Free Blue Moon by James King

more worrying were the crucifixes that adorned every single classroom. I was perturbed that Christ was almost naked, his private parts covered with a loin cloth. In some of these representations, the pain that filled his face seemed to be touched with a glimmer of pleasure. I sensed that those small sculptures mixed death, pain and sex perfectly: in some cases, a powerfully built Jesus had an athlete’s body and the hint of a penis could be seen in the folds of the covering around his middle.
    I must confess that the frequent references to Christ as the bridegroom of the nuns were extremely confusing. As we were walking home from school one day, Rosie said to me: “I don’t know how he can be their bridegroom.”
    â€œWhat do you mean? They say they’re married to him, spiritually.”
    â€œYes. But the bridegroom does ’it’ with the bride.”
    I pretended ignorance. “I don’t know what you mean.”
    â€œYes, you do. The groom gets his ’thing’ big and then puts it into the bride.”
    â€œNo, they don’t mean it in that way. It’s not about sex for them.”
    â€œIt is so! They ask him to fill them.”
    â€œWith grace”
    â€œYes, that’s what they say. Really, they want his ’thing’ in them, pushing in and out.”
    I told Rosie to hush, not to be stupid. She was, as usual, playing the clown to my Miss Priss. But, in her own way, she was, of course, quite correct.
    With one exception, the nuns were ghastly teachers, much more interested in imparting their religious beliefs than instructing us in mathematics or history. The references to chastity and purity were constant. Sometimes the emphasis was on the opposite sex. Boys were ferocious beasts who preyed on innocent young girls. They could not help themselves. It was their nature to be out of control; it was the girl’s responsibility to keep them under control. Sometimes, the talk was at this very elemental, psychological level. At othertimes, the euphemisms were slightly less pronounced. Boys were more outer than girls, who were inner.
    Our biology teacher, however, refused to teach the chapter on the sexual reproduction of tapeworms. She told us the material was disgusting and would not, therefore, discuss it. But, since it might appear on the provincially regulated examinations, we should study it by ourselves. Once, when I asked my mother about such matters, she took it as an offence that such an enquiry would be made.
    â€œWell, my dear, men always want to plant their seeds in women. It’s their nature.”
    Surprised by her botanical turn of phrase, I asked her how the man planted his seeds. At the time, I did not remember that my father had been attempting to sowr his seed in me.
    â€œEve-e-lyn, you are becoming too inquisitive and literal-minded. It’s simply a fact of life, one of the chief facts of life. You are too young to think about such things. Do the nuns talk about such things? Why have you become interested in such matters all of a sudden?” She looked at me very suspiciously, obviously wondering if I was referring to my father’s behaviour.
    No, I assured her, the nuns did not talk of such matters. I could hardly tell her—I suppose I did not realize it at the time—that my new school was a hotbed of ripe sexuality. In a very strange way, it was a breeding ground for the vices the nuns ostensibly wanted to stomp on. My classmates even those who did spectacularly well in catechism class—often spoke of what it would be like to be “eaten” by their boyfriends, many of whom seemed to be exceptionally well experienced in the pleasures of “ringer fucking.” Such was the contrast between the language of the nuns and the words of even their most devoted pupils.
    Many of the nuns were mustachioed and a corresponding male brutality invaded their behaviour. If you forgot how to conjugate an irregular French