Choice Fruit

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This post has mature content, so if you aren't 18, turn around and get out of here, quick!

Sex. Yeah, I like it. Don't you? Surely, you do. So, why are you all legs crossed, panties bunched up, and sour-faced whenever anyone talks about it? What's that? You're not that kind of girl? You don't do those things? You're a Christian?  Well, guess what?  So am I.  Yeah, that's right.  I'm a Jesus-loving, God-worshiping, Holy Ghost-rolling, Christian.  And, I talk about it.  So, whatcha gonna do?  Go tell my Daddy?  Hey, guess what... He talks about it, too.  And, He gets even nastier than me (okay, sometimes). 

My bio daddy doesn't talk about it-- that would be weird, wouldn't it?  I mean my Heavenly Daddy... yeah, that's the One.  He has lots to say.

Don't believe me?  Go read Song of Solomon.  Yes, in the Bible.  You know, God's Word?  Told ya He talked about it.

A friend of mine writes romance novels.  But, you know what?  They aren't nearly as hot as what the Bible says about sex.  A few years ago, five years ago, six years ago, my husband and I attended the Song of Solomon Conference at Liberty University.  It is a two day conference.  At the time, we didn't have the money for a hotel room, so we drove an hour to Liberty on Friday, went to the first half of the conference, drove home that night, and turned around and drove back the next morning.  This was pre-Katrina and gas was a lot cheaper.

So, the first night, we heard Tommy Nelson read Song of Solomon, speak about raisin cakes and other aphrodisiacs, and left to drive home.  Boy, I could barely keep my hands off of him during that short drive.  When we got back to our apartment that night, we had mind-blowing sex.  Really.  After a Bible conference, we saw fireworks.  It was amazing.

I still get turned on when I read that particular book of the Bible.  My favorite passage is Song of Solomon 4:16,

Awake, north wind,
and come, south wind!
Blow on my garden,
that its fragrance may spread abroad.
Let my lover come into his garden
and taste its choice fruits.

Oh, yes.  Blow on me, please.  Taste the choice fruits of  my garden, I beg you. (not you, but Mr. Hull.  Sorry, I may have gotten a little carried away... watch this while I take a quick shower)





So, where did this post come from?  Was it divinely inspired?  Sorry, no.  I was recently reading Toy With Me and came across a post entitled, How I Became a Porn-Again Christian.  I was intrigued.  Though I had attended Song of Solomon many moons ago, I hadn't thought about "Christian" sex much since then.  Our pastor just doesn't address it.  Does yours?  So, I had begun to think that all the really nasty stuff we do was a bit sinful.  It sure felt that way, but good, oh so good...  I'll spare Mr. Hull by not giving all the details.  

Did you realize that there are Christian toy shops out there?  Like Covenant Spice, who even stocks the fun stuff like vibrators.  Woo-hoo!  


Ladies, be free.  Go get it on with your husbands, and don't feel ashamed.  Let the chains fall and embrace your sexuality. Or embrace the chains... you know... whatever...

How Automation Saved the Day

Picture it: Hammock Beach, Florida, late July 2010.  A woman lays on a strange bed, inattentively watching television while on the phone with her beloved husband, who has been left to fend for himself for the week.  A commercial comes across the screen.  She excitedly learns that one of her favorite programs, Project Runway, is set to return for another season.  The problem is, it will debut on a night when she will be unable to watch.  "Honey," she says sweetly, "will you please set the DVR to record Project Runway for me?"  "Of course," her sweetheart replies.  She continues on, giving him the details of the network and time for which he should program the device.

A week passes.  The young woman has returned home.  Out of the blue, she remembers the missed episode of her show.

Did you remember to record Project Runway for me? 

Uh....

You said you would, remember?

I don't think I did.  I forgot.

You forgot?  How could you forget?  You said you'd do it right then, when we were on the phone.  Remember?

You talked too much after that.  I forgot.  I'm sorry.

Man picks up remote, flips through the list of recorded programs, and finds the latest episode of the show in question.

Oh, look, I did record it.

Both breathe a sigh of relief.  The woman, it turns out, had the device set to record all along, left over from the prior season.  Technology, my dear, is wonderful.

A Different Sort of Marriage

I never really had a good model of marriage when I was a child.  My parents divorced when I was three or four years old.  Before that, my only memories are of them yelling at one another.  For years after, I would feel anxious from time to time and hear their loud, angry voices in my head.  My throat would close up and I would feel an irrational fear and insurmountable guilt.

I don't have any happy memories of my parents together.  None at all.  Even after they divorced, my father would accuse my mother of ruining his life and taking me away from him, and my mother would call my father names like "SH," which stood for Shit Head, behind his back.

When I got older, I learned that my father kidnapped me shortly after they separated.  I vaguely remember being in a strange bed and having police officers come to the house where I was.  I remember walking through the courthouse and seeing my mother sitting on a bench in front of a panel of windows.  She jumped up and ran to me.  That is all.

As I got older, I also heard other stories of married life between my parents, but none of it was pleasant.  I would look back through photo albums, but there weren't any pictures of the three of us together.  I suppose that may be because someone always had to be behind the camera, but I don't know.

My father didn't remarry until I was grown, but my mother found a new husband and got married shortly after my fifth birthday.  Steve was good to her and took care of me, but he had a mean streak, too.  I remember that they would argue about normal couples things.  Once, when I was about 12 years old, my mother threatened to send me to my fathers while she left my stepfather.  She said that we should all go our separate ways.  They did eventually get a divorce, and I did eventually go to live with my dad, but it took another two to three years before we got there.

In some ways, I can feel sympathy towards my mom.  I am now married with two children, one more than she ever had.  I understand the frustration of trying to make something work, of holding onto hope that I can have a normal life.  I understand the way that someone so close to you can use words that cut so deeply.  But, I'm not alone in this.  I'm sure my husband has experienced the same.

We don't fight like my parents did when I was young, at least I hope not.  When we argue, it is about typical family things.  Money, time, holidays, and the such.  It still hurts, and it is still hard for me not to go the same way that my mother did.  It is hard for me to know how to work through our problems, when I had no model for a good marriage.  Because of that, I not only feel sympathy towards my mother, I also feel anger.

Some days I feel like I don't know how to be a good wife and mother.  Some days I feel like I just can't do it.  I try, I really do, but I just can't get there.  I see myself repeating her mistakes.  I hear myself repeating her harsh words.  I worry that, I too, will wind up a bitter old woman with hardly any family left to care.

At the same time, my husband and I are committed to each other.  Regardless of what we may say or feel, I can't imagine that we will go the way of my parents.  I can't imagine that we really would go through divorce proceedings.  So, in that way, we are different from what has gone before.  We may struggle, but we'll make it.  We have to.

This post was inspired by Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop, prompt number four, "Describe how your relationship with your spouse is different then the relationship your parents had while you were growing up."