“I’m Him” by Lem

Lacey’s worried. There’s too much drama surrounding me. …And so…being herself…she’s moving on. YES! …I was straight. And yes, she knows that’s very likely if not the absolute truth. She’s analyzed it with excruciating precision for years. DAILY. Because that’s how she analyzes ANYTHING she feels the need to REALLY KNOW. …But there’s too much to worry about. And she has kids. So…she’s going with an idea she had over a year ago to create my duplicate with God. Yes, my clone. My clone…is me…as I was presenting myself and given what she knew about me over a year ago. …My own father has said that if I was rotten enough…he’s happy to welcome a better version of me into existence. …Because he loves Lacey…and…he knows…I’m special. …So he’s more than happy to let my clown exist, SHOULD IT BE NECESSARY. …If I am innocent…and I just made stupid mistakes…my clone isn’t necessary. …I just can’t explain myself to Lacey as well as anyone alive so I’ll have to let her have this. I’m him. He doesn’t need to exist. But she can’t easily figure that out…and I need her to feel safe. No…he’s not the sanctified version of me. He’s me…as she knew I existed and as I presented myself to exist about a year ago. …And God is doing this…not science, not Satan. God is so exasperated by this situation He’s willing to clone me if necessary, which is unusual. The thing is…I’m not cloned. It’s totally unnecessary. She just doesn’t know that. But God is willing to…if I was ever the scoundrel monster the living Kennedys insist I was, specifically Bobby.

(Adult content below)

He claims, if there’s an Illuminati, that I was advertising sex with him that I LONGED desperately to have. That’s not true. I didn’t want sex with him at all. …I was doing a gay pose…and it was because of Jack but it wasn’t supposed to be about Bobby…at all. I think my photographer violated my trust slightly and put him too much in the photo. Because I don’t actually want that in this photo. I don’t want him…being…bragged about, so to speak. That’s not the idea. The idea was to brag about Jack. I was supposed to be bragging about being his mistress, essentially. And his…long-term lover. …Except…I was straight. He was closeted. I was closeted. …Meaning I was straight…but I thought I was gay and I was closeted about it… And I was bragging about sex that really never happened. He raped me…and we mostly only ever had what he wanted to be oral sex anyway…that I always gave him. He did force me to give him anal sex once in Germany and he raped me while I was asleep and gave me anal sex once in the late 1930’s after a night of heavy drinking at his house in Florida. He also forced me to give him anal sex once in the 1950’s…after heavy drinking…and again in the White House he tried to force me to give him anal sex. Every time we had anal sex we did so with the idea that I was…difficult and he was being patient. But really…it was just rape. I couldn’t get an erection. And he’d have to force me to and even then it wasn’t a real erection, of course. I was red, ready to cry and slightly erect. And he was violently angry…because he was hurt both narcissistically and otherwise and yet trying to not feel hurt. He’d expect the sex to take off…once we started penetrating each other…and, of course, that wasn’t possible. Because I was straight and not really attracted to him in any real way.

But that’s the thing. …It was never real. …All of my sexual poses over the years, and this was one of many, that I’d do for him…and this was suggested by the photographer because of those poses he’d have me do…sort of in memory of the way he’d have me pose…but those poses were never real. As in, I never suggested them and…even if I had…it was me trying to fit in and seem cool. It was just…a desperate attempt to be accepted. Accepted by Jack Kennedy and his friends. And…to try to make a joke out of my misery. The misery of being gay. Because to me it was a formidable challenge. Because I wasn’t actually gay. …So I tried to make it funny. And…at the same time impress people. I craved acceptance from people who were…rich…and who seemed cool to me at the time. And I got it. Jack loved those photos. He loved taking them and he loved having them. And that was…because they were gratifying to him. Both as a bisexual and as a narcissist who craved real love…but couldn’t figure out how to have it. I was a very loving person…and the fact that I did so much for him made him feel really special and really loved. And I would have done that for anyone who I married. Literally anyone. …But he never processed that. He felt it was because of him. And the living Kennedys still think that way too. Of course.

Why did I do this stupid photo? …Because at the time it was taken I hadn’t fully realized I was heterosexual. …I was on the verge of realizing that…but I hadn’t yet. I was going out at this point to watch straight pornography at 3 AM. …But I hadn’t realized I was straight. This was possibly taken in 1979. Or 78.

I took the photo because I was…counting my rape experiences…as sex. …Why? …Because I counted all of my rape experiences with Jack as sex. I…vividly recalled not wanting it. I vividly recalled not wanting it. …But I thought it still sort of counted. Why?

beanie (piano version) plays.

