Sylvia meets her guardian angel

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Sylvia meets her guardian angelOn the second afternoon, while I was still soaking my lady parts in a nice tub, Ida came in to talk to me. Like everyone else in my family, Ida thought anyplace was a good place to have a serious conversation. She gave me a little puff of the hash she had been smoking. “Sylvia, there are a few things I want to talk to you about before you get on the train and go back to Los Angeles, big Al and whatever it is that you think you are going to do. I understand that you are going to go with Janet, and I think that’s great. You should have a trusted woman partner for this party gang-bang stuff. I want you to wait a week before you go. Here is why. Do you remember when you were little, and my mom took you to this religious icons store in Mexican LA? “”Yeah. a little.”” She showed you a votive candle with the Virgin of Guadeloupe on it, the most common image in Mexico, and you looked at it for about two minutes and then, little fucking you, you saw it for what it is-a representation of our sacred womanly parts…everything that makes us women, in the most beautiful and subtle way. Women are treated like shit in Mexico, just like almost everywhere else on this fucking planet, but nobody can deny the power of this image, displayed everywhere in that country. In this country, we aren’t so subtle, and the situation of women is a little better, emphasis on the word little. If your friend Janet would have stayed in Somalia with her Neolithic people, she would have had her sacred organs of pleasure destroyed before she could ever enjoy sex. I know that sounds crazy but it’s true in lots of places. If you were living in the time of my great grandmother, not so long ago, and you were married, you would be a slave to your husband. That was the law. You wouldn’t be able to vote, sign contracts, or do anything in your name. This is what they don’t fucking teach girls in high school! I love that you can go out there and make your own choices about who you fuck, how often, how much, and when you are done with one man or woman, however painful that might be, you feel as if you have the freedom to move on. If you did choose to marry, nobody is going to check to see if your hymen is still intact. What I’m saying, and I know I’m going on and on, is that the freedom that you enjoy now came from the blood and sacrifice and determination of thousands of women pushing against the gates of this system designed and run by men. I want you to stay for another week with me. I’m going to drive you up to the library at UC Berkeley tomorrow. You are going to be a week late getting back to school, but you are going to show up with the coolest term paper ever, all about Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Victoria Woodhull, Susan Anthony, Sojourner Truth, and your grandmother. Did you ever, even once, in any class in school, hear the names of these heroes? Margaret Sanger, Elizabeth Gurley Flynn? ” “No, I never…”” It’s time you did, sweetie. That thing you went to the other day with Margo? Where you fucked so much that you’ve had to soak in my tub for two fucking days? Where you had a full-on screaming orgasm. or several, in front of men and women you never met before? Keep in mind, that not too long ago, women yalova escort like you and I, who like to have sex and don’t apologize for it, would have been burned as witches. The Jews didn’t do that, but we would have been cast out from our families and our communities. Ruth started your education about this stuff, but your mom? I can’t get her too interested in women’s history, but she lives her life that way, anyway. Your ass and your puss are too tender to do any active fucking for a few days. You’re about to start your period, too, am I right?””Yeah, I hope I have one. I get nervous when I’m late, even though my mine has never been all that regular, anyway. Yeah, I’m ready for that, too.”Ida went on: “I built another tub, kind of a secret one, that I want to show you, but you have to keep your yap shut about it like you don’t do with anything else.” I remembered when I was little, and I had been with my parents, for some reason, on a trip to the Anza-Borrego desert, over the mountains from Long Beach. I was six or seven. I saw a tree that was dark and heavy, odd-looking. I kept staring at it. Suddenly the tree, not fifty feet away, burst into a hundred thousand birds that leaped, as if they were one entity, into the desert sky. It was so immediate and stunning that I didn’t know what to do except to cry. That’s how my love for Ida was at that moment. Scholarship or sex. I was still a s*******n-year-old girl. I would have gone any direction in which she pointed me.Ida was not about to let me be. “Sylvia, what do you know about Jewish? “Our Jewish?” “Yeah. us, our family”.”Not much about religion at all, Ida. I know like four words of Hebrew and that’s from Jewish friends I had growing up. Ruth told me this story, a crazy story, about her parents in Russia who were plotting to overthrow the Czar or something like that, and then they all had to change their names and get the fuck out of there before they got hung or shot.” Ida went on. ” Mom’s whole family came here around 1900 on forged papers with fake names. Ruth had a birth certificate from here, but that’s fake, too. She thinks she was born in some place called Bialystok in Poland or Ukraine somewhere on the way here, but she said it was a big secret and Sylvia, she whispered it to me when I was seven or eight or swore me to secrecy. That’s why she didn’t get deported around world war one with all the radical stuff she was doing, because her birth certificate, the fake one, said she was born in Bridgeport, Connecticut. I don’t think she was ever in that city in her life. Honey you look so tired, can I wash your back or something?” I laughed. ” Okay, Ida, but no funny business.” I loved her so much, she could have pulled all the funny business she wanted, and she was looking at my boobs hard, but she listened to me. My ass and pussy were so sensitive I could hardly touch myself. “I’m just going to soap your back, dear. I want to talk to you some more about this Jewish stuff that neither of us was raised on.”I asked Ida about my great-grandparents, who had somehow gotten themselves out of Russia and over here. “Your great-grandmother was Fannie Finklestein, a very intelligent and brave woman, a revolutionary hero. She was a follower escort yalova of Marx before most people had heard of