I am a spiritual man. It has taken me a long time to call myself that, but I have earned the right. My brand of religion is not God, not the earth not good works, but truth; I seek to, know it and to live it. So I will tell you the truth about me and my white supremacist girlfriend.


I meet women through the personal ads; have been since my divorce three years ago. In our first phone conversation Rhea didn't tell me she was a "revisionist" and I had no reason to tell her I was a Jew. What she did say interested me . . . enough to meet her.

While I waited to meet her that first afternoon at the Horse Brass Pub I had one thought in my mind: will she be attractive? Here I have lapsed There was a second thought; will she want to fuck me? I am a spiritual man. Less than two weeks before this meeting I had made a decision: to stop the search.

Since my divorce I have been searching for my mate . . . a kind beauty with the capacity to understand and love me . . . someone I want deeply to spend my days with. And I have gone through women innumerable . . . searching. It seems like I have had every experience a man and woman can have together; platonic and sexually bionic, rejection, castigation, castratio , toleration and veneration, humoured, honoured . . . all of these , . . more, but I have not found my mate. I have begun to feel I never will, or put differently, I haven't the capacity, or put differently, she doesn't exist or it doesn't exist. Or maybe a mate isn't found by looking for her.

But I still have my needs, sexual and other. Rhea walked in. She was beautiful. The kind of woman who really likes to fuck. This I knew.

She sat down and we' both' searched our mouths for something to say. We were two strangers awkward together. We didn't speak for a while, each hoping the other would know how. A few banalities escaped haltingly. Then she said she'd been watching the O.J. Simpson trial.

Don't know why. I'm sucked in. Probably be better to put my foot through the TV. It's so unjust."

Justice was her theme much like mine was truth. As we talked it became clear her sub theme was truth. My sub theme is justice. So we had something in common though she is a white supremacist and I am a Jew. Furthermore, I wanted to fuck her. It didn't take me even the time it takes to finish my beer to know I wanted to fuck her even though she told me:

"I don't have anything against Jews . . . it's just the Holocaust is a big lie."

I absorbed the punch and waited.

“It's unjust," she continued. "The German people have been saddled by a very bad rap."

I just listened. Surprisingly, this didn't disturb me.

"TM . . . that's trademark. What the Germans did, the Jews have put a trademark on it: THE HOLOCAUST in Technicolor . . . big screen. You know right now there are holocausts going on all over the world. Always been that way, always will be but there is only one THE Holocaust . . . it's not fair, bad rap on the German people."

"I don't have anything against Jews. My ex-boyfriend, the doctor, he's a Jew . . . spent four years with him. You know, in Germany there's a law. . . you can't say the Holocaust was a lie. . .there s a law. . . In Germany. . . In Germany . . . . you believe that?”

She was clearly upset and excited now. And I . . . I had the beginnings of an erection watching the red color rise all the way up to the high cheekbones of this beautiful brunette. Is there a Jewish male alive who doesn't go slightly daft when he looks into Aryan blue eyes, gleaming with passion? I wanted to fuck her; that is the truth.

During my quest (the search) I was figuring it all out. . . I did figure it out, thought I had figured it out. For three months I had total clarity. I knew exactly what I wanted, what would work for me . . . over a lifetime . . . that is, the rest; what is left of my lifetime. . . I am fifty.

Three years of dating and I'd learned a whole lot. In fact I established a profile: beautiful, intelligent, stable. . . that was the beginning and there was more. . . well-read, athletic. . . and there was more. . . I found the profile, dated her; began to sleep with the profile . . . what it would be like? After less than two months, I said to this profile, who was everything I wanted and who was in love with me . . . I said to her: "I don't think I can live your lifestyle. . . we're too different in some important ways." So what did I learn, what did I know? Two weeks after that conversation I met the revisionist -- a five foot eight inch brunette with blue eyes and it was her I wanted . . . to fuck.

"There were no gas chambers. . . scientists have analyzed them, the ovens. . . and they couldn't gas people. It's not true . . . about the ovens."

I listened, cocked my head.

"I'm not saying people didn't die . . . of course they did. Of typhoid; lots of things. They were in concentration camps. It was a war. But six million. . . not that many. . . more like six hundred thousand."
"What's the difference, I mean six million or six hundred thousand? Ovens or no ovens, I mean, what's the difference?"

"It's money. The Israeli ad campaign. Israel gets more aid from America than any country in the world and that's not just. The Holocaust is just good P.R., that's all, and it's just about money, and the German people have taken a very bad rap and that's not right."

