Porn to DI For: May-December Relationships

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Puritan Sex -- Porn Part I

On Monday, I was left without a power cord and having been deprived of power, was completely unable to take the time to post the comments on my most recent porn find at the DI. The little paper back of Adventures in a Puritan Cult is classic Victorian porn with the odd twist of being based in a puritan-istic religious group on the American frontier.

The religion is never actually specified and has at various times elements of Mennonites, Shakers, Amish, Jehovah Witnesses and of course, Mormons and polygamy. Ironically, despite the title, no mention is actually made of the "Puritans" of Pilgrim fame.

The book is based on the diary of Leni, the daughter of Tilly and as a piece of porn is wonderfully seated on "plain oak pews . . . hard as a miser's heart."

The story starts out with a Preface explaining the strict religious community, devoid of sexual sin and in sharp contrast to the Sodom and Gomorrah cities of the East Coast (Boston and New York?). The book starts out with a very adamant acknowledgment of the patriarchal prerogative: "Early in the history of our country, when men breathed freely, and women breathed, if at all, by the divine permission of men."

The strict religious tone coupled with patriarchal humbuggery makes what happens in Chapter 1 all the more unexpected, but hey, this is PORN to DI for. The first chapter includes a description of a cock with balls the size of coconuts, fellatio, and dangerous biting of the male genitals. If that weren't enough we have a little education lesson with Tilly teaching her daughter Leni, the joys of mutual masturbation in a lesbian incest fest.

I'm just so glad that Leni listened to the prophet and kept a detailed journal of her life, even if it had just been Chapter 1, but praise Jesus, we have 11 total Chapters to look forward to -- if only she had been more faithful and diligent. Of course, I think it was Leni's squirting orgasm, not the still small voice, that made her feel like the "most sprightly and cheerful elf in the Kingdom." I've got a real testimony of the importance of maintaining a journal. Living prophets have added the 11th Commandment: Thou shalt journal.

I'm doing my part even now, putting my blog on line so that my posterity can understands that the depths my faith has taken me. I love it when I can get in deep -- how else do you escape a Puritan Cult?

Porn to DI For: Adventures in a Puritan Cult

When perusing the shelves at any thrift store in the desperate search for the pornographic word, make sure you look for the word "Victorian", since Victorianism means repression, it is also code for heavily laden prose porn. Preferably the book should also be written by Anonymous.

I have a glorious find for $0.75: Adventures in a Puritan Cult. You can buy it on Amazon, but there is only one available, so act fast if you must have your own copy, but if you can be patient with me and my poor typing skills over the coming weeks, you will be able to read the entire book here on my blog. One nice thing about anonymous authors from the 1800s is that their copyrights have expired.

My battery is about to die on my laptop, so tonight's post will be cut short, since I left the electric cord at work, so tune in tomorrow for the luscious tale of Leni and her daughter Tilly as they wend their way through the travails of belonging to an uptight religious sect with sex and spirit combining with the hardships on the United State's Western frontier.

Porn to DI For: Sensible Sex, Part II

Dr. Curtis of Ogden, Utah published a little tome in 1968, a guide to sex for the young Latter Day Saint Couple entitled And They Shall be One Flesh which I found on the book shelves at the Deseret Industries. In one of those weird coincidences, Dr. Curtis’ 1968 address listed on the title page is only about six blocks from where I live now. Even more odd is the Acknowledgments in the book list one of Dr. Curtis’s colleagues, who happened to be the Ob/gyn who delivered four of my younger siblings. I guess it just goes to show how small the Mormon community can be.

After the marketing geniuses got a hold of the book, the title was changed to Sensible Sex for the paper back printing of over 2,000,000 copies and the market was expanded to young couples with Christian sensibilities, while maintaining the separated male/female symbols on the front cover. Amazon.com gives the following biographical exposition on Doc Curtis, which I found revealing (and the final proof that despite his androgynous first name, Lindsay, he is most certainly male): "The author is Lindsay R. Curtis, M.D., F.A.C. ObGyn, practiced for many years in an OB-GYN Clinic, and also authored a widely syndicated medical column, "For Women Only". He also authored the best-seller, "Pregnant & Lovin' It"."

