I really appreciate this piece, especially the possibilities of a different reality. I've had almost an identical experience as you described, also at age 11. It has taken a lot of work to repair the damage that was done on my young mind.
Stunningly on point. I remember accidentally discovering a stack of Hustlers in the cleaning closet at a house I used to babysit at with my mom...I was also a pre-teen. It seemed so incongruous with the two people who were raising these young children; how could he/they(?) be looking at such hard-core images...and now with the internet...sigh. You're totally right. It's vile. And there's another way.
Thank you for having the soul-nourishing humility to lead by example (I can certainly relate). I receive and share your eloquent prophecy of our collective erotic capabilities. For now, I'll share this from the Song of Songs:
She: While the king was at his table, my perfume spread its fragrance.
My beloved is to me a sachet of myrrh resting between my breasts.
My beloved is to me a cluster of henna blossoms from the vineyards of En Gedi.
He: How beautiful you are, my darling! Oh, how beautiful! Your eyes are doves.
She: How handsome you are, my beloved! Oh, how charming! And our bed is verdant.
He: The beams of our house are cedars; our rafters are firs.
I really appreciate this piece, especially the possibilities of a different reality. I've had almost an identical experience as you described, also at age 11. It has taken a lot of work to repair the damage that was done on my young mind.
Stunningly on point. I remember accidentally discovering a stack of Hustlers in the cleaning closet at a house I used to babysit at with my mom...I was also a pre-teen. It seemed so incongruous with the two people who were raising these young children; how could he/they(?) be looking at such hard-core images...and now with the internet...sigh. You're totally right. It's vile. And there's another way.
Thank you for having the soul-nourishing humility to lead by example (I can certainly relate). I receive and share your eloquent prophecy of our collective erotic capabilities. For now, I'll share this from the Song of Songs:
She: While the king was at his table, my perfume spread its fragrance.
My beloved is to me a sachet of myrrh resting between my breasts.
My beloved is to me a cluster of henna blossoms from the vineyards of En Gedi.
He: How beautiful you are, my darling! Oh, how beautiful! Your eyes are doves.
She: How handsome you are, my beloved! Oh, how charming! And our bed is verdant.
He: The beams of our house are cedars; our rafters are firs.