A word from Blackie44 - No more sick secrets

A word from Blackie44 - No more sick secrets

Editor's note: Due to circumstances beyond my control, this piece is appearing under my byline. However, the piece was written by our own Blackie44, based on his experiences. Welcome him to our stable of writers.


Listen, do you want to know a secret?
Do you promise not to tell?

Andrea heard the floor boards give off their familiar creaks in the hallway. She sighed, grabbed her covers, and rolled up in a ball with her back to the door—a defensive move that rarely worked.  She perceived a strong whiff of her dad's outdated Aqua Velva aftershave—the sick prick would splash some on before each evil session—followed by the distinct odor of cheap whiskey.  Surprisingly, her door remained closed.  She felt a wave of relief until the floor squeaks continued on down the hallway. She vaulted up, peeked out the doorway, and saw her father furtively moving toward her sister Lisa's door, drink in hand.

She felt panic and zoomed out.

“Stop!” she ordered in a harsh whisper.  He froze, turned toward her, and grinned.  She motioned for him to come to her room.

He stared at her, stirred the ice cubes around, took a drink, and slowly walked toward her.

Then Andrea did a brave thing, saying words that emerged from her soul as she closed her door:

“You can have me but not them. If you bother them, I will tell.  I will tell everyone no matter what happens to me. You can have me and me alone in this house.”

The seventeen-year old got on her knees and took his penis in her mouth.

Nobody in her circle would ever think of Andrea as a hero.  No medals or ornately framed awards would ever be presented to her, in this life, that is. Her hidden, courageous acts would never be known, revealed or even surmised.  That is how the sick game is played. It all has to remain a secret so the evil can survive and thrive.  


We hold the deep, dark secrets inside of us
Like they're precious treasures or glittering gemstones
Locked away with rusty, ancient, clanging keys
Behind squeaky, cobwebbed, heavy, windowless doors

There they sit in the darkest corner of a pitch-black room
Quietly emitting their toxic, invisible clouds of vapors
Nighttime shivers, fretful incessant fears echo around
Wonders of what will happen if someone flips on the light


I am responding to the call I have been hearing about how men should get involved in the MeToo movement.  I believe I have something to offer which I hope isn't what the cognitive therapists call a thinking error.  How come I keep hearing the phrase:  fools rush in where angels fear to tread?

I was a typical low-consciousness misogynist in my early days but I have been symptom free for four decades. My transformation began when my wife and I took a job operating a runaway shelter in a Western Washington college town close to the Canadian border.  

There we housed up to six teenagers at a time who were having difficulties living at their homes. Our temporary foster kids were young teenage women—we only had five males out of the 103 young people we took in—and these fresh-faced gals gave me an accelerated series of lessons on the challenges of being a female in this society.

Many of them were brave enough to share their secrets. The opening story is an example. The MeToo Movement is all about sharing secrets and now, finally, people are ready to listen. I say Jesus Cristo, it's about fucking time!

Here's a short tale that spotlights how embedded this vile secret shit is in our society.


I sat alone cracking and munching on a bowl of pistachios at the shelter home's round oak kitchen table reading Michener's classic, Hawaii,  and mentally cursing the preacher character, Abner Hale, when director Marvin came up the stairs and sat down.

“We have a problem. Michelle called and said she had a big fight with her boyfriend and can't make it down to court for Amanda's hearing. Could you or Rhonda go? It starts in twenty minutes.”

“You're kidding me? This hearing's been scheduled for two months.  Be tough on Amanda. She needs someone to support her,” I answered.

“Where's your wife?” Marvin asked.

“Oh, she took the new Oregon girls to the store.  Guess I'll have to go. I have no car.  Can you give me a lift?”

I walked into the courtroom and explained to scared 14-year-old Amanda why I had showed and not her caseworker. The hearing started and I listened for an hour before I had to leave and have a smoke outside. Grace, our favorite social worker, appeared from nowhere.

“How's it going in there?”

