The boy’s teacher alerted a guidance counselor and principal Josephine Bazan (pictured), who called the boy’s mother. Koppelson was removed to a school administrator rotation pool.Īfter the attack on the boy, the two third-graders received a five-day suspension, and the ringleader - who has since left the school - received a 10-day suspension, the lawsuit says.
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The attack on the boy happened just a month after Koppelson had been reassigned in January 2012 and replaced by Bazan, a 23-year department veteran.
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"(The incidents) were never placed in the system at all." "She said, 'He's just a kid,'" the girl's mom told the News in March. The lawsuit says the principal at the time, Charyn Koppelson, did nothing to punish the young perpetrator, or at least discourage his lewd behavior - and allowed him to continue attending the school as if nothing had happened. The first time I used a men’s room, I was 17 years old.EXCLUSIVE: 9-YEAR-OLD'S SEX ABUSE DURING CLASS, LUNCH WENT UNPUNISHEDĭuring the 2009-2010 school year, he was accused of touching a third-grade girl under her skirt during a reading class, according to a lawsuit filed last week by the girl's mother. I looked about 14, probably, with my hair freshly cut short, my head still feeling light and buoyant after getting rid of the ponytail I’d carried through most of high school. In fact, I didn’t see most of it as I walked in, head down and turned slightly away from the line of urinals. I made a beeline for the stalls, which were the same as the stalls in every women’s room I’d ever used in my first 17 years of life. I can’t remember if I washed my hands or not. I do remember that there were other men in the room. Both at the urinals, and so their backs were toward me when I entered. And maybe they were washing their hands when I was leaving, and that’s why I’m thinking I probably didn’t wash my hands. The first time I used a men’s room with friends - friends who’d known me from before, friends who’d known me my whole life - I was a few weeks shy of my eighteenth birthday. I’d been living as a guy for about a year.
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Home for the summer from boarding school, that awkward and potent summer between high school and college, I was working as a dishwasher. I’d been back in my hometown for a week or so, and a bunch of us decided to go to the movies together. First, because we all worked odd jobs with odd hours.
GAY TWINK BLOWJOB SCHOOL BATHROOM MOVIE
Second, because none of us owned a car and the nearest movie theater was 40 minutes from our rural Maine town. And, for me, because though I had known these boys since preschool, I had gone away every September for the last four years to a prep school. And also because now at 17 I was, for the first time in my life, a boy. We went to the movies, five of us crammed into someone’s mom’s sedan. #Gay twink blowjob school bathroom movie#Īfterwards, debating Denny’s versus Friendly’s, we veered down the hallway toward the movie theater’s bathrooms. My short hair hadn’t been mentioned - I’d had it short third grade through seventh grade, after all, only growing it out at my mom’s insistence. They’d been calling me Al for years, so I didn’t have to tell them that I’d changed my name from Alice to Alex. And I wore the same t-shirts and jeans and flannel shirts and sneakers that I always wore.ĭown that hallway, I thought, which one? Easy enough to just go in the women’s room, give people a dirty look when they scowled at me. Grunge and androgyny were reasonably widespread, even in the sticks of Maine. But I hated using the women’s room and not just because of being a boy.
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I hated it because of what was said to me: G et out! Was the nicest version. Other variations included dyke, queer, butch, bitch, creep, once (oddly) faggot and other, unprintable, words. It would only be weird if you used the urinal." So I said to my friends, "Do you mind if I use the men’s room with you? Or would that be weird?"Īnd my best friend Bryan said, "Of course not. In subsequent years, I would think about that - using the urinal. Devices were sold, tricks bandied about in trans groups I went to. The plastic lid to a coffee can (clear plastic is best), trimmed of its edges, could be stowed in the back pocket, lifted out in one’s palm, curled into a funnel and used with care at a urinal. So long as you peed slowly and no one peeked. I got more than one pair of jeans thoroughly piss-soaked. Lately, the news has me thinking back to that first men’s room, 21 years ago, and what drove me to go inside. I never would have entered if I thought I would have been detected, confronted, kicked out. In fact, I’ll tell you what stands out to me even more than that first men’s room: It's the last time I went into a women’s room. #Gay twink blowjob school bathroom movie#.