Oat Project

When I told my mom friends that being a preacher's daughter meant no movies, dances, or alcohol, and being out of control was a root of sin, they insisted I get drunk, at a party they would plan. I did not agree but said yes. I was the mother of three and the wife of a terrific fellow. What happiness or self-knowledge do I lack? But considering their reactions widened cracks that had begun to appear in the life I had carefully cultivated to be okay with myself, to handle panic attacks, and to manage fear. Then, Ellery asked, "What else have you not done, Jené? Have you smoked weed?" "No!" I said, horrified. "It's a drug!" "Skinny dipped?" asked Beryl. "This body? Naked? In public? No." My pre-three-kids body was a distant memory. "Ever watched porn?" asked Sarah. "No! I'm married! I mean, I have sex." That last part came out more like a question than a statement. "Had role-play sex?" asked Beryl. "You mean like dressing up?" My mind stopped in shock. "Yes," she said, in her matter-of-fact voice. "Like Schoolgirl versus Godzilla." I couldn't help but giggle. "No, definitely not." My eyes widened. "Wait, have you?" As the scope of my inexperience grew, so did their incredulousness. My curiosity ballooned into wanting to have a few "normal" experiences, so we made a list of things I "should" have done already, that they wanted to do with me. Little did I know it would lead to a summer of experimentation in conservative Colorado Springs; debauchery, vice, and completely naked bodies, doing things I'd been taught lead straight to hell, including getting rip-roaring drunk. I was scared spitless.