Welcome to my nightmares: First a penis, then images of a naked Caitlyn Jenner

patti dawn swansson
patti dawn swansson

I might never run the risk of lowering my eyelids again. At least not until they’ve been permanently shut.

I say this because of a nightmarish bit of fancy that I experienced in the wee hours just passed, a dream that left me roiling in dread and rendered me limp. Actually, limp is not the operative word. It’s quite the opposite.

In this horror show, you see, I was primping for a night on the town and had just put on a pretty red, lace top when I felt something strange moving below my belt.

I looked down and noticed a sizable bulge in my pretty red, lace knickers.

“What have we here?” I gasped, fearing the worst.

I pinched the top band of my panties between the thumb and forefinger of each hand and, ever so gently, pulled them down to expose—wait for it—a penis! And an erection! (Like I said, there was nothing limp about this dream.)

Somehow, I had grown a penis! And it was hard, thick and as long as Pinocchio’s nose after his worst lie. It was disgusting.

I awoke. Immediately. Shaking. It was 2:36 a.m. Shut-eye did not revisit me. As stated, I might never sleep again. I mean, the mere thought of one of those things betwix my thighs is cringe-worthy at the highest loft and lends itself to bouts of extreme anxiety and cold sweats. I surely do not wish to be among the penis people in wide-awake life, nor do I wish to be among the penis people in fantasyland.

cult of caitDo not, however, presume that to make me an anti-penis people person.

For the record, some of my dearest friends have a penis, and they appear to be normal, well-adjusted examples of the human species in spite of it. Heck, the majority of the time, they don’t even think with the tinier of their two heads. So they’re welcome to them.

Truthfully, I have just a singular issue with the penis: I do not desire one, thus I cannot think of a more frightful nightmare than that which I just endured.

Mind you, mental imagery of a naked Caitlyn Jenner on the cover of Sports Illustrated is running a close second and gaining ground on the fright-o-meter.

If you missed it, word has leaked that the deep-thinkers at SI plan to put their air-brushers to the ultimate challenge this summer, when the former Bruce Jenner is featured on the magazine front in “nothing but an American flag and her Olympic medal.” This is in acknowledgement of an epic, gold-medal-winning frolic 40 summers past in the decathlon at the Olympic Games. Or so they say. In reality, it is a blatant, crass cash grab by which they are trading on the planet’s most-recognized transgender woman’s celebrity to peddle product.

Kitty Cait apparently is game, though, and she has agreed to one-up her Vanity Fair coming-out cover shot by posing for the SI front in all her naked glory, with only Old Glory sparing us the sight of her store-bought boobs and her still-there penis, which, one must assume and can only hope, will not be standing at attention and saluting the flag.

I’m guessing that Betsy Ross will be spinning like a lathe in her grave, and I’m also thinking that SI’s sales must be sagging as badly as Jenner’s wrinkly, 66-year-old caboose for the sports mag to go to such an extreme.

It’s a cash grab, all right, and another example of Jenner’s insatiable appetite for celebrity, even though she has issued a plea to the contrary.

“Honestly,” the trans glam gal told news scavengers while tub-thumping for I Am Cait, her lame reality TV show that is not at all real, “I have never sought fame and all of that kind of stuff, that’s just not me.”

I’d say Kitty Cait’s pants are on fire, except she isn’t wearing any pants, is she. She’s naked. Or, at least, she will be naked on the cover of an issue of Sports Illustrated coming soon to a newsstand near you.

Will any of us be able to sleep at night after that?


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