The story has to do with a small town, a hard core and twisted Baptist minister, a basement, and a talk about the rapture.
Long story short – the message offered to me, at the age of 10, was that if I didn`t believe in God definitively, I faced the risk of being removed from the world entirely, or possibly having my head cut off.
Twisted and dramatic, right? I know – so I never went back.
Ever.
Now, 25 years later, with a young family in a very big city, I am looking for a sense of community I feel that we are missing. I want faith in our household – spirituality, guidance, and goodness.
And so, I`ve decided to take the family to church this Sunday.
But here is the thing – each time I think about church, I think about fucking. I think of the hard core, no-nonsense, no cuddling kind that I really enjoyed in singlehood.
The idea of church is seriously making me horny.
Why? Somewhere along life`s crazy path, after I disowned religion and found men, God`s name played a key role in all of my trysts.
“Oh Christ, fuck me”!
“Give it to me, oh my God….harder”.
I`ve even combined it with the big old bad C word. I will spare you that – I think you get the point.
My greatest fear is that during the church service I`m going to start getting off, get stuck to the pew, or, get struck by lightning.
I`ll happily take the first two, and then during the third, sing, ahh-men.