The cover of Pregnant & Lovin’ It is a cartoon of the mother to be, standing next to an upright poodle who is also expecting. The poodle has six protruding nipples through her yellow blouse. Dog and woman also both seem to be similarly coifed and pleased with themselves. I’m still mystified as to why the dog/human pregnancy are equated. The first chapter of the Pregnancy book is also one of those Chapters that might be considered too little, too late: "It Has To Start Somewhere!"

I discovered Dr. Curtis co-wrote this pregnancy book with the Ob/gyn that delivered my oldest child. My own personal reproductive history was influenced by this man. The One Flesh book I’d discovered at the DI was an archeological find of the Ob/gyn profession in Utah and as the book will show, an interesting combination of the mixtures of religious beliefs, pop culture and science that were taught not just by the church, but by the medical profession in Utah as well.
I give you unexpurgated: Sensible Sex.

To a husband, the only important thing in the meal is the steak. But to his wife, the side dishes really make the meal.

God made man (or most men) to be aggressive sexually.

The poorest man on earth is still loaded with gifts that will please a woman if he chooses to give them.

During intercourse it is not only proper but desirable for her to use the muscles of her vagina to enhance the pleasure of the act in both of them. No one wishes to sleep with a dead fish.

The commonest complaint in a wife is overweight. [sic] Native Hawaiians want their wives to be fat and our hats are off to them if this is their custom. But here on the mainland, custom and social preferences demand that a woman avoid those ugly extra pounds. . . . If a woman (or a man, for that matter) wants to be thin more than she wants to be fat, she can lose weight.

Secretly every man thinks that he is God’s gift to women.

The truth is that nice young girls can be cleaner and more sanitary if they WILL use internal tampons. . . . In addition, internal tampons teach women about their anatomy and help to prepare them for marriage.

He then, under local anesthesia, can stretch the hymen further if necessary to avoid the painful and traumatic "first night" of an otherwise heavenly honeymoon. Does stretching the hymen robe a girl of her virginity? By definition, a virgin is a woman who has not had sexual intercourse. Stretched hymen or not, the girl’s virginity is preserved.

One of the best investments after purchasing a double bed is to buy an electric blanket with dual controls so that husband and wife may share the same bed without one making the other uncomfortable. This might also solve the problem of the first case mentioned so that she would not have to wear so many clothes to bed . . . or does she do it for another reason?

It [getting married] doesn’t mean that you stop complementing her on her appearance, her cooking, her sewing, yes even her cleaning. In fact if you are smart, you will help her with the latter.

I thought about doing ironic commentary or some historonic prose, but I decided to let Dr. Curtis speak for himself -- although I'd love to hear your input on these words of wisdom.

The Erotic and The Spoken Word Or Want to Fuck Friday

Do you remember the days when Spence Kinard had that deep, pious voice on the Mo Tab's Music and the Spoken Word radio show? For nineteen years, his resonant voice pounded the airways on Sunday Morning, telling us of the Lord's goodness. Suddenly in 1990, for what I believe was rumored at the time to be some sexual impropriety, Spence resigned.

I tried to do some research into the rumor, but all mention has been expurgated from the official records and nothing could be found on the Internet. I did find a quote from the one apostle who always gave me hope for Mormonism, J. Golden Kimball, stating what is the most prudent wisdom ever from a General Authority on the topic of adultery: "If my wife looked like yours, I'd commit adultery too." Now, I have no knowledge of Spence Kinard's wife's looks, but it could explain a lot.

I've felt a strong need to put some order into my blog, in part because it fuels my creativity. If I know I have to have something posted on a certain day, I'm motivated. I did my little diversion on Spence Kinard, because I thought I'd name Friday, The Erotic and The Spoken Word, but the weekend is also about getting laid (which is why I'm home alone typing on my blog), so I'm leaning more towards Want to Fuck Friday: Poetry to get you laid (or your face slapped.) When I figure out podcasting, I'll use The Erotic and the Spoken Word for the podcast.

So, welcome to Want to Fuck Friday -- where we pay tribute to the likes of Spence Kinard, who wanted to fuck and did.

