Chapter 29 – Part 5, Psalms 23

This is chapter 29, part 5 of the Pleasing María novel. If you are under 18 years of age, or are offended by explicit descriptions of sexual activity or violence, or by strong language, please exit this site immediately. To view the Table of Contents of the novel click here. To go directly to the first chapter, click here. To read the latest novel post, click here. This is a rough second draft.

Chapter 29 – Part 5, Psalms 23

The estrellitas admired and thanked me for the hair brushes. I felt some awkwardness in them due to my presence, so I excused myself until it was time to take Bubbly to the hospital. I’d ask them about Marikarina the next day, when we were more settled with each other.

I sat on my bed in my room thinking about what to say to my son about Rosa, but was distracted by the religious decorations on the wall. Crosses and Catholic artefacts, all depicting some coercive theme, the subjugation of man and woman to somebody else’s conception of god. I decided to exchange them for Guatemalan handcraft textiles, the art of indigenous women. I removed and stored them in my packing box. One decoration caught my attention, a hand embroidery of a shepherd with a flock of sheep, a poem embroidered to one side. Salmos 23 (Psalm 23), no doubt a poem from the Catholic Bible. The shepherd wore long robes and had a kind face, evident even through the rough embroidery.

Reading the poem depressed me, until I thought of all those carefree years with María. I mentally changed just a few word in the poem, felt an immense relief, and decided to keep it on my wall:

María es mi pastor, nada me falta; (María is my shepherd: I shall not want;)

en verdes pastos ella me hace reposar. A las aguas de descanso me conduce, (she maketh me to lie down in green pastures. She leadeth me beside the still waters,)

y reconforta mi alma. Por el camino del bueno me dirige, por amor de su nombre. (she restoreth my soul. She leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for her name’s sake.)

Aunque pase por quebradas oscuras, no temo ningún mal, porque tú estás conmigo con tu vara y tu bastón, y al verlas voy sin miedo. (Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.)

La mesa has preparado para mí frente a mis adversarios, con aceites perfumas mi cabeza y rellenas mi copa. (Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.)

Irán conmigo la dicha y tu favor mientras dura mi vida, mi mansión será la casa de María por largos, largos días. (Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life and I will dwell in the house of María for ever.)

María had been my shepherd, but I didn’t obey her, didn’t follow her lead, and I fell off the cliffs. But even in spite of myself, she liberated me from the slavery of conventional morality.

Now Marikarina would be my shepherd. I would follow her, her rules, her love. I wouldn’t be clever, lying and cheating. It was too late for me, I had mis-spent my life, but she would still save me. And she would liberate from yet another moral slavery.

I remembered back some 40 years to when I first chose the Sacred Whore Isis to be my goddess and of the ancient script that led me to her, the koptic text Nag Hammadi Codex NHC VI 2, often regarded as a hymn to Isis:
For I am the first and the last
I am the venerated and the despised
I am the prostitute and the saint
I am the wife and the virgin
I am the mother and the daughter
I am the arms of my mother
I am barren and my children are many
I am the married woman and the spinster
I am the woman who gives birth and she who never procreated
I am the consolation for the pain of birth
I am the wife and the husband
And it was my man who created me
I am the mother of my father
I am the sister of my husband
And he is my rejected son
Always respect me
For I am the shameful and the magnificent one

My laptop beeped and I saw I had a message from Marikarina, “I just talked to The Estrella, I have great news for you, you’ll be surprised. Come see me tomorrow after my classes, I’ll tell you.”

I closed my door and did something I had never done before in my life-–next to my bed, I knelt to pray … yes, yes, knelt, on my knees, the worship position, the same position of so many penis sucks and vulva kisses. I realized then that each time on my knees had been a prayer, a supplication for love.

I gave thanks to the Sacred Whore Goddess Isis for the gift of Female, of Whoredom, of Maartine, María, the Estrella, Rosa, the estrellitas, and Marikarina.

I prayed for long lives for María and I, enough time to get her back so we could die together. Beauty fades in time, sexual appetite diminish. I would get her back! I resolved to die before her, there could be no life for me without María.

No, wait–that wouldn’t work. María might die alone, I couldn’t chance that. I would be there for her in her last moments. It wouldn’t matter, I would follow her seconds later. María had called me into existence on María-date: zero, my lifetime ago. I’d have no existence without her. Her death would extinguish the timer of my existence. The absolute pain of my last few seconds without her would be unlivable.

I was one of the few lucky ones – I now knew my life span, the exact time of my death – María-date: infinity.

A warm glow spread from my groin downward and upward – it was joy. No, not just joy, it was love. I finally knew what love is. Love is waiting a lifetime for the one you love, then refusing to die until you’ve seen her off.


I thought of my son again. Maybe I could tell him I had seen the future, the Vulva, his mother María, and all the women like María, the María-spirits. But that explanation wasn’t a phone call. It would take days to explain, or I’d have to write a book.

Or maybe I could tell him that a new world order based on the Vulva was coming–Liberty would reign, violent king Penis would be dethroned, would become the serf. I knew I wouldn’t live long enough to see the end of that transition. And it would take me days to explain it completely.

I formulated some key ideas and organized them coherently. I picked-up the house phone and dialed his number. I practiced my speech as it rang. Just as someone answered the phone, my laptop beeped. A message. From María. She hadn’t sent me a message in months. I was paralyzed, my speech for Brett vanished into fear.

“Hello … hello? Is that you dad?”

“Uh, Brett, yes, wait, give me a second please.”

Surely, this is María’s butt-out message, where she tells me to leave her alone, to never contact her again. Or what? What else could it be?

Stop, focus. I had to focus, I had to save my son from my mistakes.

That lifetime nag in the back of head exploded into my consciousness. Love is more that waiting a lifetime for her, more than seeing her off with love. I’ve had it wrong since the first time I told her I loved her. Not as deep as death, much deeper. ‘As deep as death’–such a captivating romantic notion, but truly too small and shallow. I reached over to my laptop and tapped out a message to María, “I love you much deeper than death, as deep as life. Your life, my life, our lives together.”

That’s what love is.

I’ll tell Brett to return to Rosa immediately, to honor her divinity, to worship at her vulva, to dedicate himself to please her. To love her as deep as life. Their lives, always together.

My laptop beeped again, another message from María. She must be furious at my insolence, or maybe she found out about PP’s castration.

My bedroom door opened and estrellita-blondie came in, wearing only a tiny baby-doll and twirled her used panty around her finger. She was beautiful and my groin exploded with fire. But I waved at her to come back later.

I’ll never read María’s messages, I should just delete them. They’ll sit there flashing at me like neon signs, mocking my inadequacies and failures, daring me to read her verdict and accept my punishment. I can’t read them, I couldn’t bear that final rejection, the loss of all hope, and Marikarina has given me a consolation prize, prize enough so I don’t kill myself.

I marked the messages and hit delete. Wait … maybe I should have let the Estrella or Marikarina read them. Decide if I should see them or not? I found the trash can and recovered the messages. I’ll see Marikarina tomorrow, she can decide.

But that’s tomorrow, right now I have another life to save, my son, Brett. Focus on Brett, on Rosa.

Rosa, she’s a María-spirit. He MUST keep her.

“Hello Brett? I have to talk to you about Rosa. You’re making a terrible mistake.”

But my mind was blank, how would I ever explain to him the joy of the madness that awaited him inside the exquisite vulva of his Magnificent Slut, Rosa?

End of book content.

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