Masturbating In Church
my fondest memory of church
had to have been the day that girl from my confirmation class
whom i can’t for the life of me remember the name of now
showed up in a skin tight neon pink dress
which was hiked right up
inches upon inches above her knee
leaving very little to be desired
but i desired so very much---
i wanted her
i wanted what any bored, horny, teenage
nonbeliever would,
in such a situation.
and i was lucky enough to have her family sitting right in front of
mine &
every time she got up to sing a hymn
i watched it cling to her hips &
almost as a second skin on her gorgeous body
(that others would say “god” had “given” her),
no matter how distracting those ridiculous songs were
or how bad the singing droned on in the background
my raging ******** was pulsating against my thigh
in my brown corduroy pants, so much so
that i had to stick my right hand in my front pocket
to keep it at bay &
then it came to me,
like a “miracle” from the “heaven” of all those imbeciles around me---
why was i keeping it at bay?
so with a hymnal in my left hand &
my right hand in my pants
rubbing at my relentless rigidness,
i pretended to mouth the words
while i fantasized about what she would look like naked &
with all the uniquely naïve filth that’s produced in the teenage mind
(as adult filth is just “experienced filth”)
i massaged myself slow & steady
and as my knees weakened just a bit,
i exploded inside my special church corduroys---
and on that day & that day only,
church had been good for something.
Copyright © Andrew Delapruch | Year Posted 2012
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