Harry Potter was banned in my house because of the witchcraft. And for good reason: Eighteen years later, the whole literate world now guts infants in a coven to appease Lucifer. Mom got that one right.
No Halloween either, she said.
It’s just fun, Mom. It’s just a costume.
Fred, a lot of the people having “fun” are people who don’t even know they’re lost.
Wow, that’s truly scary, I thought. Can I go see Spider-man? I asked.
Maybe, she said. We have to check the reviews first.
So onward I floundered, with a social arsenal devoid of pop culture ammo.
Even after I punched eject from the church I just assumed I couldn’t do anything. The summer I was 21 I had Mary over three nights a week. She brought edible lube applied it liberally. We’d get right up to sex but stop, stay there on the goal line for an hour, throbbing and wriggling. You’re such a tease, she said.
I’d sigh and roll over. I assumed she’d recoil and smack me with lube-slick fingers if I suggested we get a condom. Nope, not at all. But she had to have been mortified; she’d turned another guy gay and thought she’d done the same with me. What persistence on her part, though. And what thirst. This was pre-Tinder, she really had no options besides this lapsed Baptist up the 5 Freeway.
Stayed clueless for a long while. I thought trickery was required; a month out from age 22 I lied to notch #1 to get it in, say I wasn’t a virgin so she wouldn’t have that stress on her. But all guys lie to get in so it’s OK. And she didn’t care. Then later I figured out what to do, in the whole dance of vice and how to do all its rituals, and became one of the lost ones completely.
Sometimes it sucks; nothing is taboo anymore. Momma might have been on to something. Though the stance on Harry Potter is unforgivable; those books were dope.