Sunday, January 31, 2010

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My Sex Life Part One

I had been looking for a girl to cuddle with. I liked the idea of making out. Mormon prophets speak out in General Conference on the dangers of the snuggle. Kissing, and heavy petting are the gateway drugs of sex. The Book of Mormon equates breaking the law of chastity with murder. But I was not looking for sex, I wanted to spoon. I wanted to wrap my arms around someone and waste time. While I did not find Madison terribly attractive, she was an inactive Mormon. This made her a gem. Most high school girls in Utah County were not willing to cast aside scripture and the advice of modern prophets for some full body patty-cake. Our first date was my first kiss.

Madison was from Spanish Fork, and I was from Provo; we met through work at Pizza Hut. She was lean with hair the color of red dirt. Her pants hung low and she had weak wrists that caved while scratching my back. We were both sixteen and in the back seat of her ‘89 Mustang. I felt the divots of her hips and the flower lace of her bra. We had known each other for a week. Our legs struggled for room by kicking at the interior of the car. The seats were covered with soft artificial rabbit fur that caressed my forearms. We were at Utah Lake in early January, but there was little snow; round patches of dark earth stood out against the white. A full moon illuminated the car.

 The Mustang was parked next to an irrigation pump used by farmers surrounding the Lake. Madison reached beneath my boxers and gripped my ass.

Giggling, she asked, “Are those pimples?”

I smiled and shrugged, too aroused to be embarrassed. Madison rolled my cheeks in her hands like a wad of warm dough. It felt good, so I slid my hands down the back of her pants. Her full-butt panties were soft cotton. The skin was cool, supple, and jiggly.

Madison pushed me away and smiled; small C’s creased her cheeks. She unbuttoned her pants and stretched open the zipper. Her thinly plucked eyebrows rose. A small triangle of her lime and white-striped panties was visible. I shook, not knowing if this was really happening.

I had had sexual fantasies, but they were always of girls from church. These fantasies would start with Mormon girl and I walking home from the chapel. We would kiss and get cozy in a grove of trees near Provo River. Overcome by sinful urges, we would get naked. Then she would touch my bathing-suit-area. While I replayed this fantasy regularly in my head, I knew it would never really happen. They were good Mormon girls. The best I could hope for was to hold their hand in the back seat of a car. I never thought that sex would really happen, not to me, not in Utah.

In Sunday school I learned that to lust after a woman is to commit adultery in your heart. My bishop told me the only way to eternal salvation is through sexual purity. Grandma told me a good way to ruin your life was in the back seat of a car. And my scoutmaster said that teenagers fornicating caused Jesus more pain in Gethsemane. The problem was, I lusted after women regularly, so I was already sinning. The celestial kingdom (Mormon Heaven) was too amazing to see with mortal eyes so how could I have a desire go there? I was skeptical if back seats really ruin your life because Grandma never described how. And I could not feel Jesus’ pain. Faith was abstract while sex was before me tangible and real. I trembled, leaning away from my convictions.

Madison reached into her pocket and pulled out an unlabeled condom in a silver package. The corners were twisted, worn, and frayed. She teetered it between her two fingers like a cigarette, the freckles on her knuckles reflected in the wrapper. I took the condom from her and she lowered her pants. Her thighs shone white in the moonlight. My heart sank. This was real. This was sex. I got scared. What if it was true?  What if I was ruining my life? What about Jesus’ pain?

“No,” I said. “I can’t.”

Madison stopped, her pants just below her knees. She glared at me and raised her hands. “What the hell?” she said. “You don’t want it?”

I shook my head. “I… I just can’t.”

She jerked up her pants and turned to the side. “Mormons,” she said, the tone bitter.  “You people are always doing this to me.” Her arms folded. “I’m never gonna get laid.”

“No, no, it’s not that. I’m just not ready.”

“Oh really? Cody, John, Sam said the same shit. Then Sunday they asked me to go to church with them.” Madison went on to tell me that her brothers and her best friend were all having sex. “It’s such shit,” she said. “I’m the only one not getting any.”

She told me about her brother. He was a maverick with shoulder-length hair, baggy clothes, and a hatred for the Mormon faith. “He’s the only person that understands,” she said. Apparently, her brother had given her the silver condom ceremoniously. He placed it in her palm like “The Ring of Power” and told her it was the last of a gas station twin-pack.  He had used one of the condoms his first time, and the other was for her. “Keep it secret.” He said, “Keep it safe.” She had been carrying it for nearly a year. Every time sex was about to happen, the guy said, “No, no, I’m just not ready.” She repeated the words high in her sinuses.  “You people are such pussies. I’m gonna be a virgin forever.”

My religious peers would have been happy. This was something inspirational I could have shared at a testimony meeting or a scout camp. I should have felt strong. I had looked sin in the face and said, “No, Satan! I am a child of God.” But I felt remorse. Most likely I would never find another girl willing to cast aside Utah values to have sex with me. My bishop would have told me to cut things off with Madison, to give her a berth so wide that sex could not be a possibility. Instead, I repeatedly apologized and asked if we could please continue making out, or maybe spoon.

Madison exhaled. “Whatever,” she said, and gripped me by the shoulders, pulling me down.


Angela said...

Haha! Oh Clint I miss your writing. So this blog reminds me of a book I read. Have you read the book "A Prayer for Owen Meany" by John Irving? I think you'd like it. Similar writing style and wit.

Melodie said...

No, but one of my instructors said I should read it. Thanks for the suggestion.

Melodie said...

That was posted by Clint, not Mel by the way. I forgot to log in as me.