The Death of Tammy Janeway

I was blowing Malik on the back aisle of the campus bookstore when I came to a decision. I knew the store cameras were on us. Why would Malik put me in this position? Was he using me? Exploiting my willingness to explore? Someplace, somewhere this video was going to come to light. Someone that didn't work in the campus bookstore was going to recognize me. Someone was going to put the video on Internet. And then my brother (a known pervert) or my father (an unknown pervert) was going to find it. Can you imagine the embarrassment a girl feels when her father calls to ask why there is video of his daughter sucking dick online?

All this was going through my mind as Malik's dick sloshed about in my throat for the third time that day. JEEZ!!! We'd only gone into the bookstore to buy potato chips and a Coke!

I pulled back from his cock, tidied my mouth and stood up.

"Wait...wait, Tams. I'm about to...I'm...I'm not...done," he muttered.

It's hilarious watching a guy stumble about if you leave him two sucks short of a nut. Malik's dick was rock hard. He was trembling, almost staggering with lust. His cock was trying to spew but lacked the necessary warmth and wetness. I thought he might start jacking off.

"Yes. You are," I replied.

I took his dick daintily and placed it back in his pants.

"Tams! Wassup? I'm almost there!"

"Mal, we gotta go," I replied.

He lurched with me up to the checkout counter. No one gave us that "Ah ha!!" look that people give when they've caught you doing something that you hadn't ought to have done. I paid for our chips and drinks. And then we were out into the sunshine.

"What the FUCK was that!!" Malik demanded.

He was still discombobulated.

"Mal, I need some time to think. I can't do that with your dick in my mouth."

"THINK ABOUT WHAT!!!" he screeched.

"Have you been listening to me at all? I'm struggling here, Mal!! But I have...SOMETHING. Something is telling me...something is LEADING me...to something else. I have a spiritual side, Mal. What we are doing is of the flesh."

"YOU SAY THAT LIKE IT'S BAD!!"

He was still out of sorts from fellatio interruptus.

"It IS bad, Malik. We have to stop. Or at least slow down until I figure things out."

"TAMS!! It took us months to get here!! I waited MONTHS for you to come around!! And now you're letting these white Jehovah's Witness women tell you how to run your relationship?...the FUCKS up with that?"

"No one is telling me what to do," I grumbled.

"Tammy, we were doing fine before you let this white woman into your dorm room. I didn't mind you studying the Bible with her. I think she hopped into bed with us just to drive this wedge between us. She's not trying to make our thing better. She's trying to lure you away from me. I bet she does this all the time!"

"You didn't seem this upset when your dick was all up in her pussy," I groused.

"Tams, what do you want from me? I'm a man!! She hopped up on me when I wasn't looking!! Did you want me to throw her off?"

"Malik, here's something you keep forgetting. That's MY dick. MINE. You shared it right in my face!!! You didn't let ME throw her off."

He shut up. This had become a persistent argument between us. Jasmine's interference had succeeded in weaving its lethal web. Not only that, but Jasmine had been hinting about for a return visit. She kept going on and on about watching Malik suck my pussy, the implication being that she wanted her pussy sucked and couldn't get it done at home.

I was SO confused.

I needed to be away from Malik and I needed to be away from Jasmine in order to get my spiritual house in order. I loved Malik, but I couldn't explain my spiritual need, nor could he understand me if I could. I just needed to go cold turkey for awhile. No sex. I was also thinking of replacing Jasmine as my Bible study coordinator. Maybe she and Malik should get together and suck uglies. I thought that might be the best short-term solution.

Often, when a person gets to this crossroad, he/she will have a speech prepared ahead of time. I had none. My speech began with the expulsion of Malik's penis from my mouth in that bookstore. Jasmine's comeuppance would come later.

I could, of course, go to her husband. That would lead to a meeting with the church elders and Jasmine's possible ex-communication. Any such meeting would require a second witness, I learned later. That witness had to be Malik who, it must be said, thought such ceremony to be "crazy as fuck". He wouldn't take part.

It didn't matter. I'm no stoolie.

