[dropcap]I [/dropcap]have to admit that some frank talk about people no longer with us may not be my finest hour, but also feel that it is as much my right to do so as voicing my pure disdain for some of the living. I have a chip on my shoulder, an axe to grind; some serious business with someone that ain’t here no more. And for most of the people that say they don’t speak ill of the dead, my response to that statement is one word: Liar.
We would have nothing to talk about if we didn’t talk about those that came before us. “Yeah, she was a real bitch on wheels,” or “He was a real nasty bastard.” But mostly it comes in the form of “I hated my mother/father/sister/brother/aunt/uncle…because he/she lied, neglected, robbed, raped, abused or whatevered me.”
[quote style=”boxed” float=”right”]When I see these cunts playing for public sympathy, and destroying the lives of men who didn’t rape anyone, I can easily imagine cutting their fucking tongues out.[/quote] What a pathetic bunch we are. Dead people (even those still alive but just “dead” to us) are often the founders of our self-worth. They are our old reliable never-talks-back whipping post, for all the reasons we are who we are today; the endless well of rage we hold near and dear; the handy-dandy excuse for self-loathing, underachievement and shitty life.
This has merit, but to that I say: once you have survived your horrendous past, you have a choice in how you use the experience to build on your future.
I was raped at nine years old. Yup, Izzey was raped; real, live rape that I kept to myself for quite a few years. I told no one, because my father would have gone to jail for it. No, my father did not rape me. His best friend did. Had my father found out he would have went to prison for the rest of his life for murder. I have no doubt whatsoever that he would have killed this man, quickly, brutally.
So I told no one, because I loved my father and did not want to lose him. It’s as simple as that, and, quite frankly, a tad too simple for some people to digest. I actually don’t give a shit about anyone’s opinion of that. In fact, I only feel the need to say so because I live in a world where dialogue about the most challenging of problems is often controlled by people with the most challenged of minds.
It was a horrible experience. It was the movie scene stereotype; the rape advocates version of all rapes, not the kind concocted by drunken sorority rats and angry girlfriends. Still, I lived to tell the tale, eventually. I even went into therapy for it, eventually. That might make a lot of people wonder why I am here advocating for men’s rights and even against things like false accusations and rape hysteria. How could I? How dare I?
I can only explain it by telling you that every single time I hear about women that cry rape after going into a hotel room with a stranger, putting a cap on three hours of drinking on his tab and dry humping in the corner of the bar, it pisses me off. When I hear about a woman that used a rape allegation to get back at a man for doing whatever her imagined slight of the moment, or out of regret or embarrassment for something she fucking chose to do, it pisses me off. When I hear about a man being accused of rape because it is good strategy in a contested divorce, it really gets me going.
Unlike these lying, histrionic skeezers, I actually know what it is like to be violated. I know what real fear is, and really deep shame, not the kind you make up in your mind after too many episodes of Oprah and too many messages that you are not accountable for your actions.
When I see these cunts playing for public sympathy, and destroying the lives of men who didn’t rape anyone, I can easily imagine cutting their fucking tongues out.
Rape is a serious crime. It is a personal violation of your body that in its real form is an act of unquestionable violence. It isn’t supposed to be something women dabble in for attention or utilize for revenge.
The infamous SlutWalks, at their naissance, were the most ridiculous display of that kind of attention whoring I have ever seen. These women needed yet another reason (no matter how absurd) to wield their sexual power while maintaining their right to sexual irresponsibility. They accomplished nothing more than cry-baby ostracism of a police officer for giving them what I believe to this day was sound advice for their safety.
As to my experience with rape, I am going to tell you that I am okay. But my unfinished business with the dead, is that I never had the chance to say “Fuck you, I won. I saved my father, and I saved myself.”
I heard he died from a very painful bone cancer a few years later. That was enough for me. But now that I am older and wiser with a clearer mind that can think for itself, I realize a few things. Statistically, and by that I mean in reality, men are raped more often than women. These are rapes that most women will tell you were deserved because many of them are men in prison, and that is only what they will say once you get them to acknowledge that those rapes even exist. They are also rapes that most women will tell you were not rapes because it was a 30 something woman, perhaps a teacher, seducing a 13 year old boy. They will even tell you he was “lucky,” and so will far too many men.
They won’t be bothered to examine the fact that many of these rapes take place against men that are wrongfully accused, and don’t even belong in prison (DNA evidence is now slowly helping to free some them). And they won’t be bothered to condemn the utter breech of trust and self serving manipulation that occurs when an adult seduces a child. No big deal, right? He loved it! Sure.
All of this, every last self deluding bit serves one, pernicious rule in the politics of rape. Women are the victims, even when rape is imagined. And men are the perpetrators, even when they are raped for real.
No one deserves to be raped, no one, especially a child of nine years old. But women that use this term to describe something in which most of them willingly took part, drunk or otherwise, should maybe have it really happen to them. At least they would be finally telling the truth from actual experience.