Recently I had a dream. Call it a nightmare, if you’re not a Swayze fan. I was at dance camp learning ballroom, when Patrick Swayze violated my personal space. He cut in front of me at the buffet bar, drugged the beet salad and by the time I swallowed my second bite I was awake but unable to move. As if I was sleeping, only I was sleeping and awake and…well dreams are confusing.
But there’s one thing I definitely remember. I awoke with Patrick Swayze on top of me. Though much shorter, he was very strong from years of high kicks and before I could reach for my rape whistle (the dream was set in 1988) he was inside of me, going in and out and in and when I cried for help Bill Cosby appeared in grey running trousers, or ‘sweats’ as they were called in the 80s, and informed me he was next.
I wasn’t sure what Cosby meant. Next to be in me, next to be raped by Patrick Swayze? Next in line for yet another award that this other dream rapist might acquire? I wondered, whilst being penetrated severely by a man with a mullet and questionable film credits, when the world would come to its collective sense and put these monsters behind bars. #everydayrapism
I know what you’re wondering. If it’s a dream then why worry? Dreamrape however is an agonizing reality. Just because something didn’t happen doesn’t mean it’s not painful. Any Freudian analyst (of whom I’ve seen many) will tell you our dreams are an extension, albeit an explanation, of actual occurrences. In our sleep we work through trauma, and in many instances dreams are more real than the living nightmare of abuse. In other words, I’m still living with this dreamrape while Swayze the perpetrator has been allowed to move on. Is he dreaming of me? I don’t think so. At least I hope not. But his grip, his breath on my neck, his powerful thrust won’t leave my consciousness.
Naturally the fear is Swayze will return. At any moment he might appear from behind a cupboard or crawl out from under my bed. Swayze continues to rape me from the grave!
Dreamrape apologists want to argue each and every point of my distressing experience, forgetting somehow that I’m the victim. Please don’t discuss my body, my pain, as if anyone can understand my horrid journey. This is not a freedom of speech issue. I’m not censoring, only pleading with deniers to remember a differing opinion is like repeating the crime. What about my freedom not to be raped all over again by their disbelief? #everynightrapism
Whilst plotting a way to destroy Swayze’s tombstone, I found myself at the sink, mixing Kool Aid and wondering what I can do to stop this maniac. Other victims have contacted me through my survivor blog I’m Not Just Living, I’m THRIVING, (formerly Sure I’m Thriving But I’m Also Dying) and they’ve assured me the details in my dreams are not only believable, but similar to dreams they’ve had, and friends of theirs have suffered, especially in the re-telling. But what can I do?
After all, I’m just a simple layman, a Kevin Bacon lookalike with years of core ballet training while Swayze has an extensive film and TV library to boast of, not to mention an array of expensive sweaters. Or is that Cosby? No matter, they’ve both helped millions of people by bringing cinematic joy to their lives. Why would anyone listen to me, a former model without semen samples from any of the Hollywood stars who’ve in my mind taken me by force?
Oh there have been images of others in my sleep. Usher, several of the Osmonds, and half the cast of Dawson’s Creek have farmed my field with their splintered hoes. I’ve been almost literally left by the roadside by more married men than I can shake a handful of gravel at, but without public outrage, or even real gravel, I had no voice and nowhere to turn, except over, in bed.
“There are some topics which just aren’t suitable for comedy. Luckily for us Scott hasn’t worked out which ones they are yet. He’s filthy, camp and utterly fearless. There’s also a huge amount of heart and intelligence at work… if you really listen carefully to what he’s actually saying.”
Time Out London, June 2009
Scott has written for several newspapers, including The Guardian, The London Times and the Scotsman; and for various magazines, like The Index on Censorship, which isn’t half as stuffy as it sounds. Kidding. It actually is. He also had a monthly column in Gay Times, a British glossy that hired him because he’s – you guessed it – ghettoised. If you want to know more about him, check out his website or keep an eye out on LGBTicons for our profile piece on him next week.