Talking Religion on Sex Sites?
A close friend of hubby’s asked me, pleasantly surprised, how did I manage to talk so much about religion on my sex sites. He is a Christian, like us, and — like many seasoned software architects — he’s not the type to buy the mainstream mantra of any cult, small or great, obscure or mainstream (highly organized religions are just that: highly organized cults). When I state that I’m a Christian, I don’t link myself to this or that denomination, or global church. Instead, as the name points out, I link myself to a Man, Jesus of Nazareth, The Man Who — couple millennia ago — started a movement in Jerusalem, remember?
What other people have done with (or to) His movement is another topic that I wish to avoid. From a simple perspective, the world seems black and white, with no colors, not even shades of grey. So “this” must be “sacred” and “that” has to be “profane.” And please, don’t bother “us” with your philosophical explanations, because we don’t want to hear them, err, not that we’d understand much if bothering to. This is how the mob goes and grows. Are you with us or against us? Simple question requesting — DEMANDING! — a simple yes-or-no answer. Just dare say that it is complicated and you’ll get mobbed.
In other words, the friend of hubby’s (asking me how I mingle religion with sex thoughts) won’t talk to his church choir about my sites, the same way that I won’t talk to my choir about my second life. At least, hubby has no choir to talk to, lucky him, and me! — because he always has had a hard time keeping his mouth shut.
Every day, life is teaching us about our imperfections. By the Book, we have been taught to know good and evil. By our lives, we practice good and evil with the slightest thought of envy or the subtlest whisper of gossip. We are swingers between the concept of the “sacred” and the opposite concept of the “profane.” These extremes are but concepts to us, at least in this life, because we can hardly touch any of them. Let’s compare these two concepts to the banks of a river, the river of time taking our lives down stream, to the unknown. What happens when (and if) we can reach the banks? That matter should be left for another time. As for now, in this little article, I mention that our wishful thinking mind longs to give us the sensation of a safe ground, to make us think that we are out of danger, not drowning in the muddy waters of this river. Eventually, our unquenchable exasperation for certitudes drives us to fanatically adhere to one or another “sacred” space offered on the market.
There are two aspects that can be sacred for the believer: one is the connection with the objective Ultimate and the other is the self-induced sensation of a connection with something described as the “ultimate” — and the believer will never know to make a difference because this is the definition of faith: “Complete trust or confidence in someone or something. Strong belief in God or in the doctrines of a religion, based on spiritual apprehension rather than proof.”
They Are No Gods!
There are so many popular faiths in our society. Let’s skip the traditional ones, inherited from other centuries or millenia, and let’s enumerate the surging major “religions” of the day: Android, Apple, Facebook, Global warming, Google, Nokia, Obama, Oprah, Samsung, Twitter, Xbox. I certainly missed some of them but you get the point: masses of young people treat these names with religious reverence. They may not realize it but that’s what they feel and how they act. It is their “sacred” land, the space they call home, the words and images that comfort their ears and eyes, the realms that bring peace to their souls.
We run to make ourselves prisoners of a “sacred” zone in a similar manner as the villagers of old ran inside the fortified walls of a city. Running for their lives, they chose to dig themselves into a hole. It is what we do when we outsource the faculty of thinking to others: why bother to think?, why torment your mind with unpleasant options?, why study the ugly?, why learn from the mistakes others made when you can just pass the effort to that handsome guy talking inside a screen, when you can sit and watch and simply call it all “sacred.”
I Am No Goddess!
Some of the Gentlemen watching the profane poses that I post on the web have called me a goddess. Well, besides inducing a narcissistic opiate in my mind, this appellative provides us with more food for thought on the sacred and profane topic.
I know too well, as well as you do, that I am no goddess. I’m just a housewife looking for ways of escaping the inherent erosion of aging. I dedicate myself to model my hubby’s profane thoughts, and to make them public, because I find two reasons of comfort in doing this: for one, it feels like freedom when you can rebel; and for two, I love following my man, even if that takes us through hell because, if we stick together, there will always be a heaven waiting for us. The “sacred” for me is pleasing my man.
Lucky him, and I don’t have to remind him too often about this, is that his mistress and his porn goddess and his fantasy lady are one and the same with his wife. He says that I’m his multi-tasking bunny, and Domina, and counselor, and porn star, and his goddess!
See the pattern? Men need a “goddess” of sorts. Looks like it’s part of our woman nature to provide this fantasy to them, the way we provide dinner or clean the house or raise their kids…
A man’s “sacred” land, here on earth, is conquered when he desires to treat his wife like a goddess. Don’t get me wrong, because I was worried (time ago) when he detailed to me what new porn movie he has seen last night, and how he came on the moans of an unknown woman. It did not comfort me, but it made me think: why is he genuinely telling me all these porn stories?; isn’t it because he wants me to play in them? So I stepped down from my high ladder of moral matrimony, sooted myself in the vast swamps of profanity that a man can carry between his ears, and eventually returned to my housewife status reinforced with an added “title” — I am my man’s goddess of porn.
To the other Gentlemen who called me a goddess, I say thank you for their sincere compliments, telling them that this truly melts my heart (and sometimes wets my pants just a bit), and then I often tell them to bring their wives in the dialog, teaching them how they can become their own men’s goddesses — letting them know that achieving this “sacre” position goes through a very “profane” path.
My guessing is that all a man needs is a God in Heavens and a “goddess” in bed. Am I right, am I wrong? You tell me.