So Like, This Is My Favorite Psalm.

I am not allowed to reveal the name of the man in this story. But it’s amazing. It’s what I would name a cartoon bear. We’re going to call him H. This story revolves around G, who was having a very chaotic winter at the time.

See, G was in a phase where she was sleeping with most everyone she matched with on Tinder. There is no judgment about that here. Frank Magazine specifically endorses having slut phases. I’m in one now. She admitted in her interview that she’s attracted to weird-looking guys. She found H, who was a very weird-looking guy. And just a weird guy. This guy was so fucking weird.

Picture the guy in the corner at every punk show you’ve ever been to. The awkward one. He doesn’t play an instrument, but he knows a lot about music and knows how to talk about music. The guy who would message you on Twitter after the show “hey, wanted to talk to you at the show, but i was too shy.” This is the kind of guy that H was.

H lives on the south side of Chicago, somewhere below Bridgeport. He meets G at a bar that’s “right around the corner” from his apartment. They drain a beer at the bar. H says a lot of things about random bands. Imagine every guy who starts name-dropping members of obscure punk bands to prove he’s cool. That’s the dude we’re dealing with here.

So they have a beer, and H wants to go back to his place. They proceed to walk a full mile in the dead of Chicago’s winter. G was unprepared. H doesn’t have a bed. What he does have, is a stained sectional sofa that he has pushed together to form a bed. You know, that thing that regular human people have.

So G and H start kissing and laying down. H tells G that he can’t lay down because of his asthma. G wonders if he sleeps sitting up because of this. H confirms that he does. There are no screens in sight, just this sectional. It’s the only thing in the damn room. They kiss for a while, and H jerks down his pants. He’s wearing boxers. G is sure that she should’ve walked out around now. H asks G if she has a condom. She doesn’t. H asks G “where do you buy condoms?” It’s right around now when G realizes that she’s definitely about to take this man’s virginity. H proceeds to leave the apartment and goes to Walgreens, where he purchases a large box of condoms. The bulk ones. Too many condoms for any one person to use. G realizes that she could leave while H is at Walgreens, but she doesn’t. She’s vaguely curious about how this man plans on having sex with her while standing straight up. He gets back. After he takes his pants off again, he says “I’m not an expert in this.”

G proceeds to have very brief, uncomfortable missionary sex with H. It sounded really bad when she told me about it. He was kneeling at the end of the couch, because he couldn’t lie down. His first words after were “do you want to watch American Dad?”

I need a moment here.

Thank you.

He proceeds to grab a copy of the Holy Bible and starts reading his favorite psalms. 12 whole minutes pass where this man is just reading psalms and H is waiting for her Uber to be outside. He goes through his favorites. Some of us have parts of the bible we like, I get it. I’m partial to Corinthians 13: 8-10, if we’re just naming bible verses. But I did not start reading them to folks on the first date. That’s like, tenth date behavior. But G, like Sebastian being pelted by arrows, endured sitting inside the studio apartment while H reads. She can’t handle waiting outside in the cold, it’s winter in Chicago.

G gets out after about four or five psalms. She’s doing really well nowadays. She had one bad date that wasn’t even a date with a woman, but she’s got a nice partner now and is having a pretty nice time. We have no way of knowing what H is doing these days. Hopefully, he got better at sex.