Hi!

I was a Mormon, but my wife killed it for me. She wanted pictures of the late David O. McKay on the nightstand and the Mormon Tabernacle Choir playing on the TV while we made love. She then wanted to pray afterward, and she gave thanks for orgasms and satisfied lustful desires. She wore a pioneer dress and bonnet while on top. It was insane, and I couldn't take it. After my last child left the house shortly after turning eighteen, I left too. I couldn't take the weirdness—singing Primary songs while penetrating her in a biblically sinful way. Her requesting that I dress like Brigham Young while she kneeled before me for fellatio was sick. My bishop laughed when I told him and suggested I ask her to role-play Emma Smith and have her run her thumb across my golden plates. My Stake President was not any help. I just wrote a letter and resigned. I also went to testimony meeting and testified of the delicious IHOP "Fresh and Fruity" meal I had eaten minutes before. I described the fluffy pancakes, crispy bacon, and pecan syrup—everything they were starving for, those fools. Then I spilled the tea on my ex and walked down from the pulpit and out of the building. I got in my car and watched the building disappear in my rearview mirror. I drove out of state to my new home where I changed my name and seek peace. No more sunday afternoon drop in visits to deliver a mesaage that some bozo just googled in my driveway before comming to my door.