The Last Taboo

A World War two evacuee recently spoke on the radio of the miserable two years he spent separated from his parents and sent, for his own safety, away from London where he and others were routinely groped and otherwise abused by a succession of foster parents and officials. In my own young life, although spared the fumbling, I encountered, second-hand, the phenomenon of the kiddy-fiddler  in the form of a school teacher and an assistant scout leader. And also an uncle who the family referred to as ‘you know, a bit that way inclined’.

The strange and unwanted attentions of weird ‘uncles’ seems to be a constant throughout history but only very recently has the use of the term paedophile become widespread and the problem been passed on to, you guessed it, der gubmint. Not so long ago the meddling fingers of the monster in your midst would have been discreetly ‘sorted out’ by a community lynch mob and sent packing with a few broken bones and a deep shame. I don’t expect or want you to feel sorry for them, but many such broken humans committed suicide, or else committed themselves to a life devoid of human contact lest they be tempted.

Following the commentary during a break in the Olympic tennis the BBC apologised cringingly for the ‘casual homophobia’ committed by the commentator during what came to be dubbed ‘kisscamgate’. When he suggested that it might be unfortunate should the camera linger specifically on a male couple he voiced what many would probably have thought. And although you are not allowed to have such feelings, millions of viewers may have been disquieted at the sight of two real men kissing; real, as opposed to the nightly parade of obligatory same sex public displays shoehorned into every episode of every soap opera, in order to reflect the approved version of reality foisted upon us by the mainstream media.

Fifty years ago, however, that behaviour could land you in jail; it would certainly have had you targeted and hounded out of town, if not lynched on the spot. Today, whether you actually feel it or not, you must overtly embrace the gay and repeat after the nice lady at the diversity class that there is nothing unusual or abnormal about a man sticking his cock up another man’s arse. It’s as natural as breastfeeding, apparently. And if some of the lovely gays are so excited they want to parade their man-love in pubic and in uniform well, who are we to tell them to stop?

So, here’s the thing; homosexuality, sado-masochism, shoe fetishes, auto-erotic asphyxiation, latex, leather, bondage and any of the hundreds of furtive private peccadilloes are all, to some degree or another accepted, tolerated, ignored or excused under the general heading of sexual preferences. Even paedophilia has had its attempt at reform under the aegis of PIE, painting sexual attraction towards the pre-pubescent as just another different-but-normal human urge. No doubt bestiality and necrophilia also have their champions.

What?

But there remains the orientation that dare not speak its name. Once referred to as ‘normal’, the tide has turned against those who dare utter their preferences out loud and woe betide the public figure who speaks out  against practices once considered perverse and unholy. What was formerly thought repulsive must now be defended, its practitioners’ rights upheld and the details promulgated to all. But if you are heterosexual, married and discreet about your love-play you should hang your head in shame.