Because…I had never experienced anything better. And I assumed…that gay sex for me was just bound to be like that. …Bad. Horrific, actually. …But I knew what a sexy pose was by that point. I’d seen gay pornography. And the idea was to offer yourself like a woman. Advertising your dick by spreading your legs like a woman. Advertising your penis but also your asshole to some degree. Mostly your penis. And…I’d seen the pose and understood the idea. Because I…wanted sex. And…I didn’t really want a man to come take me…

I was…faking it. Very well.

Underneath my carefully crafted persona, and perhaps not so far from the surface actually…I didn’t want want it. I wanted sec with a woman. BADLY. …And I…understood the concept of good sex and desire by examining the way I wanted women. I read many magazines, watched a lot of straight porn. And I imagined opening up a woman the way I wanted to be made love to in my imagination, by a man. However…I didn’t really want it. It was…an idea. And it never happened. …Because every time I almost found someone…I automatically found no desire for them within myself. No…love. Just…wasted hours and wasted emotions. And many men were hurt by that. Because I’d go into situations with the hope of being able to enjoy sex with them and find some love, finally. …Yet it never happened. And…what I really wanted was a wife. …I wanted a wife to be my lover. Not keep…trying to be some man’s lover.

I posed this way…because I…was trying to celebrate my life. I was completely MISERABLE. …I’m trying to act giddy and silly and sexy here. But I was extremely unhappy. And I didn’t want to be…a loser…so…thinking I was gay…I was trying to be relevant and cool and seem…triumphant…about my life. …But it was absolute hogwash. …I was…lying. A complete liar…to an extent. …I knew something was wrong. I may have gone into counseling about it. To try to figure out WHY I was always SO down. About EVERYTHING. …Nothing made me happy. ABSOLUTELY NOTHING! …And I couldn’t figure out why. …I knew I missed Jack, of course…and yet I didn’t. To be honest. …But I felt grief. Overwhelming grief. And most counselors and most of my friends assumed it was because of Jack and Bobby too. Bobby Senior. …Nobody realized almost at all that I was straight.

I could bring myself to the point of being quite…intrigued…by men. But…I never really wanted them. So I could do poses and give oral sex and say sexy things…but I didn’t find real sexual pleasure in any of it. I was annoyed by it. …Except you’re not supposed to be annoyed by it. Of course. …And…I knew that. But I kept thinking it was possible I just hadn’t met the right man yet. …Yes, hadn’t met the right man yet. …Just because I’m bragging here doesn’t mean I actually had good sex with Jack Kennedy. Ever. …He raped me. …I didn’t know it at the time but he raped me. I was his sex slave. …And he raped me. …And I bragged about it because I felt somehow I had “done my duty” or something. You know? Secretly wanted it maybe. …Maybe I just had to be pushed into it!?! You know!? …Maybe I was just a prissy jerk. Maybe I was a prissy jerk but I secretly wanted it the whole time…and Jack knew that!!!? …Hey maybe…Jack knew that…except…I still kind of conquered and seduced him!? Right!? Maybe my admirers were right. And I had some. Maybe I was a blooming MALE seductress. …GAY! Wild!! Wow!! So new and different!!! There was a burgeoning Gay Rights Movement that was loud in the late 1970’s. And I had many admirers. Some of them famous. And they…loved the idea that I had been Jack’s lover. …Of course it was hush hush. I wasn’t open about it really, although I did discuss it sort of. Not…openly nor clearly. I would discuss it though enough to make it known that something had happened. And it made sense to me because I thought I was gay…and so of course I had been his lover. OF COURSE. …I bragged about it. Not ever outright saying, ‘I was his gay lover.’ But I did tell people who were curious. And…it always bothered me. Because I knew something was weird about it. I loved how impressed people would act. How riveted and yet shocked they were when I told them. And yet I also felt scared by how weird I felt about it as I said it and afterwards. …I never wanted to commit to being gay, which is part of the reason I didn’t like to discuss it. Something about being ambiguous and unclear was comforting to me. Because labeling it as gay…felt…scary. As it should have. Because I wasn’t actually gay. I was entirely straight. And I was uncomfortable labeling myself gay definitively for a very good reason. It felt like a death sentence to my soul…to openly discuss it…because it felt…safer to have privacy and be confused. Be…complicated. People knowing for sure because I said so…was…terrifying. I didn’t want anyone to have that much control over me. I went along with being a slave to Jack Kennedy and yet I didn’t feel safe going that far, letting people control me that much. So I tried to keep some privacy.

