Liberation By Dildo: A Mormon Story

I admit to being somewhat torn on the Mormon question — in purgatory, as it were.

On one hand, the faithful of the Church of Latter Day Saints are, as a rule, exceptionally friendly and helpful people. My grandfather, being married to one, often hosts so-called “Elders” (who are actually teenagers; how they have the gall to call themselves “Elders” is beyond me) over for dinner while they are assigned to missionary work in the Topeka, Kansas greater metropolitan area.

So I’ve broken bread with a lot of them, and the stereotype holds true; they’ve all got that unvaxxed sparkle in their eye and none of the apparent afflictions that plague the modern youth. Grade A folks.

On the other hand, Mormonism’s founder was an obvious con-man whose inspiration came from a God who dictated His revelation through a rock which he had placed in a hat, which the dutiful vessel then transcribed into a holy book. 

Anyway, whatever. This isn’t about passing judgment one way or another on the Church.

This is about one brave lady and her story of self-empowerment by dildo, liberated from the shackles of the Church forever with a sex toy, which she then shared with her children for good measure.

Via HuffPost (emphasis added):

“The church had an explanation and a rule for everything. My life was prescribed to me by men. The penultimate goal: a temple marriage. The ultimate goal: a gaggle of children to indoctrinate.

The church has manuals for each year of childhood. They are full of saccharine lesson plans on how to pray, what to eat, read, watch, wear. How to be a neighbor, a friend, an obedient servant of the Lord. How to spend time and money, stay sexually pure, repent of sin. How to become worthy.

Doubt was the devil’s work, and it had festered in me since I was a small child. I felt suffocated by the rules, but I knew no other way…

When I gave birth to my second daughter, I knew I could not teach my children to be Mormon. Rick finally recognized my suffering, and we broke free.

I quickly discovered that leaving a world of blind obedience was, in a sense, like death. Every part of my life had been dictated by the rules of Mormon men. I didn’t know my own mind. While my girls were learning to crawl, I was frantically trying to find a sense of self, but it was impossible to grow up faster than my babies.

I did the easy things first. I bought tank tops and colorful underwear and shorts that did not skim my kneecaps. I drank coffee. I sampled gin and vodka from tiny bottles. I spent money on Sundays. I dared to say the word ‘fuck’ out loud…”

Profanity as a “fuck you” to the Big Guy is obviously brave and stunning, but things are about to get braver and more stunning, if you can believe it.

Are Mormons sexually repressed? Probably so.

“Man is a sexual being,” to quote the late Bernie Mac.

But the below, a revelation she divined during a “dildo party,” all looks like a severe case of overcompensation:

“Once I was home, I told Rick about the party: the comfortable way moms and daughters passed around vibrators, cock rings and butt plugs, none of which I had ever seen or understood just a few hours before. I realized how vast the work would be to grow myself up.

As our girls began preschool, my desire to know the right way to mother was all-consuming. Is it OK to let them play with a pretend coffee maker? Should preschoolers wear a two-piece swimsuit? A sundress with thin straps? Is it bad to take the Lord’s name in vain if we don’t believe in the Lord?...

A few months ago, I was having dinner with a friend who is more conservative than I am with kids younger than mine. I told her I was considering buying my teenagers vibrators. She gasped loud enough to draw attention. She couldn’t imagine a worse idea. But I’m not sure. I want them to know their own bodies — to enter sexual relationships from a position of confidence and understanding. My friend was scandalized.

‘They’ll get one for themselves — as adults,’ she said. She’s sure I’m crossing a line. Am I going too far? I haven’t decided. But I’m starting to understand that the right decision isn’t in a manual. It’s the one I will make.”

Some happy middle ground between puritanism and buying your children dildos to Smash the Patriarchy™ surely exists.

No?

It seems that this is a microcosm of a wider human psychological pattern I’ve divined; one gives one’s life to a single object of devotion (an ideology or an institution, for instance), becomes disillusioned with the same at some point, and the pendulum swings entirely in the opposite direction, so that one’s life becomes devoted to destroying that object instead of actually just living. And so, ironically, that object maintains its grip on the individual’s psyche, even while they are ostensibly in the business of purging it from the Earth.

Is that irony?

Ben Bartee is an independent Bangkok-based American journalist with opposable thumbs.

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