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 Becoming a born-again Christian at the age of 11 presented some unique problems. Even fundamentalist churches have their own peculiar pecking order and, as I was not a member of a respected family but merely a lone waif, I was left to fend mostly for myself. Left to my own devices I developed some strange beliefs, especially as my sexuality began to take shape.
I began masturbating at the age of 10. My first climax happened on the monkey bars. (So if you've ever wondered why young girls are so enamoured of gymnastics, I'll tell you right now, it's the thigh action.) I didn't really know what sex was so I fantasized about complex initiation ceremonies with the crew of Star Trek, the original one. After I became a Christian I imagined there must be something wrong with anything that felt that good and I tried my hardest to stop.
 Of course it didn't work. No one at the church preached against masturbation per se, which actually made it seem worse. Maybe I was the ONLY one doing this horrible thing. But what they did do was impress upon us that God watches us all the time. He sees everything we do. And when the rapture happens we'll be plucked off the earth in the middle of whatever we're doing. And THEN, at the last judgement, EVERYONE that ever lived will see a movie of our life on a giant screen, every single moment. Sick fucks, huh? So for about a year or so I thought of the rapture every time I climaxed. Somehow now it seems appropriate.
Then in the eighth grade we got a new science teacher named Mr. Ransom. He was a nut. He rode a bike and invented a geodesic tent. He bellowed at all the girls to get their "saddlebags" off the desks and read to us in class. I was gullible enough to fall for Christianity so I didn't for a minute doubt the authority of Mr. Ransom, even when he started reading "Stranger than Truth" stories to us. I loved the one about the town that gets swallowed overnight by a sand dune. But the one that mortified me was the one about spontaneous human combustion, people bursting into flames for no apparant reason. But see, I knew why it happened.
The rapture was replaced by thoughts of instant immolation. The only time I felt completely comfortable masturbating after that was when I was in a tub of water. Thus began a lifelong love of bathing.
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