I have already told you what happened. How I went to a dirty movie in 1980 and realized I was straight. I’ll restate that now though, because you need to hear it again. …I realized I was straight in 1980…at 3 AM in a pornographic theater here:

Not necessarily at this exact location. But in this neighborhood. At 3 AM. …It was an artsy foreign film…and I…had no idea…what a clown I had been. My whole damn life! …I mean…I couldn’t enjoy gay sex…even if I posed as though I wanted it…(you can tell I’m not really sincere in all of my photos for some reason but you have to be extremely perceptive) and…it was because I was straight. Not difficult. …And you know…I’d have NEVER raped a woman. …And yet…I might have forced my wife to have sex with me on occasion… Forced though. Not raped. And yes, there’s a huge difference. …Lacey knows what I mean. Maybe not everyone does. …I might have forced her to be with me…but…that’s different. …And I knew that…and yet I didn’t. I projected my innocence on to JFK. And I gave him…motivations that were very far removed from my own, had Lacey been there.

“Her personality is different from yours!!” yells a living gay man.

That’s true. …But I didn’t realize what that meant. And I knew…she was genuinely feminine and- I didn’t know, when I first met her, regardless of reincarnation…what she was capable of. …And I’m not like that at all. That’s true. …I don’t…change my mind the way she does. That’s not my personality. When she says no she means it though. …Anyway…I’m not so…in need of…a male leader, i.e. a husband. I don’t need one at all. …She’s incredibly intelligent and well-bred. She has exquisite tastes. Better than my own! And she’s fiercely independent. She just needs…me. Or someone a lot like me.

Anyway…I didn’t understand how dumb I was until that morning. When I sat there…staring at the screen…at straight sex. But it was so passionate! …And I hadn’t seen something that emotional sexually before. Not in heterosexual pornography. And I watched in awe. Because the woman was so…overtaken. And the man was so…emotional. The way they flailed around. Lost. Totally possessed by each other. Lacking any concern for their…sense of…decorum, we’ll call it. That’s not the right word…but…it might work. …Because in a lot of heterosexual pornography the male is heartless. Horny and heartless. And the woman is…empty. Just a shell. And they go about their thing…but it’s…cold. Even if they’re extremely attracted to each other. But in this one…they were in love. And they both knew that. And felt…so free. And I felt…drawn in. And it baffled me. …And I turned to one of the only other people there, a man in his 40’s probably, white, and I asked him, “What is this!? Is this gay!?” and he was so confused. He was…very confused. …And he said, “YEAH!” like I was an idiot. “This is heterosexual!” And I believed him. He knew. …And I just couldn’t believe it! …Except I did of course. I knew it was straight. But…I’d never seen something I liked that much before. And it dawned on me…that that was what I had been looking for my whole life. …See…I had thought that only homosexuals were that emotional during sex. Sincerely! …I had a strong impression that only gay men were that emotionally expressive during sex. Jack was far more emotional with me…than with women he usually slept with, aside from Jackie and a few others. But…even then he was cold compared to me, even with me. And I was…cold too. But I thought we were fine…partially because I had no idea how emotional sex could be. I’m not joking! …And we weren’t passionate. I was straight. But Jack was emotional. Cold and distant…but…fond of me…and…quiet and appreciative and…as tenderhearted as he was capable of being. And I knew that. I knew he was more tenderhearted with me than with most of his conquests. And…it actually meant very little to me. …I was straight. …But I knew he was different with me…and I had assumed that that was…him being…gay. And I just…wasn’t his only option. And we were friends too. Maybe he loved me? And…I must have loved him!?! RIGHT?! …We had fun just hanging out as friends, or so I thought. And…hey…it was just the nature of sex to not enjoy it, for some people. And I felt…very emotional about it all. I wanted a relationship! Only because I wanted a relationship in general. And I thought I was gay. …And I thought we were basically married. To each other. And I was such an emotional person in general. …During sex I wasn’t. But…I was emotional in general…so…whatever. Right!? …And yeah…he was very unfulfilling…so I dated other men. And that didn’t work either. So…I wondered if I was just in love with Jack. He was the one who was actually possessive of me. In reality. …And so was his family. And…so I confused that and the way I got a rush from his approval after he’d narcissistically abused me and then got his way…as love. I confused my feelings of pleasure at their company and his wealthy tastes…as love. I enjoyed having money. I loved seeing important people. And they were somewhat stable people. So…I could relax and enjoy myself. Use my intelligence at times. And…I thought that was more than good enough. Certainly not great. But…better than nothing. Average. And I had low expectations, even if I was a romantic. I thought he was probably my husband…I guess. Or as good as I’d get. …And it was probably love. I guess? You know?

