Dear Readers,
This is not easy for me to relate. Believe me, I would’ve much rather taken this secret to my grave than be in this position today. However, given a recent nomination of <insert justice here> to the Supreme Court, my sense of civic duty compels me to divulge certain facts to the public. Naturally, I have also presented my story to relevant members of the Senate Judiciary Committee and to as many opinion journalists as would take my calls.
Now, I know some will view the timing of these revelations as extraordinarily convenient for Republican partisans, and some will likely ask why I had not come forward decades sooner, but let me assure all such doubters that my statements are NOT POLITICAL in any way. This is my truth. The only truth that counts. And if it helps you to listen and BELIEVE what I’m about to tell you, let me add that I spent a long weekend of reflection, collecting my memories, in partnership with my therapist.
Thus, you can rest assured that everything I'm about to tell you happened exactly the way I shall now describe.
To begin with, I cannot recall quite what year it was, but I can say with definite accuracy that this incident occurred sometime between the summer of 1992 and the spring of 1994. Or possibly the fall 1995. Or 1996. Or was it the winter of 1991?
Well, it was definitely a particular season of a particular year, I know that much.
At any rate, I can recall every other detail with stunning opaqueness. At the time, I had just taken an adjunct professorship at a certain prestigious university on the East Coast. Again, I can’t remember which university it was, but I know it had a law school, and I know for sure <insert justice here> was a student there.
One night, right around the start of the semester (or possibly spring or winter break or after the school year had ended), I and a colleague of mine from the history department were invited to an off-campus party. To the best of my recollection, this party was hosted by a law professor (whose name I forget) and would be attended by several other law professors and students.
At the party, I had one beer. I can remember exactly that I had one beer because I said to myself on the way over, “James, you better just have one beer,” so therefore I know I only had one beer. I mean, how often does someone drink more than they plan to? You can probably count the number of occasions on one hand.
Or maybe I had three beers? Hard to say.
But I digress. As I was sitting with my one beer, I remember my colleague (whose name I also forget) stood up to go somewhere, leaving me alone for either fifteen minutes or much longer. At some point, I felt the call of nature, so I made a search for the bathroom. Unfortunately, I must’ve made a wrong turn somewhere, for I soon found myself in a heavily darkened room. I mean, it was pitch black. You couldn’t see your hand in front of your face, it was that dark. I was blind as a bat.
And yet it was in this room (so dark you couldn’t even tell how big it was) that <insert justice here> assaulted me.
I can vividly remember each one of the awful details. Although I'd never met <insert justice here> before (and wouldn't have had occasion to, since I was teaching history and he/she was in law school), I swear on all that is holy that he/she was there in that room with me.
I remember that he/she draped his/her arms over my shoulders while giggling mischievously. I believe, but cannot prove, that he/she was drunk. For several minutes, he/she ran his/her manly/feminine fingers through my hair as I stood stock-still, petrified with fear. I can still hear his/her deep/high-pitched voice as he/she whispered playfully in my ear, “Hey hot stuff, how about I go for a ride on your long hard bench?” or something to that effect.
He/She next stepped back, lifted down/up his/her pants/sweater, and… and he/she… exposed his/her penis/breasts to me.
By that point, I was literally quivering in terror. The image is still seared into the recesses of my mind: what I assume was/were young, thick/perky, healthy male-genitals/female-breasts. Again, I couldn’t tell you anything specific about them, since (as mentioned before) the room was utterly pitch black. However, my therapist will confirm that, to this very day, I can’t even shop for bananas/cantaloupes without collapsing into a fit of tears.
I recall that I stood there agog for several minutes more, hoping this was all some kind of terrible nightmare, when he/she approached again, took hold of my face in his/her firm-rough/soft-supple hands… and… and… (please, forgive me, this is so difficult)… he/she kissed me… on the lips.
I remember feeling like I was drowning. Like I was gasping for air. Nothing like this had ever happened to me before in my 50+ years of life. But then, there really is nothing that can prepare someone for something like that.
I must’ve next stumbled back out of the room or otherwise gotten away (possibly out the window), for the next thing I remember is walking back to my apartment. Either that, or my colleague gave me a ride home. Whichever.
There, I immediately called my wife and told her what happened. Actually, no, scratch that. I didn’t tell my wife until years later – I was too ashamed at the time – and God bless her, she has been so supportive of me. She even agreed to sleep with a nightlight, since the thought of being in another darkened room ever again is too traumatic to even contemplate.
So yes, <insert justice here> might be a highly regarded legal mind and first-rate jurist. He/She might have all the credentials and accolades necessary for service on the nation’s highest court. But thirty (or possibly forty) years ago, he/she assaulted me. And the public has a right to know the full truth.
Anyway, I thank you for your time and hope you will take my testimony under consideration.
Sincerely yours,
James O’Flannery
Disclaimer: If you can't tell this is satire, you're either a fucking imbecile or acting in bad faith. If you fit into either category, kindly go fuck off.