(9:01 PM May 10th, 2024)
Decks Dark by Radiohead plays.
I’m going to write dueling scenes.
You tell me what’s superior. Because Americans have a huge superiority complex about their sexuality. Or they can’t stand reality. Or both.
So…
American’s version of sex will be called Kennedy Sex
Great Britain’s version of sex will be called MY SEX
Why my sex? Because unfortunately I’m very similar to Lane Pryce. And he’s the epitome of British male sexuality in many regards.
It’s 1963. Lane Pryce is in New York.
JFK is shot.
Lacey feels like it’s the end of the world. She sees Lane Pryce walk by just slightly cheerfully, with his British accent and realizes he’s not as shattered by it as the Americans are. So Lacey watches him and he feels it.
She sees him go into his office.
She stands there stupidly (according to her it’s stupidly. And maybe that’s the way to describe it.)
She turns and walks back to the coffee break room. Begins to pour herself a cup of coffee. To her absolute shock Lane…walks in. She hears his breathing.
She turns and looks at him, with a feminine pleading, confused look. Where am I? What the fuck do you want from us you imbeciles? I’m with Jack. Lacey’s not. Not in this cold, very plausible scenario.
He smiles at her very suggestively and laughs. She’s shocked. She blinks profusely. And stunned, attends to her coffee.
“You should come to my office.” he says.
She stops stirring her coffee. Thinks.
And then she turns and hides herself in his chest. He wraps his arms very tentatively and loosely around her.
“Oh! What’s bothering you?” he says.
She pauses to think.
And at that he grabs her butt with one hand.
Her reaction is to just draw closer to him.
“What’s bothering you?” he says, moving his hands to her waist and back.
She shakes her head no. She can’t speak.
I’m what’s bothering her.
I’M WHAT’S BOTHERING HER.
But she doesn’t think I care…at all. Not really. Matter-of-fact it’s so unspeakably painful she can’t even contemplate it all. But she keeps it all stored away in her subconscious and with God…perfectly.
“No?” he says.
She pauses.
And at that he begins furiously making love to her. Kissing her and then moving her about. And she lets him.
Daydreaming by Radiohead plays.
She lets him…to a point.
Why do they stop? Because they’re both afraid she could get pregnant.
Peggy walks by. Sees them. It’s one of the most eerie and yet beautiful scenes in Mad Men. Why beautiful? Because Lacey’s not her daughter or son, symbolically. And…she’s in awe. Why? Because…she’d seen Don make love. And…it’s not like this. Lacey is transfixed. She’s utterly lost to him. There’s no…pushing and pulling on her part. Like you see in the American films and television shows where they portray people losing themselves to each other. She’s actually lost. And I suppose…in a way he’s lost too.
Peggy stands and watches. Silently.
Then she sees her hesitate. “Let’s make this official.” he says.
“To who?” Lacey says. “Or is it to whom?”
He laughs.
“Ourselves.” he says.
“No.” she says.
And at that he shuts the door and says loudly, “That’s it! I’ve got to have you!” loudly enough to hear him but not loudly enough to make it known everywhere.
Did he notice Peggy standing there? Possibly.
And as the music we’re listening to makes repeated allusions to an old man saying, “Happy birthday.” Or “Are you perfect.” Or something vile…she makes an orgasmic sound. No. She’s not Jack Kennedy. She’s never been Jack Kennedy. And I mean that literally. I mean that seriously. I mean that. Don’t twist it to mean that opposite. I mean….SHE IS NOT JACK KENNEDY. SHE IS NOT AT ALL JOHN F. KENNEDY. She is not Jack Kennedy reincarnated. She is not Jack Kennedy reincarnated at all. And so when she orgasms…it bothers me. Because it’s not me in the coffee room with her.
And when his face brightens to the height of most men’s male ecstasy…as he gives her an orgasm it kills me inside. But I can’t even see it. I can only feel it.
Peggy can’t move.
Peggy is…FASCINATED.
She only can slowly back away.
Analyzing the whole time why she got so lost in their moment.
Does Lacey get pregnant? Yes. Is that Jack Kennedy reincarnated? No. OF FUCKING COURSE not. No. No…that’s not Jack. You all have an obligation in your heads to keep making me gay and making him reappear. It’s sick. And no…I didn’t actually let them have sex. I just wrote it. But…it’s real. And no…he’s not Jack reincarnated. He’s not Jack at all. Neither am I. …Are you? You know…their sex is in the mind of God.
They…get married. Have a good life. Have three kids. Never discuss what happened.
And he holds on to her. And never let’s her go. And she falls madly in love with him.
That’s not a Millennial love story. But that sort of thing happened in my generation often. Can you imagine how that would make me feel?
