I lust after awful women.

I spend an unattractive amount of time thinking about attractive women who I'd hate to spend time with.

Jennifer was one such woman. Jennifer was awful.

Picture her, always in Easter clothes. No matter when the Second Coming occurred, she would be dressed to impress.

Over the years, she changed from natural blonde to compassionate conservative to bleached blonde to neo-con to highlit blonde to tea-bagger.

She was charitable when frat boys wanted to grope her in public, but frugal when posting swimsuit pictures on Facebook.

Mrowrl.

Anyway. In a recent fantasy, I decided to spice things up and get caught while putting the "Oi!" in "coitus." So I let Jennifer walk in on her sorority sister and I.

Spicy, it was. It was so spicy that my subconscious took the reigns, and damned me to a life of shame and depravity.

When Jennifer caught us, she didn't react to the soiled bedspread. She didn’t react to the blasphemy of a Tri-Delt copulating with an English major. She didn’t even react to my leather turtle costume.

She just stared, hypnotized by my pistoning genitals.

I don't blame her. In this fantasy, they needed their own leather turtle costume.

Jennifer approached me, inscrutable. My subconscious glistened in her little black eyes.

I was too scared to fight or fly, so I fucked the sorority sister until our undulations matched my heart-rate.

Jennifer kneeled to inspect the organ-in-question. Her nostrils hovered above my spongy bungee. She could have throttled it like a stress ball, or gnawed it like a corn cob.

Mercifully, she did neither.

Out came the tippy-tip of her tongue, and she leaned down to sample me with her frontmost taste buds. But the sorority sister and I were pumping too fast now...

...and Jennifer's tongue missed my penis, and ever-so-slightly grazed her sorority sister’s labia instead.

With a shriek, Jennifer recoiled to her fireplace.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I’ve performed cunnilingus!” she cried, as she ripped pages from her Bible and flung them into the fireplace. “I’m irretrievably homosexual!”

“That's not how that works.”

"It is!" Now she tossed the whole Bible into the fireplace, followed by her passport, social security card, and birth certificate. "I've joined the third gender! I've become less human than a centaur!"

"Homosexuals are not less human than centaurs," I insisted. What was my subconscious trying to do, here?

Jennifer turned to me, as she held her hands over the fire to burn away her fingerprints. "Could you make me an appointment with my former pediatrician?"

"How would a pediatrician help you, right now?"

"There will be single girls in his waiting room."

It was hard to be offended, since she was using her prejudice to self-flagellate. Even if she molested a kindergartner, the kindergartner would never be as upset as Jennifer was now.

A stylist sheared off her hair, leaving mousy stubble. A dentist pulled out her teeth. A plastic surgeon broadened her nose. They threw her excess into the fireplace.

Through them all, she looked at me. Her little black eyes were wet, desperate...and glowing with my subconscious. It was ready to strike.

"You have to rape me," Jennifer pleaded.

...was that it? 'Rape?' I didn’t think my subconscious wanted a rape fetish any more than my libido did. I asked Jennifer why she wanted me to rape her.

"I've chosen to be gay," she explained, "and rape is the only cure."

With a roll of my eyes, I said that I refused to rape her.

Suddenly her family stood by the fireplace, burning her clothes, her photographs, and the macaroni art that she made back in pre-school. They refused to look at Jennifer.

She trudged to the door, and announced, “These are my last moments in civilization. I’m going to live in the wilderness.”

Her family didn’t react. They burned her furniture, her baby blanket, and her childhood cat. Having finished, they threw themselves in the fire.

I felt bad, so I got up to say goodbye. The sorority sister got to her first. They kissed, though Jennifer didn't seem to like it.

Jennifer thanked us, and made us promise not to watch as she left, “So Yahweh won’t turn you into a pillar of salt.” Just like that, she was gone.

I mixed pleasure and politics, and it was incredible.

Since then, I’ve devised a fantasy about campaign finance reform. I think I'll save it for my wedding night.