Taboo

non-subject: "guilty pleasure"
aww ~ march 31, 2010
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"Guilty pleasure." What comes to mind?

I thought about the words as I walked six miles on Monday.

My promiscuous year? That was not pleasurable. I relate with no fondness to that time.

How do I relate to it? With disgust. A few months prior, I'd AWOLed on my Way Corps commitment, leaving my Word Over the World Ambassador tour of duty high and dry.  I felt like a Judas. How could I ever redeem myself?

My first victim, Ben. I was 20; he was 30. I worked as a pub waitress; he was a loyal patron.

Pub closing time was sometime after midnight. Doors were locked. Employees cleaned. A couple regular customers were allowed to hang around late. Ben was one of those.

After my work was done I'd sit at the bar with others. Relaxing, drinking, conversing, flirting.  Liebfraumilch was my bevearge of choice.

I turned on my charm with Ben. He looked like a Ben, bearded and husky. He dressed nicely and wore cologne. We found ourselves in the backseat of Ben's BMW. I desired to please. He enjoyed the pleasure.

Over the next nine months I made my rounds choosing my desired prey. Ben, Max, Bobby, Terry, David, William, Mike, and that other guy of whom I can't recall his name. I'd weave between them, back and forth, numbing myself with alcohol and sex; driven by some sort of shrouded force to murder my unworthiness, to somehow feel needed, to feel valuable.

My sexual liasons between these men were private, secret.  We didn't discuss our trysts nor did any of them or I show public affection one for another, except for Terry.  He and I supposedly dated for a couple months.

At the same time, in my other life which was my same life, I lived in a Way Home.  A Way Home; that was what The Way called it when Way believers lived together and ran fellowships and "moved the Word" together. In this same life which was my other life in the Way Home, I taught the Bible at Way Fellowships which were called Twigs. We hosted Twig in our Way home; we, being me and Kathy and Nancy. I led songs and Twig meetings. I spoke in tongues, interpreted, and prophesied. I filled out "blue forms" which were the financial reports of "abundant sharing" that we received at Twig when we passed the horn of plenty.  All monies collected were sent to New Knoxville, Ohio, The Way Headquarters.

I witnessed the Word to my secret pleasure seekers, these men with whom I felt value. I pleased them; that made me valuable. I'd speak the Word to them; after all, I was 'free' in Christ.

All of them came to Twig at least once, except for Ben and the nameless dude.  Mike even took the Power For Abundant Living Foundational Class.

That time in my life is not a guilty pleasure. It's painful to recall. Dirty, confusing, murky. I used those men, my prey. They used me. Quid pro quo.

What was my guilty pleasure? Journaling.

I began in 1998, then 39 years old, to pour my thoughts and feelings onto the page. Emotions and inklings, deemed forbidden by my then belief system, slowly began to trickle forth. I hid them, these forbidden possibly-inspired-by-devil-spirit emotions and thoughts, I hid them between my journal covers.

Self-hatred. Illnesses. Pains. Cries. Dreams. Shame. Poetry. Longing for inclusiveness among people. Silently screaming for the freedom to express.

Promiscuity. Bible. Journaling.

Paradox. Hypocrisy. Taboo.

Forever grateful for tasting these pages, my 'guilty pleasure' until death do us part.

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