I was raised Catholic…it didn’t take. As adolescents we were expected to attend weekly confession and admit with acute precision the number of times we had pleasured ourselves since our last confession. We were also required to confess, with high accuracy, the number of times we had entertained “impure” thoughts. Those two activities pre…
I was raised Catholic…it didn’t take. As adolescents we were expected to attend weekly confession and admit with acute precision the number of times we had pleasured ourselves since our last confession. We were also required to confess, with high accuracy, the number of times we had entertained “impure” thoughts. Those two activities pretty much comprised the width and breadth of our entire existence. Any estimate of their occurrence was , ipso facto, “ rough.”
I was raised Catholic…it didn’t take. As adolescents we were expected to attend weekly confession and admit with acute precision the number of times we had pleasured ourselves since our last confession. We were also required to confess, with high accuracy, the number of times we had entertained “impure” thoughts. Those two activities pretty much comprised the width and breadth of our entire existence. Any estimate of their occurrence was , ipso facto, “ rough.”