~ Saint Agnes ~

Hagiography or autobiography ?



Some people wonder about me.

Who is Agnès in the reality ? Is she a girl or a man ? ( Yes, a few asked to me this question. One moment I doubted about my Self. I bent my head, I hitched up my skirt and touched my womb... the absence of the sluggish thing has confirmed what I already knew. Yes I am a woman :-) Does she love? What does she look like ? Is she really as perverted in her real life like her stories can mean.

I have decided to give an answer to my readers. There are only three words : I am Agnès. But it would noy satisfy some one who, living a sinful life, don't deign read that wonderful and educational book: The Golden Legend by Giacomo da Varazze also known as Jacobus da Voragine.

I am Agnes of Rome, born in 291 and officially died in 304 at the age of thirteen.

Aie, aie, aie, I am realizing that I am 1705 old !!!! That I am becoming old.

I was virgin, much wise, and well taught, as Saint Ambrose witnessed, and wrote my passion. For in the thirteenth year of my age I was killed and found life. I was young of age, and aged in wit. I was fair of visage (Thank you Saint Ambrose ) , but much fairer in the christian faith. Yes I was christian. I was just became a woman and I was discovering my young body and its disconcerting heat. When I was praying, I put my hand together. Down below.

My fingers fluttered on my rose bud and I went into adolescent ecstasy. Jesus was really beautiful. The photos circulating illicitly... (Sorry, the photos did not exist at that time. It's my great age ) The icons circulating illicitly made me mad. In the evening, in my bed, I was imagining Jesus, bending over me, his blond bearb tickling my burning womb, cooling it down as a rain of rose petals, as a spring breeze. I was silly. I have since learned that a bearb is like a scrubbing brush, a wood grater that you have to trim and shave before the mouth hidden behind can, perhaps, serves my pleasure.

It was my frame of mind when the son of the Prefect of Rome made advances to me. An old boy, 25 years old, just graduate of the S.M.A. (Schola Mercaturum Altae, High Commercial School. In France, HEC)


I sent him packing.

In my thurifers words, I said:

Go from me thou fardel of sin, nourishing of evils and morsel of death, and depart, and know thou that I am prevented and am loved of another lover,

In fact my words were completely different. But I don't remember the swearwords I told.

At least I reduced him to silence.

And he fell sick with love. For the love of me ! A 13 years old girl !
But he spoke to the doctors they came to examine him and to his father, the Prefect. He summoned me to his luxurious villa.

In my thurifers words, he declared :

One of two things thou shalt choose, either do sacrifice to our gods with the virgins of the goddess Vesta, or go to the bordel to be abandoned to all that thither come.

I answered smiling but not exactly confident:
If thou knewest who is my God thou wouldst not say to me such words, but for as much as I know the virtue of my God, I set nothing by thy menaces, for I have his angel which is keeper of my body.

So the Prefect called to this guard. The louts ripped my toga, made me star naked, to my great embarrassment, and doing not hesitate to grope me.

Then they savagely tied my wrists and put a rope around my neck.

I admit that I started to be afraid, to doubt : why did Lord's angel make nothing to me ?

Yet my Lord, or his angel made something. While the two soldiers was delivering me naked to the bordel, God gave to me such grace that the hairs of my head became so long that they covered all my body to my feet, so that my young body was not seen.

Although I was scared, my curiosity made me look out of the ajar doors of the alcoves. Is it that, to make love ?

They pushed me inside a room to wait for customers. The son of the Prefect went first. At that time, I knew nothing about all that things. Now... a little more. I opened my eyes wide when the son of the Prefect showed me his thing : is that big thing he wants to put in my little hole ? I pushed him back: that will never go in !

He knocked me about down on the pallet and he got ready to rape me. I did not know the word mais I knew that what he wanted to do, was nasty. But at last, the angel appeared and struke down the boy.

In the lupanar they shouted miracle. Or witch. When the Prefect heard these tidings of his son he ran weeping to the bordel and he besough me to raise him to life:

If thou mayst raise him, it may well appear that thou hast not put him to death.


Well. I started praying and Lord answered my prayers. The son of the Prefect raised from dead. Of course, the facts came to the ears of the bishops of the idols. They made a great discord among the people, so that all they cried:

Take away this sorceress and witch that turned men's minds and alieneth their wits.

Despite his efforts, the Prefect could not and did not want to save me. I was driven in chains to the arenas to be burnt alive.

I was terrified. All the way, people had shouted: Death to the witch, had thrown refuse at me.

Remember, I just was 13 years old. Imagine the feelings of a young girl in that sort of situation.

I was praying, I was praying, I was praying.

It was much worse that I could imagine.

You'll like that ! That is for the virgin enchantresses. Before you die burnt, you will take a big thing in your virgin pussy.


I suppose you wonder how I can write and draw this story, now in the 21st century, if I was burnt alive in 304.

You will have the answer, reading Saint Agnes

Don't miss 1700 years of history on www.Agnes-Bdsm.com