  We were exhausted, it had been a long day of merriment, my high heels felt uncomfortably tight, the soles of my feet screamed.

Without warning, a man came by and plopped himself beside us.  He joined our conversation without an invite. He was chatty, short with blond spiky hair, dressed in black, chewing one sandwich, the other in the translucent paper he held in his hand.

“She can have one,” he offered.

“No, we are okay,” I responded impulsively, uncomfortably aware that he was shuffling closer to us on the tiny bench.

S'Heryogenbosch train station (image courtesy of Frank Niessen, Flickr).

S’Hertogenbosch train station (image courtesy of Frank Niessen, Flickr).

He said he was a software engineer, he earned good money, giving a figure of tens of thousands of euros a month. I was perplexed.  I thought it strange of him, either he was lying or he was stoned. The Dutch never talk openly about money, they never flaunt their worth…they are known to be one of the most frugal nationalities in the world.  I took a good look at him; he squished his white-face, smiling and looking pixie-like. He had small hands, weather beaten shoes, and a leather jacket.

“So, what are you doing out so late?” I enquired curiously.

“I went out walking in Utrecht,” he said abit jumpily, “I like walking around the city.”

He seemed a little weird, asocial, lacking in common courtesy as many brilliant geeks are bound to be; unruffled by their shabby looks, their distant thoughts always occupied with some scientific calculations. I wondered if he would assist in the technical aspect of my blog, arranging it and making it more presentable. He gave us his email and said he was willing to help; suddenly labeling us his small family, sharing that he had no one in the world, his brother had died years ago in an accident, his parents were long gone, he was 50 years old and all he had was a good job, a huge empty house and a broken down porsche laying in the garage.

“We can be together as soon as possible, we are a family now….my two wives,” he gushed contentedly, as he brought out a sheet of paper with tobacco that he begun to roll up.

“Please don’t smoke,” I said quietly, “We are allergic to nicotine.”

“Oh..?” he remarked, with raised brows, returning the paper bag to his pocket, “I have quit.”

“When did you quit?” I asked.

“Just now,” he replied, sort of comically. I laughed at his humor.

I noted his contact details and full name, and put a mental note to google him.  I had lingering doubts about whom he said he was. I was glad when our train arrived.  I took my daughter’s hand and led her into the train, climbing the stairs to the top bunker.  He followed closely, slapping my left butt cheek as we climbed, clasping and giving it a firm squeeze.  I was startled and forcefully pushed his hand away.

Tilburg is not so far from Den Bosch, and as we rode in the train, he ran to the toilets saying that he needed to pee and then came back, panting like he had run a marathon.

“Ah…I feel much better,” he sighed in relief.

When we reached our stop, and the throng of people got off the train alongside us, he was walking close by.  I expected him to say goodbye and be on his way, but he was determined to come to my house. I stopped in my tracks and looked at him with narrowed eyes.

“I don’t know you,” I said sternly, “I don’t invite strangers to my house.”

“Then come to mine, the both of you,” he said.

“No, we have to go home, it is very late,” I retorted, trying to shake him off.

“I will come with you,” he said.

“No,” I said, “You can’t come, I really don’t know you, I have just met you, I cannot invite you to my place.”

I quickly walked to a nearby ATM, I had to get some cash for a taxi.  I was certain that the buses had stopped running, it was already 12 midnight.

He was insistent, tagging along, “Okay then, let your daughter come with me,” he said.

I removed my bank card from the machine and glared at him. He stepped back, shriveling infront of my eyes, looking like a small boy, his plumbeous grey eyes displaying a silent plea like he was begging for his life.

“If I’m not coming to your place, how can you ask if my daughter can come??!!” I snarled angrily.

I felt safe that people were around.  I was frightened, confused and wondered what sort of man he was. I briskly walked across the road, holding my daughter’s hand, and jumped into the first taxi available though there were a few people moving towards it. I glanced at him from the safety of the taxi.  He remained rooted in position, standing in the shadows, behind the electricity box, his eyes fixed on our taxi. As the driver put the meter on and drove, I kept on glancing behind, hoping that he was not going to follow us, and was glad that he didn’t.

I sent him an email that night, I was upset and offended at his suggestion, how dare he? He had just met us and in 20 minutes he had behaved in the most disturbing way possible.  I asked him if he was a psycho.

I googled his full name and email the next day, and was astounded at his impressive 8-page CV, going all the way back from 1985.  This man was indeed whom he said he was; a software engineer who had even scored big contracts with regional organizations such as NATO, leading banks and universities, huge airlines like KLM.

He didn’t respond to my email until a few days later, stating that he thought I wouldn’t contact him.

I asked him whether he was attracted to children. He admitted, yes, that he was, even going further to state that in the past, he had a four year-long relationship with a Dutch mother and her 6-year old child, doing three-somes. He wondered if it was new to me, whether I found it strange, admitting that he was ‘happy to be talking to me about it.’

I said that was strange, abominable, taboo, a criminal offense; typing back that those who did such things were perverts, that children had to be protected by parents, and by society. He argued back that it was only criminal if done in public, but not criminal when done in private.

I was stunned.  Chilled to the bone by his shocking confession. I wondered what sort of mother would subject her young child to all that.  I wondered where the girl was, and how she had been mentally and psychologically scarred by these two irresponsible and heartless adults. Her childhood stolen.