I can’t let them be together. They wouldn’t let themselves be together either. Not unless they thought it was best, as in God’s actual best.
Was that written into Mad Men? No!!
No…Lane Pryce committed suicide. And Lacey was in London. And he- He’s not literally me nor the actor.
Would he have killed himself with her there? NO!
What do you like better? Him as a member of the Black Panthers or this?
Or did you find it cathartic or meaningful to see him die? I guarantee you…you’d be shocked to see him kill himself in Mad Men if you’d seen them together.
That’s MY SEX.
What’s Kennedy Sex?
I refuse to discuss what happened with me. I was raped. In a way I was molested. Let’s leave it at that.
No…let’s discuss Jackie and Jack.
Jack fights with Jackie. She starts trying to be cute and sexy and impressive and so she speaks to him in French. He has no idea what’s being said. And neither do I.
I sit there and watch smiling like a fool, trying to make them both stop yelling by being the force of peace. They’re both secretly annoyed by me, but I feel I’m being helpful.
Jack starts really yelling. Jackie looks shocked. Jack stops and starts laughing.
I get scared.
I run out of the room and race to find men to help us.
Meanwhile Jack takes a chair, picks it up, lifts it into the air and starts threatening Jackie with it. She confesses to him that she “May have purchased $50,000 worth of clothes.” and that she was high the night before when the assistant secretary made a pass at her. She laughs and smiles and shrugs. She’s high right then too. Hallucinating, actually. I stayed sober for their protection, for years while they slovenly got high like idiots, regularly. Including Jackie Kennedy in all her pretentious glamour. She was…a faux old money hick compared to Lacey. And possibly by choice to some degree. …They forced their prestige. Real prestige is earned and bestowed, but earned well and wisely not through obsessive middle class behavior. Jackie, just like Jack was an obsessive middle class fool. She was. She’ll just have to deal with that.
Look…the Beales were impressive. Somewhat. Gore Vidal is a decent writer. But…they aren’t…as old money as some people. Like Lacey. Or me. Or Louis. Or Harold. Or really even Scott and Zelda.
Tinker Tailor Soldier Sailor Sailor Rich Man Poor Man Beggar Man Thief by Radiohead plays.
Jackie and Jack suddenly and randomly start slow dancing. Why? Because he sees me with the men watching them. And he’s worried and scared and humiliated and he thinks I might steal Jackie from him…and so he decides to be evil and go for as much blood shed and horror for us all as possible. So he coldly, like a psychopath starts slow dancing with Jackie. She’s high and he’s mildly high. Realizing how awkward he’s being he starts randomly laughing to gain power over all of us. I’m not taken in but being molested and confused by the I let myself let him manipulate me. I can’t let him affect me that much in bed nor do I let him affect me leading up to it. But…otherwise…he could make me laugh against my will and I looked like an idiot often. I let everyone affect me that way. I thought, after I was molested, that it was part of being open to people in life.
True Love Waits by Radiohead plays.
And at that moment Lacey sees Lem shut the door in 1963. Throws her back against a sofa. She feels him all over her. And he MOVES HER. He MOVES HER. Just like how I let Hell sexually conquer my brain and soul. Except I let it conquer me for stupid reasons and only on certain occasions. And I had no idea it was Hell. I felt it was part of really living. I had good intentions. I wanted to let people affect me. Be…alive and…worldly…and…good. Did I realize it was potentially, if not almost always, somewhat sexual? No. Because…I was molested. I thought…I was being loving and my new weird mannerisms were part of realizing I was gay.
But Lacey doesn’t trust me. And the Kennedys are largely to blame. So she…well…
And as my spirit senses that and I stand up and walk away, taking the Secret with me…Jackie stupidly takes off her dress slowly laughing and Jack is confused and enraged. Because how dare she!?! How dare she expect him to make love to her!?
But being high and vain she doesn’t notice. And so she drools and her hair goes out of place. And then in her sexual inexperience and sad vulnerability she closes her eyes and tilts back her head as Jack penetrates her. It’s not good. But…she doesn’t know that. And her preconceived ideas of what sex is cloud her opinion on it. So she believes it’s AMAZING.
He tries to be sexy. Why? Because…she cares. It’s SO OBVIOUS. And…he did…appreciate the applause. And…they were genuinely married. And…they were actually repulsive in that way. Because they were such fools but…they followed those rules. And so…God blessed them that way. Or should I say…they stole God? They used Catholicism? What?
Anyway…they have sex. Jack does have vaginal intercourse with her. And I think…he orgasms. Maybe not that much. But…he has an orgasm, I bet. And…she does not. She certainly does not. She’s nowhere near it. And he thinks that’s fine.
After he comes he smiles at her. And she’s taken. She’s amazed by him. She gives herself to him as much as she can with that smile. He had sex with her staring-up, against a table. It feels very athletic and chic to him.