I thought of telling' her of my view of history: it's all P.R . . . that's what history is. And newspapers are slanted, too. . . worse. . . false. It's all money and its all politics and I don't even really know what happened yesterday, so how could I possibly know what happened fifty years ago . . . ovens or . . . no ovens . . . six million or six hundred thousand, who really knows? But instead I said:

"Like to go to Cannon Beach, Monday?"

"That's pretty far."

In fact, Cannon Beach was just a little more than an hour's ride from Portland.

"I sort a like the ocean," I said, "but if you've got a better idea.

"Well . . . no . . . Cannon Beach sounds good."
I had in mind that we'd spend the night. Then as I left her my mind came unhinged.

There were several days before Monday was due. And I used the time well. The most amazing fantasies; lurid and satisfying.

During my search these three years I had gathered enough "data" about the middle-aged "female" to know when an implicit agreement had been reached and that agreement was reached early on in our meeting at the Horse Brass Pub. The details would now be filled in over the next several days . . . in my fantasies. I am a spiritual man.

So the next day, that is, the day after our meeting at the Horse Brass Pub, I went shopping . . . bought what I needed . . . for Rhea.

Spiritual men are connected to all things, they know just what to say, what to do at those times when they are in sync with the universe and they can feel this synchronicity . . . they know. . . the universe tells them. . . it is spirit, pure spirit. . . the truth.

So I went shopping and I gathered together what I needed for our trip to Cannon Beach.

And then I knew there was no reason to go to Cannon Beach.
Rhea had already said it, "too far".

No need to travel that far. We both knew what we wanted from each other, what would happen. So I called her.

"I don't really feel like Cannon Beach," I said. "Why don't we have dinner? I know a place in Lake Oswego near my house."

"Sounds good," she said.

I told her how to get to my house. {She would arrive five minutes early.)

I returned to fantasy. And . . . I prepared. Practiced with the key to the handcuffs. This was new to me. I wanted everything to go smoothly, no revisions necessary. No revisions. An historic moment of perfect truth. I am a spiritual man.

And I kept asking myself over the days before Rhea would arrive at my door, five minutes early: What does Rhea want? For this moment would be ours, ours alone, a perfect truth. I would know her. She would know me.

The day came. I moved my night stand near the bed within arm's reach and I placed my hairbrush on this night stand within arm's reach. I made sure of this."

I waited for her and thought of nothing.
.
She was wearing a skirt. Her athlete's body was apparent.

We did not go to dinner.

Instead she sat on the couch beside me and offered me some dope that she'd brought with her. We smoked this from a small pipe that she carried in her purse. I sat close to her, almost touching; feeling the heat of her. She was a beautiful woman.

Marijuana always aroused me. I would fuck or I would eat. As I began the drift to sensuality we talked.

"My father never appreciated me," she said. She'd spoken of him before. He'd made her what she was, a white supremacist. In fact, it was he who paid a scientist to travel to Germany - to examine the ovens. And when she told him of her date with me, a Jew, he gave her a gift to bring: a video tape entitled 'David Cole Interviews Dr. Franciszeck Piper.' I have not watched this tape yet, but someday I will.

And then she told me of all the things he'd done.

“Did he beat you?" I asked.

"No, never. But I hate him and I hate men, too. I love them and I hate them."
And so I saw the little girl, the wounded little girl, and no more did I want to handcuff her to my bed and beat her with a hairbrush. I wanted instead to make love to her gently in a normal sort of way.

We continued to talk.

I told her why I'd stopped being a lawyer.

"It's corrupt, all lies, nothing to do with truth or justice . . . it's power and you spend your time among the most awful people . . . other lawyers."

"So?" she said. "I'd be a lawyer."

She believed we were evil all of us. As for me, I tried very hard to believe man was good, with a dark/side, true, but good. And I knew any person had the right to choose either belief. There was certainly evidence for each. But which each person chose determined that person's behaviour, so . . . stoned as I was I had no wish for violent sex. Nor did I wish, any longer, to make love to her gently.

So we are all revisionists. Every moment in time revises each previous moment. And it is true, all of it, each moment. And our thoughts, our fantasies, our dreams, are all part of life, all part of truth. So I did beat her with a hairbrush and I did, too, make love to her gently for a moment. And that is part of who I am. But I would never hurt another human being, no longer, so in the end I did nothing at all but let her walk out the door and I never saw' her again, for I seek always the truth. I am a spiritual man.

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