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blow me." With a gasp and a furrowed brow, shoot long strands of spunky white cum across this patriotic tongue—I hear he swallows, too. In reality, he is probably just a twenty-ish New York model chosen for his wide mouth, his perfect teeth, and his good skin and lips. And for his ability to keep it open like that for a long, long time—like you and me.
They say rape is about power, but that is a victim's perspective. Rape really is about cowardice, the rankest most vile cowardice possible; a terror of one's own self and the refusal to face that terror and resolve it. That leads to self-hate. And Oh! would that such self-hatred always led to suicide! But (perhaps fortunately) such self-loathing does not always lead to that final expression of rage. Which is unfortunate for many victims, who would not have been knocked down on the street, over powered, beaten bloody, and penetrated had their rapist chosen the more personal and private solution to his problem.
Unless, of course, the would-be rapist chose to go into politics—the politics of fanatic conservatism. The would-be victim could then walk down the street unmolested while the would-be rapist becomes a Bush-clinging, Washington, D.C. Republican (no offense intended, indeed many of my friends are Republican—and most even think). He would not become a Democrat, nor an Independant, nor a Green Party member, nor even a Nazi, but a Republican. You see, a would-be rapist's cowardice requires, as remedy, that he act on someone else in some way which makes him feel powerful. And correct me if I am wrong, but I don't recall the American Nazi party celebrating any victories lately (not overt victories, anyway). So, if a self-hating would-be rapist is going to fulfill his illegitimate need to feel powerful, he's going to join one of the parties with power; either Democratic or Republican. Of those two, he will join the one which offers a home to extremist conservatism. Then he will thank God (and Jesus Christ, and all his white angels) for providing him a third alternative by which he can continue to live his life of righteousness (and cowardice): Not suicide, that's not living at all; and not rape, that is generally frowned upon and really rather tacky (no one said our would-be rapist need be tasteless too). He will meet his need to feel powerful through a racist, sexist, ultra-conservative political career—the choice of the discriminating sophisticate who wants to fuck you, and me, and wants to stay 'clean' in the process. And he wants to do it specifically the way we don't like it.
lick me, boy, right there." In innocence we comply, for innocent of evil, we have nothing to fear. We don't even remotely understand the machinations of those unusual creatures among us, sheep-clothed wolves. We are terribly curious about them. But we don't really want to know. They and we really are the same, and knowing them—their motivations, their thoughts, their hidden intent—means knowing the potential for evil within ourselves. Or worse; it means acknowledging the evil within us which we've made real. We love innocence like youthfulness, and we pretend to have it long after it is gone. It is a blissful denial, and it takes my breath away every time I see someone recognize a moral crime and then look away, glassy-eyed, with a breezy laugh and a carefree swirl as if they hadn't noticed. As if to say, "Better them than me." It takes more than my breath away when I see myself do it. I say I am not a would-be rapist, but I rape myself every chance I get, and though it doesn't get me off too often, it does give me insight into the minds of both the dark alley rapist and the moral rapist.
They're not bad guys. They're just...
like me.
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