He goes and sits down on a sofa. Smokes. She “cleans up.”
They fall for their own act. They aren’t acting though at the same time. It looks stupid. And they are.
They feel cheerful and married and normal and…chic…
“Oh!! Darling!!” says Jackie to a man coming in to give Jack drugs. To get him hyper. To give him anal sex.
Jackie knows what’s happening. She watches. High again.
She claws at them, too high and sad to process it all, as Jack screams in pain. Then he screams in pleasure. And the man is…proud. Happy. Sexually satisfied. He’s not me. Truly. He’s not me. Can you honestly imagine me doing that? No. You wanna know why? I’m straight and always was.
Jackie Kennedy writhes on a chair, watching, vomiting sadness in dry heaves.
Jack grins as he recognizes what’s going on. He loves her misery.
“This is evil!!” screams Jackie, psychologically breaking. Desperately searching for an explanation for her excruciating emotional pain.
If my wife was there she’d have marched in and started shooting people. Literally. Literally gunning people down with a man or gun. Yelling for them to repent before she killed them. I’m not exaggerating. And…THAT…IS…WHAT…WAS…GODLY. That’s LITERALLY what the SECOND AMENDMENT was created for. But you’re all so gullible. And you lack her old money…astoundingly good and rational judgement. …Eric Harris was possibly slightly of that same mindset but…it’s not even possible to compare them.
Really. She’s Tom Banks’s daughter. He’s not Tony Soprano. And you’d be a fool to think she’s not your superior if you’d have just sat there and taken it like Jackie. Go back to the barn, you silly…SAD…peasant. The Founding Fathers were wrong about certain fools. Mark Twain was maybe kind of an asshole? No! That’s not Mark Twain. That’s Will Rogers. You shouldn’t joke about certain things.
This song is Lacey’s toddler years.
Cruel World by Phantogram plays.
She was a toddler. But she could have killed Jack point blank. At age 3. Not everyone came out of Tom Banks’s sperm. Yup. That’s where she came from. Where did you imagine it was? A stork?
Yes. Jackie might have died too.
What? This song scares you? She wrote it at age 3, so to speak.
No. I’m not exaggerating.
And no. She’s never killed anyone unless there a real Illuminati.
Her parents who raised her? She smeared Desitin everywhere. Literally. In her hair, on her clothes, on her skin, on the carpet, on the bedding, on the walls, on the closet doors…just as she was supposed to go to the airport to pick up her mother who raised her.
“We’re going to the airport to go get your mother.” said her father who raised her when she was three. And at that she smeared Desitin everywhere.
Which mother did she wear Desitin perfume for? When Tom heard that story he rolled his eyes and felt bad…as he instantly recognized that as his daughter. But then he put it in context and it horrified him.
Her parents who raised her were…always amused by that story. Because they had a…cultivated sense of humor due to being old money. I wonder how they’ll perceive it when they die.
Jack…stumbled backwards, almost fainting. His heart was aging.
Secret Service agents rushed in. Giving him medical attention.
“Thank you!!” said Jackie, in a fake voice.
And at that he’s given a sort of Narcan, we’ll say. And he sits down and tells Jackie to go get me.
“Lem! At this hour?” she says.
And he passes out at that. He’s too angry at the resistance. And his body can’t take it.
He sleeps there.
Jackie thinks it’s cute. She turns off the lights. Covers him in a blanket.
She cries slightly. But she took a sedative. And she’s mostly after his money. And…she’s still his wife. She gets all the glory. So she leaves him in there. Walks out of the room and struts down the hallway like she’s THE QUEEN. She has no idea what a compete buffoon she looks like to Lacey. And many other real aristocrats. And I’m partially to blame for that. But…she’s also a vain, backward buffoon. And that’s between her and God.
That’s Kennedy Sex
Fire for You by Cannons plays as that’s my sexuality too. Which do you prefer? What’s coolest to you?
“That’s narcissistic!” says an American reader. “You’re liars! We kick ass!”
“Yup. Gotta side with America.” says a weirdo in Canada.
No. That’s almost verbatim reality.
“HUH!??” says America.
“That’s not my family!” says Jenna Bush.
“I certainly hope not. I really do.” says Lacey, very sincerely.
“No! We weren’t like that either!” says Woodrow Wilson. “We had problems. But…I wasn’t that bad.”
“Hold on. Her father did Whitewater? And she accidentally found the Illuminati if it exists. And you’re all mad.” says a reader. “Yup!! You’re all not seeing how that makes sense? Because it does. For real. Think!”
“What are they doing?” asks the CIA.
“Read Edith Wharton. They’re Dutch Old Money. They act like cops. And they like investigating and informing them
Keen to Cross the Pond 