Real Men Do Not Rape

I grew up with 3 sisters and a mother who were not unlike category 5 hurricanes. I was always outnumbered. If I disrespected women, I paid dearly for it. ‘Oh Thomas, we all have been through that.’ Oh REEEEEEAAAAALLLY? Have you now? Let me tell you about the last time I left the seat up. 

I was 16. I had my own bathroom which was connected with our guest bedroom but I was the only one who used it. I had just bought a $700 waterbed which was totes cool and awesome. I was a busboy and saved up the money to get it. So I’m fast asleep dreaming about swimming, or so I thought. I felt a bit of wetness and woke up suddenly to the coven of sisters standing by my bed and Cathy holding a utility blade. She had slit my waterbed open. 

“Now you know how it feels fucker!”

I knew better than to protest. This was justice, I guess. 

This morning, I woke up to Harvey Rapestein doing the perp walk. If you have known ten women in your life then you have likely known a victim of rape or sexual abuse. If she cared about you, she might have told you what it did to her. I’ve known several. What has always struck me is the soul crushing pain a rapists inflicts. I hate them. 

If I were benevolent dictator for a day, I’d make rape a capital offense and I would let the victim decide whether they get life in prison or death. There are no ‘accidental’ rapes. It’s about consent.

Casanova was once asked what the greatest aphrodisiac was? He said, “A woman, wanting to be enjoyed.” 

My sister Lesli is four years older than me. She had two BFFs, Leah and Mary. Mary had long brown hair all the way down past her butt. She was maybe 5’1″ and she was one of those women who developed young and her assets were impossible to miss. She was also extremely beautiful. She was my first real crush. 

My mom was extremely libertine about everything so long as we were at her house. Mom’s house was a huge 2 story 8 bedroom Tudor looking house. For Lesli’s 17th birthday, she wanted to have a party and apparently she invited everyone at Oldham County High School. She bought a pony keg of Busch lite, the worst beer ever made. There were several bottles of bourbon, a bottle of peach schnapps, a bottle of rumplemintz peppermint schnapps and a bottle of Tia Maria. 

It was a Saturday night when everyone showed up. There were at least 75 people there. We had a poker game going in the dining room. I won a real Stetson hat off some guy and a switchblade off another. I kept wandering around watching everything and making sure nobody stole anything. There was a lot of pot too. 

In the kitchen I saw the girls playing drinking games with beer and peach schnapps. Mary had this ridiculous laugh that could drown out the sound of 75 loud and intoxicated people. She was just a tiny thing. Before long she was sitting on some guy’s lap that had no idea the murderous rage I was trying to kill him with with my hatred beams. I noticed that she had gotten up and fallen back into the lap of this dude and he grabbed her gloriously large round supple breast as she landed. 

I considered whether to go get my machete or just use an ax to kill him for touching the future Mrs. Clay. I settled on an ax before I realized that Mary had way too much to drink. So before I decapitated this miscreant, I needed to get Mary out of the way so we could get married and make babies later. So I scooped her up and carried her upstairs to the guest bedroom next to mine. I almost dropped her trying to climb the steps with all these people on it. I laid her on the bed and covered her up. There was one of those red dome lights in that room so I turned that on in case she needed to find the bathroom. When I switched it on, I looked back and she was out. 

We could drink as much as we wanted whenever we wanted and none of us drink alcohol now. I wanted to go back and play poker but by this time there was a waiting list. So I poured a Busch and tried to act like I was a grown up. Ate some chips and dip and I heard some guy ask where “Tits” was? It looked like there was going to be a double decapitation this evening if these fuckers tried to touch my crush. 

I got back to the stairway and I looked up and I saw these two guys whispering. Then one walked out of view towards Mary. As I came up the steps, I heard the door lock click. The way our house was laid out, there was a bedroom and a bathroom between the next bedroom. The bathroom door couldn’t be locked because mom didn’t install it correctly. I knew what was happening. 

Mom had bought me a 12 gauge single-barrel shotgun for my 12th birthday. I went in my bedroom, into my closet, loaded it and pushed the bathroom door open to find this fucker Jeff on top of Mary and trying to lift her shirt up. I put that shotgun 2 inches from his forehead and cocked the hammer. REO Speedwagon’s “keep on loving you” was playing loudly from downstairs. 

I looked at him with murderous eyes, “Not on my watch fucker.” 

I am positive his life flashed before him. He knew he was caught. 

I thought about shooting him but I loaded a rock salt round and knew it wouldn’t kill him. 

“Please” he said feebly. 

“It’s time for you to get the fuck out of my house.” 

I didn’t have to say it again. 

I was raised by three sisters and a mom. Mom was molested when she was a girl.

When I told mom what happened, she hugged me and said, “that’s my boy.”

To this day, I still put the seat down.

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About Thomas Clay 38 Articles
Thomas Clay is an effete snob who has forgotten Benghazi every day for years. He's a commie-loving soshulist who hates freedom as much as he hates bacon.