him. His stuff is hard to read and harder to grasp. She could quote from “Das Kapital” the way some people quote from the bible. She thought most religions were a lot of superstitious nonsense, mostly set up by men, for their benefit, to entrap women into a form of lifetime slavery. She spoke three languages, all self-taught, but English was not one of them, so when she came here without any money, and two little boys and a baby girl, she had to figure out a way to survive and keep her family together. There was no social security or anything like that. If you were having hard times, you needed your friends and your family. That didn’t always work out. Her husband, Ira, became ill with pneumonia on the boat trip over here and was dead a month after they got off the boat, so there she was, no husband, three little ones, not a dime to her name and no English. She got a job, pretending she was a lot more religious than she was, making soap for the mikveh, the Jewish women’s ritual bath, and making burial shrouds for the dead, all part of the “mikveh”, the religious Jewish requirement of purification. But she never believed any of it, she just had to find a way to put food on the table, and she didn’t want to sew women’s blouses in some fucking factory sweatshop. She died before she was forty, but she was always encouraging her daughter Ruth to go further, and you saw the old movies the other night…Did she ever! I want to talk to you about “mikveh”, but not right now. I’m going to let you be for a while. Tomorrow we are going up to the university library. I’m serious about you getting the education you will never get in school about our great women heroes, the women who fought and fought and got burned at the stake so that you and I could have the freedom we enjoy. It could all go away, honey, so we have to know their stories and be vigilant. I’m about to start my period, and I’ll bet you are too…” “Yeah, Ida, I fucking better. I’m not late, so I think it will be okay…I’m not worried about it.” “I’m going to stash your little butt in that great library, one of the best in the world, till it’s over.””.Yeah, Ida, that’s good. I’m the kind of a girl who fucks a lot, I guess, but not then. I did that once, but I just felt icky, so now….well, I’ve sucked dick then, but I don’t want some boy in my pants grabbing my fucking tampon string.” “Okay, baby, three or four days and I want to show you my atheist Jew lady idea for a ” mikveh”. But only if you do the work up there. Pick a woman, I don’t know, like Elizabeth Gurley Flynn, and find out everything you can about her life and work. She died last year. In Moscow. They had a big Russian state funeral for her.”I was continually amazed at what Ida knew and came up with. Where did she learn all this stuff? She answered my question before I had a chance to speak it. ” My mom, of course. Ruth knew more about more stuff than any woman or man I’ve ever known. She never watched TV, she was always at the library, and someplace talking to women who were wired up like she was. I’m glad you got to know her, Syl, wasn’t she a pistol?”My period yalova escort bayan began the next morning. Any girl who was fucking as much as I had been doing, often with boys who rode her bareback, would have menstruation on her mind. When I’m having my period, I don’t think very much about sex or intimacy at all…my mind doesn’t go there fifty minutes of every fucking hour like it does when I cruising around and every other man or woman that I see registers in my imagination as a possible sex partner! But not this day. This day I was off for UC Berkeley, at the other end of University Avenue through Sproul Plaza, through the middle of the Free Speech Movement, to the University library, where, with Ida’s library card, I was going to learn as much as I could about Elizabeth Gurley Flynn, a giant for women’s rights for the first half of the century! To get to the library, I had to walk across the campus, from Sather Gate on Bancroft, halfway across the giant campus. There were so many people out there, handing out stuff, people with huge signs, some of them in suits with skinny ties and women in dresses and heels, and some who were dressed as pirates, as far as I could tell..scruffy clothes, beards, bandannas around their heads, men and women with earrings and tattoos. I’d seen plenty of hippies in Hollywood, but they had expensive clothes on..these k**s (and lots of those folks weren’t k**s at all) looked they all got their clothes from the Goodwill store..it was strange…I knew they must have plenty of money, or why else would they be just hanging out on a Wednesday morning, instead of being in class or at work or something? I kind of liked it. I was having my period (thank the goddess), so I was shut off for sex, even in my imagination, but there were so many cute young men and women out there. I ignored them as well as I could. I had to push the pussy licking and cock sucking images away from my mind. The library was different from any library I had been in before. I went through the card catalog, as well as I could. The procedure was to then hand all this stuff, all these notes, over to a” page” and he or she would find all your requests and bring a pile of books and monographs to your table, with all the places and pages already marked for you. The page who was helping me was a young woman, not much older than me, with red hair, freckles, big boobs, and a gap between her front teeth. She smiled at me a lot, sat down next to me, real close so that she could help me try to organize this mountain of stuff on the table about Elizabeth Gurley Flynn. Somewhere, inside me, a little voice was telling me: “This girl, whose name is Amy, I’ll bet she wants you in her pants.” I had been an “A” student in every class, for my whole life, and I could usually separate thinking about school stuff and thinking about sex, but today, even with my tampon snugged away, those sex thoughts started to bubble on my walk through Sproul Plaza, and now that Amy was sitting so close, with her sweet smell and sweet smile, seriously helping me, the bubbling sensation began to grow. I was thinking about how it had felt to have one cock after another in me, each cock shooting on top of the first until I felt like the Great Swamp of Jizz. It took a long soak in Ida’s tub for most of the cum to run out of me. If any baby got made out of that, I can’t imagine what she would be like. I hoped I never had a test where the question was: “How did that feel?”

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