There are a series of indoctrination questions that are asked and must be answered properly. It's not like in the Bible, where the Apostles met prospective converts and accepted these into the Church immediately based on their verbal expressions of faith. With the JWs you have to know what the Watchtower Society says that the Bible says--or you don't get baptized. It takes time and effort.
Finally, once you get baptized you are baptized forever. That's made clear. Once you're in you're in. Any questions you have must be asked and answered in light of what the Watchtower Society says the answer is. If you don't understand, you are encouraged to wait until the Watchtower Society sheds more light on the matter. Individual thought is officially discouraged. And that's how JW's maintain unanimity of belief everywhere in the world.
I was all for it.
My only problem was my pussy. She seemed opposed to the idea. No, that's understatement. She raged against the idea. She and I fought daily. I had to continually veto her attempts at closure. Jasmine told me it got easier as you got older. This seemed like bullshit to me. Jasmine was the one who also admitted the need for occasional adulterous diversions, followed by prayer, private confession, repentance and forgiveness. She started encouraging me to get married quickly once I got baptized.
"For what?" I thought. "So I can limit my sex life to 'him on top, me on top'?"
That seemed to be the JW way.
I got baptized at a regional assembly of Jehovah's Witnesses and immediately set myself to proselytizing. I found this to be the best way to suppress my pussy's strident calls. We were taught to put aside fleshly thinking and concentrate on that which is spiritual. I did this to the best of my ability. I attended meetings and surrounded myself with like-minded persons of faith. Things were going well.
Still struggling with my sex drive, I started thinking about getting married. My rationale, at the time, was this: Any sex is better than no sex. And that's when the reality of my situation set in. JWs are only allowed to marry other JWs. Jasmine had her husband already. The outlook for unmarried JW women was less promising. There are eight JW women for each eligible JW man. EIGHT TO ONE. As you may surmise, the competition for men is fierce. And I'd thrown myself into the mosh pit.
About this time my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. I decided to move back to Detroit to be near her. I brought my new religion with me, thinking that I might share my dedication and encourage my mom into the faith. She listened patiently to my entreaties and my biblical rationalizations before giving me a wry smile which, I'd long since learned, meant no.
The move to Detroit shed me of all the drama I'd accumulated from my stay in West Lafayette. No more Jasmine, no more Malik. I came to Detroit a free and independent Christian with no reputation save that which I crafted for myself.
I joined a local Kingdom Hall. The best thing about unanimity of belief is that one can move seamlessly from place to place. The local elders wrote to my former congregation to ask after my reputation there. Presumably, they received a positive reply, because I was welcomed with open arms. Looking about, I could see that the eight-to-one rule applied. There were some unattached teenaged brothers, but none in their mid-twenties like me. Those young brothers got snatched up very soon after graduating high school. They were dying to get into the first open JW pussy, just as the first open JW pussy was dying to get into them. That, unfortunately, is a truism in any young JW's life. They often marry well before they have the necessary maturity. I was a tad too long in the tooth for these youngsters. I wasn't interested in these children anyways. I'm a grown-ass woman. I'm not a virgin. None of them knew that.
I still struggled with my rampant sexuality. From time to time I slipped up and masturbated. When things got really bad I called Malik and arranged a meet up. He was still with his girlfriend but by now he was willing to step out for an evening of...hmmmm...I guess you can't call it 'strange' because he was very familiar with my private parts by then.
Every time he and I got together a cataclysmic explosion of smash and suck, hump and fuck ensued. I couldn't wait to get to the motel. (We'd meet at a motel just off the Interstate between West Lafayette and Detroit). Often I got there early. When he arrived, I was naked in bed, legs spread wide, fingers reeking of vaginal honey, sticky with anticipation.
Afterward, I would return to Detroit a rejuvenated woman. I took up my position as a minister of the gospel on street corners with my little magazine stand and I spoke glowingly of my religion with anyone who ventured up. I conducted Bible studies and gave talks in my congregation, demonstrating how to preach the good news, overcome objections and win converts for the Society.
Sometimes my conscience bothered me. This periodic devolution to the needs of the flesh troubled me. I kept telling myself that it wouldn't happen again. It always did. By and by I stopped worrying about it. Like Jasmine, I did what I could to serve my spiritual needs. When my fleshly needs flared up I addressed them--reluctantly. I figured I only fell prey to my baser instincts on occasion, and I did what I could to fend them off, and if I fell, I'd get up, dust myself off, and give her another try.
