My Mormon Fantasy

Anyone who has talked to me in the past 12 years on the subject knows I have an abnormal obsession with Mormons. I am not myself Mormon, nor is anyone in my family. I did, however, grow up in Utah where I was exposed to more Mormon culture than you can shake a golden plate at. As a child, plenty of my friends were Mormon. My neighbors were Mormon, my town was Mormon, my school was Mormon. Practically everything I did was related within a few degrees of separation from Mormons.

As a result, I was alone on family night mondays, (my family didn't believe in spending time together) I drank homemade root beer at friends houses, had access to about 50 giant trampolines, and had a neighbor with 13 children. I lived in a 9 bedroom house, had polygamists on my block and when I uttered my first swear word in front of my elementary school friends, I think I was excommunicated from a church I knew I could never belong to. (It was actually "FUCK"; I had died on Super Mario Bros. 3. That's a different story, really.) No, I am not making a word of this up. Living the life of a non-Mormon kid in Salt Lake City was not always easy. I was left out of so many things! I didn't get to leave school to go to seminary class across the street, I didn't get a fucking CTR ring, and I didn't get to watch cool shows like "Saturday's Warrior" (Ok, well I DID watch Saturday's Warrior, but I didn't understand it and I still don't fucking understand it.) Yes, life was one of rejection growing up, yet I remained strangely fascinated with the culture.



Seriously though, I love mormons. I even kinda want to seduce one. Especially a mormon missionary on a bicycle. Maybe even two. The other day I was dressing myself up for a night on the town...You know, fishnet thigh highs, short ripped mini skirt, messy sex hair, and 4 inch heels...the typical stuff a hooker wears. (I prefer to call what I wear "hooker-chic" but that's probably just my ego talking.) ANYWAY, I was rushing out the door, my head filled with future fuck-ups and fuck-hims and debauchery all around, when who do you think should approach my stoop but a couple of black-tied, white-shirted, helmet-wearing MORMON MISSIONARY BOYS!!! Not only did I stop in my tracks but my heart stood still as well. They smiled at me, white teeth and blue eyes. Same height, same outfit. Almost identical. Picture those hot twin girls that are on Budweiser commercials, only in Mormon form, and with wieners. And no boobs.

I guess. Nevermind, bad analogy.

ANYWAY, They approach me and ask me about my salvation. Fuck, how can I answer questions like "When was the last time you went to church?" and "Do you think you will go to heaven?" When ALL I can think about is inviting these boys in to make me a sandwich?! How can I take their little postcard with Jesus on it when I want to rip their Mormon underwear off with my teeth and make a dirty gay Madonna-esque video with them?! How can I do ANYTHING but stutter and sweat, since my ultimate sexual fantasy is standing right before me?! I was so close I gave off the smell of perversion and they could see the glimmer of Satan in my eyes!! Fuck, I wanted them so bad. They were talking but I was only looking at their lips. I was smiling but only with nervous, evil intentions. What can I do? How can I get them into my house, onto my bed?! I had to think fast! I opened my mouth, and tried to answer their questions.

That's when I realized the conversation was over, and I had muttered something incoherent and untrue about my faith. (I told them that I went to church, I wanted them to like me!) They must have believed me, despite the fishnets. They turned to walk to the next door, hand-in-holy-hand. Holy bicyclists in a world of heathen Portlanders.

Man, I really messed that one up. And I thought I was charming.

I turned right back inside and rubbed one out. I need to move back to Utah.