Rescue squad

Ed Smith
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This story is fiction. Harlequin fiction, perhaps, but still fiction.
In the meantime, please be warned. This column has elements of sex in it. I know some of you don't like that and to you I apologize.
A small number of my readers like to see a little sex mixed up with this and that and I owe something to them as well. They may include the perverts among you but any reader is a welcome reader as far as I'm concerned.
Those of you who have read Henry Miller's "The Rosy Crucifixion - Sexus, Plexus and Nexus -" know what sex in literature is all about. The pages fairly reek of sex in all its forms and pleasures. Yet Miller, today, is regarded not as a pornographer but as a seer and prophet among modern-day writers (he wrote mainly in the 1930s based on his experiences as a young American in Paris).
Before you rush out to buy Miller's books, at least finish my column. There is nothing in it remotely to be compared to him. I just wanted you to know about the works of another great writer before you started wrapping fish guts in mine.
The story to which I refer happened in Connecticut just last week. You may have already heard about it. Don't let that stop you from reading. You could miss some important commentary on what happened.
Seems four teenagers were strolling along the street around about duckish, minding their own business and bothering no one. Such little groups of teens are relatively rare in U.S. cities since many of them seem to be looking to raise a little hell what ever way they can. But not this group. They were just walking for something better to do.
Suddenly, the quiet of the evening was shattered by hair-raising screams coming from a house close by. Someone was obviously in trouble. This could be murder, for heaven's sake.
The young people stopped dead in their tracks. Not everyone would have, teen or not. Many of us would have hurried on, pretending to be deaf, not wanting to get mixed up in someone else's business, not wanting to take a chance on being hurt ourselves.
They made up their minds in a hurry. Hardly hesitating they rushed into the house and into a room from which the screams were coming. They could hardly believe what they saw.
A man had a woman pinned down on the bed and she was writhing and thrashing about beneath him, screaming at the top of her lungs. Again, these young people didn't hesitate. They throw themselves on top of the attacker and began to pummel him severely.
They didn't stop until they had beaten him senseless and the woman on the bed had stopped screaming.
It's here that the story takes a different twist and the element of sex intrudes itself. The account is a little short on specifics, but it turns out the woman was a screamer. Of course she was a screamer, you're saying. That's how the kids heard her being attacked.
No, not that kind of screamer. She was - how shall I put it - screaming in ecstasy. Seems the man in question wasn't attacking her at all. Just the opposite. He was loving her to death and she was loving it. Her moment had come and she with it.
I've heard of moaners who at the least provocation sound as though all their worldly possessions had been confiscated by invaders and their kids taken away in slavery. I know of women who make noises during sex as if their insides were being pulled up through their throats by a team of horses.
I've even been told of certain ladies who have to have pillows pushed over their faces at the moment of truth to keep from frightening the neighbours.
All of that is preferable to having to check your partner's pulse to see if she's still with you, but this takes screaming to a whole new level.
Well, when the kids discovered what they had stumbled into they were much embarrassed.
"Gee whiz, lady, we thought he was raping you. You were screaming your lungs out. Yeah, well we didn't know that. No, ma'am, we've never heard anyone do that before. Yell, yes, shout, bawl - all that. But scream? Like that? No ma'am!"
The gentleman in question was saying nothing. He was a cold junk on the floor. The lady recovered enough from her ordeal to call 911.
Here's where the story turns really weird.
What would you expect a court of law to say to those four kids?
"We think you young people acted out of concern for your fellow human being. You thought she was being attacked so you rushed to her rescue. We need more young people like you on our streets and in our communities. OK, so you acted a little precipitously. That's understandable. And so the man is in a hospital and is in a coma. Not really your fault, is it? You did what you thought was right."
You think that's what they would say? Nope, not at all. The four teenagers have been charged with assault and are awaiting a court appearance.
You think that lesson isn't lost on other young people, and indeed on everyone who might one day be tempted to help a lady in distress? So she wasn't in distress, at least not that kind of distress. The principle remains the same.
If someone is being attacked they'll have to rename being attacked.
If someone is really getting screwed, they'll have to rename being screwed.
I warned you about the sex.

Ed Smith lives in Springdale.
His e-mail address is

Organizations: Miller's

Geographic location: Paris, Connecticut, U.S. Springdale

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