Saturday, December 3, 2011

Letters from Gay Camp! From "Cattywompus"

Dear Mom and Dad,

OK, for once in my life I can admit you were absolutely right.

When you caught me kissing Mark, threw me into the car, and drove me five-hundred miles into the middle of Missouri, I was skeptical (and completely out of product.). I didn't believe that being Gay was something I could treat, especially through prayer.

I remember driving under the "Camp Knotty Pines Retreat for Confused Christian Boys" sign and thinking "Great, all these insect bites are going to just destroy my complexion."

How wrong was I?

Please ignore everything I said, dear parents. Homosexuality absolutely can be cured by prayer and willpower, and I insist that I stay the entire summer in order to completely exercise- pardon, exorcise... hrm... Freudian... my "gay demons." It's the only way I can grow and mature as a true Christian.

I even have a girlfriend now! We were each assigned a girlfriend/boyfriend and a same gender "Prayer Partner." My girlfriend's name is Amanda, one of the "used to be lesbians" from "Camp Blossoming Orchids" across the lake. She has hair and a face.

So let me talk to you about Albert (pronounced Al-bear, if you can believe it!) my Prayer Partner. If you've ever read Ivanhoe, you know what this boy's hair looks like, and oh-my-god, he's got this rock climbers body that's like... seriously, when we play full contact pad-less tackle football it's like rolling around with a tiger. And his eyes, God, it's like they were plucked right out of Neil Patrick Harris' bleeding sockets.

Every morning Albert and I roll out of our bunk beds (he's on top, though from time to time we switch to keep it interesting) and we hop into the communal camp showers. After we're cleaned up we kneel down and hold hands for our prayer time. We close our eyes tightly, squeeze each others warm, well manicured hands, and consider what God really wants for us. Then it's off to sports where we wrestle, or ride sweaty, muscular horses, or play games like archery where we take turns trying to penetrate a target with a foot-long shaft. 

Then it's time for lunch. We find our respective girlfriends and sit with them of course, which gives us time to compare notes on how things are going with our prayer partners. Amanda tells me all about her Prayer Partner Mercedes (who's butchier than dad, but what can you do?). The food is sub-par, honestly, but I clean my plate because shortly after lunch it's time for water-sports (and who doesn't love those?).

We all run back to our cabins and change; everyone makes sure to look around carefully to increase the amount of shame we have for our sweaty, nude bodies. We put on our cutest swim trunks (or what Albert considers to be swim trunks, there's more material in a WWJD bracelet than in those speedos!) We play wholesome, Christian games like Marco Polo, where we pretend to be a blind Venetian merchant and feel around under the water until we get our hand on someone else's body.

Don't worry Dad, it's not all fun and games! We learn water safety too! Every single day we have to practice giving mouth to mouth to our Prayer Partners if we want to get lifeguard certification (and who doesn't want to wear one of those shiny whistles!)

After we towel each other off, it's time to start getting ready for the camp show! We sing show tunes, dress up, and perform skits and plays. There aren't any girls allowed, so half of us put on wigs and make up; it's AMAZING! It's so Eddie Izzard.

After the camp show, we have supper, and then we have an hour of supervised time with our assigned girlfriends. I stare at Amanda's... hair and... face, as I hold her clammy, limp hand, and we talk about how important it seems to be to God where we put our genitals. Then it's back to Albert (Seriously, mother, Al-bear! A Frenchman? Could I be more of a cliche?) to finish up the night with one of the camp-required, unsupervised "Night Adventure Hikes!"

We break up into pairs of boys and go for mile long hikes into the wilderness. We're only supposed to be gone a half an hour, but you wouldn't believe how often me and Albert get lost! Some nights we don't get back to adult supervision for hours and hours!

Finally, it's time for lights out. The counselor prays with us, then locks the door from the outside so no one can run away, and then it's just us. Just twelve sweaty young gay (formerly!) boys in bunk beds. In the dark.

So in closing, thank you!

I do worry about having a relapse though, Mother and Father. Will you please sign me up for next summer in advance? We don't want them to book up!

Your Son,


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