He talked of it as natural, as sweet, as enjoyable…throwing in words as sucking, licking and sticking, words that should be used when eating an  icecream, but were instead being used in descriptions of a vile relationship with a minor. I told him that it was not natural, that he should be behind bars, seek treatment as soon as possible, to unwind his thought process from such things; be subjected to electric shock therapy, or an exorcism of demons that had assailed him, so that he would behave like a normal human being, and if all that failed, he should seek to be castrated.

More than that, I was stung by the realization that paedophiles lived, walked and breathed in the same spaces as we did, that they were professionals, highly-educated and respected folk who worked in the day, but in the night hunched over their laptops, fantazising over naked children and touching themselves.

Sweetu: The computer model created to nab paedophiles

Sweetie: The computer model created to nab paedophiles. (image courtesy of Terre Des Hommes).

While child rights organization Terre Des Hommes had worked hard to ensure that paedophiles in western countries who used cyberspace to prey on children in poor countries would be jailed, black-listing them, naming and shaming them and handing over their dossiers to Interpol, through the help of a computer simulation code-named Sweetie from the Philiphines; paedophiles in their own back yard, right here in the Netherlands had run amok, brazenly forming advocacy groups, rooting for the formation of a political party, demanding their rights and groping people in public spaces, asking to be allowed to prey on children.

How dare they? What about the rights of the children? At what point did their urges or feelings hit up against the wall of the law.  They had become so bold, that I feared for children. The tolerance and liberality permitted in this country had mutated and bred an unfortunate mentality of unrestricted sexual debauchery. The buck had to stop here…especially when it came to children.

13 replies »

  1. A fairly hot redhead in her late 20s wanted to talk to me.
    There are a variety of issues that can crop up long after a criminal trial is over, often as a surprise to
    the individual. Of course, if Albert Gonzalez didn’t live in the United States,
    his sentence may have ended up being lower or he may have never been captured at all.


  2. Hi Caroline,
    You have an interesting blog and an entertaining way of writing. It quite distracted me away from what I was supposed to be doing. 🙂
    I’m quite perplexed though, by your paedophile story. Surely you had enough information on this man through your email exchange to report him to the police…or did you? Surely Terre Des Hommes or other organisation would take up the case of this self-confessed paedophile. (BTW I think I would have slapped him round the chops at the butt squeeze – you’re very tolerant.)
    All the best on your travels


    • Thanks Alayna. I have reported him to the police..they asked whether I knew his adress (I didn’t), and whether I had a phone number (I don’t)..I let them know that I have his email address, and they asked me to print out the conversation where he has confessed doing it in the past..I will do so this weekend and hand it over to them. I was just too shocked to do anything like you have suggested like slapping him, but I was so startled that he would dare do something like that..and after he suggested my daughter come to his place, I just had to I jumped into a taxi and took off with my child. It was as well quite late..and I don’t normally take my child out to late gatherings, but I thought it would be nice for the bride to see her after so many years.


  3. This is a truly shocking story. I must admit I had not known about the advocacy groups – that it complete madness. The Sweetie avatar is a brilliant idea (and one wonders where else that kind of methodology is employed…). I do find it incredible that soliciting in that way, especially in a public place, is not illegal..and I wonder whether you could have reported him to the police for harassment? Anyhow, thanks for sharing a deeply troubling personal story.


  4. I am constantly on travel and find most people in the world are quite nice and palatable. But sometimes I’ve run into people that are just a little off their rocker and it seems you ran into one of those crazy kooks in Amsterdam, a wild city in itself. I remember the last time I was in Amsterdam, I had some half-naked chick come on to me and grabbed my royal jewels and asked me to buy her dinner…lol and I wasn’t even in the Red Light District! So it’s best to do what you did and avoid the talking and just go on about your business to get as far a way as you can from that. He should be investigated though, since he was obviously trying to do something with your daughter…creepy.


    • Most of the folk here in Holland are tolerant and polite, wary of intrusion in another’s personal space, so when he came over to where we sat and begun to chat endlessly, that was in itself a red flag for me. It was quite creepy and very terrifying, I was quite upset, and emailed to ask if he was a daughter would never go anywhere alone with a stranger, and I would never let her, so he was brazen to ask if my daughter would come with him, and we had just met him like 20 minutes ago..I have informed the police, I’m as well informing Terre Des Hommes hoping they can do more to protect children within the Netherlands.


  5. You handled the situation well. I do think I would have punched his lights out the moment he grabbed my hind-end as I screamed for the police.

    I use to travel a lot; alone. And you are right about people being polite of your space in most areas of the world. But on the occassion(s) when I felt my space being invaded by some odd person, I found the best solution was to distance myself as quickly as possible.

    And, by the way, you have a great way of telling a story!


    • Hey Dawn, thanks for the compliment. Was quite startled that he actually did that. In my travels have learnt not to focus on the negatives..just to move away as fast as I can. Found it quite scary to encounter such a person in my own hometown!


  6. What a horrific situation. Thank goodness you reported this monster to the police and kept your distance. I can’t believe that both you and your daughter had to go through this encounter.


    • It was indeed a chilling incident..when I filed the police report, I was shocked when the police said they knew him, that he had been reported for similar crimes in the past!


  7. Hiya very cool website!! Guy .. Beautiful .. Superb .. I’ll bookmark
    ypur blpog and take the feeds also?I am satisfied to find
    a lot of helpful info here within the put up, we need work out extra strayegies in this regard, thank you for sharing.
    . . . . .


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.