Thursday, July 10, 2014

7 Minutes in Heaven

When I was in junior high, we played a game called seven minutes in heaven. Well I didn't but everyone else did. Basically, it was pretty straight forward. There were seven minutes, and it was usually in a closet or somewhere dark so it wouldn't be awkward. And then you would make out for seven minutes. I remember in sixth grade, a girlfriend of mine played with this eighth grade hottie.

 Of course, we were on our historic cemetery unit. Yes, walking through the Whiskey Rebellion Cemetery. Located at the back of Bethel Presbyterian Church, it has all the old graves in the area. The Whiskey Rebellion was a minor skirmish that occurred in my backyard literally. Basically, the Pennsylvania Farmers refused to pay whiskey tax, and the federal troops were sent in. The year was 1791 or something so America wasn't very old. To make a long story short, the uprising was squashed quickly. We had one fatality. He wasn't shot. Oh no. He was an old man he heard a gun shot, had a heart attack, and died on the spot. Anyway, I remember our teacher giving us this info, and my friend giving me details of the makeout session. While history has always intrigued me, and I was one of the best history students in my class, I found this much more interesting.

Anyway, my friend was telling me this, and my attention was quite divided. Finally, our teacher said, "SHHHHH!!!!!" And made us stands on different sides of the group. Hey, the people in the graveyard were dead. When they were alive they probably did nasty shit in the back of the barn because that is what they had then. And then I realized the church was old, very old. Did anyone ever make out in the choir loft? Or maybe they did more......HMMMMM.....

Fast forward several years later. Here I am now, the career is finally starting to do things. These days I am starting to get followers and fans. Sometimes I brag about them more than I should. Sometimes it still feels strange. I think I brag and it feels strange because I still see myself as a little fattie pre-teen unworthy of any male attention. Yet here I am, with a growing fan base of mostly men. To me what's most ironic is how they write to me and comment on my pics. In real time, if I went on a dream date with any of them, I wouldn't know what to do or say. Actually, I would look like a complete goofus.

Anyway, most of the time, I don't view myself with anyone who has any needs whatsoever. Instead, I just keep working. Even when work sucks, which it can, I just keep going. Yeah, my critics talk about the terrible decisions I have made in my past and crucify me for my lust for the spotlight because they are entitled. However, they always have to credit me for my tremendous work ethic. So last week, as my workload was crushing me, I spent my days screaming at my assistant. Anyway, as things started to wind down, someone walked me home.

This someone is a combination fan boy and friend. Without divulging too much about him, he got me to update my website and this is how my fans know what is going on with me. When shit gets busy I forget sometimes. So anyway, this fan boy/friend gave me a little bit of a back rub which felt good. It made me feel much less tense and homicidal. And then the fan boy/friend offered to walk me home.

So when we got to my door he kissed me on the head. We hugged for a second, the physical chemistry out of this world. And then he kissed me on the lips. I kissed him back. We stood there looking at each other like, "AHHHHH!!!"

I informed him that he kissed me first, and then he said I retaliated by kissing him back. And so then we kissed again. Next thing I know, I am in the door way of my lobby making out with this dude. I never make out in my lobby. We were up against the wall, hiding. It was kind of crazy, strange, and fun at the same time. There were periods during our makeout session where I would just plain start blushing and apologize for being my dorky self. And then he would kiss me again. That is when it hit me that shit, I have groupies. I am a big old dork with groupies. Someone called me a quirky sex symbol. Yeah, she means big dork with groupies. That would be about right.

Finally, he admitted he had to leave. Work. Yes, work. That thing that pays the rent, shortens our life span, and the thing we are damned to do until the day we die. Work, the cock block joy kill of my evening. Fucking work. He kissed me one more time before he left. I checked my watch.

Seven minutes exactly.

I had my seven minutes in heaven.

Haven't heard from my momentary Romeo but that doesn't matter. The educated feminist is off for the summer, and she will bring her rusty vagina with her when the cold comes. For now it is summer and I am having fun.

Somewhere, my sixth grade self is also giving me a high five.

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