From the Wild Collective Heart series: Part 2

Content Warning: Candid reflections on adolescent sexual awakening, religious conditioning, and mature themes.

I went to church and I worshipped. There wasn’t much that didn’t seem completely phallic to me and vaginal. All the floral dresses and lace-collared women. Scant makeup and Avon’s best perfumes wafting behind them. Round butts and strong, wide calves.

I looked up to them, especially the different ones. The new-to-the-place ones. Not broken into our area’s flavor ones.

The old men with the stiff leather shoe wear and tie clasps. Ties being their main standout in dress code. White undershirts peeking through thin dress shirts carefully buttoned to the throat.

I guess they all wore their own collars just like the women did.

The pillars, the pulpit, the pews, all stiff cocks, built by men for our round behinds to sit upon and be graced.

I guess I got a dirty mind, but someone had to. I mean, it’s right there to see. I guess I took “picture them all naked” and made it my own.

I made it my business to keep an eye on the children. It kinda already was my business, being a young lady in training for her own brood of tiny worshippers one day.

I kept watch over them and led them from harm as often as I saw danger ahead. I loved daydreaming about marriage and being a momma. Getting involved as an Avon rep, possibly.

I also loved looking at my calves, wonderin’ when they’d fill out and hoping there were other righteous perverts around my age just waiting to date me.

Lots of my prayers turned out like:

Dear God, let him be kind, strong, and respectable. Let his ties hang loose and his shirt only button so far. Let my future husband be quiet like me, protective of the kids, and also very interested in the sex I wasn’t allowed to have until married after a string of requirements met.

-Lily