MANIFESTOS OF THE CRAZy

Something is rotten
Something is forgotten
Something is misbegotten
Something is gnawing at my brain

Manifestos of the crazy --
Manson, Kazinzki, Emmanuel Joseph--
I'm 200 pages of a Manifesto
Away from being classified as a danger to society.

I'm fucking nuts.
I am mad north by northwest,
but I know a hawk from a peacenik.
Or at least I used to.
I can't tell anymore.

I am a descendant of Joseph Smith.
A spirited, sexual descendant.
Of the first guy to marry 14 year olds.

I write my Man - it - festers
It rots,
It decays,
Daily decay to death--
A decay I fight with my toothbrush of words
and flouride of thought.

Opposition.
Contradiction.
Friction.
Disgust with the cost.
The system captures us.
We don't even see that with the filters on our eyes
There are only certain things that can be seen.

Lord have mercy.
Lord forgive us.
Lord hear our prayers.

Bless our soldiers.
Bless our enemies.
Bless those that despitefully use the lives of those around them.

The pressures of organization
The pressures of socialization
The pressures of institution
The pressures of all types of --tions -- and shuns.

All I really want is flesh.
Flesh and fucking.
Repent.
Relent.
Transgress.
Regress.
Ingress.
Egress.
The old ingress and egress.
The In and Out.
Hey Jude.
Hey Clockwork Orange.
Hey Who -- Who are You
Mamma's Squeeze Box
Ingresses and Egresses.
A society of ins and outs
Whose in
Whose out
It is oh so much warmer to be in
In like my Errol Flynn
Fractured in opposition.

Find the soul.
I lost my soul.

Mary had a little soul, a little soul
Whose sheet was white as snow
And every where that Mary went
That soul was sure to go.
It followed her to school one day
Which was against the rules.
And she sent her little soul home
But it was lost, never to return
Now Mary is a soul-less bitch.

March, march entering like a lion,
Out like a lamb --
March the month of Man --
We enter her hard as a lion and leave
limp and soul-less as the Lamb.

Hope you enjoyed Want to Fuck Friday.

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Porn to DI For -- New Monday Column

In my first attempt at putting some regularity into my blogging, I am going to introduce my new weekly column:

Shopping for Porn At The Deseret Industries

or

Porn to DI For

For the non-Mormon crowd, the Deseret Industries (hereinafter "DI") is simply the Mormon version of a thrift store. Affluent church members dump their junk in a dumpster like drop-off and the poor, mentally handicapped and destitute of Utah's Mormon society are hired to provide the labor in getting the junk back on the market and then selling it back to the less fortunate -- kind of a capitalist version of the United Order[1].

Of course only the poor or counter-culture college students with thrift store fetishes actually shop at the DI, except for the possible exception of Halloween, when the DI might be the only place to find that polyester shirt you need for your 70's costume. This explains the billboards with little babies dressed as bumble bees that say "Costumes to DI For" on I-15.

For a bibliophile like myself, I have found the occasional gem of a book at the DI for the low cost of $0.75, but what I am most fascinated with is the books that the wealthy Mormon houses feel like they need to discard.

Tossing away porn is an art form in shame filled Utah. How else do you explain the ability of scouting leaders to actually enlist 12 year old teenage boys to help put trash in garbage bags on a Saturday morning? Scouts pick up trash for those glorious moments when there by the road side and twenty yards away from the scout master, the Scout is prepared to pocket the scrap of brown edged glossy newsprint, dimpled with tire tracks and rocks, and holding a glorious glimpse of pink. Those signs saying that such and such Scout Troop #669 has adopted this stretch of highway should add "For the Collection of Porn."

After seeing one such sign during an excursion through the barren red rock wasteland of Southern Utah and overcome with guilt for possessing the silky paged copulations of breast enhanced nymphets, I unrolled my window and tossed the magazine, Club, I think, or maybe High Society. The porn rag took on the distinct character of an insane wounded bird, flapping mightily but unable to actually fly. Gravity and speed did there thing splaying and spraying minute particles of porn along the roadside for the next testosterone addled adolescent. I try to keep a spare copy of a porn mag in the car, just in case I ever run across a Scout sponsored strip of highway. Be Prepared is this Eagle Scout's motto.

