Bad! Bad!

I used to fantasize about my friends' fathers. And in the height of shame and secrecy, about my own. The more wrong I knew the feelings were, the more they excited me. That was from my early childhood on. My instincts were primed from as young as I can remember, I'd sneak away and rub my panties. I'd use my baby knife, small and dull, with a yellow plastic handle, rubbing with the flat side. Because I'd use it for that, I stopped eating with it, worried it was dirty.

I was about 5 when I was caught with my younger cousin, 3. I think we were naked, in bed. Not really sure what we were doing, just writhing. But I knew it was bad when his mother, a frighteningly religious woman, burst in, whipping the bed clothes off us, and hauling him out to scrub him down or something. However, it was usually girls that I'd play sex with, my parents too wary of boys to leave me alone with them, unless they were family.

That cousin is married now, to a religious girl. He was staunchly no-sex before marriage, with squeaky clean language and regular church attendance. His mother was mad because he dated without a chaperone, but hey, everyone rebels somehow.

The only way I can understand religion is to compare it to science. People believe in it as blindly as I believe in something that is "scientifically proven." Strange.