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Need I tell you, dear reader, that Lo was brought up as a Catholic? Of course she was. She was brought up loving that lauded Jew upon the Cross. She lusted after his lengthy locks, his bearded face, his six-pack, and to remove that little wisp of loincloth. She tried mightily to be a good Catholic girl, but even at her tender age she was compulsively causing herself to cum. She knew this was wrong and, doing her duty as a member of the laity, she confessed all to the priest. If she had not eaten of the Tree of Knowledge before, this sincere confession was a full course of fruit. She went into that confession expecting to be absolved of her black, black sins, but instead she found that the priest wanted to hear every sordid detail — how she did it, where, what she thought about, how many times, exactly what parts she touched, and so on. She, thinking that this was part of the redemption process, told her tale, but as she did so she could hear in the priest’s voice the effect her words had upon him. Suddenly a shift of consciousness came over her as if she went from being the little lost lamb to the salacious serpent singing a song of seduction. From then on she looked forward not only to the icon of her Lord and Savior, but to entering that intimate little chamber where she could simultaneously confess and corrupt, commit yet another sin by trying to absolve herself of the first, purify her soul in the act of profanity. The priest also looked forward to these grants of absolution, for as Lo recounted her numerous black deeds, he would tell her to “Come to Jesus. Come to Jesus,” and she would. Boy would she.

On Sundays, when she went up to accept the Eucharist, the priest, who knew very well who this salacious sinner was, would say to her, “Body of Christ,” and Lo would respond with a lip licking, salivating mouth, “Oh yes, please.” She’d open her sumptuous red lips and slightly protrude her wet tongue in order for the priest to place the wafer on it. Lo would then return to one of the front pews of the church and get down on her knees with her eyes slightly uplifted in order to get a rise from beneath the priest’s vestments.

Oh, my darling little Lo. Such a black soul in the body of an angel — a fallen angel. But this little bit of background is necessary, I think, in order to better understand the attraction Lo has for me. As I explained, I have something of a Jeff Bridges as “The Dude” look about me, but a more apt description would be that of a Jesus who outlived his appointed execution at 33. I’m a 50 year-old Jesus and Lo calls me her “personal Lord and Savior.” Her favorite Madonna song and video is “Little Prayer” and she dreams of getting down on her knees to feel the power as she takes me there. Oh the heresy! But really, which is more heretical: giving head to Jesus or the hypocrisy of a one-sided proclamation of love that omits lust, sex, and deed?

I shall leave you with one parting thought about my little Lo’s abundantly creative mind. Often it is that Lo complains of the one-dimensionality of pornography. She craves porn created by and for women. To that end she has begun work on a screenplay that she has entitled: “The Second Cumming.” Oh you wicked, wicked Jezebel!

[Excerpt from the story, “Cum to Jesus,” from the blog:]

Just your average nymphomaniac next door. I love fan mail:

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