But, I digress. Porn at the DI. Porn to DI for. For those less direct than me in the distribution of porn to minors, Mormon households love to send their dirty books to the DI. In what can only be seen as a divine joke, Mormon sexual Puritanism combines with Mormon pioneer thriftiness and a book that is itself dripping with Satanic ink, isn't burned, but simply allowed to DI, be forgiven and resurrected for $0.75.

Now, I'm sure that there must be some system in place to keep Club and High Society from appearing on the DI shelves, but probably because those magazines are so -- visual. I don't think the person stocking the books at the DI can read or at least can't read and understand about sex simultaneously -- the DI version of the simultaneous orgasm. Going through books at the DI is a sexual smorgasbord, almost as good as going to Evanston.

The first book I chose for my new Monday column (yes, I realize it is now Tuesday, but it was a long day and it will still be Monday in the Pacific Time Zone) is the gloriously titled, And They Shall Be One Flesh: A Sensible Sex Guide for the L.D.S. Bride and Groom by Lindsay R. Curtis, M.D. The book must have had a great run, because it was reissued in paperback under the much more titillating title, Sensible Sex.

The first thing I noticed about this book (and it was retained in the paper back counterpart) is that this is definitely a 1968 Mormon sex book by the cover. Whoever designed this cover had a great sense of humor, because he put the male and female symbols in different boxes. The cover is like watching an old re-run of The Dick VanDyke Show, as Dick and Mary get into their separate single beds. This couple isn't one flesh, this couple has matching twin beds. Where their children came from is a complete mystery. Plus in typical fashion the male appears headed off in one direction and the female in another. I guess this is what happens when you make sex sensible.

This book is so incredibly rich in material, that it might have to make several appearances in the Porn to DI For column, but I'll conclude with a slight speculation that Dr. Curtis had mother-in-law issues. Why do I say this? Because I'd just bought a sex book at the DI and I slipped it into its brown paper sack and and hurried home with visions of a naked Adam and Eve being commanded by God (you know there are times you've really got to kind of like the Mormon/Old Testament God) to get busy and be one flesh. Surely, the book would start out with some salacious medical description of the joining of the Peter Priesthood with Molly's Holy of Holies.

Imagine my disappointment when the entire first chapter was entitled "The Solution to the 'In-Law' Problem". Dr. Curtis starts out promisingly quoting Genesis 2:24 and God commanding the first couple to get busy, but then he unexpectedly goes beserk in the second sentence with this choice gem: "It would seem that God in His wisdom anticipated many problems that would eternally nag [emphasis added] the human race, not the least of which would be "in-law" relationships."

The first question that sprung to my mind was "What the fuck?"

The second was "Is Adam Eve's father in-law since she came from his rib and what does this say about the in-law problem?"

The third was "Does this mean that as children of Adam, created by God, makes God the Father, not only God the Father, but God the Father-in-law?

And finally, if as Dr. Curtis suggests in the Chapter that in-laws can be a detrimental to newlywed sex and God is in some respect our Eternal Father-in-law, does that make God a detriment to our sex life?

As I realized that the answer to the last question was yes, I decided I needed to tip my hat to Dr. Curtis. What a subversive little fucker, telling young little Mormon couples to forget God and hump like Ex-Mos and hippies at Burning Man all under the guise of hating his own mother-in-law, but alas I kept reading. . .

To Be Continued

Tune in Next Week for More Crazy Adventures of Dr. Curtis in Sensible Sex Land

Comments until that time will be appreciated

And now for the footnote:

[1]The United Order led to the strange naming of towns along Highway 89 such as Orderville. Many forget that Joseph Smith had the heart of a hippie. Not only should the love be shared all around, but all the food and land too. The sharing of food, land and property is one of those vestiges of the old kewl Mormonism that hasn't lasted. Did you know that all those devout temple going folks up on the hill in Bountiful promised in the temple ceremony to abide by the Law of Consecration (the Law of Consecration being Joseph Smith's idea that you needed to consecrate all of your property to the Lord for the common good.) Maybe I should rejoin and go start knocking on doors, asking for them to share the wealth now that I'm back in the fold. Surely, the Brethern will enforce the sacred oaths made in the temple, especially since my furnace is broke. Ah, but wait, I forgot, the DI is the modern version of the Law of Consecration. I guess I'll just stay apostate and keep buying porn.

