THE SEX REBEL OF JESUSLAND, mini-chapter 63

63. THEY EAT

He taught her a secular song, “I can’t give you anything but love, baby,” and told her how the songwriters had happened to write this lyric. It was during the depression of 1929, and they were in New York. They saw a young soldier and his girlfriend standing outside a jewelry store window-shopping and looking at elegantly displayed diamond rings. The soldier turned to his girlfriend and said, “I can’t give you anything but love, baby,” and the two songwriters rushed home to write the song, which became a classic.

At last Eve felt free and comfortable with Adam; she felt she might as well enjoy herself. No big deal.

“Shall we eat?” he asked.

“Indeed,” she said. They had all the time in the world. Despite feeling somewhat superior to him and his vulnerability, she also felt a little submissive in the face of his sexual experience, like a girl needing encouragement from her father, and it worried her. But then she decided not to worry. As long as she was conscious of this submissive feeling, and that she didn’t want to feel it with the eventual man of her choosing, it was OK to feel it with this man. It was a temporary submissiveness she would forget when she forgot about him.

Accept your bliss, she told herself. God is allowing it. God is looking upon you. This warmth is the smile of God. Not that the Bureau would approve, but she was building her own theory of sex, that she would apply to society when she had the power to do so. Meanwhile, she had God’s blessing, she was sure of it. He was on her side.

And they hadn’t even kissed each other on the lips yet. There were many things left to do. Adam hadn’t even kissed her breasts yet. They hadn’t done the wild thing yet. They had the whole day to explore every inch of each other.

Eve helped Adam lay out the fruit, the cheese, the rolls, the ham, the turkey, the mustard, the tomatoes, the Boston lettuce, the baby spinach, the arugula. He watched her with something like awe as she wolfed down her food. She was a lady with an appetite. He was hungry, too. They finished a good half of the picnic. The rest was for later.

He asked her about her marriage. Her face went dark, and he regretted asking her.

“I wasn’t fair to him, I realize now,” she said. “But there were problems. Sexually, to be precise.”

“What kind of problems?”

She wondered if she should take him into her confidence. Heavens, why not? He was the one who was going to solve it all. He had earned the right to know.

“He couldn’t make me come.” She had reworded it. She wanted to say, “I couldn’t come,” but decided to blame her husband instead of herself. Blaming herself was what she had always done. She wondered if she was switching the blame because she had at last experienced an orgasm with a man. Anyway, it was a freeing thing to say, even if she knew it wasn’t true.

“You didn’t seem to have any problem just now,” he said.

If only you knew, she thought. She decided not to tell him any more. She didn’t want him to feel that he was that important to her, even if he was. Sexually speaking, though -- only sexually speaking.