I want to dedicate this post to the women who have respectfully shed their hymenous parts. This blog is about what happens when you complete the rite de passage of the hymen preservation journey. This is what happens after the glorious moment that you are rewarded for your hymen preservation. The moment we all aspire to create.
Let me explain. I sit writing this post while surrounded by such women, cooing over the fruit of their honourable loins. A multitude of accents clouds my immediate vicinity. This makes me proud, hymen enthusiasts, proud that hymen preservation has reached such a diverse international audience. How do I know they are members of the hymen board, you ask? Well, how could women be so happy, so content and so jubilantly displaying their tiny clones if they were not hymen preservers before these miracles wrapped themselves up and exited their bodies with them? So you see, it is obvious. As obvious as my hymen is present, hymen enthusiasts. Yes, that obvious.
There is, however a slight problem with this moment.
Now I will have to be honest with you readers, these women bore me intensely. I am saddened to admit that I would rather tear my hymen out, cover it in chloroform and gag myself with it than listen to their incessant tales of stair masters and sleepless nights. There are leaking nipples everywhere, hymen enthusiasts. Nipples who cry milky tears while these women laugh heartily and bury their children in their bosoms. Their nipples are surely mourning hymen loss, I cannot think of a sadder thing. I have clearly stumbled across a meeting of such people, obsessed with these fleshy, mute companions, with their every burp and whimper, having completely forgotten the joys of hymen preservation. This is an existential moment if ever there was one. Surely what stands between us (the hymen possessors) and them (hymen completors) is the great journey of hymen preservation? They are the winners of the great marathon of our life-long battle with the hymen killers. What if, one were to resist the completion stage of our honorable journeys? What if my nipples do not want to cry tears of soured milk and my hymen wanted to be left well alone, smoking it's tiny pipe and writing poetry within the depths of me? I have come up with a possible solution readers.
I ponder the option of being a hymen nun.
I would be married to the holy cause and meditate hymen related thoughts. Being celibate does not concern me as I value my hymen more than any worldly desires. And desires are overrated anyway I think. I have seen what the world has to offer in the shape of men. Those men in badly fitting suits with sweaty palms who tell you about books they have never read. They are stupid and their heads are usually too big for them and lacking hair. I speak from experience. I never understood what was so appealing about a thrusting Reza with bulging, dead eyes, floundering desperately around you (this is what happened to my cousin Parichehr and although she now drives a very nice car, her soul is black and her hymen is gone forever). "The things I have seen..." She would tell me. " You have no idea what he looks like naked..." she would shudder at the thought.
"...And the smell...the smell..." She would cry from her eyes and her breasts. It was disgusting and my hymen gagged within me. I hushed it and tried to erase that sad, sorry image from my mind.
I always thought that conforming to the hymen process was the road to righteousness. Sitting amongst these shrieking children and leaking breasts makes me feel otherwise. Maybe the Mercedes driving, grey, shiny suit wearing Mehdi with the huge gold chain is not the life for me. Maybe my hymen was destined for a life of spiritual contemplation.
Maybe I don't want to be like everyone else, hymen enthusiasts. I am having what the people call an "epiphany". I don't want to part with my hymen and I am going to work out a way to make this an honourable pursuit. I think I have been chosen for a higher cause.
My hymen agrees, I feel it smiling widely, tap dancing with gusto, deep, deep within my body...
