Not surprisingly, Cassandra finds the mainstream publishing racket is not receptive to her provocative title. I told her about the "you'd need to mainstream this up" kind of comments I got shopping No Church in the Wild. (I refused). We bonded. She was awesome, smart, loved writing as much as I.
So, what could a book called The Accidental Rapist be about that I, being as decidedly anti-rape as I am, could be dying to read? She tells me it's a memoir about her experiences courting in Drag. Specifically, her discovery that so many of the "straight"men she picked up in drag eventually asked her, over the course of their evening, to act out their common fantasy that she use the dick still hanging between her legs to mock-rape them. You heard me, straight dudes (several of them) have made the same request for anal pounding after picking Cassandra up as Cassandra.
So, I submit to you, my dear two readers, this latest bit of evidence to support my theory that the word "straight" is as meaningless for all the personalities it purports to include as that problematic little word, "gay."
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