Monthly Archives: August 2008

High School Sex

(this is an essay I’m thinking of submitting to the Portland Mercury Sexy Essay Contest)

High school – those two words bring up a riot of bright memories. High school sex? A darker subset. Angst, disappointment, longing, Jesus Christ, bondage, milkshakes, and lesbian awakenings.

I had strange luck with the ladies. The ones I got were amazing, special, beautiful, wonderful – but thin on the ground, so I tended towards clingy and unsure, and sought the unsure to cling to. And that’s how I found Sara. Sara Rainbow. Tall, heavy breasted, long faced, outcast. Unconventional looks, my mother would say. Horse faced my friends would snicker. But I set to work on making her mine, and soon enough – she was.

And that’s how we ended up in my bedroom, stripped to the waist, those enormous delightful breasts playing across my pasty chest, the crotches of our blue jeans locked in a frictive crush. And that’s when it happened.

I should explain – Sara Rainbow was a late bloomer. She hadn’t figured out masturbation, knew almost nothing of the sexual anatomy, much less of the act itself. After an early makeout session, she called to ask me if I had soaked my pants, because it had gone all the way into her panties, and I didn’t have the heart to explain. She was so clueless, in fact…

Making her sexy face, and dry humping in earnest, she came down full force on my tented penis – It first shuddered, and then buckled painfully, causing an audible pop of gristle. I stared, open mouthed at the ceiling, a cry caught in my throat, eyes tearing up. And as my brain flashed the days that would come, the bruise, imagined the lump of scar tissue that still gives a gentle kink, she looked at me through heavy eyes and mouthed. – “Did you come?”

Scenes from a Life II

It’s early enough in the week that I’m still pretty jazzed. I slept well last night, and I came in early to help unload trucks. Standing in that dark, humid truck with two halogen lamps blinding you from the dock is a great way to kill the time. Things begin to shift and fall on you, the yelling and the cursing and the adrenaline makes the night clench around your heart and demand MORE. The sweat is finally drying on my back. We got the trucks unloaded fast, got those pallets out to the floor. I’m cleaning now, for the inevitable influx of overstock. Sweeping, listening to KJZZ, getting myself centered.

Tick tick tick.

I should talk about this back room some. It’s huge. Empty when all the stock is on the floor. Sounds carry and echo and fuck with you. I ignore this first noise. It could be anything. A mouse eating some garbage out of the compactor, it could be Rosie in the cage doing some more returns, it could be the caffeine and adrenaline making me hear stuff. It could be the sound of my soul being grated away. I don’t really know.

Tick tick tick.

It sure sounds like it’s coming from the truck bays. And we’ve had some loss problems recently. Some of the truck unloaders found that they could drop DVDs down the gap between the truck and the building and then run around and retrieve them after their shift. But all the unloaders should be on their break right now, and it’d be pretty ballsy to go out already. Maybe I should check. I contemplate it as I throw away a couple of carts of cardboard. I don’t really get paid to be an LP guy, they should be watching the parking lot cameras for this shit anyways.

Tick tick tick.

I have put this off long enough. I should just get the keys out of the pallet stacker, and open up that bay and figure out what the fuck is out there. Nobody is going to shoot me over a couple of third-tier DVD’s.

Tick tick tick.

I decide I’m going to throw the fear of god into this thief, I unlock the door and throw it open with a flourish, I may have even started a roar as I did it, but it died in my throat, as my brain struggled to wrap itself around the image before me.

Three of the janitors. Herman, Jose, and Victor, standing in a mockery of American Gothic, one holding a broom upright. All of them with a barely contained snicker threatening to break their composure. Herman, being the shortest, front and center, a Minnie Mouse hat perched upon his head with the name “Sarah” embroidered on it in pink candy floss.

They stood there, unmoving, as my brain recoiled from the situation, and I slowly, mechanically slid the door back down.

Their long, loud, exstatic laughter echoed through the back room, becoming tinny from the high corners and exposed vents. I slid the door back up after a moment, and Herman threw me the Minnie Mouse ears with a wink. He pulled the door back down and admonished me to get back to work in his heavily accented english.

The Spark

You’re not obliged to swallow anything you despise. – The Shins “Sleeping Lessons”

I don’t think I ever believed in God. I had friends who did. I have relatives who still do, believe in a living, eternal Lord who controls all of the universe. And I’ve had my phases, agnostic, atheist, spiritual, searching, but never found any compelling evidence for it. And for most of my life it was live and let live. You go to your box on Sunday and hear readings from the same book over and over – I’ll stay here and read a new book each week. You close your eyes and pray that your disease gets better, I’ll take an aspirin and the advice of a doctor. But over time, as my other angular-featured thoughts have mellowed, this stubborn block refuses to change. The belief in a being so powerful but so invisible is ridiculous, and despite my aspirations of empathy, I lose much respect for someone when they express a belief in a living, world creating God, and disregard science, appropriate civil behavior, or even common sense in It’s name.

Listen, don’t get me wrong. There are lots of great ideas in religious doctrine. Don’t kill anybody – I like that one. Don’t steal your neighbor’s stuff – I’m on board! Don’t eat pork – I don’t follow it now, but I GET THE IDEA. Pork is highly parasite prone, and if it isn’t stored right or eaten fresh you can get super sick. I mean, it’s a pretty good idea to tell desert dwellers not to eat any shellfish too, because wow. If it’s 500BC and you’re eating a clam in the middle of Jerusalem… that sucker has been out of the water for a _while_. That’s not safe. Don’t fuck your kids – OK, I am right there with you. It’s when you get into the eliminationist bits that I start getting bothered. I don’t remember Jesus saying to kill everybody who doesn’t think like you do, but apparently everybody else got that pamphlet in their version. The Koran and the Old Testament both kind of run that ragged line between subtle anger and raw murder porn, and it’s not really a surprise when people want to get really indignant and unpleasant with others, those are the books they turn to for potent quotables.

But recently, I had a realization about why religion persists in the face of logic. Dave Williams (whose page is so amazingly archaic it boggles the mind – look for the 6/18 entry) pointed out a great reason for the success of religion – Simplicity. The book is very short, and there’s a man you can ask to explain it to you. You forfeit your own judgment in support of their own. You offer up your will to someone else, you become their instrument.

And from this, you are freed from conscience. The nice part about following a religion is that just about anything you do can be justified by it, excused by it, or said to be an act in support of it. The murder of your neighbor, the burning of a house, the torment of a grieving family. For a psychopath, you must lose your sanity to justify these things. For a believer, you must simply have faith that the act is good, and you pass responsibility up the line, from believer to priest and up the line to God.

I have to say, I thought I had mellowed on this, until the saga of the cracker. It has stoked the furnace of my inner hard line atheist. I’m angry now, and all of the little chipping away of my freedom in the name of some Johnny-come-lately God makes my stomach churn.