Hypocrisy Begins At Home

          I understand that, for most families, hypocrisy is something along the lines of parents telling their kids not to smoke when they do or have premarital sex when they did. Heck, most parents were baby boomers or Gen-Xers who were fricking WILD in their day with their free love and metal head groupies - and both generations loved their weed. Just saying.

The parents of Gen Y. :-)

         Parents like to pretend they were angels once they have kids. Maybe I know better because I don't have kids or because I've been through so much worse that petty crap like whether or not your teen has a stripper for their birthday, or drinks at home, is a joke. Maybe responsible parenting is too, because, while mine passed the buck to noone, most others repress their kids humanity under rules. I wonder if people realized they were raising an adult individual when they signed up for that task?

          My mom didn't think that far, and this is where I get to the story:

          I was just reading about Uganda and the new "Kill the Gays" law. Any time I see anything like that it infuriates me. It's just the idea that any group of people could be so insecure about their faith that they need to enforce it so harshly on others because of something they do privately. I'm a huge fan of the Founding Fathers (you'll see I learn for fun), and they wrote a lot about religion getting involved in liberty. Thomas Jefferson said, "..our civil rights have no dependence on our religious opinions, any more than our opinions in physics or geometry." 

          Anyway, we'd been through this when I was growing up because while my brother was offering me to his friends and throwing me to the ground when I'd finished their blowjobs, and while he made me finger and lick his dog, and when he wasn't holding me in the air crushing my neck...

          I discovered something that influenced me from them on.

          Oh, I was just a kid, and I was already masturbating all the time with really disgusting things - from bottles to vases to stuffed animals. My house was something out of Lovecraftian story and nothing had been cleaned in years. The place was dilapidated, with holes in the floors and sulfur dripping down the chimney; I lived in mold and piss, so it likely wasn't a good idea to have sex with anything. To make matters worse, I cut myself and made myself bleed as a sacrifice to Jesus in hopes he'd forgive me for what I was doing. I always wore those open sores, so I'm surprised I'm still alive. My sock monkey, never washed, was my "friend", with his cracked and stinking tail; he was there for me when something stirred for the first time.

        It was "The Prince and the Showgirl", 1957. I was five years old, and I don't know how I knew to be excited, but I was as I sat and watched what I recognize now not to be Marilyn Monroe's best work. Still, for all the sex I'd had, I'd never felt flushed like that. She was so beautiful - everything I wanted. From then I strove to emulate her, or her spirit anyway. From then my little heart raced when I saw those curves.

       I had a lot of female friends, but they became girlfriends. We played "boy and girl", of course, but I was serious. I had that twinge. I had my first had the first completely naked, consensual sexual experience with a girl born just one day before me; we were 10. It was innocent, if you can believe it; she asked if I wanted to get married and said that's what we needed to do. *shrug* We got married all night and to this day I think of it. All the porn in the world doesn't ease is completely, you know.

       Anyway, my mom tried to hook me up with a "boyfriend" my age once. She said we were "so cute" together, but he bored me. We played Star Trek at least, but when he got an idea to play Spock and Uhura and sleep together, I played it literal. :D

       On a few occasions, she caught me making out with my girlfriends, and she promptly rushed in, tore us apart, beat me, sent them home, and gave some bible-esque lecture. I say -eqsue because, like most people she hadn't read it. The thing about her is 1) She knew what was happening to me, so then and to this day she never had the right to say anything about what I did. and 2) this:

      One day I came to my mom with a problem. It was BAD. I was sobbing. I can't remember what the problem was because she said something along the lines of... she had her period, so she couldn't deal with me. She shouldn't have had me. I was a mistake. She went on to tell me how her pot-smoking, cheating, ex (my brother's father) had raped her. She left him and moved in with a room mate, but she fell in love with her. It was wrong and evil, she cried, and because she was a Jehovah's Witness she couldn't give into it. So, she left the state and moved home where she met my Dad. He was nice, but she didn't mean to get pregnant and suddenly the whole congregation wasn't speaking to her. It was SO humiliating! She had to marry him. ...it was all my fault.

          I guess you just met my mom.  So I had to pay for her mistakes and live by the same religious law she had.

         I'd read that law. I'd read how David wanted Bathesheba and sent her husband to war so he'd die and he could have her. I read how he married her and God punished him by making one child mentally slow and causing their son to continually rape and torture their daughter. Yes, I was paying for her sin if their God were real; biblically, that's exactly how he would do it.

Keeping Up Appearances

          Through my early teen years I had a hard time. Remember, it was the 80s still, and you could get your ass beat for being gay. I looked, but cautiously, and damn I got crushes. I was double-damned being a metal-head and a secret, inner nerd. I still don't catch on when a chick's flirting. :-/  Anyway, when the rumor got out I had to strike preemptively and make a show of making hash of a girls face in the middle of school lunch. I also more-than overcompensated, even though it was more about the vicarious locations than feeling. My insides were so damaged my the afore-mentioned sharp objects he used on me that sex with men pretty much just feels like inserting and removing a wet rag. (Woo-hoo.) In the end, I just kindof end up crying; I mean, there's nothing to feel but used.

          Have I ended up with women since? Yeah, and that's been the pinnacle. Hell, one kiss from her totally blew away all the sex I'd ever had. There's more to life than that, though, and that's why there's lesbian porn. ;-) Sometimes, a person finds a person who changes their life and a life of celibacy is worth it to be with them. That's the stuff of another post, though.

          The point of this one is Uganda and my Mother. Seriously. There are worse things happening. When there are children being *forced* to fuck dogs, I'd ask... gays are a problem? What the fuck?  Do you think maybe your efforts wouldn't be better spent doing something helpful with all this time you spend to persecuting consenting adults? Geez!

-DC