Red Ryder wrote: ↑
Mon Nov 26, 2018 11:09 am
I think alas' explanation makes sense the most.
However, I'll just add in my own explanation.
Maybe it's all about the hygiene? Or lack thereof. Let's pretend I'm a well endowed pioneer woman. I can cook. I can clean. I can fancy my fancy to catch the eye of the prophet, the president of the 70, the stake president, and even the local farmer bishop, or whomever man God commands! I'm in tune with the Lords way of marriage. I become wife number 9.
I keep my house clean, the hay mattress fluffed, and the cowboy beans warm so that when my strong, mighty, righteous man among boys comes to visit me for a night I'll be ready. I'll be wearing a white dress, scented with that wonderful lavender detergent advertised in the Nauvoo Inquirer. I'll be ready to please the prophet or his representative. Whomever The Lord sends. I'll be ready.
Or so I thought... Suddenly when the sounds of a galloping horse awakens me in the middle of the night, I'm paralyzed with fear. As I pray for protection from The Lord, my prayers are interrupted by the front door opening fast then violently slamming shut. Suddenly a familiar voice rings out in the night. It's the Prophet Joseph commanding me to meet him in the barn. He speaks rapidly telling me that his time is cut short, he was running from the mob, and his horse may have a sprained ankle. I offer him a plate of the warmed cowboy beans hoping he declines because they are way over cooked. He declines stating he was fasting for a period of time in order to receive revelation.
As I meet him in the barn, he is drenched in sweat, a slight odor of whiskey weighs on his breath, and his hands are cold. He starts to undress me from my pajamas. Not my sexy nightgown as I always imagined, but my comfy ones I always sleep in when alone at night. As he caresses my neck, I smell a whiff of horse manure, and notice a large clump of horse tail hair stuck to his overcoat. I quickly take his jacket off. I shouldn't have done that as his jacket masked the smell of his dirty white shirt he was wearing. It was the most horrendous body odor you could imagine. Not the sweat of exertion, but the sweat of fear. Fear from running away from mob after mob.
I quickly remove that shirt and the next, and the next, and the next! What is it with Mormons and layers?? I finally get down to his garments and see that they were sown together keeping him in permanently. I go grab the sheep sheering scissors by the barn door and cut him free from them. I noticed he had some brown looking poop stains but he assured me they were nothing more than excess saddle oil soaked up by his G's.
At this point I'm completely freaked out because the prophet didn't measure up if you know what I mean. As he grabbed my hand he whispered "hold to the rod" and suddenly I felt the warm nasty bits of the prophet in my hands. Vomit came to my mouth. Before I swallowed, the prophets tongue was in my mouth. He didn't pull away and the smell of his rotting molars hit me like a ton of hay falling off Brother Smith's hay trailer.
I slowly began to hum the words to "We thank thee o God for a prophet" as I closed my eyes and found a space in my head to go to. It worked because the Prophet finished his sermon and before leaving assured me I've pleased God and my eternal salvation was safe for another six weeks until we meet again.
It's tough being a well endowed pioneer woman fancied by the Prophet of God. Sexual repression is just one of those challenges The Lord has blessed us with to endure to the end until indoor plumbing, hot water heaters, and axe body spray become mainstream morsels of everyday LDS Living!
or perhaps, maybe it is all about a power struggle, about learning how to own your own emotional well-being, learning how to be pro-active and able to to take ownership of your own heart and body.
I can cook, I can clean, but I don't do it for him, I do it for my children, for myself. He is now just a paycheck to me, now just a toy to be messed with... I remember the day where I learned how to take his manliness from him. He walked in after a hard-day's work. I work too, so no sympathy there, but I'll play the game - pretend to be the good wife, pretend to be impressed by his *little* achievements. That is the best way to mess with them you see, pretend to be innocent and grateful to them... so he walks in, and I put on the innocent/sexy/desperate/dependent housewife routine ad he falls for it, because, all women know most guys are idiots when it comes to reading or understanding people. It's amazing how easy it is to get someone to believe something - amazing how easily this "man led by the spirit" has no idea his own wife no longer loves or needs him. Hard to keep from laughing - but I do well, I keep the innocent face painted on, and play the role that will give me the most dividends... and here comes the most fun part of it all... messing with him in the bedroom. You see, Guys can orgasm so easily, have no self-control, and they attach much of their "manhood" into their "performance"... want to make a man humble? here is what you do ladies - let him know he was not good enough for you, let him know he did not "get you there" - be discrete about it, "oh, that's ok honey, I know you tried" ha-ha - make them feel like the worthless piece of crap they are in bed, and you just won the power struggle. ... then you go take care of your own needs in the next room - that's right - you don't need anything from them
... now that bastard, he is going to have to prove himself to you in other ways, he's going to have to "make it up" to you - he is going to clean your house, he's going to buy you presents, going to do everything he can to make up for his sorry *** not satisfying you in bed, and every time he sees you he will lower his eyes because he knows he is not man enough to satisfy a woman in bed....
that is how that goes down ladies.... two can play this game.
I suspect Emma knew how to play the game...