Chapter 25 Rumspringa #2
The photo’s subtext was a teasing glimpse of the guy’s crotch. Or so it seemed to Matt. The guy’s shorts were stretched by the pull of the one leg on the mountain and the other leg sucked down by gravity.
A practiced eye—guided either by imagination or expertise in such nuance—could discern the hint of scrotal bulge and, exactly where such a thing would be, the possible snaking curve of cock. Or was that just an odd crease in the fabric? A shadow?
To someone like Matt, who had spent a large portion of his post-pubescent years pouring through the men’s underwear section of the Sears and Roebuck catalog, sussing out its secrets like a paleographer squinting at an ancient manuscript, this photo was homoerotic art of the first order.
Proto-porn in the sense that cuneiform was a proto-semitic script.
(Shoutout to Dr. Farris’ Old Testament Survey class.)
Proto-porn only to Puritans and modern fundamentalists who took umbrage at Michaelangelo’s David.
In any other context such a poster would have been confiscated by MCU’s morality police, its owner sent packing. But, because the printers had slapped an inspirational Bible verse at the bottom, all was forgiven, so much so that it could be offered for sale alongside other Christian paraphernalia.
Matt loved it! Having it on his wall was a secret “Fuck you” to everything the room represented.
There was a light knock at the door.
“Come in,” Matt said half-heartedly.
Seth’s head bobbed into view. “Got a minute?” he asked.
Tall, gangly Seth, named after Adam and Eve’s third son, who was famous only for having been Noah’s great, great grandfather. Biblical Seth almost certainly had not been red headed, as was his modern namesake.
“Sure,” Matt said. “Is this about ‘Lip Sync in the Loo?’ I missed this morning’s show because of the game.”
Seth had become a natural leader on their floor.
Because of him, more guys had abandoned the awkward towel-around-the-torso twist and now walked to the showers naked, which Seth had begun in imitation of Matt.
And Seth had taken Matt’s lip syncing to a new level, starting a weekly show.
Half the guys on their floor now attended. Many had performed.
Seth shook his head. “I’m not here about the lip syncing, although you do owe us a solo. This is more a therapy session.”
“Pull up a chair, or if you prefer, you can stretch out on the daybed,” Matt joked. “The doctor is in.”
Seth closed the door, straddled a chair. “This will do.”
“What’s going on?” Matt asked, guessing it involved Seth’s girlfriend, Karen.
All the guys considered Matt an expert in the opposite sex, his having been openly courted by Ruth and now supposedly dating Ava.
Both girls were hot. That both were linked with him gave him instant hetero cred he hadn’t asked for but couldn’t afford to refuse.
“Okay. Here goes.” Seth took a deep breath.
“Um. Well.” Another breath.
“Don’t judge me, but…”
“Dude,” Matt interrupted. “Just spit it out. I was about to jack off before you knocked. No judgment here.”
Sigh. “I’m struggling with…”
Seth’s voice dropped to a bare whisper. “…purity. Maintaining it, you know, with Karen? Any advice? Besides telling me to take a cold shower or do what you were gonna do?”
Matt didn’t know whether to laugh or cry—or both. The answer to Seth’s question was simple to comprehend and difficult to implement, as evidenced by his own recent fiasco with the man panties and the loss of Idabel’s friendship. Maybe Seth wasn’t ready for such truth. Maybe he hadn’t been either.
Matt sighed. “Do you want my honest opinion? Or the official propaganda?”
Seth laughed.
“I’m serious,” Matt said. “I’m not an expert or anything.
I’m figuring things out just like you. I’ll tell you what I think, but what you do with that information is on you.
No blaming me if things go to shit. And if you’re bothered that I just cussed, then you really aren’t ready to hear my advice. ”
Seth grinned. “Between us, I think ‘shit’ is my dad’s favorite word—to my mom’s eternal horror. So, not bothered. Please continue.”
“Okay. Here’s another word for you then. ‘Rumspringa.’ Ever heard of it?”
Seth shook his head.
“It’s a German word. Rolls right off the tongue like all their others: ‘Blitzkrieg.’ ‘Wehrmacht.’ ‘Konzentrationslager.’ You get the point. Anyway, this particular word has been appropriated by the Amish. You know, buggies, beards…those Amish.”
Matt continued. “The Amish don’t just herd their teenagers into the faith like we do. They let them go explore the outside world, drink alcohol, have sex if they want—for a limited time called ‘Rumspringa.’
“No way!”
“Way,” Matt said. “Like a hall pass in school. It starts around age seventeen and can last until the person is in his—or her—early twenties. If the kids return to the fold—and nearly all do—that’s when they get baptized and settle down in the community.”
Seth leaned forward. “Did I miss something in Sunday School? I didn’t know this was an option in the fCOC!”
“Are you kidding?” Matt laughed. “This is heresy of the first order as far as fCOC is concerned. Plain and simple: I got tired of all the guilt and shame over every boner, every wet dream, and every wank. So, I called timeout. I’m on Rumspringa until further notice.”
Seth gave him a weak smile. No offense, but I gotta ask: are we talking rumspringa—little ‘r’ for guilt-free wanking? Or Rumspringa—capital ‘R’ for real sex?”
“Both.”
“HOLY SHIT!” Seth said, then laughed. “Rumspringa, baby!”
“Now get out,” Matt smiled. “Therapy session is over. Close the door behind you. I need some little ‘r’ time. I’m gonna ‘wank.’ ‘Choke the chicken.’ ‘Onan’ all over the place. ‘Burp the worm.’ ‘Polish the banister.’”