The Sins of the Fathers

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Is the girl a football star wants, a devil in disguise?
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She was in town for the summer, and he wanted her more than he ever wanted anything before, even more than the high school football championship ring on his finger, which had been the most important thing in the world to him.

There were those who thought he had it all together. A handsome, muscular quarterback of his high school's football team, in a small town in Alabama where high school of football was the most important thing in the world, and the teenage boys who played it walked around like kings of that world. And, if that was not enough he had the certainty of having God on his side.

"Dad, can I ask you about something?" Josh Gibson asked his father. "I know it's a sin to have lustful thoughts, but what do you do about it?"

"You pray and you concentrate on other things," his father instantly replied, more like a rote answer than a deeply held religious conviction.

Josh knew his father was not as devout as his mother. What he did not know was that years earlier, when he was the high school's quarterback, he personally deflowered every pretty girl in the school. He continued the partying and the easy supply of women as a college quarterback.

But, then, something happened. A girl he had done one night and all but forgotten about within days, accused him of raping her. For the first time in his life, the swaggering, brash Michael Gibson felt fear. The police threw out the case and Michael vowed to avoid those sexy and easy women and go for a good church girl.

"When those thoughts come like demons, how do I fight them?" Josh asked.

Michael did not know what he getting himself in for when he married that good church girl, did not know years later he would have a son as devout as his mother, who he could barely speak to if they about anything other than football .

"What kind of thoughts are we talking here, son?" Michael asked. "They're about normal stuff, right? With a girl?"

"Yes!" Josh exclaimed, shocked by the question, but, then, he felt a painful irony.

Cyndi's father was a gay man, a writer from L.A., where Josh knew such things were more acceptable than in his small town.

"If there's a girl at the church youth group you think is pretty and you want to take her out, that's OK," Michael said.

"What if I think a girl is pretty who isn't a Christian?" Josh asked.

"You mean she's not a good Christian girl?" his father asked. "Her family just goes to church on Christmas and Easter?"

"Do I have to tell you?" Josh asked.

"No, son, you don't. It's that Bennett girl isn't it?"

Cyndi Bennett, the Latina daughter of the gay writer from California renting the house next to the Gibson family for the summer, seemed to Josh to combine every attractive trait of Salma Hayek and Selena Gomez.

Josh looked away.

Michael puts a hand on his son's shoulder.

"What religion is she?"

"She doesn't have a religion. She just likes yoga.

She said her spirituality is from that."

For a moment, Michael was his younger self, talking about girls the way he once did.

"I've seen that yoga stuff on TV. Whoa boy!"

It was then that Christabel Gibson crarged into the room.

"You will not go anywhere near that little harlot!

That Jezebel!" she yelled at her son.

She realized something, and it made her even more upset.

"That's exactly what she is! Jezebel was a princess! The daughter of a Pagan king who did her father's evil bidding! A seductress who led godly men astray!"

"I was handling it," Michael meekly replied. He could command men and boys, but could never stand up to his wife.

"You were not handling it since you did not tell him he would never talk to her again no way, no how! You want to be the nice parent! You want to be easier on the kids! But, this time it's my son's soul at stake!"

She broke down crying.

"Mama, I don't want to hurt you," Josh pleaded.

"Hurt me? This is every Christian mother's nightmare! She's the daughter of a homosexual who writes filthy, sinful novels!"

She grabbed his hands.

"Listen to me," she implored. "That yoga stuff is from Hinduism, which is worshipping devils they call gods. They meditate and look inside to become one with the universe. We pray and look to God and pray to be reconciled with Him."

Christabel's emotions again ran hot.

"She's a succubus! A seductive demon sent to tempt a godly man and lead him away from God!"

"Mama, she's not a demon. She's just a girl."

"I know I must sound crazy for saying a perfectly nice-seemingly girl is like a demon. You'll understand when you get older. The Devil doesn't have horns and a tail. He wears a nice suit and drives a nice car. The demonic whores of Babylon who serve him do not have fangs and bat wings like in a movie. But, their little skirts and little bodies are all an illusion to lead men away from God."

As if with strategy and by calculation, she again adjusted the emotional temperature of her words.

"This is hard for me, talking to my son about sex," she began. "Every thought you have of her is a sin. But, you are a Christian warrior. You can resist those wicked thoughts."

"I will, Momma," Josh replied. "I promise."

She embraced Josh as Michael sighed. His son was growing up thinking his normal teenage boy desires were sins, and his desire for the girl next door was an even worse sin.

