When I think of Sweden, the last thing I think of is rape. Sex? Yes! Sweden has a reputation for erotic openness and freely dispensed sexual information. (The American idea of teaching teenagers to prevent pregnancy through abstinence is laughed at in Swedish schools.) Yet, Sweden, in recent years, has Europe’s highest rate of rape: 63 per 100,000 people. Second in the world to South Africa. Six times higher than the American rate. Sociologists estimate that a Swedish woman now has a one-in-four chance of being sexually assaulted in her lifetime.
Why? Before delving into the answers, let me share my experiences in Sweden.
In the Spring of 1969, I was sick of America. I had recently been busted for pot (1 lousy joint!) and had just taken my draft physical (at the height of the Vietnam war). After paying a $250 fine for my cannabis conviction, I had $200 left for a vacation abroad. (If my draft classification came back 1A, my absence from the USA would be permanent.)
At age 23, sex was a high priority. But everything in America had lost its luster, including American women–even those at UCLA. The reputation of Swedish girls as being sexually aggressive held much appeal for an introvert such as myself. As my departure date neared, I kept fantasizing lithe, flaxen-haired beauties, frolicking beneath the Northern Lights.
My entry into Sweden was delayed by customs agents picking my hippie self out of a line of entering tourists. They found a half-gram of hash in my backpack. After hours of wondering what a Swedish prison would be like, I got my pipe back with a cheery, “Have a good time in Sweden.”
I did; but not at first. Fresh from the customs delay, I dragged my dead ass into Gothenburg (Goteborg) on Sweden’s west coast. It was about midnight and my goal was to find a place to crash. Suddenly, behind me, I heard loud female voices. I ignored them until it dawned on me that these girls were tailing me–just as American men will follow an attractive woman, whistling and making comments.
In exhaustion-fueled petulance, I turned and snarled, “If you’re gonna talk about me, speak English!” Instead of scurrying off, the girls started laughing. Under the streetlamp, I could tell they were the kind of lovelies I’d been dreaming of (Gothenburg is a university town). I changed my tune. “Could you tell me where a guy could find a place to stay tonight?”
One of them turned to her companion and said, “Oh, he can stay with us, can’t he?” The other girl wholeheartedly agreed.
They were off to buy booze. I was too exhausted to tag along, so they gave me directions to their apartment and told me to wait for them there. But I was so tired that I got lost. I ended up sleeping on a park bench. Damn!
In Stockholm, I came upon an amusement park/museum called Skansen. Emerging from the front entrance was a gorgeous blonde in a uniform, leaving after her day’s work. I tried to strike up a conversation, but she couldn’t understand a word I was saying. Puzzling. Everyone there spoke English. (Later, I found out they learned English in school. This girl was the equivalent of a high school dropout.)
Trading smiles and gestures, she beckoned me to follow her onto a bus. She paid the fare and we went to her apartment. I waited in the parlor while she entered her bedroom, presumably to change into something less workplace.
I waited…and waited. Finally I heard her say “Come (or something similar).” I peeked into the bedroom. She was lying on her bed, naked. I didn’t need a second invitation.
Later, I met Marina, another lovely blonde. I stayed with her a week.
At that time, American men were popular with Swedish women because they did something Swedish men seemed loathe to do: “hustle chicks.” (Another horny American tourist told me, “I know what’s wrong with these Swedish men: They’re over-fucked.”)
Back to the present. It’s not native Swedes doing the bulk of the raping. Seventy-seven percent of the sexual assaults are committed by a rapidly increasing immigrant population–mostly Muslims.
It makes sense. If a young man comes from a country where the womenfolk are so hidden under layers of cloth that an exposed ankle can cause erections (and the offending female to be stoned–and not with hash), imagine the effect of breasts bouncing in a string bikini.
These gents know nothing of moonlit walks, candlelight and whisperings of sweet nothings. Their idea of romance is paying a girl’s father enough goats to wed his daughter.
But even in swinging Sweden, proffering livestock won’t get you laid (unless you lay the livestock). So then, what can you do with your maddening, turgid, pants-busting boner? What better way to use it than to serve Allah, punishing the infidel whores who have insulted Him with brazen displays of forbidden flesh.
What’s the solution to Sweden’s problem? I don’t know. I just hope I don’t get a fatwa for posting this.
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