I’ve never told anyone this story before because it is a little embarrassing. Plus legally I’m not really supposed to talk about it but…here we go. 

I had my first sexual experience when I was eighteen. I was a way-too-old-to-be-called-alter-boy alter-boy, but all the same that was my title. Alter-boy is an objectively sexy title, you can lead a boy to the alter but you can’t make them drink your jizzum, or can you? This adage was tested by the saggiest most portly and profligate priest at my family’s parish, St Clair of Assisi, Assisi, A Sissy, Ass Sissy, I mean it’s right there in the name. Anyway I was just a teen but, like all boy scouts, I knew life, oh I knew life. My family had recently moved to a suburb of Detroit from a suburb of Cleveland, staying faithful to a midwest of the mind. Yes I was new in town and you know how it is to be the new hot piece of teen on the market. All the priests were lusting, but only one had the gilded testicles to turn me out. Like all the victims of 9/11, I’ll never forget that day. It was a dreary mid-November Sunday afternoon and the service was plodding along. It wasn’t a religious holiday or a Saint’s Feast day or anything special, just your regular run-of-the-mill church service. The parishioners were all slouching back in their pews, glassy-eyed and vacant, while Father Patrick, the aforementioned corpulent priest, was conducting his rambling homily. I am unable to recall the body of his sermon but let’s just say he wasn’t making any new fans. Now, I have always been an insatiable extrovert and I’ve always needed the eyes of the whole world to be zoomed in on me in order to feel seen. Add to that that I abhor being in any way complicit in a boring performance of any kind. Jeez I really couldn’t bear to see Father P for Pussy flailing like this, so I did what I had to do. I slithered up on to the alter and slowly, salaciously, seductively, concupiscently…began to remove my alter-boy vestments one stitch at a time. It took forever but the effect was profound. I first noticed my classmate Bonny Washington’s father conspicuously sliding his hand down to his zipper, releasing his great hog to the open air, and begin stroking it madly with concentrated intensity. Within seconds all of the parishioners and clergy fell into an onanistic furor. To everyone’s surprise even Jesus came down from the cross, I mean he stayed up there but he came down from the cross. Seeing his messiah blow his load proved too much for the man, and Father P for Pregnard exposed his little button shaped sausage and began squizzing violently like a firehose into the communion chalice. I started to feel like I was being upstaged so I leaped down off the alter, grabbed the chalice with both hands, and greedily drank all of Father P for Putrid’s salty gloppy pietistic spunk. I dropped the chalice and allowed some of his holy discharge to drip off my chin to the ground. Fearing that any ounce of Father P for Palpitating’s sacred seed might go to waste, many of the female parishioners rushed towards me and began scooping it into their dripping gaping vaginas. 

The aroma in the church was insane. I started to feel extremely disorientated. Through my hazy vision I spotted what appeared to be an angelic figure floating luminously, lithely, above the pews. It was a slightly femme hermaphroditic creature with huge tits and a giant cock. I looked around the church to see if anyone else was privy to this vision or if I alone had been gifted this enigmatic visitation. It appeared to be for my eyes and my mind only. I had the somewhat unpleasant sensation that it was peering straight into my soul and then it began communicating telepathically with me. The projected missives it sent me initially were in a strange foreign language that I did not recognize. Slowly it seemed to realize its error and it began speaking to me in an obtuse poetic fashion. “Whether thee of bells to romp, my darling?” was the first message I received and I was quite puzzled how to respond. It seemed to sense my confusion and so added “Yon barbed and bellowith, thine pathogen twixt appellate replete.” All at once I began to understand, it was sending me coded affirmations of love! Upon this realization, my entire being began to pulsate and my physical body seemed to enter into a sort of cocoon phase. I still had full consciousness but my body felt like a deep fried banana that had been left on a window sill to cool and then forgotten forever. Completely at ease in this new fully immobile physical state I was able to freely converse with my angelic beloved. I asked it, in our secret love code, how its day was going and it said. “Fiine.” I followed that by saying, “Some weather we’re having huh?” To which it replied, “Yeah, I can’t believe it’s like winter already, it’s like we had one month of autumn!” I laughed my ass off at that ‘cause it was like so accurate like there was already snow on the ground like what the fuck?? While the Catholic masturbation rave raged on all around us, we discussed all sorts of stuff like, “What kind of porn do you watch? Were you an athlete or a nerd in High School? Who are like your top three favorite celebrity racists? Have you ever tossed someone’s salad? If Dennis Rader the BTK psycho broke into your house and told you he was gonna kill either your mom or your dad, which one would you pick and why?” Huh, interesting, no I’d pick my mom because she’s already dead hahahahahaha we laughed at that and then and then and then it was over…so quiet…I was alone but not really alone, I was neither here nor not here, it was cool and I knew that it would last, the law of averages tells us some things have to last, it’s math, I think.