My secret pedophiliac love affair with you...

...The reader.

I’m lumping you all together, which may be good or bad and probably a bit of both. Readers are like spoiled children, authors are probably worse, but I’m talking about you right now. Spoiled little 13 year old boys who have only just learned how to play with their pee-pees and they refuse to stop. They jerk off at the dinner table. They jerk off at school, church, and while waiting to get a lollipop from the dentist.

If they’re happy, they jerk off with a smile. When they’re sad, they jerk off with big alligator tears dripping onto their pink little balls. If they’re angry, they jerk off anonymously onto your pillow and go to sleep jerking off while they imagine the look on your face when you find it.

That’s a whole lot of jerking off, let me tell you. I know, because I’m one of the babysitters. While mom and dad are out there declaring war on Iraq, and setting the prime lending rate, and trying to figure out how to get all that flavor in one little stick of chewing gum, they leave their spoiled little brats in my loving care. Or in the care of someone like me and I have a bone to pick with them too.

I was looking through blogs, largely researching my upcoming paper on sexism in online porn, and I was continuously struck by the number of entries saying something like this:

“Please vote for me. Please. Please, oh please vote!”

Perhaps not in so many words and occasionally in precisely that many words. That is an example of a bad babysitter. She’s going to end up held down, tied-up, and gang-raped by a bunch of thirteen year old boys. Not a bad thing really, considering the babysitter in question is the same age, obviously, and so no laws are broken. Nobody is hurt or traumatized for life. She’s asking for it and they’re giving it to her. My only real issue with the whole affair is that it makes the rest of us look bad when we don’t put out for the kiddies in our care.

Much like the author’s who say:

“If I don’t get more email, I won’t finish my story!”

Now there’s a girl who has spent way too much time in Daddy’s lap. She expects that twenty dollar’s after every hug now, even the ones that don’t involve getting a finger up her hairless snatch so Daddy can make sure his little big girl is all grown-up on the inside too. That’s the problem with playing mommy in the basement: You start to believe her shoes will fit. But mommy is a busy woman and she doesn’t just sit at home collecting sperm from the mailman all day, she’s working 9-5 and getting the kids to school, and making sure the laundry gets done, and the bills are paid, and the dishes are clean. She’s working hard and after the story is finished, Daddy spoils her with dinner, drinks, and dancing to remind her how beautiful she looks doing it.

Or he should.

Awfully hard to spoil a girl if she’s demanding everything though. I myself ask for nothing, or at least I try. Everyone slips up every now and again, but even so, I very rarely ask and in that way even the little things are a surprise. That’s part of my evil plan, by the way, one of the keys to being a happy and successful underachiever: Never beg! It’s not only demeaning personally, but it makes all the rest of us look bad.

And that’s my real issue here - Looking bad by association.

“I’m sorry I wrote the story that way. Do you want me to change it? I can do it. I just want to please my fans. Please, just let me know.”

I saw something like that a number of times as I was back-reading the blogs. And not always by the whiny 13 year old girls with weight problems, acne, and ugly shoes. Some of them were doubtlessly (I hope) facetious, but some definitely weren’t. It’s those that I’m talking about, and I do not include authors looking for input on the next chapter, which is wholly reasonable. I’m talking about people who have finished a story and moved on, but just can’t live with not being loved.

I can understand it coming from them, self-image is a big deal when you’re that age and we all went through that one summer when we were ugly (even though we really weren’t) and for a small number of otherwise beautiful young women, they never recovered. They’re stuck forever in that stupid dress, with that silly hair and ugly braces. No boy will ever love them. No fully grown man with his very own car will ever want to shove his cock inside her eager womb. She can never be tall enough. Her tits will never be big enough. She’ll always weigh one pound too much.

She’s disgusting.

But only because she begs and whores her ass around the net like a wanton slut trading pussy for love. All I can say is “Find Jesus, sister!” He’s working at a little taco place just off Sunset. He’s dark and greasy, he sneers when he smiles, and rubs his crotch everytime a girl walks by. Find the man, order a big enchilada with extra sauce to go, and chow down out back by the dumpster. Don’t worry about your skin, or hair, or even the scale in your bathroom. Get yourself laid and walk away from the experience sore, dumb, and happy. Knocked up too. Bring some Jesus home for the folks.

Here’s a clue…Thirteen year old boys will fuck anything patient enough to let them get over their fear. You don’t have to bribe them. All you have to do is wait, make soft little sighing sounds, and play with your belly button. One will break away from the herd and after he’s done, and survived the ordeal, they’ll be all over you like Boys to Men on Mariah Carey, and then…What? A thousand words already? I’m out of time.

rache