Tuesday, August 01, 2006

Utah Drawers

My obsession with Mormon underwear began (like so many obessions do) in a dorm room, as a 20-something young miss detailed the horrors of Mormon summer camp. She'd attended when she was in high school, not realizing the camp catered to a specific religious sect until after her parents dropped her off and drove away. Once the other campers discovered she wasn't a card-carrying latter day saint, they took turns ostracizing and berating her, so much so that upon returning home she produced a short film on her mother's camcorder entitled Different Mormons, starring her stuffed toy collection.

Mormons do not come off well in this particular feature.

But I digress.

"They have special underwear," she intoned, pausing to let that sink into her captivated, undergraduate audience. "It has symbols on it, and you can't ever take it off. Ever."

This little trivia vittle fired all of my synapses at once. Special underwear? Symbols? Ever? I had to learn more. For years, whenever I met a Mormon (which doesn't happen very often, considering my social circles), I'd do my best to steer the conversation to the subject of lacy unmentionables: "Boy, these boxer shorts sure do ride up. What about yours? Any symbols you can tell me about?"

Surprising as it may sound, there aren't a lot of Mormons out there who will talk to me. Until today, that is, when I finally claimed the Holy Grail of Unattainable Smallclothes.

A casual acquaintance and I ran into each other. The "hihowareyou" catch-up conversation morphed into a religious discussion (for some reason, I brought up the Demeter statue controversy in Illinois), and he mentioned that he was Mormon. Before I could properly ground myself, years of unsatiated interest burst forth:

"Do you have the underwear?"

He paused, eyed me quizzically for a moment, then spoke.

"We call them 'garments.'"

You know that scene in Ghost where Patrick Swayze avenges his death and ascends into Heaven? It was exactly like that.

For a delectable hour, I asked highly intrusive and personal questions about the "garments," and he answered them (and no, I'm not going to repeat the entire conversation; get your own Mormon). Finally, I screwed up the courage to ask one, tiny favor.

"May I see them?"

And just so there's no confusion or doubting my motives, I didn't mean "Drop your pants, cowboy." I just didn't know if it was a Mormons-only kind of thing. I meant, "May I see them eventually, not being one of the Chosen?" or "May I see them held up in front of you on hangers?" But he took my request with aplomb.

"I don't have a set right now," he said. "But I do have a picture of me wearing them."

In the distance, a red flag unfurled in the breeze. But I was so close, so close to finally, finally having a dream fulfilled: to view, with my own eyes, the secret Mormon underwear. I mean garments. So I requested that he e-mail the picture to me, and he agreed.

We said our goodbyes, and I raced home, throwing myself in front of the computer and refreshing my inbox every .5 seconds. A few minutes later, a new message appeared. Trembling with anticipation, I clicked open the e-mail, and there, there in front of me, was my casual acquaintance sporting the long-awaited, finally undenied Mormon Underwear...

... and a raging hard-on.

It seems this particular picture was one he regularly posts on certain Web sites, where the discerning gentleman, looking for a date without that bothersome "dinner and a movie" part, can make open-minded new friends. But, he assured me, only one person had ever recognized the Mormon underwear for what it was, so there was really nothing to worry about. His secret was safe with me.

Some battles can only be won through sacrifice. Yes, I've now seen the Mormon underwear, and lived to tell the tale... but at what cost?

What cost?


Anonymous said...

The cost of seeing a HUGE penis...ok just larger than average...from a guy you said was not that cute when in fact he's actualy very cute.

Whateva Mary!

Evn said...

I never said he was Quasimodo, just that he doesn't quite fall into my "dreamy" range. Not like Russell Crowe or my boyfriend.

Red Delicious said...

This is my favorite story. I'm nominating it for story of the year... in my head. Which I hope is good enough.

It might help that I know who the girl in question is. Do you still have a copy of her "Mommie Dearest" movie? Do you remember how the hamburger patty fell perfectly into frame?

Don't forget Ubertoast this weekend! Click on my name for more details.

Evn said...

Ah, memories! I played the little brother, as I recall, wearing one of your shirts and a beanie.

Sadly, I will be out of town this weekend, but I will not miss next weekend's performances. Unless I do. But I probably won't.

Toast! Am I still in the running for gay company member? Or did Joe Watts beat me to it?

Red Delicious said...

If Joe Watts becomes an Ubertoast company member, it will be because we've sold controlling interest in the group to mimosas & ennui.