Another question from Gregory Stock’s book is this:
What is your most treasured memory?
This is perhaps the most open-ended question in the entire book–thus the most challenging. Still, I like a challenge. My most treasured memory is not staring up Mrs. Brown’s skirt–though that is one of them. But so is catching my first fish, riding my bike without training wheels, reading Where the Wild Things Are, etc. In other words, I don’t have a single most treasured memory, but dozens, perhaps hundreds of them. And I think most people are the same way.
There is, however, a most treasured memory of mine that stands out from all the others because it is so unusual–not because of what happened, but how it happened. It is the story of how I lost my virginity and realized my manhood. And because it’s too erotic for a literary anthology, and too intelligent for a porn mag, I’d like to share it here:
In the summer of 1983, I was seventeen. I was on break during my sophomore year at a large, public school–having attended a small, Christian (Church of Christ) school for all but one of the previous ten years. My sister, Elaine, and brother-in-law, Jeff, lived in Charleston, South Carolina, at the time. After visiting Elaine and Jeff several days, my parents, my paternal grandmother, and I were on our way back to Mobile, Alabama. This being a considerably long drive, we stopped at a Holiday Inn in Georgia, for a night.
As we drove into the parking lot, my mom said, “Good gracious!” and I looked up to see why. Through the window, there was a woman walking toward the office with the largest breasts any of us had ever seen–though she was voluptuous enough that they weren’t disproportionately large. I cannot recall seeing her when we checked in, but I must have, since I got such a good view. The woman looked Hispanic, with a slightly dark complexion, long, black hair, and dark eyes. She was plump, though pleasingly so, and appeared to be in her mid forties.
Dad got us two rooms–one for Grandma, and the other for him, Mom, and me. I would definitely have preferred a room of my own, having been cramped in the car with my elders all day, but this was probably all Dad could afford.
After unpacking, we all rested in front of the television in my parents’ and my room, and Dad flipped through the channels. The Holiday Inn had cable, which we didn’t have at home, and it included HBO. It also included some adult channels, as we soon found out. Rather than skipping these, however, my elders gawked at them, as I did. This was the first porn I’d ever seen, outside of magazines, and I was naturally aroused. So were Mom and Dad and Grandma–though in a different sense. I was suddenly surrounded by exclamations.
“Oh, this is horrible–I can’t believe this filth!” said Mom.
“Yes, it’s disgusting!” Grandma agreed.
“I’m going to call the office about this!” said Dad.
And as they switched from one adult channel to another, I couldn’t help but plea, “No, wait–I want to see that!” until the regular channels were back on screen.
That did it! Night had set in, and I hadn’t had any fun all day! I asked Dad if I could go to the video-game room. He agreed, on condition that I not stay too long. And off I went–not to play video games, but to drink beer, in the lounge!
And that same woman was there, sitting at the bar! We gazed at each other. She had a beautiful, yet unusual face–like that of a Chinese statue of a cat. I approached her, and asked if I could buy her a drink. She gladly consented. And we drank together–I with my beer, she with her margarita. We said very little–she did most of the talking. I lied that my name was Jack, and that I was nineteen. When I asked where she was from, she replied, “Aruba.” And I wish to God I could remember her name, for certain, but I think it was Dominique.
Soon she invited me to her room. As we walked in the moonlight, my arm around her waist, she said, “You’re so tall!” And I felt even taller than my six-feet three-inch height.
When we got to her room, she lay casually on her bed. High Road to China was playing on the television. At first, I sat on the foot of the bed. Then, watching Tom Selleck in action, I became bolder, realizing I could be cool like that. So I stood up, faced her, and asked, “Would you like to go to bed?”
She nodded, got undressed and under the covers. Then I did the same. I remember how warm and soft she felt, as I lay gently upon her. I remember too her wonderful smell–that melanin-rich skin, and that musky, yet very clean vagina. And I especially remember the feeling I had, entering her, and slowly thrusting. It was like all the sensation of my body was concentrated in my penis. And looking into her eyes dilating with pure, feminine joy, I remember feeling like I had entered another universe, stars surrounding me in deep space.
