The Parable of the Virgin Whore

by Jake Block

Her bed was well worn from use and abuse by those owning the footsteps that beat a path to her door.  Sex was her stock and trade, and she was a master of her craft, known widely as a woman for whom the feel of cash in her hand was far more important than the feel of the man between her legs.  She plied the world’s oldest profession, as she had since her first knock on the red door.  How many years, how many knocks, how many men?  It was all a blur of unoriginality and simple principles of supply and demand.  If she had it, and you needed it, you paid for it.  It was as simple as that.

 
She wasn’t unique, and she wasn’t alone, and she was pretty much like everyone in her town, where the culture shunned dreams and anticipation for logical consequence and  contracts.  And her town was much the same as many others in the popular culture of deals and the morality of money.  Everyone spread their legs in the bed or in their minds, and she was just another cog in the machinery of the societal industry, where feelings and emotions were the stuff of poets and children.  Life, she knew, made one forget these childish things and replaced them with success and with the ledger books we all carry with us as we move day to day closer to what we see as “winning” in a world where “losing” is the only other option.
 
Yes, her bed was well worn from use and abuse by those owning the footsteps that beat a path to her door.
 
And then one day came a kiss without demand and without expectation and she accepted love and wore a white dress at her wedding.
 
It only takes one kiss to change your life.  The right kiss, from the right person, at the right time.
The Orders of The Sect of the Horned God

The Order of Pan
The Order of Cernunnos
The Order of Prometheus
The Order of Dionysis
The Order of Shiva

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