Being brought home to meet the parents of your boyfriend is terrifying. I don’t understand how some people view meeting someone’s family as something so nonchalant. For me, suddenly every single insecurity I have ever had is brought to the surface. I forget how to breathe, or speak, or walk. I laugh at jokes that aren’t funny and I forget what my major is. I can’t help it. I just want the one woman who my boyfriend could potentially love more than me to think I’m God’s gift to the world. I assume that it’s the exact same emotional turmoil for men, too.
Thankfully, most of my relationships never make it to that stage. Recently, however, I have been seeing a boy whose family lives near mine. We hadn’t met each other until we got to college, but being from a state with only two major cities, it’s not that surprising. However, when my parents found out that the boy, who I will call Michael, was going to be in town during the same weekend I was, they insisted I invite him to our church’s Easter service.
I laughingly obliged, because I assumed, after only four months, Michael would absolutely say no. I figured he’d make up a bullshit excuse about needing to be with his family, and that would appease my mother enough that I wouldn’t need to discuss the subject of my love life further. So, I called Michael on the spot and I was shocked, and slightly horrified, when he accepted. He wasn’t supposed to meet my parents. Up until that point, our relationship had been strictly physical.
In fact, when I was around him, we had a major problem keeping our hands off each other. We had tons in common and had started as friends, but every time we tried to hang out platonically since seeing each other naked, things would inevitably turn naughty. I had planned to hit it for a little while longer and either return to friends or quit it. Meeting my parents was a step I never intended to take.
I stressed about the situation for a few more hours before deciding to just go with the flow. After all, how much damage could either of us do while spending a few hours together on a Sunday morning?
I awoke on Easter morning and put on the Lilly Pulitzer dress I wear once a year. The plan was I was going to pick him up and meet my parents at the church before the beginning of the service.
I pulled up to his house, and thankfully wasn’t required to stay and meet his family. After all, what was I going to tell to them? I had seen their son shotgun a beer in 3.4 seconds and decided I just had to have him?
Back in my car, I resisted the urge to rip off the suit and tie he was wearing and purposefully drove a few miles under the speed limit, hoping to decrease the amount of questions about our relationships my parents could pose in the time between arriving at the church and the service starting.
We arrived and Michael politely interacted with my family, flashing the million dollar smile that had definitely loosened the belt on my pants. I could feel my mother starting to venture into the territory of how we had met and what, exactly, we were, so I offered to show Michael around the church while my family went to claim seats inside the chapel.
If you’ve struggled to keep it in your pants with a guy, the one thing you should absolutely not do is be alone with him. Seconds after rounding the corner away from my family, Michael’s mouth was on my neck.
“Oh…” I moaned, loving the feeling of his lips on my skin. My hands worked through his hair and started traveling along his body. I knew I shouldn’t. Afterall, having sex in a church on Easter is the easiest way to earn a one-way ticket to hell. But I just couldn’t ignore how every hair on my body seemed to stand on end.
I weighed my options. We had about twenty minutes before we had to go find my family, so we could either risk a quickie in one of the storage rooms or return early. As his hands traveled lower and lower, I made my decision.
Into one of the storage rooms we went. We walked past some shelves and found a cozy spot between some fake Christmas trees and old vacation bible school decorations. Yep, definitely going to hell. We continued to make out and shed some more of our clothing for a few minutes until a noise made Michael break our very loving embrace.
“Did you hear something?” he asked breathlessly (because my hand was firmly around his very, very large friend).
“No, no one is coming,” I said, tugging my panties down. “Hurry, babe, please.”
No sooner were the words out of my mouth when the door to the storage room creaked open and spilled just enough light to illuminate my pastor.
I felt my gasp catch in my throat, and instinctively covered Michael’s mouth to stop his breathing. I was about to be caught with a literal dick in my hand, panties around my knees and skirted hiked up halfway to heaven. If there was any doubt in my mind that I was going to hell before, it was gone. I was definitely going to hell.
We silently watched from our spot between the trees as my pastor rummaged around for something, found a small cross and then walked out, completely oblivious to the deed we were about to do a mere ten feet away.
I don’t know if there is such a thing as divine intervention, but I do know that within seconds, Michael’s friend shrank back to its normal size and my underwear returned to their proper place. We silently exited the room and returned to the chapel. We found my family and sat with a wide six inches between us, staring at the face of the man who had almost caught us mid-coitus.
I don’t know if Michael and I will ever be able to move past this, but at least our eternal souls will be alright..
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