A Treatise

Hi all! I wrote this a while ago, and thought it would be a nice intellectual accompaniment to my latest audio, "Forgive me, Father."

Hugs,

Josie

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A Sociological Treatise on the Patriarchy of the Roman Catholic Church

Or How My Faith Made Me a Masochist

There is no denying that the Catholic church is the most erotic, tempting, and succulent faith in the Western world. Saturated with eroticism and sadistic punishments through the centuries, the first time a woman gets down subserviently on her knees for a man, she is doing so within the walls of a Catholic church. Her eyes are emblazoned with the image of Christ nailed to the cross, on an impending crucifix that is the centerpiece of suffering at the Liturgy of the Eucharist. She drinks of the sacrificial blood given to her by a sinful man shrouded in pure white cloth, a man that she is told to call Father. The patriarchal organization treats her like a whore; images of Mary Magdalene, Delilah, Eve, are all flashed before her as Christian examples of womanhood. She is already the perpetual great sinner of the world because she has a cunt between her legs.

Without her knowledge, woman becomes the evil that cannot stop from happening. Every pleasurable thought, every sensual whisper, each caress of her delicate body is a reason for shame, guilt, and sadness. Guilt becomes like leather straps that mark and brand across her back and chest, sexual shame becomes the rocks hurled at her by the crowd that calls her slut, and she is bonded to her sins by the masochistic pleasure that she derives from her public humiliation for private trespasses.

For years, when she entered a man's place of worship, she had to cover her bare arms and her long hair, because it was tempting to the blameless men of the congregation. Long hair, a sign of sexual submission to a man, did not belong in the house of God but on her husband's chest when she lay on top of him at night. The wanton sinner could not flaunt her flaxen hair while kneeling in the pews, she might provoke a man out of his fake celibacy. Always, she is on her knees, feeling every lash of Christ's punishment inside of her thighs.

Most of the sexually dominant men I have had interactions with are or were raised Catholic. All their lives, they have witnessed the men being the dominant rulers of society, and specifically of the One Holy Apostolic Church. They are just taking their leads from the Catholic men that are always on center stage, while the women sit in the back pews, cloaked in black and protected by their shame.

Submission grants women their salvation. It is Mary Magdalene that subserviently washes Jesus feet and dries them with her long, beautiful hair. It is only after her submission can we perceive her as a saved woman. We watch Veronica wipe the face of Jesus in the sixth station of the cross, she accepts his blood and tears in this cleansing, sometimes erotic gesture.

It is said, in traditional sadomasochistic theory, that it is really the submissive that is in control. It is of this writer's opinion that this in invariably true. A wise older man once told me that it was women who held the church together through the millennia, though the priests stood on the altar with their sacrificial robes, the women of the cloth were the pillars on which the church stood. It is the female Catholic that is taught how to manipulate a man by her sexuality. From the time we are little girls in pure white dresses to the days we spent sneaking fleeting kisses behind the sacred tabernacle, we were taught that it was female sexuality that obtained the head of John the Baptist from an immoral man, female sexuality that took away Samson's impervious strength, innate female sexuality that tempted Adam into biting into the proverbial fruit of good and evil. Through biblical example, I have been taught that the way to get what I want from men comes from the heat radiating from my lustful womb.

As a young Catholic girl, I was taught that every sin of the flesh was a reason to repent, to confess my sins to a man that knew nothing about the desires of a young, succulent woman. For every delicious orgasm that rocked through my body, another lash of fire was struck against my soul, preventing me from eternal salvation. However, it is through submission that free will temporarily becomes the responsibility of another, and guilt is erased. It is in the satin collar that wraps around ones neck that deliverance is guaranteed and a lustful appetite can be innocently satiated. My sexuality wrapped in shrouds of carnal domination, a most derisive victory.