And though I had a nagging mental image of Jesus standing beside the bed, pointing at me in furious condemnation, I prevailed in my pleasure until I ejaculated into this exotic woman. Then, still semi-erect, I continued thrusting to the point of blissful exhaustion–her body trembling like aftershocks after an earthquake, her mouth moaning between kisses.
Then it ended–and guilt set in as I got up and got dressed, while she remained naked under the covers. I realized I’d committed fornication, sex before marriage–an unforgivable sin which could send me to Hell.
“I shouldn’t have done this–I’m a Christian!” I said to her, almost as if asking her forgiveness.
She didn’t reply, just nervously chuckled–obviously having not expected my strange, unfounded guilt.
“Are you a Christian?” I asked.
“I’m Catholic,” she replied.
Terror gripped me–according to the doctrine of my Church-of-Christ school, Catholics were not Christian, thus could be destined for Hell.
I backed away, and approached the door as she lay still in bed and the movie ended on the television. I closed the door behind me as I stepped into the darkness. Yet I could not resist looking back. Surely enough, she had gotten up. She stood at the large window, her heaving breasts pressed against the glass, as if yearning for me to return. I could not help but yearn too–for her naked body and face were more beautiful than ever before. But I resisted, and walked back toward my parents’ room.
On the way, Dad confronted me. “Where have you been?” he demanded, “It’s after ten o’clock!”
“Playing video games,” I replied, “I just got carried away with one of them.”
“Well, get inside and get to sleep,” he said, “We have a long drive tomorrow!”
Dad had no idea what I’d done–neither did Mom or Grandma. But I recalled it vividly–and so ambivalently. I didn’t see the woman again, the next morning–I couldn’t even remember where her room was. I walked around the motel, feeling wonderful and terrible at the same time. I even got the notion that I should kill myself, for my unforgivable sin–yet couldn’t stop smiling, having had the most wonderful experience of my life.
Surely Mom and Dad and Grandma must have noticed how unusually quiet I was on the drive back home. But they said nothing about it. We dropped Grandma off in Pensacola (incidentally at the same house in which I now live), and finally arrived in Mobile in the evening.
The next day, I found I couldn’t hold it in any longer–I had to confess to someone. So I sat with Mom and Dad in the den, and told them everything–even that I’d called myself Jack, and lied about my age.
Dad just shook his head, quietly, as if ashamed of me. To this day, I’m not sure what the hell was wrong with him. His other son, my only brother, Mike, was homosexual–though I didn’t find this out until I was told, three years later. Dad should have been delighted! For God’s sake, my brother engaged in oral and anal sex with other men, in Texas–and I’d just had normal intercourse with a woman! But it wasn’t enough for my dad. He was disappointed that I’d had sex before marriage. And how hypocritical–at age eighteen, he’d eloped with my seventeen-year-old mom to Mississippi, just so he could have sex with her! Dad had no right to judge me–he’d never known the loneliness for a woman that I had (and still have).
On the other hand, Mom was verbally distraught at my news–yet not for the sin of it. She was angry because I had not used a condom, and had not bathed immediately after being with the woman. Still, her reaction made sense, unlike that of my dad.
Soon things settled, though, and I had to go to the grocery store. And I’ll never forget this: As I was getting into the car, my mom peaked out the side door of the house, smiled widely, and said, “See you later, Jack!”
It was okay, after all! I had no reason to feel guilty! And to this day, I don’t regret my tryst with the Aruban woman one bit–only my guilt about it!
Our Creator is not human. Our Creator is not inhuman. Our Creator is beyond human–so far beyond our petty human frailty that we cannot even comprehend our Creator. Our Creator has no ego. Our Creator is not some king who sits on a throne judging us. And though our Creator is neither male nor female (though both masculine and feminine), our Creator understands our need for sexual and emotional union with members of the opposite sex. After all, our Creator designed us, through divine evolution, for this union. Man and woman are meant to be together, married or not.
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