Mind you, this isn't what Jehovah's Witnesses teach. What I'm supposed to do is approach the elders to confess my sins. Then they would decide my punishment, up to and including ex-communication. There are escalating levels of punishment, all repentance based, and often arbitrarily applied. As you might guess, inside the congregation there are a lot of sexual sins. The elders interrogate these sinners with questions like "How often did you do it?" and "Did you have an orgasm?". They wanted details. I didn't want to get jammed up in all that, so I repented quietly, like Jasmine, and kept my place in the congregation.
Jasmine told me that that public repentance isn't practical. She said that if all sins were confessed publicly, the church wouldn't have any members. So I should pray for strength and do what I can. I spent a lot of time proselytizing. This might not make up for my sins, but I think it helps.
Anyway, I took a job at this pharmaceutical company and got an apartment not far from my mom. My father and I took care of her as her health declined. And that was my life: my congregation, my Bible studies, my home, my mom, my job and (occasionally) my pussy. Pretty mundane, huh?
I met Donnie Samuelson kinda accidentally at a regional assembly of Jehovah's Witnesses. Walking briskly to my seat one afternoon, one of my high heels buckled and I fell awkwardly. Donnie happened to be standing there. He helped me up. After examining my shoe (high heels are frowned upon in JW circles) he pronounced it unfit for a Sister of my bearing and offered to replace the pair--if I would tell him my size. (I found out later that he was a shoe salesman).
Embarrassed, I told him. He helped me to my seat and then disappeared. The talk lasted an hour. At the end of the talk Donnie showed up with another pair of high heels similar to mine. He offered them to me for free. Our relationship proceeded from there.
Donnie attended a Kingdom Hall located in the 'hood. That's where he lived and grew up. He was single, about my age, good looking and (I didn't know this at the time) considered something of a catch. He was a ministerial servant, that is, one notch short of an elder. In JW parlance, you always want to be aligned with an elder or someone on the elder track. These men were considered the most spiritual and the best Christian examples. Ministerial servants were kinda, like, little elders or rather, elders in training.
I gave Donnie my phone number. It took him awhile to call me, but when he did we had the best conversations. He was fun and had a good sense of humor. He didn't force our conversations into the cramped little sound bites approved by the Watchtower Society. He liked music and enjoyed going to the movies. He didn't know much about a lot of things, but I liked listening to him talk.
When I say Donnie didn't know much about a lot of things, I don't mean to say he is dumb. He's not. For instance, he'd never seen an R-rated movie. The Watchtower Society doesn't approve these movies. So if I said "I'm gonna make him an offer he can't refuse", Donnie didn't know the reference. The Godfather is an R-rated movie; Donnie had never seen it.
But if I asked him the meaning of "sohcahtoa", he immediately recognized it as a trig reference and, given an appropriate right triangle, Donnie could calculate the value of each angle and explain the process to a child.
Also, Donnie could explain how the Gentile Times ended in 1914, and how Jesus returned invisibly at that time. He didn't do too well explaining how "every eye could see" an invisible Second Coming, but that didn't matter much. The Society said 1914 and we, as the representatives of the Society, parroted 1914. I believed it in my heart.
Donnie and I spent hours discussing and verifying arcane bits of Scripture as explained to us in our literature. If I had questions, Donnie's word rang true. I began to trust him more and more.
Too, as my relationship with Donnie evolved, my pussy's longing for dick seemed to wane. Rather, her longing for "any" dick began to center on a longing for "HIS" dick. I was developing feelings for the man. My visits with Malik became ever more rare.
This didn't mean I wasn't horny all the time. I was. I just had someone to talk to every night. And that seemed good enough.
I wasn't surprised when Donnie asked me to marry him. I accepted his proposal. When I revealed my impending nuptials to my worldly friends they were elated. They immediately started making plans for a blowout party in my honor. These friends weren't JWs; I kept them separate from my JW friends. Per my religious training, I didn't hang out with them publicly. I liked them nonetheless. They were brassy in a fun sort of way. I tried to keep them at arm's length.
I did feel morally conflicted about attending such a blowout party. Undoubtedly, it would compromise my faith. I didn't attend Christmas parties at work, nor did I accept invitations to worldly events with these friends. But I couldn't really deny them the pleasure of planning a bachelorette party. I'd never attended one. I thought such parties might be like having a baby shower. However, when they told me that I'd be expected to fornicate publicly at this party I immediately declined. For months I told them in no uncertain terms to exclude me out. I would NOT be fornicating in public. NO EFFING WAY.
