Holly Lies

Fall was in the air. I kicked some leaves off the front stoop, as I stood there waiting for the door to open. Brent answered the door with a smile, and welcomed me inside. Brent and I had been on a couple dates, but this was the first time I was venturing into his personal habitat. As I walked in, I noticed his place was immaculately clean. Either his mom still comes over every week to pick up his dirty underwear from the in between the couch cushions, or maybe this guy is into me.

The date was going fantastic. We sat on the living room couch, sipping wine and chatting. He’s hilarious, handsome, and we enjoy a mutual hobby of watching 90s music videos on YouTube. Backstreet Boy’s “I’ll Never Break Your Heart,” comes on and Brent starts harmonizing. He’s getting pretty into it, knows all the words by heart, with all the right inflections. Brent has blond hair and a wide mandibular line. It difficult to discern if his resemblance to Brain Littrell is real or just a fantasy my primitive midbrain constructed. I can feel the butterflies fluttering around the antrum of my stomach and I begin to bat my eyelashes like a school girl that just discovered boys don’t have cooties. What the hell is wrong with me!? Sigh. I’m a sucker for a man that can hold a tune, especially if it’s along to my pre-pubertal masturbation material dream boat.

I can’t get over how well this date is going! There has to be some grandiose flaw with this guy. I realize I have no idea what Brent does for a living. He dodged this question when I asked him before, but I hadn’t harped on it. My first guess is he’s either a professional Backstreet Boy’s impersonator or a first degree relative of Buffalo Bill, carrying out the family business and I’m about to get skinned.

“So…What do you do for a living?” I ask, as I playfully flip my hair off my shoulder like a tool.

Brent stops singing. “Oh. Oh, I guess I never told you. It’s funny. My work is so much a part of me that sometimes I forget to mention it. I’m a man of god. I’m a priest.”

My eyes stop batting, and start to protrude from their sockets like I contracted an acute case of exophthalmos. A WHAT?! If there’s one thing that can shoot fear into this former catholic school girl’s vagina, it’s finding out your newest man crush is most likely was more attracted to little boys than you. “Um. Eh. Oh. That’s so…interesting?” I stutter.

Brent walks over to his mantle and takes a picture off of it. “ See, this is me with two members of my congregation. This is Mary and her male husband Joseph.” He shows me a picture of himself doused in white priestly robes, officiating over a marriage of a heterosexual couple. Not only is he a priest, but he felt the need to specify that Mary was marrying a male, how homophobic is this guy? This date had just taken a turn for the worst.

I was so confused. “But, wait. We’ve kissed before? Doesn’t that mean you’re going to burn in a pit of fire for all eternity?” I ask, puzzled.

Brent sighed and took a deep breath. “Dee, lately I’ve been thinking about my calling and the possibility of leaving the church. It’s difficult, but if I am going to do it, this is the time. I am considering this my trial run. You’re a very special woman. And god has spoken to me. I want to offer you a very special gift. One of god’s precious gifts.” Brent leans in and kisses my neck and whispers in my ear, “My virginity.”

At this point, my eyeballs have completely jumped ship of their sockets and are rolling across the floor like ping pong balls. I’m trying to navigate a way out of this situation eyeball-less, and I’m having difficulty getting my bearings. Then it strikes me. I’ve never had a virgin. And being in my late 20s, how many more opportunities would I have to collect someone’s V card without starring on an episode of To Catch a Predator? Making a man forsake his sacred vows, all for desire of my flesh. What awesome bragging rights these are going to be! Wait til the other med students hear about this one in the locker room on Monday morning. I’m already planning on bandaging up my hand from the amount of high fives I’m going to receive.

Trying to sound as compassionate as possible, “Brent, I don’t know what to say.” I paused, “Your virginity is a true gift from God. If the baby Jesus has spoken to you and wants me to be your first, I can’t stand in the way of God’s will and power.” That sounded convincing, right?

We head to his bedroom. I am already high-fiving myself in anticipation of giving this guy his first communion. I imagined this playing out like the ceiling of Michelangelo’s Sistine chapel. Except, Adam’s finger is Brent’s dick reaching out to touch my holiest of holes instead of the finger of God. Cherubs were about to erupt from Brent’s ear canals and that light at the end of the tunnel was going to be St. Peter handing him a cigarette when I was done with him.

We lay down on his bed. Is this guy going to want to say a prayer beforehand? Better get this situation going so he doesn’t have a chance. The sex wasn’t as awkward as I had anticipate it to be. Even for a virgin, he found the right hole pretty quickly.

Brent rolls over. “That was incredible, I can’t wait to go again.”

I’m feeling a little guilty about my perverse excitement to defile this guy. Maybe I should confess, I mean he is a man of god.

Before I could, Brent looks over at me, “Look Dee, there’s something I should probably tell you. I lied, I’m not a priest.”

For the second time that evening my eyes start to bug out of my head. “What. The. Fuck. You’re not a priest!?” A mix of rage and confusion took over my body. Damn it, my plan to be Queen Bee of the locker room was ruined. “But what about the picture of you marrying that couple?”

“My friends ask me to officiate their wedding…you can get ordained in like 15 minutes online. It was kind of a big joke,” he said.

I hadn’t been this mad since a MS3 took credit for me discovering a porcelain gallbladder during my surgery sub internship. The only way this situation could be saved is if he was in fact a Back Street Boy impersonator. “Well if you’re not a priest, what the hell are you, a professional liar!?”

Brent sat up and chuckled a bit, “I’m not professional liar. I’m a lawyer.”

“Figures,” I reply.