Ravings of a Mad Woman: Sex, Porn and Postum -- A Review

I’ve spent the last five nights going to bed with Julie Henneman, I mean Julie Henneman’s book, Always Listen to the Ravings of a Mad Woman: A Story of Sex, Porn, and Postum in the Land of Zion. When I wasn’t curling up with the book, I was stalking her on her acronym filled blog. I would encourage all of you to go read her blog (and my unsolicited comments which she has graciously posted up until now.). As you can see from one her MySpace picture’s I pilfered, this appears to be one raving woman you might just want to listen to.

Now, I’m not usually a chick lit[1] kind of guy and this book is definitely chick-litty, so I am going to have to rely on my somewhat ashamed addiction to Sex and the City for insight into the burgeoning world of chick lit. In chick-lit, the heroine has at least two, probably three side kicks – the oversexed beauty, the New Agey friend and the newcomer. Ravings’ heroine, Corinne, has all three and two spinster visiting teachers as well.

Yes, visiting teachers, Sister Sunny and Sister Bright. This book takes place in Salt Lake City (as evidenced by the Salt Lake temple out the naked woman's window on the cover) and in the heart of Mormon-dom. The first couple of chapters were filled with what would be Mormon[2] cliches if we had more Mormon-centric fiction: phallic temples, South American missionary with 2 baptisms a week and a parasite, bad Utah drivers, Honor Roll bumper stickers, Mormon Assault Vehicle (mini-van) and of course, Postum[3].

But what about the sex? SEX HERE FOR ALL YOU PORNO FREAKS. Yes, the book has sex -- some steamy explicit scenes[4] with thong underwear, lactation and doggy style sex, but here is the rub – the book is ostensibly anti-porn[5]. I’m intrigued by the dichotomy of the anti-porn heroine fucking her dentist, well, almost fucking her dentist. The equivalent is a book on the evils of alcoholism with a hero, who doesn’t mind a shot or two of tequila to quiet the nerves or on the evils of drug addiction, with a hero who breaks out the meth pipe when he gets tired.

The battle of the pro-sex and anti-sex feminists is played out inside the heroine’s head. You can almost hear Catherine MacKinnon or Andrea Dworkin whispering "All sex is rape", while Corinne’s body fills with raw lust. No wonder she is raving. Throw into that secular mix, all of the Mormon religion’s spin on sex and it is no wonder Corinne is a confused mess. Corinne’s pop psychology answer is that her husband is a sex addict, because he can’t stop looking at porn and jacking off. She is a co-addict facilitating his descent into addiction. Porn is the ostensible smack of his sex addiction.

Having been accused of being a sex addict at various times in my life[6], I read with interest Ms. Henneman’s dissection of the male characters in this book. Men, we don’t come out very well. After picking up a younger man at a club and bringing him home, Corinne rebuffs him at the last minute, because she doesn’t want to be just a piece of ass and respects herself more than that. She later does the same when dumping her dentist. She accuses her husband of wanting to use her as a live masturbatory device. (You can take the girl out of Mormonism, but you can’t take the Mormonism out of the girl.)

For the main character, the mere presence of male sexual attraction and desire reduces and objectifies women. This is an insidious double standard with male desire as objectifying, demeaning and crass and female desire as subjective, uplifting and pure. This double standard is just as perverse and dysfunctional as the double standard of male sexuality being studly and female sexuality being slutty. Sex is yin and yang and when it is working best, more complementary than competitive.

The book resonated with me on what I am sure is a normal and frequent reaction women have to finding their significant male other viewing porn. The disturbing part however is what will make it sell well in the female coffee clatches --- the lack of empathy for the male point of view. Corinne seems incapable of understanding why her husband is hiding the porn from her, even though they had viewed it together before.

News Flash: Her husband was raised Mormon. Mormon's hide their sexuality, especially Mormon men. We hide our communal historical sexuality. Hell, men are programmed to hide our masturbation, even lie about it to function well within the society from the age of 12 on. Damn, Boyd K. Packer and that little pamphlet. You either lie to the bishop or you are on a continual track of repentance for your sexuality from puberty to marriage. With a conditioning program like that, of course you are going to hide your porn. Half the thrill is in the deceit, because that got indoctrinated with every teenage orgasm spasm.

