The Rape

He was out at a party. With “friends.” Most of them were gay. He knew that because they didn’t hesitate to tell him they were. They also didn’t hesitate to tell him that he was. He just didn’t know it yet, so they said. It was a common line. He knew it by now. He was a handsome kid. This happened all the time. But that didn’t stop him from going to the parties. And eventually something would happen that didn’t happen all the time. But once was enough.

Tonight it was coke. Among other things. Lots of talking, laughing, music, merriment. At least what passed for merriment in the nineties. The night drew long, as it always did, and the merriment drew toward that sad emptiness that always came with the coke. Or with the lack of coke. Or with that state that always arrived in which no amount of coke did the trick.

So when the coke ran out, and the sun started to rise, the attention turned to that pile of pills scattered on the table that promised a good sleep and a new day. Xanax, Percocet, whatever they were using to take the edge off the crash. No one said how much to take. He should know anyway, right? He was nineteen. Of course he would know. So he swallowed what was there. Calm and fatigue embraced him as it should. As he should have expected. The lamps dimmed, and the party gone sour turned into the sweet dreams of sleep.

He awoke in some bed. Whose? No idea. Where? No idea. There was some pain. Not a small amount. His ass hurt. Reaching down, he felt the slick glide of Vaseline or some equivalent oil-based lubricant all over his crotch. All over his ass. Everywhere. So he knew why it hurt. Now to figure out how to get out of that bed. Out of that place. Now to figure out how to get back home and continue on like nothing happened.

If only he had had a savior. A savior dressed in white, covered in blood. His own blood. A savior armed with a sword borne from a tradition of knights over a thousand years old. If only he had had a savior to spirit him away on a motorcycle named “Grace.”

Now you know why I am pissed off. Now you know why this has to end.


    1. There were a couple of reasons for this.

      To put this on the table takes balls. Let that be said.

      I advocate frequently the idea that society is out to destroy men. I hear all the time that men have no right to complain about women killing their children because their children happen to be in those women’s bodies. I also hear all the time that men have no right to talk about rape, sexual assault, sexual harassment, or the problems that women face in a world of evil men. Well, think again.

      Everybody wants to know why I don’t just enjoy my pension with my mojito and my Mexican bikini model or my Serbian bar maid. Well, because while you and I are having this exchange today on WordPress, people are being raped. Kids are starving. And I am mad about that.

      I want every victim to know that I too have been victimized.

      Finally, it’s a cautionary tale to the youngsters. Robocop had a good line for them: “Stay out of trouble.”

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