Salon.com is now treating readers to steamy, softcore smut about heavy petting between students at an evangelical Christian college in tiny-town Indiana.
The website published the randy, 2,318-word treatise, entitled “Sex in the cornfields: The agony and ecstasy of dating at a strict Christian college,” on Sunday.
The school at the center of the x-rated chronicle is Taylor University, a 1,900-student bastion which bills itself as a “non-denominational Christian liberal arts college where faith, living and learning are integrated.”
The author of the lengthy, nostalgic Salon memoir is Dan Rousseau, who says he is a Taylor graduate.
“The Indiana corn weaves like a maze of chastity” and “the dry cornstalk still stands” Rousseau, a “mop-headed metal drummer” begins, as he explains how he and his girlfriend, a “graceful cheerleading captain” named Becca, were on the hunt for a good spot to make out. “I am a sophomore in college and am studying the Bible in hopes of entering the ministry,” he adds.
“There is necking and driving” as the “eager lovers” search for “a hidden roadside without an audience.”
Rousseau, currently a candidate for a Master’s degree in “writing studies,” segues to his youth. “Preacher’s [sic] families are often blown about the country, tossing God’s Word to the common-people, and receiving a free month of HBO with each new city.”
Circling back to the car ride, Rousseau whines about his “pent-up libido” and tells readers how he touches Becca’s “denim-covered knee.”
“‘I’m sorry,'” Rousseau vents about his experience at the Christian college he chose to attend. “‘It’s this place. This school. They make it impossible.'”
As at many similar Christian colleges, students at Taylor sign a contract agreeing to abstain from lots of different behaviors including drinking, smoking, viewing pornography, dressing immodestly and, of course, premarital sex.
“Sin is obsessed upon,” Rousseau also complains, concerning life at Taylor University. There’s “a masturbation jar,” he alleges. “Each time you get your rocks off, you must stuff a dollar in the jar. God is watching. The jar fills fast.”
“Raging hormones are repressed to the backs of minds, where they are interpreted as guilt.”
Then, Rousseau spends 554 bizarre words describing the time when he first discovered sexual self-gratification. “The viscous sample smelled of must — not unlike mildewed baseball pants.”
Back to the car ride with Becca once more, the pair eventually pulls over “onto a rocky, dim road.” “Weeds whip beneath the tires.”
A make-out session commences.
Suddenly, “a cud-chewing, flared-nosed, voyeuristic cow” — possibly “sent by God to protect” Rousseau’s sexual purity — interrupts the proceedings.
So they drive off.
The end.
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