I fucked a Catholic
Sex and sects part 2
When it comes to sex, Catholics are a seething mass of contradiction. They venerate a pregnant virgin whose son hung out with prostitutes. Their spiritual leader is a celibate man in a dress who’s hell-bent on overpopulating the planet. And they are raised to feel terrible guilt for even thinking about sex, let alone doing it.
It is therefore no surprise that so many young Catholics are miserable, messed up, and great in bed.
During my dormitory years, I knew many “nice Catholic girls” who, freed from the brutal authoritarian theocracy of the family home, came to university and became promiscuous, wine-swilling lushes. But I was never fortunate enough to be the target of a rogue Catholic girl’s naked kamikaze mission of sin. That is, until one dark night in 1999....
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It was dark. It was night. It was 1999. Two friends arrived at my apartment unannounced.
He was E, a lapsed Catholic from the bowels of Quebec. She was N, a practicing Catholic, and a Virgin Mary Magdalene of the first order. E and N had been messing around for months—unbeknownst to her boyfriend, of course.
They were on their way to a local strip joint. I joined them, and a few hours later we were back at my place drinking red wine.
Emboldened by alcohol, N was taunting us to have a threesome (or should I say trinity?) with her, but we weren’t taking her seriously. Then she turned to me. “If you take off all your clothes, I’ll take off all of mine,” she said.
Luckily for her, I’m the kind of guy who takes people up on these sorts of offers. With great fanfare, I stripped naked and lay on my bed. “Your turn,” I said.
She looked shy for a moment, and suddenly she was as naked as Eve. We scooted under the covers. As N invited E to join us, I disappeared from sight and did my best baby Jesus impression.
Now, even though I was naked in bed with this woman and her right nipple was in my mouth, I was still treating the situation as a joke—a rather risqué joke, sure, but a joke nonetheless. I honestly didn’t think anything more would happen. So imagine my surprise when she crawled on top of me, and crucified herself.
“Ohhhhhhhh, Glen! Glen!” she shouted, quite possibly loud enough to wake my elderly building manager down the hall. “Holy shit,” I thought.
Now, this wasn’t the first time I’d been watched while having sex—but I am accustomed to the spectator being naked and involved in the action. This was the first time I’d been watched by a silent, fully-clothed friend, sitting on a chair next to the bed, blank-facedly sipping wine.
I must admit, I wasn’t entirely comfortable with the situation. So I kicked the sheets off the bed, allowing E to see the action going on below the belt. Ah, that was better. Do unto others, as the good lord says.
Five minutes and three positions later, our little romp came to an end. N still wanted E to get involved. “There’s still lots of room in the bed,” she said, between slugs of red wine (Always red wine! Christ’s blood seems to be the poison of choice for Catholics—drink a little, it’s Communion, drink a lot, it’s “c’mon in.” Ha!)
But I digress. In spite of N’s best efforts, E didn’t strip down and join us. At first I assumed it was because he has a small penis, something I have long suspected.
But he has a different explanation. He says that watching me fuck N made him realise, deep down, that he really wasn’t interested in her any more. Besides, he was secretly doing her sister, and liked her sister more.
Finally, N gave up trying to seduce E. We shagged once more, for the road, and they left.
N wept as E drove her home. Although we were friends for years before that night, N hasn’t spoken to me since—such is the weight of her shame. And it is a shame, because I always liked her. Oh well.
She hasn’t spoken to E either, but that’s because she found out about him and her sister.
According to E, the tale I have just told is business as usual for millions of young Catholics. First you endure a guilt-ridden, anti-sex indoctrination at the hands of sexually frustrated, abstinent adults. Then, when you reach sexual maturity, you periodically get shit-faced and indulge in acts of high sluttitude. Then you feel really bad about it afterward, rinse, and repeat. This, my friends, is the Catholic way.
In closing, I must confess that I despise Catholicism—but we must do our best to hate the religion and not the religious. Thus, I refuse to discriminate against Catholics by not fucking them. But, even as I succumb to the advances of wayward Catholics and enjoy myself immensely, I impugn the demented church that has turned so many of its own into head-cases who can’t enjoy sex without suffering a pestilence of guilt.
Next time: The Kingdom finally comes in our shocking conclusion—”I fucked a Jehovah’s Witness!” •
Originally published in The Peak, March 11 2002.
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Letter published in The Peak, March 18, 2002:
“I fucked an asshole”
If someone were to ask me about my worst sexual experience, I wouldn’t be able to tell them much.
The details of that “special” night that occurred three years ago remain a hazy memory of alcohol, more alcohol, and something involving two people I considered friends. I knew something of a sexual nature had happened, but not how or why.
Imagine, then, if you will, my surprise and delight upon opening the March 11 issue of the Peak to find the details of that night explicitly narrated to the public by “humourist” Glen Callender [I Fucked A Catholic, March 11].
My name is N. I am the Catholic Glen fucked three years ago. Words cannot express my pleasure at reading his article, as it helped clarify much of what happened that night. Like how I ended up naked in bed with a “friend” I never really found attractive. And where my “friend” E was during my little encounter with Mr. Callender. And how I actually managed to get home that night.
Since Mr. Callender is so interested in having the details of our sordid little affair exposed to the public, perhaps he could be so kind as to answer a few more questions for me.
For example, perhaps he could tell me how safe we were that night. Maybe he could explain to me why parts of his tale sound totally unfamiliar to me. Or maybe he could tell me exactly what I was drinking that night, because whatever it was, it was strong.
I’m so glad I live in a society where getting a girl drunk and then fucking her can be made to seem funny. I’m delighted to know that some of the money I give this university can give people like Glen the opportunity to make taking advantage of people into a joke. And it’s good to know that a stiff drink is all any asshole needs to get both a quick fuck and a newsworthy story.
Congratulations, Glen, on a job well done.
Peak editor’s note: The Peak does not print anonymous letters without a valid reason for doing so. N’s letter was an example of such a reason. Letters should otherwise be accompanied by name and student number.
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Editor’s note printed in The Peak, March 25, 2002:
Editor’s Note
In the world of public discourse—including student newspaper writing—image and reputation are enormously important; damage to either can be long-lasting, if not permanent. In this light, last week’s letter “I fucked an Asshole” should be revisited.
Although the letter’s author, N, enjoys the legal right to respond to Glen Callender’s column “I fucked a Catholic” [Glen’s note: No, she didn’t. They made that up.], it is important to remember the context in which she writes. Unlike Glen, who sacrificed his privacy years before many of us even arrived at this school, N gives her version of events within the relative safety of anonymity. While Glen recounts a story from his own life, naming no one and therefore publicly harming no one, N’s piece casts a shadow upon the character of an individual with a face and name.
Before one reaches a definitive conclusion as to Callender’s character, one need take into consideration that no first-person account tells an entire story. Just as N’s letter cast Glen’s version of events into question, new information received this week does the same to her. Had this information been in my possession earlier, N’s letter would not have been published as it was written. I urge all Peak readers to tread carefully in the business of character assessment.
I did not intend for N to read “I fucked a Catholic”. I thought she was long gone from SFU, and if I’d known she was still on campus I wouldn’t have run the piece. But considering her response, it’s hard for me to feel bad about about it now. The story of N and her nasty anonymous letter continues in the next chapter.
For more letters and editorials in response to “I fucked a Catholic”, follow these links to the Peak web site:
“Catholics and Sex” (letter)
“Pray for Glen...” (letter)
“Cuz he lacks wisdom” (letter)
“Wasting his youth and wasting my time” (editorial)
“Bunch of hypocrites” (letter)
“Empathy for Glen” (letter)
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