I went back to my room and prayed like I'd never prayed before. I prayed from my heart. I confessed all the things I thought I'd done wrong, including that time I'd peed in my brother's orange juice carton because he'd called me a name. I asked God why I had to give up the thing I loved most in life, my boyfriend, and I asked Him to give me guidance apart from Jasmine on the matter. My prayers went on and on. When I finally rose up from my entreaties, I felt revived. Fresh. Clean. Forgiven.

I called Malik and broke up with him. He protested, but I was adamant.

I called Jasmine and asked for a different Bible study coordinator. She, too, protested. But I was adamant.

I felt bold. Rejuvenated. I felt that I was on the right track.

It took four days for my pussy to flare up like a backwoods Mississippi bonfire.

"Hello?" she said. "Is it me? Or are you not paying attention?"

I ran back to my room to pray. My pussy quieted down. Two days later she was up again, this time with added vehemence. I ran back to my room to pray. The next afternoon she was back again, steaming with rage. I prayed.

Who is going to win that battle?

I held out for another week. Then I called Malik. I was in agony.

He came to my room. We crashed into each other at the door. I began to see all our previous sexual permutations as merely prelude to that afternoon's atomic detonation. I came as soon as his tongue entered my mouth. And not just one of those foppish, half-ass nuts, either. I came with the explosive power of the Chicxulub impactor event. That day's massive sexual concussion left the entire Earth in an extended nuclear winter. Entire species of fauna went extinct in the wake of our cataclysmic lust.

It had been two weeks since that afternoon in the bookstore. I'd been cleansed. Forgiven. Now I understood Jasmine's explanation of "the cobwebs". But she'd said her cobwebs could linger for years before needing a good shakedown. Two weeks!! I'd done two fucking weeks of cold turkey. Every nerve ending in my body was afire. I fucked Malik until his dick was a burnt out stump, only fit for lighting packs of cigarettes and firecrackers. He had to beat me off him. He literally fought to escape my dorm room.

Afterward, I was depressed. I'd prayed about just this thing and I still fell astray!

My new Bible study coordinators were this elderly couple. They were so nice! But I didn't feel I could bring up my most recent failure with them. I called Jasmine.

"Jas, I...tried and...I...well, Malik came over the other night." I opened.

"And?" she replied acerbically.

"And I don't think I can get baptized. It's so hard!!"

"Tammy, you can't give up that easily. It's your cobwebs, isn't it?"

"Yes. I don't think I can go for years without it, like you."

"You don't have to, Tammy. How long did you go?"

"Two weeks."

"OK, just trust in God's organization. Starting now, go three weeks. Shake your cobwebs out, then go four weeks. It'll get easier as you go."

"Is that what you did?"

"We're not talking about me, Tammy."

I took her advice. At the end of three weeks, I was a heaving cauldron, begging for pole. Malik came over and cooled me off. Next I went four weeks. I was a lava dome of lust. Malik came over and cooled me off. Next I went six weeks. However, when I called Malik, he told me that he had a girlfriend now and couldn't be at my beck and call.

Shit!

I'd counted on Malik to be my calibration device. Once I'd done six months of celibacy, I figured I'd be ready for baptism. I just needed an occasional hit, you know?

Malik told me I was crazy as fuck.

Without Malik as my fallback position, I did six months of celibacy. It wasn't easy. Sometimes I resorted to self-pleasuring. Jasmine told me that this was the same as fornication, but she admitted that it was sometimes necessary. Slowly, I started trusting Jasmine again. Her advice seemed more in line with reality than not.

At the end of six months I approached my Bible study coordinators and asked to be baptized as one of Jehovah's Witnesses. I was ready. They were ecstatic. Another convert!! I was reasonably confident I could lead a Christian lifestyle by then.

Getting baptized into the Watchtower Society is different than getting baptized into a regular church. Whereas one might just talk to a pastor about one's personal dedication and then schedule a day to undergo immersion, with the JWs there's a more rigorous process. The congregation elders observe you for awhile to see if you've exhibited the mannerisms of a JW. This means taking proselytizing seriously, regularly showing up at all meetings on time, commenting at meetings (thus demonstrating study and preparation) and making yourself available for congregational activities. You have to slowly shed yourself of "worldly" connections. This means limiting your contact with non-Witnesses. This includes family members who aren't JWs. And especially this means keeping away from ex-Witnesses.

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.