clown rape

I want my fucking life back. Literally.
The following essay is going to be sexualized. If you're not comfortable with that, or if you think talk of sex is anti-intellectual, then you have all the acumen of an eggplant. And if you're not comfortable with the word "fucking", you're an intellectual child who ought leave smart people the fuck alone.
I'm a human being...but you'd never know it by my sexual life. I look back over the years and remember moments of sweetest joy, swallowed by an avalanche of bleakness.
Sex goes to the very core of who we are. We are not like most animals in this regard. Study the sexual lives of Earth fauna, and humans jump out as one of a relative handful of HYPER-SEXUALIZED creatures. We are born to fuck - sex is profoundly important to us, not just personally, but socially. We're hyper-social too, and the fabric of any healthy human society is a tapestry created and maintained conspicuously by sex.
Now, step back and take in how far removed we are from "healthy human society". Hate crime, war crime, infant genital mutilation, plastic surgery, rape, gang rape, date rape, child rape, environmental rape, CLOWN RAPE!
What, you think there isn't a clown out there being raped this very second? Don't be naive. Not one of the evil ones, either. A nice one. In full makeup. On each thrust, the rapist honks that red nose. Honk. Honk. Honk.
Every other species, every alien cruising by, looks at us and thinks "What went wrong?"
What went wrong?
WHAT WENT WRONG?
Sex is what went wrong.
We twisted it into a freakshow nightmare, and everything fell apart. That healing thread which should be running through all our social interactions is poisoned. Missing in action. And nothing, nothing in this world is going to get better until we wake up to that reality.
I want my fucking sexual history back.
I WANT the older woman my parents should have brought to me when i was thirteen. She was supposed to lay me down in a place of naked comfort and safety. She was supposed to say, "These are our bodies, and this is what they do." Instead, for five years following my first solitary ejaculation, no one touched me. NO ONE. For my ENTIRE ADOLESCENCE. What do you imagine that might do to a sexual, tactile, social creature? Yet our society is so dysfunctional, that i couldn't have even conceived of someone like her existing, back then.
I WANT carol, my towering teen crush. For almost two years, i dreamt of...just being near her. Just being near. We never even hugged.
I WANT chris, an asian born-again who spent months trying to save me (spiritually and horizontally)...but always holding back. She tasted better than anything i've ever known.
I WANT stephanie, who could have been my great college love. We discovered we'd both wanted it, far too late. We spent years at a distance, incapable of the kind of honesty that would have had us in each other's arms.
I WANT linda, the most beautiful onstage romance of my life. Those feelings spilled over into real life, but she was too lost in her own dramas, and the search for "the one".
I WANT meghan back. The most humbling, perfect love of my life. Our friendship was swept away by that mania for "the one". Gone, like she was never there. How are we not caring for each other still? How is that even possible?
I WANT miss suarez, with whom i spent a year falling hopelessly in love. The day we parted, she looked at me and i suddenly knew she wanted me more than the man she was marrying. I would have given her anything...except an institution in which i didn't believe. In silence, i watched her walk away.
I WANT amanda, the only woman to literally take my breath away, and whom i offered a deeper understanding and more selfless love than any.
I WANT christina, who was "age-inappropriate" when she fell for me. Holy lordisa, i could have loved her so purely, so gently...
I WANT vanessa, whom i loved perhaps more than any. She fell into my arms, trying to escape a lover who treated her badly. She never did...and i kept us from consummating because she was in a "bad headspace".
I WANT lakota, the most poetic spirit who ever offered me love. We shared a searing starburst of momentary carnality, but she was a single parent, and i ran, mortified of disappointing mother or child.
I WANT melissa, the most stark embodiment life has ever shown me of the responsibility to our youth which we are catastrophically, barbarically ignoring. I was supposed to be all those things for her that that non-existent teacher never was for me when i was thirteen. It didn't happen. My life had come full circle, and another generation was poisoned.
I WANT ann back. The best sex of my life...and she loved Star Trek. Another casualty of "the one".
I could go on. And on. Anyone can. Everyone can.
I also want to go BACK to all those who wanted me, but i turned away. To becky, melanie, doug, annie, dihanne...and others it's been easier to put out of my mind. There's a hole in your lives where love from me should have been. I pretty much didn't even try. I'm not masochistic enough to blame myself, but you are all wounds in my spirit, as deep as any who turned away from me.
In our mania for "the one", we spend our lives walking on an endless sea of thinnest ice, ever rejecting and being rejected. We're crippled by the resultant fears, with gaping holes we expect our lover to fill. But they can't. And if for a short while someone seems to, it's magic...but then the rug gets pulled out, and they leave (or stay, in a hell of codependent disappointment). So our ecstasies become our pains, and we absorb more reasons to punish the next person, or never open ourselves quite that much again...
And then...
I imagine how my life would feel had all those women loved me. Fill up those holes with caring and intimacy and touch and orgasms and laughter...
I try to picture the person i would be.
GREAT FUCKING GOOGILY, it would be amazing! I would be so much more centered. So much more content. So much more able to laugh off any trouble or care. Unpoisoned by the notion that i might not be good enough. Utterly, preposterously non-jealous or hateful. So much more eager to love anyone who looks like they need it. ANYONE.
But it doesn't happen. We're left with these holes, so we cover them up. We tell ourselves that it's just life. We force ourselves to believe that there's something "wrong" with us if we're unable to let go, or unable to love...
Society doesn't make it better. Parents and friends tell us to keep trying. Therapists and doctors and counselors profit from our pain without ever going near the cause.
Bear in mind, i'm one of the least damaged people on this planet. A straight white male who's never known hunger, incarceration, or war. Even compared to most such white males, i am enormously centered and brimming with self-worth. And i am hellaciously, irreparably damaged. HELLACIOUSLY, IRREPARABLY DAMAGED. It hasn't helped that my lifelong impulse toward sober gentleness and consideration has diminished my number of intimacies. I've always been the nurturing one, trying to avoid unhealthy situations (for others or myself).
I want my fucking sexual life back, you fucking bastards!! Where are you?? I want a fucking goddamned accounting!!!
But there can be no accounting.
Nobody chose this life, and those few who grow up to understand know that the damage is long past done. The decisions that pushed humanity in this direction were made thousands of years ago by people who had no idea what they were doing. It was too big a process, created one tiny carelessness at a time.
If i could go back in time to find my younger self, would i whisper into my eager, slightly awkward ear, "There IS NO healthy situation. It doesn't exist. Good luck, you quixotic, doomed fuck"?
A few months ago, a mildly inebriated teenager made a pass at me. She wasn't my type, and even if she were, i still would have been painstakingly considerate of her humanity.
But i'm long past weary, and haven't had sex for a year.
Don't fuck around with me, life.
Don't throw up a million walls that keep me from being the sexual child and teacher and lover and healer i was born to be. Don't do that, then toss some nubile, dewy creature at me who in a fit of questionable (but eminently understandable) judgment wants to be ravaged by a stranger.
I'm serious.
Do not put her in my path again.
For i will give her a chance to lie about her age.
Then we'll be at my love shack, and she'll be receiving the most amazing massage of her life, and i'll come to her disturbingly bald, shaven pussy and maybe she'll lie about being on the pill, and then she'll receive a fucking so beautiful that it's all she'll be able to think about on lonely nights a decade from now, when her husband hasn't touched her in four years.
Don't fuck with me.
I am weary. And we shall none of us be healed...