Friday, July 29, 2016

Virginia

There once was a girl named Virginia. They called her virgin for short, but not for long. She was from Chicago and I worked near her in the University hospital kitchen. We were cooks. She was very cute and built like a goddess. She was also just a genuinely nice person. The intimate part of our relationship didn't last all that long as she had a boyfriend that she lived with. While she did move out we went our separate ways eventually. She was soft, warm, and caring and a delight to be with, but she couldn't have an orgasm. She had never had one, she said. I ran into this issue several times with other women before I realized there was a connection. All the women had been raised in the Catholic church. Coincidence? I can only rely on my own experience and can't say if this is common among Catholic-raised women, but it does arouse my curiosity.

Oh, sure, I took it as a challenge to be the first one to be able to give them an orgasm and I think I actually had success in one instance. But the Vatican is a powerful force, using guilt, funny chants, mumbling into their hands, dead languages, fancy clothes and hats, and lots of gold and ornate googahs. Then the Pope and the nuns, priests, cardinals, bishops, knights, kings, queens, and one-eyed jacks all get involved in the rituals. It must be a hard cult to break out of if you want to. Lots of sinning, confessions, and then more sinning seems to make an endless cycle of guilt and shame. 

Ginny did give me a small ceramic cup she made with her name on the bottom. I still have it out in my shop having kept it now for over forty years. Guess I'm just sentimental or some other kind of mental.

   

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