The memory is misty and dim. I was thoroughly intoxicated... by love (I swear). I recall a clover-perfumed meadow, a large shade tree, and a fallen tree trunk with the perfect degree of softness.
At the appropriate moment my true love began to wriggle and moan, and eventually to scream. My chest puffed out with pride, I envisioned myself as the world's most pursued lover, and I slipped into an oblivion that excluded all but my own pleasure... until I saw the ants on my true love's neck.
My memory, still misty and dim, fades to a scene of being severely beaten with a bra buckle and nastily chastened (by the same ecreaming voice I had enjoyed earlier) for being the world's most insensitive beast.
The next day I went into the priesthood.