Y2B?

Current Mood: irate
Current Music: Don't Stand So Close To Me

Yet another intergenerational-sex rant (I suppose, considering my necessary relation to many readers, the hyphen could have been omitted or even nudged one word to the right). It depresses me endlessly how few Americans would regard the following story as an example of the insane, despicable, and flagitious use of police power to torment those who discover themselves having been sexual nonconformists (why, btw, can’t we foster the use of that notion — i.e., sexual nonconformity over deviation and, worse, offense — to underscore the obvious religious analogy [and for purposes of American jurisprudence, at any rate, make the 1st Amendment of the Constitution—rather than the 14th or the notoriously privacy-penurious “penumbras” of 1 through 5—the indurate touchstone for assaying sex-afflicting, as it now does religion- and speech-afflicting, laws]?). I never will cease to be just flabbergasted by the fact that the overwhelming majority of my fellow citizens (and, I suppose, readers as well) swallow without question the counterintuitive (if you bother to think about it) belief that consensual intergenerational sexual relationships are at best dangerous to the younger participant. Even the most enthusiastic younger participant, an entire class of person strenuously denied by conventional opinion, may eventually be badgered by the accumulated mass of years of its droning, weighed against the tragic effervescence of memory, into believing that (a) his or her consent was culpably compelled by the elder one; (b) their sex was, for that very reason alone, traumatizing; and (c ) the trajectory of such trauma is not only as immutably unidirectional as that of gravity, but also its path eternally the same — from the most superficial itchy genital nerve endings of the elder deep into the softest throbbing heart-chambers of the younger, bastard rasp ever doomed to impale placenta. That’s my tendentious reading of what happened in this sad case, anyway.

( It goes on . . . and on . . . . )

Current Mood: giggly

Licking the back of his ear, he went down Cheney’s chin and traced his neck, painting a searing path with his tongue. With excitement, Cheney quickly removed his suit jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, allowing Rumsfeld to continue down his chest and stomach. As soon as Rumsfeld got [. . .] below the belt, he paused over his prize[, l]ooking up to reassure Cheney of [his] purpose[.] Cheney quickly undid his pants. Consequently, Rumsfeld lapped at Cheney’s salty penis, coating the surrounding flesh with the creamy essence of his pre-cum. Cheney reacted with shattered breathing and desperate whimpers.

After moving to Washington, D.C., Dick Cheney soon met Donald Rumsfeld, then director of the Office of Economic Opportunity, and sent Rumsfeld an unsolicited 12-page memo on streamlining the OEO. Rumsfeld -- so impressed by Cheney's seriousness and intellect -- asked the political neophyte to be his special assistant in 1969. When Rumsfeld received a promotion, he would bring along his protégé as his deputy.

"What I saw was a young fellow, intelligent, purposeful, laid back," Rumsfeld is quoted as saying in Newsweek magazine. "He would take a problem, worry it through, and move things to a conclusion."