“Had to leave before I got arrested. It's outrageous. They put Amanda up on the stand and started asking her all kinds of sexual questions as if she had seduced her own father rather than the other way around. Sick man of God.  Used to make her pose exactly like the current Playboy centerfold of the month while he beat his meat in front of her. . . I'd enjoy whipping the holy shit out of him.”

“Hey, I'd buy a ticket to watch . . . Do you realize you said, 'Holy shit?' Was it on purpose?” Grace asked with a wicked smile.

“Wow, Grace, I never knew you were a smart ass. Cool.”

We got back in time to hear the judge's decision. He dropped all molestation charges against the minister and ordered Amanda into counseling. He also granted the parent's request to have her move out of our place and into a Christian foster home immediately.

I will never forget the look of terror on Amanda's face as they escorted her from the courtroom. It took every bit of control not to start a mini-riot.  I still have dreams about grabbing the flipping judge by the neck and squeezing his head like a pimple until it popped. (We found out a year later the fine minister had gotten the little girl pregnant and sent her to a Christian place for unwed mothers called and I shit you not—Burden Bearers).  

Grace talked me down and gave me a ride back to the shelter home.

“How do you do this every day Grace?”

“Not all days are bad. That look on Amanda's face.  Almost too much for me to take today, however.  Take care,” she said as I exited the car


That snippet demonstrates how the legal system is complicit in allowing the silent, conspiratorial sexual abuse epidemic to thrive, spread, and live on and on and on.  Courageous victim Amanda made the decision to confront her father and you heard the result. Think she'd ever do it again?  

The courts are stacked against brave women who file harassment or rape charges.  Rich men can stall, and try and break their accusers financially.  The courts will help them every step of the way.  Women need to feel save and secure no matter if they are at the workplace, traveling, at their own homes or in a court of law.  We need more women judges.

It cannot be stressed enough how important exposing these secrets is. There are millions of victims of this wickedness walking around among us wounded.   We humans have slowly marched along on the long trail of progress.  For example, we no longer think bloodletting is a sound medical practice and would be horrified if a modern doctor performed such a procedure.  Well, when will it be outdated for men to do creepy, immoral, illegal shit to women?  When will it be outdated for a father to cram his penis inside his own daughter's vagina?

Men have been allowed to be creeps and more seriously, sexually deviant criminals. The creeps do all their nasty, repellent deeds in private for one major reason:  Because they can get away with it.

These vile deeds are the ultimate secrets young women are forced to bear and it scars and too often, permanently ruins souls.  Being forced to keep these type of sick secrets kills trust, dampens hope for the future, and inhibits true, loving, wonderful intimacy.    I have been waiting for an opportunity to speak about these serious crimes for too many years.  Few were ever interested before now.

Sexual intimacy is one of life's golden treasures.  People sharing mutual passion and feeling connected to another for some glorious moments is a marvelous gift. It softens the hands of an often times too rough world. To defile the sexual act like the creeps do is a crime against all of humanity and a major impediment to human progress.

We need new definitions of  “real man” and acting “ladylike”.  A “real man” confronts misogyny and crass, vile comments and actions directed toward women. He stands his ground to protect women for he knows that defending, even in the face of ridicule, is his duty.

Standing up for yourself without the fear of being “rude” and not feeling obligated to say, “I'm sorry,” all the time would be good starting points in how to update—“ladylike”.

We must stand next to our sisters, daughters and mothers when they dare to expose their secrets.  Some men—more than most imagine—also get trapped into the secret torture chamber and they too need support.

Thanks for the honor of your time. Remember now and always to share the love; fight the hate and enjoy your life. Women are treasures not pieces of flesh to be used and discarded for men's selfish, primitive needs. I look into my granddaughter's innocent eyes and know this world must change.  No more sick secrets.

Here is my sick secret.

Cheers to the MeToo movement.



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Self-care open thread—Misty Copeland, straight out of San Pedro

Self-care open thread—Misty Copeland, straight out of San Pedro

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