Drapes down orgasm, sipping on gin, or possibly ginger ale, young lovers, sneaking a kiss, a cuddle, a hand down her tight jeans.

“JESUS BE WATCHIN’ YOU!” Her grandmother screeches from the faded floral arm chair, a fly swatter in hand. “You know what men be thinkin’ of all de time? Sex! Or cars! Or sex in cars!! Men be da perverts!! Sick, evil thoughts in their heart!!”

There they were, in a compromising position, watching TV, cartoons, under a blanket, both under the same material, like how Adam and Eve started except this time Adam was leading them down the road to Satan.

Fornicators! Reverend Johnson would scream from the pulpit, fiery words of damnation drifting from his tongue raging the audience into a fiery of amens and O’Lawd.

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“Jesus was watching when you fornicated!!” He screamed as if aimmed at me early in my teen years.

I hadn’t.

The closest I came to vagina was a friend’s sister and it was more show and tell than stick rod A into slot B.

July 2nd 1983, Maria Johnson showed me why men have dirty thoughts.

Sleepover dare.

I showed her my man stick.

She didn’t giggle and point but looked then we dressed and exited the closet at a leisurely pace.

“Did you touch it?” her friend, who had gone into the closet with my buddy.

Maria shook her head no and they went back upstairs to her room.

“What happened? Did you two kiss?” My friend asked me, I shook my head no as we slipped into our sleeping bags on the rec room floor.

I wouldn’t find out that sex led to danger later on.

I sit here, 11 pm, remembering that night like it was yesterday, now passing along advice to the new age kids, the future, like I’m some kind of smart man instead of a stupid kid myself.

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