I think the ending of the book is quite telling, because the porn-addicted husband leaves his apostate wife and goes back to church. This novel could be used as a religious tract by the Mormon side – his wayward wife wouldn’t forgive him for his porn addiction and he repented, stopped drinking beer and started going to church and when she wouldn’t follow, so they got divorced. Having him return to church activity and Elder’s quorum president status in his single ward is the happy Mormon ending. The main twist is this book is told solely from the smart ass wife’s point of view.

Now before you think I’m being sexist, calling the main character and narrator a smart ass – she is. In fact, her smart ass attitude is one of the most enjoyable parts of the book. The whole book feels like you are just waiting for her to start flipping you off as the reader. Corinne may have a complete lack of compassion for the male perspective, but this is chick lit and you have to have a sassy attitude – it is a requirement of the genre. Think Sarah Jessica Parker in Sex in the City as a Mormon housewife, along with a little Roseanne Barr thrown in and you get the picture.

Which brings me to the conclusion of my review – Will I always listen to the ravings of this mad woman? No. Will I always find the ravings amusing? Usually. Should you buy the book? Damn skippy, you can never buy too many books. The book excels at giving a realistic picture of how warped views of sexuality muck up people’s lives, even though it falls short of giving a full and balanced picture. I also think of this as a genre piece of fiction and as a piece of Utah based chick lit, it is the closest things we have to Bridget Jone’s Diary with visiting teachers.[7]

FOOTNOTES

[1] Chick lit is short for chick literature which is short for feminist sponsored literary endeavors, usually published with pastel colors on the cover. It appears that Ravings opted for the more resplendent red satin color of a romance novel, but this isn’t a romance novel, so don’t be fooled by the cover.

[2] When I use the term Mormon, I am using it in the sense of relating to all things Mormon, say within six degrees of separation of Joseph Smith. Thus, Ex-Mo, Pro-Mo, Anti-Mo, Post-Mo and even Slo-Mo would all be included.

[3] I’ve always had a fondness for that grainy drink. Given the fact that I like only a little coffee with massive amounts of milk and sugar, Postum really does taste the same as coffee to me. My grandparents always used to have Postum and it was damn good. Not Ovaltine, but the fact that it was sinisterly close to coffee (and being made out of barley – close to beer, too) warmed my heart as much as the boiled water. One interesting side effect of reading the book – I went out and got myself some Postum.

[4] Page 58 and 70-72 if you can’t wait when you get the book. Plus you can go to Julieann’s short story on the web that has "pussy" in the first sentence.

[5] Yes, I intended the capital letters to be ironic -- and attract attention.

[6] The first time would have to have been my self accusations as I headed with dread into the bishop’s office to confess yet again that I had again violated the law of chastity by beating off. I always tried to stop at least a month before the scheduled interview so that I could plead repentance.

[7] The visiting teachers at the strip club scene is worth the price of the book alone. JulieAnn, the last half sentence was the blurb you can use showing how wonderful I thought it all was.

Resurrection -- A Christmas Story

How Private!, originally uploaded by Matjepoe.

"I am the resurrection and the light. He that believeth in me shall not perish."
Jesus Christ

Black panties and a moist undulating pussy fill a grainy television screen. Fingers are prying at the black lace waiting to get inside the pink folds of flesh hidden from view. A porno with a plot of a sex crazed patient who dreams sexual encounters that are monitored by the doctor and his prim horny assistant. Electrodes are placed on the silken inner thighs and the dream sequence begins:

A curve of breasts peek out of blue lingerie and a polar bear rug prepped with ice and a young, hot stud. Tongues come out of the mouths and the blue girl is teased with an ice cube.

Flash back to the dreamer, masturbating through black lace.

Blue's panties come down and the ice heads for the hot where it will die a watery death, melting in the passion of her twat.

