From the Wild Collective Heart series: Part 11

Content Warning: Childhood sexual curiosity, religious themes, and mature content.

Every single Sunday, I looked forward to that drive into town for one reason alone. Horse balls.

As long as I can remember, there stood a stallion statue above the sinner’s den where alcohol was consumed by trade of cash. This thing was life-sized and packin’. That horse was holy to me.

I’d get to trembling as the family station wagon drew near, roll onto my back, and look up through the window, in a time before seatbelts were the law, and too many kids meant some rode in the trunk, lying down low so the cops didn’t spot us.

Holy balls, that horse’s stuff swung low, sweet chariot, right into an eyeful.

I felt all hot and tingly, wondering if my future husband would have one like that. I’d carry such thoughts with me right into church and smile, stars in my eyes, with such a secret.

For religious purposes, of course.

Future husband worshipper in training.

-Lily