But when I saw that film…I knew I’d really lost my mind. …Because how THE HELL had I never realized I was straight!? And yet I hadn’t!!! …Why couldn’t men be emotional during straight sex!?! WHAT THE HELL!?? …Was I dumb!? …Was I dumb!? …And the woman wasn’t grossed out by it. She…was very beautiful too. A blond 1980’s model type. Probably Scandinavian. Swedish maybe? Danish? …And…I felt compelled to let myself believe that I might just be straight. …And of course…I realized watching Bobby and his siblings and friends…that I had been molested. …Before that I thought I was really adultlike at 13. You know? Exceptionally mature and tall. …But watching him as a teenager I realized that he was really just a kid. No, I didn’t find him attractive. NO! I did however realize he was a child. And I was…scared. Because I began to realize that I had been one too. …Even with my height. And yet…it wasn’t until that morning that I realized I was entirely heterosexual. …The porn stars were faking it. I was fascinated by them for more than just the sexual aspect. I was analyzing myself. A lot of them were just aroused on cue. And I was never that aroused. But I understand that morning that some were faking it more than others. And that some writers were better than others. Because these stars…were…pretty sincere. They weren’t faking it. I mean this was late 70’s pornography though. They were earthy people. Hippies sort of. So…they were making love on camera. Not just acting. And…it was eye opening. And I knew I’d just been…made to feel something when I was molested. Not that I was gay. And I knew I’d never felt for a man what I’d felt for a woman. There had never been any desire for men. But I’d ignored that and assumed it was just typical of homosexuality.

No…I didn’t think men had no desire for men ever…but I thought it was likely a part of homosexuality to not have as much desire as straight men do for women. So…I didn’t think it was that weird. And…I later just assumed there was something wrong with me…but ignored it. Maybe I was just difficult. And honestly I thought men faked being aroused by other men. To some degree. I imagined they felt desire to have sex…and let other men touch them even…but not…the way they desired women. So I thought a lot of the gay porn was just nonsense. Men over-sexualizing gay sex. Making it more sexual then it was. And I just didn’t think it was possible to get that aroused by men. …And yet…I also didn’t. Because I saw gay men having very aroused sex. And I wondered if…I just wasn’t trying enough? You know? …And that’s where a lot of my latter attitudes came from, including this photo. I wasn’t hot for a man…and if you look close enough you can read that. I was…imagining being that hot. Based on images I’d seen…my analysis and empathy…and imagination…and I was imagining being aroused by a woman as I posed. So I sort of took my straight arousal and made it gay. Not to harm anyone or reject any women…but rather to try to seem aroused by men. Even though I wasn’t. I couldn’t want sex with men. But I knew that pose meant that. So…I imagined sex with women…and then requested it with men. Again, not to reject women but rather to try to be…gay.

“But then how are you gay?” asks a gay man.

Because I was physically aroused by the touch of a man. At 13. And I assumed that that meant I was gay. …It felt sexual to my body when he touched me. Even though I didn’t enjoy it and it scared me. I didn’t want it. But my body couldn’t tell the difference between his touch and a woman’s. Our brains aren’t that sophisticated, unfortunately. So my brain didn’t know he was molesting me fast enough…and I felt some physical sexual arousal from his touch. It was…extremely confusing. It was…horrific. Because I was separated from my own body in that moment. And the pleasure I felt involuntarily was also…not pleasurable. It was like my body was turning against me. And I had no idea it could do that in that way. So…I assumed I must be gay! Maybe he’d just raped me? Not molested me. …And it was only much later that I realized how genuinely unwanted it was.

So…that’s why I didn’t react to Jack’s abuse. …He prepared me to be abused. …I already was confused about the boundaries of sex based on being molested. And the role of desire. Because obviously I never desired the priest who molested me. So I was somewhat under the impression that a person could feel that they didn’t want someone…and be wrong. Maybe not really. But…somewhat. …I never thought abusing kids was okay. But…a mature 15 year old? Maybe? Maybe not. I wasn’t sure…but I wasn’t a pedophile. I just wasn’t sure what age should count as an adult. 13!? No! Probably not ever. And yet…I worried I was too mature for it to not mean I was gay. I wasn’t. But…it took years for me to have enough perspective to realize that. I was a mature kid. …And…I didn’t care that Jack never gave me much in return, if anything. …Because…I didn’t want it. And…I just…didn’t want it. When he tried to give me pleasure…I found it icky…every time…and so…he…was persistent in trying…but…not that persistent. I couldn’t figure out what the point was. I couldn’t marry a woman. And…I just didn’t like gay sex. He never once made me ejaculate. One or two of my boyfriends did…but they let me look at girly pictures and think of them. Jack didn’t like that. Believe it or not. Not while he was trying to give me himself as a bisexual man. …I tried it with him…and he just got furious. No. I never…really enjoyed it…but it didn’t bother me until years later that much. It was only in the 1960’s and after that I started to really wonder why I didn’t like men the way some gay men did, (who were actual gay men). I’d wondered before…but not that much.

