The
purpose of convention is to inculcate shame. Our priests have been singularly
successful in teaching this for centuries. Thus a man must take account of a
woman's shame, at least until he is between her legs. At that time, happily,
the woman has no more need of her shame, except perhaps to increase her
pleasure. During
the time we lived together, her religion always puzzled me. She wouldn't hear a
word against the priests. And yet she did not like them. She went to confession
once a year but as long as I knew her, she never attended mass. There was the
same contradiction in her attitude toward me. She disapproved of
what she called my atheism and each night before she came to bed she knelt
down, crossed herself, and mumbled a short prayer. A prayer for my conversion,
she said. At first I didn't realize how serious she was. I remember one time
while she was kneeling there at the bedside I approached her silently from
behind, lifted her skirt, and tried to mount her like a dog bitch. Afterwards,
she said that I shouldn't have done it, that it was blasphemy to attempt to
come between her and God. I said that that was between her
and Him, that He could have her soul but that her body was mine, before prayer,
during prayer, or after it. The funny thing was that she laughed, apparently
having forgotten all about her religion, and posed for me in her brassiere and
her knickers, which struck me as altogether pre−Christian.
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