Sex for the Love of Gods: A Weapon of Much Concern

by Moxie Mission 2 years ago in humanity

Virgin Tales: When Orgasms Smell Like Flowers

Sex for the Love of Gods: A Weapon of Much Concern

It was back in 2001 when I had sex for the first time. A girl in my high school, named Nicole, committed to make a man out of me. While mother and grandmother were ferociously attempting to preserve my innocence, and to groom me into the Pentecostal church, I saw bewilderment in the darkness of goth, punk, metal culture. The hair, makeup, and self-inflicted piercings, pocket-knife mutilations, and music and theater obsessions were more meaningful to me than a dusty bible and vintage pews. They resembled the part of my existence which screamed, "I am sex deprived, uneducated, and too curious to stay frigid!"

It was then I became a Wiccan, Shaman, Sexual Alchemist, Grunge-Puppy, Thesbian-Rocker with one aim and one aim only-- to replace my mother with a sex goddess capable of sucking the soul from my manhood and replacing it with a pair of two red lips dressed to leave me a ring around the rosy.

"A virtuous tail of our true animistic nature," scholars would later say, "an epoch of depraved sexual mysticism wrapped in adolescent egocentrism." Could I be the first to draft the God's divine breath into the realm of the living Earth, or would I lose my mind into abysmal unconsciousness? In any case, it involves the abuse of executive spiritual power for the love and glory of Nicole's finely curved hips, musky scent of Tommy Girl perfume, sex, and cigarettes to fulfill my sinful desire to penetrate so delectable a-creature. "Damn me! My virginity is yours!"

After the deed was finished, I felt as though I would forever have the smell of Trojan condoms, vaginal fluid, semen, and sweat burned into my nasal ways. I felt as though I had dumped myself into her as everything I did carried with it the scent of my soul's departure into her maxome womb. And god damn, it was good! I was finally free and the gods, too, were free to roam with me in the places I go. Mother and grandmother would never influence me again.

That night, the doors were shut to keep the smell of sexual sacredity away from the prying nose of mother and grandmother. After all, it was mine, not theirs. I earned the wickedness of this night, and this night they will benefactor no purity from my virginity again.

I shaped the world that night. I became a man when I'd heard the words, "I love you" filter through the air into her ears. Too bad I'd given her no incentive to love me back since she neither abdicated from her mission to seduce another innocent nor relinquished her vexing fae suck. (Thanks for the inspiration, Lost Girl). That's when I saw her leave.

After two additional pony-ups and at least one broken condom, she opened the door to her car and drove away. Out the window, I channeled her to think of me for the remainder of the night as the father of her new fae children, and to feel a lasting urge to let me plunge into her panties again. So led her to be my girlfriend for an additional two months and make love to me two more times.

The second time was a repeat of the first, but the penis felt the wet slime of her vaginal cave without the safety of a net. She told me, "I'm on birth control now, we don't need a condom." Oh shit! I thought. This is how my biological mother and father made me... fuck it. I might never get another chance at this again." So I dove in before my mother and grandmother could seep the acid burn of biblical scripture into my ears again. Would I ever know another like this? Only the gods could judge if my new found manhood was worthy enough for the givings of another slut-bread succubus like Nicole. Might as well pack a few aspirin into my book bag and hunt for another female at school to help me make orgasms smell like flowers.

Virginity is a social construct

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