Worst Date Ever
We had been dating for about 6 months, and my hormones were running full throttle. Now in my youth, I was certainly not a beauty queen, but I was at least passable in the looks department and more than willing in the lust department. You would think that those two factors alone would have gotten me laid, but the guy I was dating was six feet eight inches of BORN AGAIN Christian. He was so hard core into the religion, that I think he had two belly buttons from being BORN AGAIN. Although an active athlete in three sports and having lettered in all of them, instead of wearing his letter jacket he chose to wear a jacket with the word agape on the back. This was to remind him of what agape meant – the pure love that God had for his people.
Well, pure love is all fine and good unless you are a seriously frustrated 17 year old girl who has a lot of pent up lust aching to be freed. When you are in this state of heightened sexual arousal, the line between “love” and “lust” is quickly crossed. Obviously, this was unbearable and a girl can only take so much.
So, I did what I had to do. I began to read Cosmo. Within three months, I knew every sex secret ever published in that magazine AND I could rattle off a list 20 ways to please my man in bed without even thinking about it. I bought a push up bra and a low cut shirt. I wore jeans that were a size to small. I flirted. I brushed assorted body parts against him whenever he got within touching range. Under the crepe-papered ceilings of school dances, I provocatively snuggled up against him when we slow danced. But my boyfriend’s willpower was always stronger … until one night when I discovered the ultimate aphrodisiac.
One night I decided that it was “now or never”. Either he and I were “going to do it” or I was moving on to greener pastures. So I screwed up my courage, looked him square in the eye and said “So, do you want to fuck or what?” Then it was on, baby. (Had I known that was going to be all it took, I could have saved about $50 in Cosmo alone – but I digress.)
So the big night arrived on Memorial Day, 1985. My day that will live in infamy. His parents were gone and we were tripping the night fantastic on his waterbed in his room. Candles were lit, sexy music was on the stereo and I was happily working my way through the list of 20 Ways to Please Your Man in Bed, when something happened that changed my life forever.
I was in midst of doing something I am no longer flexible enough to do when I looked up and saw a huge thing in the doorway to the bedroom. A massive, hulking, screaming shape….
His father had come home.
His father had come home and walked in on us.
His father had come, walked in on us and was now yelling “REPENT SINNERS!! GET DOWN ON YOUR KNEES AND BEG FOR MERCY!”
Shocked, embarrassed and confused, I looked at him for a minute, blinked a few times and before I could stop myself I said “Uh… I am already on my knees can I just repent later?” It did not go over well.
His father continued to enlighten us on what Hell has in store for FORNICATORS. (Personally, I never knew that Hell devoted so much time to all the torments he described FORNICATORS as having to endure.) Things became a bit awkward as I scuttled around the room trying to collect my clothes because his father was standing on my bra and panties. Finally, I was able to get them back when his father went to call the minister to come on an emergency house call to “save our souls”,
Once I had my underwear securely in hand and everything else mostly on I beat a clumsy hasty retreat out the bedroom window. Once I made it to the sanctuary of my car, and was sitting behind the wheel, I couldn’t decide if I should laugh or cry. If I remember correctly, I did both.
Of course the total irony of all of this is that the guy and I broke up about a year later AFTER he told me he was having sex with one of my best friends. Apparently, she had a longer list…..
