Post #32.7 Tuesday, May 17, 2022

Historical setting: 589 C.E. In the Vosges Mountains

Please take care. This post was not written for children to read, even for good readers.

         Ana is telling me a story I don’t even want to hear.

         She continues, “I hadn’t known there was ever a physical sign that would tell of the virginity of a man so I guess he needed to tell it for it to be known. What he really meant by telling me that, was he was offering his purity to me as a sacrifice of himself for the Christian sake of my rescue.”

         I know Ana is looking at me for a reasonable opinion. I mean, I’ve been a man nearly a century longer than the Christian religion ever was, so surely I would know about this.  I turn back toward our worktable to repress my grimace. What can I say?

          “So, by your silence I guess you know what happened.” My silence agrees, and she continues.  “We removed our robes, mine a blanket on the cold ground, his a blanket on his back. He tore away the loose pieces left of my dress on me, so we were both naked between the wools. The young monk, pure and virgin poured his eyes over me like I was some creature he had never seen before. And that affirmed to me he was indeed a virgin. He told me again it was his holy mission to risk his own virtue to save me from my sin.”

          “So there I was, laid out on a borrowed monk’s robe, naked and waiting for the white snake of the druid blessing to go seeking the snake’s den of legend. If I could only be fearless I could be helping this young monk become my savior. But as he proceeded to find a tempo for his flushing checks to brighten I could see nothing but the reddened laughing faces of the pirates. In my mind’s eye he was, himself, transfigured into the very pirates I wanted most to be rid of, so I fought and screamed!  I was frantic, but he cupped his hand over my mouth so no one would hear my screams. I could hardly breath. He groped my body for a place to put that tall virgin phallus he seemed to have acquired so suddenly. I squirmed and fought to free myself, but he pressed my shoulders tighter to the ground so only my legs could move freely, and my thrashing knee gave me a power I didn’t know I had. He crumpled into a writhing ball, releasing me.”

(Continues Tomorrow)

Published by J.K. Marlin

Retired church playwright learning new art forms-- fiction writing, in historical context and now blogging these stories. The Lazarus Pages have a recurring character -- best friend of Jesus -- repeatedly waking to life in various periods of church history and spirituality.

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