After a 2 week quarantine and 2 day road trip, at last I’ve settle into my grandparents’ spare room. Everyone’s asleep at this, the witching hour of 9 pm and I finally have my own, private space in which to…
In the absence of internet and TV, I resort to what any red-blooded human woman does in times of distress. I pull out my phone, hop on that browser, and find the perfect porn for the situation. Can we give it up for unlimited data? I click that volume down, and get right to work.
I look up. There he is, staring at me with one hand on his bleeding heart and the other waving in front of him as if he’s mastering a Jedi mind trick. It’s white Jesus, and he does not approve. I stop in my tracks. But it’s irreversible now. I’m at a point of no return, there’s no turning back.
Would removing him from the wall constitute mortal sin? Is demonic possession soon on my horizon if I turn him over?
Just look away, I tell myself, I tell him. I try to resume service. The thorns of his crown simultaneously pierce his skull and my soul, and it hits me, everything about this painting was created to purposely stop people from cumming.
I open my suitcase for some assistance.
“You brought a vibrator? To your GRANDPARENTS’?!”
I try to explain to white Jesus that it’s 2020, which means it’s perfectly okay for women to be self-actualized and express their sexuality, and that this is one of many healthy forms that that can take. Also, being 2020, it’s been a rough year, to which white Jesus scoffs. I acknowledge his sacrifices and trauma before carefully reminding him that suffering is relative. But he’s not having it.
Maybe I can move my debauchery into the bathroom? Then I remember he’s there too. In true Catholic style, there are at least nine portraits of him scattered throughout the house in an effort to guilt both residents and visitors at every corner.
It’s clear I’m not going to be blessed with the sacrament of orgasm any time soon. I whisper-yell my reverse-guilt tactic, “If you were really Jesus, you wouldn’t be white! You’re masquerading in an attempt to colonize suburban households, ya liar!” The proverbial record scratches. Someone had to call him out on his shit.
Assuming I’ve shut him up, I resume my solitary ministry.
As I’m watching my chosen clip, white Jesus must hear the woman quietly screaming “fuck” repeatedly, as he’s quick to remind me about the first time I used the word fuck in church. This puts me in a tailspin. I’m consumed by thoughts of little young me, before I moved out of the suburbs, when white Jesus had me convinced that I’d get pregnant from masturbating too much. A slightly less than immaculate conception, if you will.
I swear he’s grinning. It’s clear to me that he gets off on guilt. I’m not one to deny others of a good time, so I’m finally able to cum without a hint of contrition, knowing I’ve displeased and thus pleasured the lord.