The next day, Josh pushed a lawn mower to his backyard. He saw her Cyndi in the yard next door.

What Josh did not know was that Cyndi was terribly near-sighted. Without glasses she could not see more than a very short distance from herself. With them on, she could not read. And, her plan for her Saturday was to put on her bikini, lie back on a deck chair and read Nabakov's "Lolita."

Josh forced himself to look away from her.

Cyndi reached for a nearby bottle of suntan lotion and rubbed it on her legs.

Josh again made himself look away. He reached down to the lawn mower's ignition. He pulled it, but it did not start. He tried it again. He fumbled with it.

Cyndi rubbed the lotion on her stomach, then lower, as Josh continued to struggle with the ignition.

She rolled over as his eyes moved to her against his will. He pulled the ignition again, with his attention almost purely on the little line of cloth between her butt cheeks and the flesh near it. Sparks exploded from it, and he jumped back, startled by them.

As he mowed the lawn, he fought his desire to not to look at what he wanted to know to the smallest detail.

Finally, he finished mowing the lawn and rolled the lawn mower back into the garage. He headed straight to the kitchen, where he tensely grabbed a glass from the cabinet and got ice from the door of the refrigerator. He pushed the glass hard against the water release. The water shot out and covered the ice, instantly melting what was moments before cold and hard.

Then, he poured it on his head.

The doorbell rang. His eyes went wide with alarm.

He went to the door and saw it was Cyndi. He exhaled forcefully and tried to compose himself before opening the door.

She smiled at him.

"Hello, Josh," she said.

"Uh, hi," he stammered. "Are you going to tell my parents?"

"Tell them what?"

An awkward eternity of seconds passed as his thoughts ran faster than he could control them.

"I locked myself out. The glass door slides and..."

"The people who rented us the house said you do," she replied. "For emergencies."

He darted through the house to the kitchen.

In a panic, he shuffled through a messy drawer, filled with coins, keys and rubber bands, grabbed the house key on a ring and rushed back to her.

"Why are you... sweaty?"

"I was, um, mowing the lawn."

He handed her the key.

"Thanks."

As she turned to walk off, he struggled to pull his eyes off of her and quickly closed the door to prevent himself from looking at her.

Josh jumped into a shower. As he scrubbed himself, he felt his hands go lower then...

He slammed himself back into the wall.

"No!"

He pulled his hair in frustration.

"James 1:14: When a man is tempted by his own sinful desires, he is enticed and led astray."

He turned the hot water off and the cold water all the way on.

"Then, after desire has formed, it leads to sin, then sin leads to death."

Michael returned to his room wearing a towel.

Cyndi, in her bikini, lied on his bed.

His jaw dropped.

"How did you...?"

"You know your neighbors have a key to your house in case of emergency, just like you have one for theirs."

" Get out!" Josh yelled.

He reached for a shirt with one hand while grabbing his towel tightly to himself with the other.

"If you try to put any clothes on that sexy body of yours, I'm going to hurt you."

She reached for his towel. He grabbed her arms and accidentally let the towel dropped. She looked down and smiled.

"I knew you liked me!"

He looked mortified for a moment, then had a look of PAIN. She pulled her leg back from a kick between his legs and laughed. He pushed her away and back on the bed.

"You pushed me!" she accused with mock outrage.

Still pained, he stood up. She crawled on the bed towards him with lust in her eyes. He grabbed her arms and pinned her down. She smiled and tilted her head. They struggled. She maneuvered on top of him. She licked the side of his face. Her head went lower and lower...

"Stop!"

He tried to push her away. To prevent this, she grabbed him so hard around his buttocks he felt her nails pierce his skin.

"Just relax," she purred, "and enjoy this."

He feared that if he struggled further with her that he could cause her to accidentally bite him where he was most sensitive. So, he stopped.

He groaned with pleasure. She stopped what she was doing to prevent herself from gagging. She smiled lustfully at his surrender.

Then it happened.

Josh saw her eyes flash a demonic red. She lowered her head again.

"No!"

Blood gushed from her mouth.

With a delicate touch, she traced the corner of her lips then sucked his blood from her finger.

Josh woke up, breathing heavily, like his father, the football coach, had been running them for hours in the hot Alabama sun, drenched in his own sweat, as if he had been baptized again by his maternal grandfather, the preacher.

He then noticed a spot even wetter than the rest of him as he looked down at his boxer shorts.

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