Help us, Big Government. You're our only hope.

Virginia Governor Bob McDonnell is distancing himself from Attorney General Ken "One Issue" Cuccinelli's latest crusade against queer people. Evidently, at least part of the motivation is a desire not to alienate a large corporation that is considering moving its headquarters to Virginia.

It won't be the first time that the private sector has had to rescue LGBT Virginians from big government gone mad. I wonder what happened to the dogma that it's always the other way around.

Fun with letters to the editor

Our local "liberal" newspaper recently published my letter to the editor on Catholic Charities and same-sex marriage, but not before picking every nit, whether or not it affected my conclusion. Yet that same newspaper routinely prints letters to the editor, and sometimes even section-A reporting, whose anti-gay slurs are blatantly factually incorrect and easily disproved. Gotta love that "liberal" media bias.

Fiction: The Encounter

Roy's friends kept telling him that he should stop trying to find hookups online and instead go to a real bar to meet men face to face. Behind every user I.D. like "musclejock19," they reasoned, was a vile troll who sent other people's photographs as his own and teased people just enough to accumulate that evening's J.O. material.

It made sense to Roy. His online experience had so far been fruitless; the few men who had agreed to meet him had disappointed him and had fallen far short of his standards. While Roy was no longer a young twink, he considered himself to be quite a catch -- masculine, with a terrific body and an ample endowment -- and wanted someone on the same level.

Saturday evening, Roy dressed to show off his assets and drove down the parkway into the city. The Ramrod bar, which had intimidated him when he had first come out, but which now seemed much less threatening, was near the 10th Street exit from the parkway. That area was not the city's safest, but Roy figured that he could chance it.

He found a parking space surprisingly close to the address, went to the door inconspicuously marked "1124," and entered. After giving his eyes time to adjust to the low light, he took a stool at the bar, ordered a drink, and looked around. So far, the clientele appeared to be an improvement, but not by much, over the tired queens whom he might expect to see at the piano bar farther uptown. He was not optimistic.

Then, he noticed that someone standing by the pinball machine was checking him out. That someone was better looking than just about anyone else in the bar and had a welcoming smile. Roy motioned him over.

The man by the pinball machine walked over to Roy and stood next to him at the bar. The way in which he held himself suggested both eagerness and submissiveness, both of which were pluses as far as Roy was concerned. "So," Roy asked, "what's your name?"

"I'm Ed." Ed extended his hand.

"Roy." Roy gave Ed the firm handshake on which he prided himself. "You a regular here?"

"I come here now and then. If you like real men, as opposed to twinks, this is the best place in town. How about you? I don't think I've seen you here before. I'd remember you."

Ed's response sounded encouraging to Roy, who responded, "I've been out of the bar scene for a while."

"Oh. Dating someone, or just tied up with work?"

"Neither. Just haven't gotten out much, I guess. Oh, and I'm not the one who gets tied up."

"I could tell," said Ed, grinning broadly. This was going better than Roy had anticipated. "So, what do you do for a living?"

"I work in the service department at Appliance Universe." Roy never appreciated that question, but Ed had asked. "Out in the Linden Hill Industrial Park."

"I work near there, in the Linden Hill Professional Center." Ed did not elaborate, and Roy was happy to let the subject drop.

"Can I get you a drink?" asked Roy.

"Sure," said Ed. Once they were able to get the bartender's attention, they placed their drink order. As they drank, they made the usual content-free bar chatter that people make to get to know one another.

Eventually, they decided to go to Roy's apartment, Ed following Roy up the parkway and the secondary routes to the garden apartment complex where Roy lived. When they got to Roy's apartment, they first made out for a while on the rather threadbare sofa in the living room. Roy was unused to hosting, and the apartment showed as much, but Ed did not seem to mind. Roy ordered Ed to strip, get down on his knees in front of Roy on the sofa, and fellate him, which Ed did with relish for much longer than Roy could remember that anyone else had done. As the night went on, Roy livened things up with his belt and with verbal abuse, both of which made Ed an ever more eager submissive. Once Roy came, they retired to the bed, Roy holding Ed tight through the night.

On Sunday, neither of them had to work, so Ed was Roy's plaything for the day. There was enough food in the refrigerator that Ed could cook them both breakfast. After that, Roy became steadily more dominant, and as the level of control, humiliation, and pain in the scenarios increased, so did Ed's ardor.

Eventually, it was time to part and to prepare for Monday morning. After Roy and Ed exchanged telephone numbers and e-mail addressed, Ed departed, promising to call or e-mail Roy soon. That evening, Roy masturbated while recalling the day's activities, as though he had not come enough times that day as it was.

Monday proved to be a slow day for Roy. In the afternoon, he had some time between service calls, so he pulled the piece of paper with Ed's contact information out of his wallet and called.

"Good afternoon," the receptionist at Ed's work number said, "Family Physicians of Linden Hill. How may I direct your call?"

"Ed, please."

"Just one moment, sir." After a pause, the receptionist returned to the line. "I'm sorry, sir. Dr. Rizik is with a patient and cannot be disturbed. Would you like his voice mail?"

"Um ... no, thanks." Roy hung up.

On Tuesday after work, when Roy checked his e-mail, there was a message from Ed's e-mail address, with the subject line "from your adoring slave." Roy deleted it unread, closed his e-mail client, and went to see who was in online chat.

Queer religion

While some LGBT theists ponder their faith and study their holy books, it appears that most gravitate to fluffy-bunny religions that keep theological rigor to a minimum. For example, when I was a Christian, I noticed that most LGBT-oriented Christian churches sidestepped doctrinal definitions in favor of keeping everything warm and fuzzy and that some of them even made a point of not committing to any particular soteriology or Eucharistic theology. Ironically, they tended to be rigidly dogmatic on secular politics.

Everyone knows .... (2)

When I was growing up, everyone knew that homosexuality was caused by an absent father and a domineering mother and that what we now call autistic spectrum disorder was a deliberate lifestyle choice. Now, everyone knows that homosexuality is a deliberate lifestyle choice, and until social conservatives have decided on a reason to hate people with ASD, we should probably not speak of ASD at all.

Withdrawing the sanction of the victim

I've long said that if you show a political party that it can take you for granted, it will do exactly that. The "My party, right or wrong" queers have given their party carte blanche to be wrong, and my word, has it ever been.

Now, this group has withdrawn the sanction of the victim from those who think that they own us just because of their party affiliation. This site is doing the same with regard to religion.

The club scene: NY vs DC

It appears that the over-the top eighties club scene in New York is coming back. Back in the eighties, while New Yorkers were indulging in every imaginable flight of fancy, Washingtonians (or at least the ones whom I knew) were achingly politically correct and simply sat around disapproving of everything.

So we were spared the horrors that everyone knew would come from the club scene, right? As it turns out, Washington got an extra helping of those horrors. Keep up the good work, puritans.