Real stories about dating and relationships in New York City. Truth is more interesting than fiction.

Mel V. G-O-D

I’m so excited about today’s guest post, for a couple of reasons. A) I’m excited I remembered to post it. B) It’s from the always fabulous Miss Melisa Mae.

Mel  V. G-O-D

If you had a car, you had a bedroom.  The backseat was ample enough room to become acquainted with the object of one’s desire.  Darkly lit streets, vacant parking lots and local parks harbored youth from the prying eyes of adult disapproval and punishment.

I was young, I was limber and I could maneuver around the bucket seats of a two door Nissan with the grace of a synchronized swimmer.  Nothing short of the Pittsburg Steelers offensive line could keep this 16 year olds raging hormones under wraps.  If you were cute and had wheels I was bound and determined to insure a play date of heavy petting and hickies.

Trying to reconcile my desire to dryhump everything with a penis with the chastity imposed by my youth group’s pastor was cruel and unusual punishment.  The urge to suck face with one of my God fearing, innocent youth group peers was never far from the surface.  I was in a competition with God.  He was trying to keep their clothes on and I was trying to get them off.  Game, set, match.  Even the threat of eternal damnation was not enough to keep me from exploring the boundaries of my sexuality.

This is how I met Stephen.  The tall, slightly goofy, devoted Man of God.  He was a senior in high school with dreams of becoming a pastor himself.  Even knowing my reputation as the man-eating, temptress didn’t keep him from wanting a taste.  Like a puppy dog, he followed me around in hopes of defiling then saving my soul.

We would have long discussions about and forgiveness, temptation and redemption, and salvation.  He would preach to me about premarital sex in the eyes of the Lord and made confessions to me about how he had strayed before.  Luckily for him, God had sacrificed his only Son so that Stephen would be forgiven of his horrendous misdeed.

I didn’t particularly have any desire to fool around with Stephen.  I wasn’t all that attracted to him and I was afraid of what his dirty talk would consist of should I get him excited.  The only thing I had ever seen him get passionate about was The Father, The Son and The Holy Spirit.  Should he see my tits in any capacity other than under the sanctity of , he, no doubt, was the type to whip himself with a leather strap in the privacy of his own room while chanting in Latin.

Going out for coffee one evening, we again commenced our usual conversation and banter.  This usually consisted of him warning me of my sinful ways and almost certain road to hell.  Considering that I was, in actuality, still just a , him prophesying my eternal resting place was a tad overly dramatic.  Assuring him that my healthy appetite for making out did not condemn me to a place with no air conditioning for the rest of my life after death I got the feeling as though I was not so much one of his projects for salvation but more his dessert for the evening.

Sitting in his truck, Stephen placed his hand on my thigh.  His other hand went behind my neck and with an unfounded confidence, pulled me to him and tried to stick his big, fat, inexperienced (except for that one time) tongue down my throat.  Trying to push him away, he continued on as though my refusal was merely a distraction from him trying to insure my speedy travels into hell by taking my cherry premaritally.

It didn’t take much to remove the hypocrite’s paws from my body and I was never in any real danger of being deflowered by the ginormous bible thumper.  I was more offended that he had spent so much time spewing his religious bullshit highlighting the error of my ways and need for salvation when his intention all along was to take from me that which he so considered to be most important in the eyes of God.

Oh.  And his kissing.  That offended me, too.  When will some folks learn that simply sticking your tongue in a mouth and leaving it there to take up space is not considered kissing?  It’s considered storage.

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5 to “Mel V. G-O-D”

  1. IntrigueMe says:

    This is why I don’t believe in organized religion. People are such hypocrites.
    IntrigueMe recently posted..Stories of the Ex: Making PlansMy Profile

  2. Wow! What a brilliant post! That Melisa Mae is one talented chick. But then again, I may just be a little biased. Can’t imagine why.
    Miss Melisa Mae recently posted..Craigslist Gone WrongMy Profile

  3. dom success says:

    yeah great talent over there keep it up.

  4. NikkiB says:

    “St. Stephen with a rose, in and out of the garden he goes. Country garden in the wind and the rain, wherever he goes the people all complain…”

    Um. Oh hey. Right. There was a post here. About Miss Mae and that Bible Thumper who wanted to hump her. Can’t say I blame him, but he really should be praising his Almighty for creating sweet Melissa…
    NikkiB recently posted..Tree-Hugger Tuesdays!: Reduce, Reuse… and only then, Recycle.My Profile

  5. Terry D says:

    I never could figure out a God who creates humping as a necessary artform and then follows it up with bible humping thumpers who insist their willy will wither when wanked. Meanwhile – you loverly ladies make sunshine in a dark world – I’m proud to know you
    Terry D recently posted..Monkey politics and the advent of Omega manMy Profile