Nothing particular about our father. Howard Lotson. Not too tall, not too short. Not fat or skinny. Maybe a little bald. Bank manager, but just a branch. Never considered not sticking with the Methodists. A Reasonable Republican, how he puts it. Makes us do our homework. What dads do.

We wish our surname was different, though, the reason being when Jenny found the story in the Bible. Not one we’d ever heard Rev. Hines mention in a sermon, though. Here’s why, without the “know her” code.

At Sodom, Lot needs to protect some visiting angels from the neighbor fags, so he says they can instead rape his two daughters, who don’t even get named. The angels blind the bad guys and Lot and his girls escape. His wife gets turned into a pillar of salt for looking back.

Where they end up, though, there are too few males, so the sisters get dad drunk and the older one lays him. Next night, same thing, except the younger one. The resulting sons are Moab — like the place in Utah — and Ben-ammi, the cleaning powder.

Having the same father, the Moab and Ben-ammi were half-brothers, and Lot being their grandfather on both sides, also double cousins.

A Biblical story, but one Methodists don’t spend much time on, it being complicated as to who’s related how. A diagram helps.

The problem is, of course, that Jenny and I are in fact the daughters of a Lotson, and we don’t want our mother turned into a pillar of salt, a patriarchal ending.

Plus we’re unlikely to get raped which is about male dominance, but then again, the smarter rapists wear condoms in case we have an STD. It’s quite common for the victim to orgasm, it being biological, and nobody will ever know because we’re conditioned to never tell. Rapists like to rape sisters, side by side. It sounds weird, I agree, but I’m not a psychologist. It just takes the right band party or camp game or double date, whatever works out.

Jenny’s a make-out more than me. I maybe French, get felt up some, but that’s about all. Jenny prefers to be humped, what she sees as defensive because once he comes, you’re off the hook. His underpants are his problem.

She knows how to pull it off if we go on a double date — our folks think four safer than two — and there will be, parked at the boat launch, me getting unhooked in the front seat, the back seat bouncing like crazy. The guy I’m with usually thinks that we should go all the way, too, but I don’t let him, knowing they’re bouncing around behind us, his pants still on.

Dad of course wouldn’t want us to be raped, most likely by some boys in the band — Jenny’s flute and me, trumpet — but he was the one who was supposed to pick us up after the game — us having a stupid curfew — but fell asleep watching TV and we had to call. Had we not called in time, the trombones — them usually the most skilled rapists, but I’m not sure if it’s cause or effect — for sure would have raped us once we were the only girls left. Dad would have been waiting for us in the parking lot, telling the drum section about how his band marched at the Liberty Bowl, while the trombones made us orgasm over and over in the practice room.

That was one near-escape, Dad almost not in time.

Our second near-escape, we almost got raped at Camp John Wesley, playing Capture the Flag. If you got caught in enemy territory, they’d take you to prison, except there were two prisons, a regular one marked by yellow tape, and an advanced one in a cabin with bunks where they’d rape you if you were a war criminal exempt from the Geneva Convention. The Camp Nurse gives condoms to the boy guards and shows them how to put them on.

They’d take us to the first prison, holding us around our fronts to prevent our escape. If a lone enemy captures you, though, you can negotiate to be let go after he takes you to the green zone where rapes are legal, but you can’t tell his captain.

We’ll have to show our boobs to get into the first prison, our captors already having our bras. Boy prisoners don’t have to show them anything, but the girl guards get to goose them until they get a hard-on.

Then they’ll say that Jenny and me, being virgins, have been sentenced to the advanced prison where there might be all six bunks going at once. As mentioned earlier, rapists prefer sisters in tandem, but that cabin doesn’t have double beds. Prisoners may be tied to their bed by loose square knots for interrogation, but must be immediately untied in case of fire.

. Just before they do, however, our behind-the-line rescue patrol will charge in and liberate us so they themselves can rape us on our way to freedom, their payment for rescuing us. We have to keep holding hands for free passage.

If we cross paths with an enemy rescuer/rescuee pair in No Man’s Land, though our rescuers can do a reverse prisoner exchange and the ones they traded us to can then rape on our way back to where they’ve got our bunk saved.

We’re LGBTQ welcoming, of course, those so identifying allowed other raping alternatives. You can change your self-identification a certain number of times if you’re just curious. It’s not as if the Activities Director actually announced the rules, but everybody knew a few of them. We knew which counselors will find an excuse to rape us themselves, strictly against the rules of neutrality. The lifeguards, for example, would take us where there are life cushions. Archery puts a target on the ground. The Camp Director may rape any camper at any time, during or after the game, but if three campers capture the Camp Director during or after the game, they may rape him or her.

If a girl guard orders a boy prisoner to rape her and he’s unable, the Nurse has the pill she sometimes gives to boys who come regarding a cut from Crafts so they’ll rape her on the Infirmary cot. The other solution for incompleted rapes is to continue at Campfire while the others are singing.

Last year one time when the cooks came out of the Dining Hall, this boy thinking they were enemy, made them surrender and they let him rape them on the sacks of flour.

Campers who choose not to play Capture the Flag don’t have to; they can just pair up in the empty cabins. A first-year camper may opt for masturbations.

Violations of any rule are subject to Court-martial for which the punishment shall be rape by all members of the court after the game. Exchanges are allowed between courts.

This is what I’ve heard, anyway, but when we played, one of the counselors blew her whistle before anybody got captured.

If you’re a virgin, you may not want to get raped by just another camper, and it can be done by a counselor who knows how. A lifeguard, usually, as you can do a pre-check, them in their swimsuits.

It might sound as if there are a lot of rapes at Camp John Wesley, but I believe it’s about average for a Methodist camp. As rape’s a federal crime, it would be very serious for the place if we went to the authorities and we all love camp. If the rapes were helter-skelter, that would be another problem, so that’s why all the rules. As we’re gender-equal, the counselors try to balance the boy-rapes-girl rapes and girl-rapes-boy rapes, physically as we’re designed, of course, but depending on who initiates it. If you prefer not to be raped — say because you’re having your period — say the code word.

Third near-escape. Us parked by the boat ramp with our steadies — well, not exactly steadies — Jenny getting dry-humped, and me, getting my bra swiped — why I wear the less-expensive ones — when this car full of creeps was about to pull up where we couldn’t back out. Our guys would have told us not to worry, but they’d have been outnumbered, the creeps deciding who gets to rape me and who gets Jenny. Maybe they’d make our own dates rape us second and video it. Way more creepy than it would have been at camp, as we’d probably not even know what church they went to.