I attended a private Christian high school, which, to protect the guilty, I’ll continue to refer to as the Jesus Loves America Christian High School, or “JLA,” as I did in the first volume of my memoirs, The Life of Lauren. That’s not the school’s real name, of course, but the real one was just as silly. The place was more or less what you’d expect. Lot’s of moralizing, cheerleader uniforms that would have been right at home in 1940 (worn over tap pants, just in case), and a lot of illicit sex that everyone pretended wasn’t happening. Like the time my friend, Rhonda, caught the boys’ gym teacher and Miss Simmons, our English Lit teacher, sixty-nining under the gym bleachers.
It was also the school where I was awarded five swats across my bare ass with the principal’s paddle for blasphemy, of all things. I made the mistake of saying that Darwin made sense, which in that school was considered the same as saying that God wasn’t real. The people who ran the school were young-earth creationists. From what I gather, they still are. Old Mr. Fartface (his real name was Farthingale) was a bit of a perv, if you ask me. When he swatted me, he had me bent over his desk, and he was the one who flipped my skirt up over my back and pulled my panties down to my knees so that he could swat my bare rump. He kept me that way for quite a while after he was done with the paddling, too.
Did I mention there was no one else in the office. I always figured he was squatting back there, studying my pussy, and maybe even jerking off. At least this was before digital cameras, which can be set to take pictures without making a sound, so I know he wasn’t doing that.
I was a cheerleader. When we were seniors, past our eighteenth birthdays, we used to gather after football games for what we always told our parents were Bible study sessions. They approved of that sort of thing. Sometimes, we even got out our Bibles and did some studying. Mostly, we just had our little cheerleader lesbian orgies. But I’m not going to get into that here. If you want to read about what happened at those, and at a reunion a few years later, you should buy the book.
No, here I’m going to look at some of the stuff we got into when we actually did open up our Bibles and do some studying. If you’re someone who’s interested in kinky sex, there’s no better place to start looking.
The first thing we came up with was that Adam and Eve were siblings. I know, that sounds a bit out there, but think about it. Eve was made from one of Adam’s ribs (Gen. 2:22), which means that she was genetically almost identical. Obviously, God was the first GMO creator, since he’d have had to modify Eve by eliminating Adam’s “Y” chromosome and making her a double-“X”, or he really would have created Adam and Steve. But, despite that, they would have had the same genetic affinity as any brother and sister. So, in that sense, Adam married his sister (or maybe himself?), and the entire human race is descended from an initial incestuous coupling.
Then there’s the question of just who Adam and Eve’s sons married. Genesis says that they had sons and daughters, but since there was, presumably, no one else around except those sons and daughters, they obviously had to marry each other, so the incest carried on through the second generation of humanity. Even in the third generation, you couldn’t get further apart than a first cousin, and there were probably still a lot of brother-sister unions. No real rules on that yet, remember. And you would have run into a similar bottleneck with inbreeding after the Flood, when all you had was Noah, his wife, his three sons, and their wives. At best, it was back to nothing but first cousins again, and likely a few sibling unions until the population could build itself up again.
Okay, it probably wasn’t like that in reality, since Adam and Eve, and Noah and his family, weren’t real people anyway. Nor was there ever a “first” human being. At some point in the evolutionary chain an ancestor became what we’d call a human today, but it was an incremental step, not a leap from one species to another. There would have been hundreds, or perhaps even thousands of generations between the “pre-human” and the “human” before they were so different they could no longer mate with each other and produce viable offspring. For a very long time they’d be like horses and donkeys, still closely related enough to mate and produce a hybrid mule, but far enough apart that the mule is sterile. It would take a lot longer until you had humans and apes, who still could presumably mate, but the mating could never result in a pregnancy (except, maybe, in a few conspiracy nuts’ imaginations).
But, back to the Bible, the Dirty Parts. The three major western religions, Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, all trace their origin back to Abraham, and the first two to Abraham and Sarah (Islam, or Arabs, at least, trace their line back to Abraham and Hagar). This is interesting, because the Bible states very clearly that Sarah was Abraham’s half-sister, which is incest no matter how you look at it. Even in the weird, the child is really only the father’s product, the mother just provides a place for the seed to grow, biological fallacy espoused by the biblical writers. Abraham states, “She is the daughter of my father, but not the daughter of my mother; and she became my wife.” (Gen. 20:12) I guess things were a little different back in Ur, before Abram became Abraham.
It was also around this time that Lot was screwing both of his daughters in a cave somewhere around Zoar. Genesis gives the excuse that they thought the world had ended, and there was no one else left, so the two girls got their father drunk and had sex with him when he wouldn’t realize what had happened. Personally, I’m not buying it. I’ve been around a few guys who were so smashed they didn’t know what they were doing, and memory isn’t the only thing alcohol takes away. By the time you’re that drunk, nothing will be rising until you’ve sobered up again. The “he perceived not when she lay down” thing is just a whitewash. He knew who it was, and he knew what he was doing. The whole thing has always struck me as a lot of making excuses for what is, after all, probably nothing more than a myth.
Of course, if you’re really looking for the dirty parts, read Song of Solomon, or Song of Songs, whichever you prefer to call it. Rev. Killjoy always claimed this was a beautiful allegory about Christ’s love for his flock, but, I have to be honest with you, it’s mostly about fucking. Rev. Killjoy, you may recall if you’ve read the book, also believed in sharing the “tower of blessing” with the prettier high school seniors, so they could receive the “divine anointing” after they’d paid proper homage to it.
You don’t recall that? Buy the bloody book.