Thursday, February 22, 2007
You Are Using Bonetti's Defense Against Me, Eh?!
Lots of bad things can happen to you when you're masturbating.
Having someone walk in on you when you're trying to have a nice, discreet Party For One in your place of employment is always a threat. Then there's this old chestnut, but that's only relevant if the thought of dead kittens doesn't get you hot. The range of consequences is all over the human sociological and metaphysical map from shame, guilt, ostracization, lube shortage and the associated danger of friction burns, carpal tunnel syndrome and (for some of you males out there) penile electrocution. Always be aware of your surroundings is all I have to say about that one.
Of all the potential hazards of autoerotic massage, I have to say that "attacked by a scimitar-wielding stranger" would not have immediately leapt to mind. And again, this is only a negative if the idea of a big, strong man you don't know kicking down your front door while swinging cutlass is not on your list of things that clench the ole prostate. I read Savage Love, so I know that some of you are out there and that you probably have your own usenet group.
This is what happened to a guy in Wisconsin: sitting around in his apartment enjoying some nice healthy patriarchal misogyny in the form of some good ole fashioned American porn, pants presumably at half-mast, he is startled by one of his neighbors smashing through his locked front door, pointing an antique saber at him and demanding to know where the woman is whom he heard being raped in that apartment.
There was no woman there, clearly, but I guess we can be thankful that the guy was more of a saber guy and less of a shotgun enthusiast lest this story end with a more tragic, Cheney-esque ending.
The first lesson I think I would take from this is: know your neighbors. When you're looking to rent an apartment, take a walk around the building(s), see what you can find out. The sad thing is for this poor sap is that had he taken the time, he would have known better than to move in where he was. 999 times out of 1,000 you can spot the saber-wielders straight away. Late thirties, lives with mom, handle-bar mustache, lots of curious cuts and nicks about his person. If that weren't enough, usually the scabbard is a dead give-away.
Secondly and more prudently: keep the porn volume level DOWN. Especially if you're living in an apartment. And especially especially if your thing is rape-fantasy high drama that includes dialogue of women calling for help. Most people would piece together what it was by the combination of the wocka-wocka guitar soundtrack in the background, but you never know when you'll get the attention of your average chivalrous swordsman. Or if your tastes are even more extreme, between the burnt-leather smell and the bleating sheep, you could draw the ire of PETA and find your apartment invaded by a bunch of naked chicks behind a banner (which would be a sad, ironic, total waste of nudity on a sheep-fucker). Why take the chance? Headphones are optimal, but I know, kind of a mojo killer. Sound down, people. It's safer for everyone. Especially in the public library.
Lastly now, this guy who was nearly hacked to death can now never, ever bring anyone home to his apartment for the purposes of rape. Never. Talk about living under a microscope. Captain Swashbuckle and his Epée of Death looks like a first-rate asshat and will be just waiting for an actual damsel in distress to rescue and thus save face. It's not that I condone rape or any kind of sexual malfeasance that involves the harm or coersion of another human being but man, to not even have the option...
He lives in Wisconsin though, so I guess lawbreaking isn't really on the table anyway. Remember this is the place where police arrest themselves. Can't get away with nothin' there, I tell you.
This post on the Narcissus Scale: 6.0