Hey ladies! Would you like to have an orgasm and ensure the crops in your part of the world yield a nutritious harvest? Want to get it on with your man and give birth to hundreds of loaves of bread afterwards? Want to combine your two favorite things, sex and carbs, into one magnificent night you’ll never forget?

Look no further than the Pagan springtime sex ritual, in which a high priest and a priestess engage in sweet, sweet, public loving to simulate the fruitful union of god with goddess. Hott!!!!

This tradition stretches across several ancient cultures and is even practiced by Wiccans to this day during the sexy springtime holiday of Beltane, but the sex ritual I want to talk about right now is that of the ancient Sumerians, because they had the best poetry (and I think a whole lot of poetry sucks!). I mean, look at this excerpt from The Song of Inanna and Dumuzi, wherein a priestess acting as goddess Inanna talks super dirty to the priest representing Dumuzi:

My vulva, the horn,

The boat of Heaven,

Is full of eagerness like the young moon.

My untilled land lies fallow.

As for me, Inanna,

Who will plow my vulva?

Who will plow my high field?

Who will plow my wet ground?

As for me, the young woman,

Who will plow my vulva?

Who will station the ox there?

Who will plow my vulva?

WHO WILL PLOW MY VULVA? This is the poem I was trying to mimic when performing fertility rites with strangers in the park last spring.

For his part, “Dumuzi” answers like this:

Great Lady, the king will plow your vulva.
I Dumuzi the King, will plow your vulva.

Wooooohoooo, it’s on! And it only gets hotter and heavier from there:

Inanna sang:
“Make your milk sweet and thick, my bridegroom.
My shepherd, I will drink your fresh milk.
Wild bull, Dumuzi, make your milk sweet and thick.
I will drink your fresh milk….
Dumuzi spoke:
“My sister, I would go with you to my garden.
Inanna, I would go with you to my garden.
I would go with you to my orchard.
I would go with you to my apple tree.
There I would plant the sweet, honey-covered seed.”
Inanna spoke:
“He brought me into his garden.
My brother, Dumuzi, brought me into his garden.
I strolled with him among the standing trees,
I stood with him among the fallen trees,
By an apple tree I knelt as is proper….
Before my lord Dumuzi,
I poured out plants from my womb.
I placed plants before him,
I poured out plants before him.
I placed grain before him,
I poured out grain before him.
I poured out grain from my womb.”

So much grain and flesh and milk and plants and delicious, delicious things are going on here I don’t even know where to begin, other than saying that I might have been more into going to synagogue as a pre-teen if stuff like this was going down there. I’d much rather see some hot live smut during my springtime holiday than have to make a child search for an unleavened cracker, and all the other tame-ass things we do at Passover. (Granted, it might make family dinners a bit awkward.)

In conclusion, religion is mostly boring these days, except for Wicca, which keeps the badass metal traditions of yore alive. Is it any wonder it was the only religion most of the women I know ever toyed with joining, most likely around the age of 13?