Easter Monday (2)
As chance would have it, one of those trips was on an Easter Monday like today, three days before Holy Thursday and the week of Christ's passion. From Monday to Wednesday we stayed in a hotel in the south of Spain where the rites of Christ's passion were already being prepared in the surrounding area. In that environment, I decided to be provocative and convince her that it was a waste of time to spend those days praying and fasting, and I took her to nightclubs and dinners.
She was clearly upset. I asked her to tell me why she was so tense, until she confessed that it was the first time in her life that she had spent the first days of Holy Week in such a different environment, far removed from inner retreat and from God. That surprised her, because she knew me from church, and she didn't see me as someone different from her father, for example. That is to say, she saw me as a devout Catholic man committed to the Church.
On Tuesday I offered her a glass of champagne in my room to celebrate the fact that the meetings had been very successful, and although she hesitated, she finally accepted. When I opened the door she was surprised to see me wearing shorts and a T-shirt with the image of Taylor Momsen, who is known for her Satanism, her defense of abortion and her passion for inverted crosses. She was dressed casually but formally, and I sent her to her room to change into something more comfortable. She came back in sportswear, as we both always had the habit of going out for a run first thing in the morning or working out in the hotel gyms when we traveled.
She couldn't take her eyes off my T-shirt, and she was nervous. She didn't understand that image of me so different from that of Sundays at mass, and I took advantage of that confusion to ask her about it openly. After a lot of patience and insistence, she ended up telling me that she thought wearing that T-shirt was wrong, that she would never be able to wear it and identify with a person who, according to her, embodied evil and blasphemy. And so, little by little, in a wonderful game, I got her to confess that she felt uncomfortable every time I said “Fuck God” in one of my moments of “anger”
“Why?” I asked her. ‘It's a sin,’ she said. We Catholics have all grown up with that fear of sin, and I understood her very well. But I remembered the first time I said it out loud, ‘Fuck God’ (I wrote about it in this blog) and how shortly afterwards I masturbated, remembering the fear I felt while doing it. Between jokes, I assured her that saying fuck god was not bad and nothing bad would happen to her, and that she should dare to do it. She refused many times, many, until she finally said it shyly, as if in exasperation.
I, who have always had a fairly accurate perception of people, knew that the fact that she was still there, in my room, in that context, meant that she was curious enough not to leave immediately. And I was right. Fuck God, she repeated over and over again. Each time I said it too, and I rewarded her with my best smile, and so she gradually released the tension.
From there we moved on to Fuck Jesus Christ, and from there to Fuck Jesus that bastard. For more than an hour, between drinks, it was just the two of us swearing, getting louder and louder and laughing and mocking more and more. At that point, I asked her to repeat “Fuck Mary the whore”, but she immediately tensed up and refused, explaining to me that for her Mary was the mother of God and that she had prayed to Mary every night all her life. I pointed out to her that after more than an hour of mocking God, of shitting on Christ, there wouldn't be much difference. And it was true.
She trembled the first time she said it. Her cheeks were red with excitement and embarrassment, and I knew that if I had touched her pussy at that moment it would be soaking wet. But I didn't, because I recognized that for her all that was a big step, her first big step in freeing herself from her fear of sin, and I knew that in the future there would be time for more and I didn't want to rush it.
It was on Holy Tuesday, and the seed of blasphemy took root in her soul, until then pure and devoted to God, and from there it germinated and grew beautifully in the following months.
I will tell you more about her later. For the moment, I wanted to remember that experience on a Holy Monday like this one, and share it with you.
Remember to blaspheme daily, feel the power of that gesture, and revel in the orgasms it gives you.