46 lines
3.9 KiB
HTML
46 lines
3.9 KiB
HTML
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<meta charset="UTF-8">
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<meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1">
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<title>Formative Years — GigaChad</title>
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<meta property="og:title" content="Formative Years — GigaChad">
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<h1>Formative Years</h1>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="/"><img class="epic" src="/icons/chads/chad.png"></a>
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<p class="nav"><span class="nav-left">Listed under <a href="/heartiste-2007.html">Heartiste: 2007</a>.</span><span class="nav-right"><a href="/theme.html">Theme</a></span></p>
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<p>From the <a href="https://heartiste.org/2007/11/13/formative-years/" target="_blank">original article</a> on November 13, 2007. Author: <a href="https://heartiste.org/" target="_blank">Chateau Heartiste</a>.</p>
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<p>This story from my past is reproduced in its entirety from an email exchange I had recently with someone. Originally intended to be private, we both thought it should be flung across the worldwideweb for the glimpse it gives into what made me the lover of <del>myself</del> thousands I am today.</p>
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<p>***</p>
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<p>when i was a young teen my parents, in a paroxysm of disciplinary fervor, enrolled me in a church youth group. i spent the time with my fellow morally upstanding youth groupers trying to get into the pants of the hotter christian girls, only to be rebuffed by their closed leg policy. finally, i cracked the austere exterior of a sweet pretty young thing during a bbq on church grounds with some help from a flask of jack&coke i had hidden in my jeans. tragically, we had nowhere to hide from prying eyes or the lord above to grope kiss and fondle. there were woods about a half mile away but people would look for us in a panic after a while. finally, we absconded to the only place which at that moment was completely shrouded in privacy — the church rectory.<br>well, we *assumed* it was private.</p>
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<p>as we were making out in the hallway with my body pressing hers against the wall desecrating all that is holy, careful to do it away from the watchful eye of a nearby wooden crucifix, we heard a toilet flush and then the head priest walked in on us with my hand firmly wedged down the front of the tight jeans of mi amour. i struggled to pull my hand out as the priest gasped for words and turned red-faced, but like chinese fingercuffs my struggling only pushed my hand in farther. a wave of anxiety swept over me as i imagined i would be marched out in a perp walk before the scandalized flock, my girl and me intertwined like siamese sex fiends in such a romantically touching way. finally, with the help of proper breathing technique and my double-jointedness, i extricated my hand, by now smelling of raw sexuality, and the girl began crying. i contemplated making a run for it but instead stood like a statue as the priest’s admonitions buzzed like ocean surf in my ears.<br>i quit the youth group the next day with no resistance from my parents. word of my exploits traveled the lands far and wide.</p>
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<p>***</p>
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<p>yours in the light of the lamb,</p>
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<p>poon h. christ</p>
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<hr>
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<p class="C">Library of GigaChad | <a href="/" target="_blank">GigaChad</a></p>
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