“Lem…we’ve been incredibly immature in how we’ve handled this.” says a living gay man.

I refuse to acknowledge that. …I’m sorry. …Your mistake has gone beyond mere immaturity. …You’ve tortured us. …You’ve tortured my whole family. FOR YEARS.

And yes…I’m well aware that it’s difficult to understand. I seemed gay to a lot of people. …I still do! It’s all over the internet. Tons of stories that seem real. And based on solid evidence. But…it’s not real evidence that they’re using. It’s…perception pieces. Second-hand accounts. People’s impressions of things. My words…interpreted. And Jack’s words…not really analyzed AT ALL. …Look…you have to put things in context…and examine all the angles. Honestly examine all of the angles. You can’t…get some romantic idea of reality in your head and then go looking for evidence to back that up blindly. And that’s all that people have done.

I’m OBVIOUSLY not in the right mindset at Jack’s wedding if I’m at all attracted to men. Not at all! …And it doesn’t matter if I was drunk, dating someone else, or best friends with Jackie. …None of these things matter in this case because I would have felt pain. Even if he was an ex. Nobody can put their brain aside in that situation. We all have memories. And if I’d ever been attracted to him at all…and if I was at all gay I would have been…because that was the nature of our interactions…I would have been sad. Sad in a particular way. And I just wasn’t sad in that way. I wasn’t heartbroken by him at all. I felt no jealousy. Not really. …People might have imagined it…but it was not real romantic jealousy.

And…I do look straight. I don’t know how to explain that without upsetting people.

And…it’s extremely unlikely that the Gay Rights Movement hasn’t damaged itself profoundly by taking sides with the Kennedys against history. …Because they have. They’ve massacred Kennedy history. …And instead of insisting I was gay…they needed to be mature adult men…and realize that promiscuous sex isn’t actually fulfilling…and monogamy isn’t archaic. And people need stable, loving, healthy relationships. They can’t survive off narcissistic nothing. …And if they’d realized that perhaps they may have fathomed that I COULD NOT have possibly been in love with Jack…or something very WEIRD happened. Some psychological freak show. …But it was not something to roam around with confidently…thinking it was just a feather in their cap. …It was suicide! …And if they aren’t batshit crazy mutant creatures…perhaps they needed to…be less arrogant. Be less self-assured. In their reaction to Lacey certainly, but also in their reaction to history in general. …They’re not demigods. …Masterminds of all.

And…yet…Lacey feels unsafe. And so I’m going to morph into “my clone”. I have a full explanation for everything that seems like evidence that I was gay. And frankly…if I’m not in Hell…I still get to choose. And she’s who I choose. …I’m madly in love with her. And there’s nothing and nobody who can stop me, because God honors it. And so unless I’m lying…and I’m covering up for something HEINOUS (I’m not)…she’s mine for eternity. I have to have her. She’s not Jack. And I love it. She’s me. But not me as a narcissistic statement but…me. I’ve never met anyone I love more. It’s impossible.

But…I’ll now morph into him. My clone. Why? Because that’s what she needs. …And again it’s not anyone but me. Okay?

…

I was straight.

“Lem why were you so pedantic!?” says a gay man.

Why aren’t you more PEDANTIC!??

“You weren’t straight!” he says.

OH YES I WAS!

…I wasn’t PEDANTIC!!!

You’re the one who’s nitpicking!

Why can’t you understand!?? WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU!?

“Why did you playcate Bobby?” he says.

I had no choice. Ethel basically told me what to do. And my choices were to appease her or be harassed. She’s the reason I bothered him so much at school. She thought she was helping him by sending me there. And I was sad! Okay!? I had no children of my own and no life. …And I wanted to feel like I had something to do. Someone to care about. So it was a mixture of both. …But I also was forming an alibi if I had to kill him.

“You wanted to kill him?” says a gay man.

YES! …I cared about him, but I also decided over time that he was a sociopath. I had reasons. But I was not a homosexual. I’m sorry to break your fragile heart!! GOOD GRIEF!! It’s like the entire gay community is sexually obsessed with me.

“You look gay.” he says.

Yeah, not really though. …Some of my features do read as gay. Sure. …But they also don’t. …And I’m sorry but I was straight.

“Lem is this really you?” asks a gay man.

YES!

Later.

I really was just imitating gay men. I’m sorry.