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.
