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.