One handed typing as the video couple fucks, I jack off with one hand until my cock is hard against the cool air. Taking it from behind, the blonde couple goes after it on the polar bear rug. The black pantied woman's hand on her clit and mine on my cock. How many times in this room have couples fucked and watched this couple fuck? In and out the tenants come and go. In and out the cock slides. In and out the ebb and flow of passion.

Las Vegas is a town that oozes sex. Billboards proclaim a show with no ifs, ands or "butts" of the G-string variety. If one was not careful, Las Vegas could become a sexual religion. Eat of my flesh. Partake of the hardness that is caused by my blood. I die, but I am resurrected. I am the erect cock, no longer limp and lifeless, but alive again. Resurrected on the neon cross of sin.

Even in Vegas, censorship won't allow me to see the cock enter the pussy or to see the erect male cock on this hotel's television – just pubic hair grinding together, rocking on the rock of her salvation. The wise woman puts her hot house upon a rock, not sand. Unlike the rock of the soil, the rock of the flesh explodes into a flood of sperm and an out rush of blood.

Life is a series of little deaths and resurrections. The resurrection of the cock, being one of the most common. Jesus needed a three day refractory period for his body — strong and alive and then nailed in the sky to an orgasmic death and three days later he is risen, again erect and walking the earth. Men brag of their refractory times – "I came, now start the clock." My cock dies, but it will be young and hard again, barring the eternal death of impotence, I shall arise from my grave and save all mankind with my life giving seed.

Oh God, the Eternal Father, We ask thee in the name of the Son, Jesus Christ, to bless and sanctify this flesh to all those who may eat of it, and we do it in the remembrance of the body of thy son, so that we might always remember him and might have his spirit, the spirit of resurrection to be with us. Amen.

Oh God, the Eternal Father, we ask thee in the name of thy Son, Jesus Christ, to bless and sanctify this blood to all those who may partake of it, and we do it in remembrance of the blood of thy Son, which has pumped and filled their cocks for them, so that we might always remember him and might have his spirit to be with us. Amen.

Christ the cock is risen today. Glory Hallelujah. Christ the cock is king today. Glo, Glo, Glory Hallelujah. Ten virgins wait for the bridegroom, but have the oil for your lubrication or the bridegroom will not be entering you tonight. Five are wet and ready, the five foolish are not. Christ enters the first, comes and shortly is resurrected in all his powerful glory to enter the second. Death after death. Resurrection after resurrection. Five are saved with the majesty of his presence.

Growing up Mormon with any integrity means realizing that religion is really all about sex. Every adolescent Mormon boy knows in his heart why Brigham and Joseph had multiple wives – they wanted to get laid. The Angel Moroni, the gold plates, the whole nine yards were all about getting laid, and laid often. The secret temple ceremonies that were the bastion of adulthood were merely rights of sexual passage. Victorianism and puritanism neutered the religion.

Imagine the temple ceremonies. Washing and annointings are the first ordinance. The initiate stands naked in the center of the room. His cock is urged upward by the plying hands of a female priestess. The other priestess join in massaging his body. Gently oil is applied to his chest, his arms, his legs and finally his loins. The female initiate is placed in a similar room and her body is annointed by the hands of the male priests, until the juices flow onto her thighs indicating with the surety of the man's erection that she is prepared for intercourse.

The prepared couple is placed in a garden, alone and naked, observed behind one way glass by the Gods. The erect serpent finds her and asks that she partake of his fruit, eat his fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. She eats and it is good. Adam enters into her and eats until he reaches the seed of the fruit. Man is now fallen, limp and cast out of her warm secret garden. No longer erect, he attempts to hide his fallen cock from the eyes of God in leaves, but the leaf lies flat and the fact that he has fallen is obvious.

"Hast thou eaten of the tree, whereof I commanded you not eat?" Eve has eaten and swallowed his fruit. In sorrow, she conceives as the moment of ecstacy in the garden passes. The man must now toil. Life has deprived the joy that belongs to entering paradise. But Christ has shown us, once fallen, man can re-erect, resurrect and again enter paradise.

The ceremony completed in hotel rooms, bedrooms, outdoors under the stars, in cars and bars, even Edenic gardens. Sometime the ceremony is captured in granulated images of the hotel television pay per view, a chance to peer into paradise and behind the veil – one chance to view in the burning cock and bush – God.