Jump Quiz: The Nazarene Sport of Bibles and Butts

Rock Island, October 1978

When I was growing up in the Church of the Nazarene, most of the high school boys and a few girls competed in the jump quiz.

They announced the book of the Bible every year during summer camp, and we started preparing immediately, memorizing verses, quizzing each other, and doing set after set of lunges, squats, kickbacks, and leg-lifts.

This was a strenuous sport!

The local eliminations were held in October.  The quizmaster began a question, and the moment you though you could answer, you jumped up out of your seat.  No hands -- leg and butt movement only.

With 20 questions per round, and 4 or more rounds per tournament, you needed really strong quads, hamstrings, and glutes.

If more than one contestant jumped up, the coach decided whose butt cleared the chair first.

That's right -- an adult man  had the job of staring intently at the butts of high school boys (and a few girls).

The top five players became our church's Jump Quiz Team, and went on to the District tournament in January. 

The Regionals were in March, the Nationals in June, and Internationals in July. Plus there were invitationals along the way  And trophies, prizes, pictures in church magazines, fawning invitations to parties, and even requests for autographs.

I had bad luck with the jump quiz.  In 9th grade, District interfered with a wrestling tournament, and I picked wrestling.

In 10th grade, my grandmother died, and we had to be in Indiana during the locals.  

In 11th grade, I got sick, and missed District.

In 12th grade, my jerk of a boss at the Carousel Snack Bar forced me to mop out the store room, thus missing District again!

But I was becoming disillusioned with the Nazarene Church anyway.  The Preacher had discovered homa-sekshuls, and was blaming them for everything from droughts to divorce.  And I was tired of the long list of nos: NO movies NO dancing NO cards NO comic books NO eating out on Sunday NO theater...


I couldn't drop out all at once, with my parents still going, and the church police knocking on your door after every absence.  So I started out skipping the evening services, then occasional Sunday morning services.  During my freshman year at Augustana, I was skipping most services, and usually Sunday school, too.

So I was surprised when the Preacher called one evening and asked me to coach the jump quiz.

"Um...why me?  I have a pretty poor jump quiz record."

"But you were on the team four years in a row, and you have lots of valuable skills. NYPS President, International Institute, wrestling team, athletic trainer..." He was apparently reading from a list.  "And I heard you're taking Biblical Greek at that Lutheran college, so you'll really be able to get into the Scripture with the kids."

"But...I haven't been coming to church much lately."

"Maybe this is just what you need to bring you back to the Lord."

So that was his game -- conversion through coaching!

"Besides, won't you feel good knowing that you're making a difference in a boy's life?  Why, your influence might be the only thing that protects him from turning into a homa-sekshul."

My face began to burn. "Well, when you put it that way, how can I refuse?"


So during my freshman year at Augustana, I returned to the Nazarene Church once a week to drill high school boys on the Book of Luke, and lead them in set after set of lunges, squats, kickbacks, and leg-lifts.

Sometimes we met at the YMCA swimming pool, for water resistance training, so I was forced to check out the athletes in swimsuits (don't worry, they were only two or three years younger than me).

During the local elimination, I had to keep my eye on their butts, of course.

We didn't make it to State.

The next year, I was in Germany during the fall semester, but I was back in time for the District tournament in January.  I was dating Fred, so my boyfriend was in the audience while I kept my eye on the butts of high school boys to ensure that they didn't turn into homa-sekshuls.

We didn't make it to State.

I Meet the Hottest Guy in the World

Durban, South Africa, July 2000

I am attracted to the following traits:

1. Clergy.  Preachers, priests, monks, rabbis, imams, seminary students, Mormon missionaries.

2. Dark skinned.  Black, Middle Eastern, South Asian, Hispanic.  Among Europeans, Spanish, Italian, Greek. 

3. Short, small, compact.  Under 5'8" is good, under 5'" better.  

4. Muscular, the bigger and harder the better, or else husky, chubby, fat. As long as there's some mass.   

5. Baseball bat.

There are exceptions --my Celebrity Boyfriend had none of the above.  But the guys I date generally have two, usually three::

Fred the Ministerial Student: 1, 4, 5

The Greek Orthodox Priest with the Pushy Mom: 1, 4, 5

Jimmy, the Bodybuilder on Crutches: 3, 4, 5

Alan, the Ex-Porn Star: 1, 4, 5

Raul in West Hollywood: 2, 3
Blake in Manhattan: 2, 4, 5
Joe, my Boyfriend's Roommate: 2, 3, 4, 5

There aren't many guys around with four of the traits, and only once in my life have I met someone with all five.

In the summer of 2000, I wrote a paper on the evangelical Christian response to to gay men with AIDS, and presented it at the 13th International AIDS Conference, held in Durban, South Africa.

There were 12,000 people attending and 5,000 presentations, including an endless number on religious responses to gay men with AIDS.

One of the presenters in my session was Sibusiso, or Sibu for short, a student at the Lutheran seminary in Pretoria.

He was short, very dark, handsome, and a member of the clergy!  I don't remember what his presentation was about, but he mentioned being gay.

After the session I approached him, suggested we collaborate on a paper about gay Christian men with AIDS, and invited him for coffee.

He accepted.

Conference Center, Durban

He was 24 years old, Zulu, raised in an African Pentecostal Church, but converted to the Lutheran Church at age 15.  He came out at age 18, while studying Biblical Languages at the University of Pretoria.

We had such similar backgrounds!  We must be destined to be soul mates!

I reached over and casually touched his arm, and met hard muscle.  Four out of five traits!  Incredible!

That night Sibu and two of his friends went dancing at the Lounge, one of Durham's gay clubs.  I was 39, too old for dance clubs, but I invited myself along anyway.

When he headed for the dark room, I followed. 

Baseball bat.

All five of the traits!

 It was settled: Sibu was, by definition, the Hottest Guy in the World.

The Lounge, Durban

The Lounge was dirty, dank, packed, and too noisy to talk.  And everyone else was under 30, making me feel decidedly out of place.  

And Sibu and his friends kept dancing.  My shirt was soaked with sweat; my hair reeked of cigarette smoke; I was exhausted. I wanted to go home to bed.

But I also wanted to spend the night with the Hottest Guy in the World.

It was 3:00 am when we finally headed back to his hotel.  I tried to put my arm around him in the back seat of the taxi, but he brushed me away.  Closeted, I figured.

He said goodbye to his friends, and we got in the elevator.  "What floor are you?" he asked.

What did he mean by that?  "The same floor as you."

We walked down the hall to his room.  He opened the door.  "Well, goodnight."
 

 "Aren't you going to invite me in?"  I asked in desperation.

"It's late..."

"Well...can I see you for breakfast tomorrow?"

He frowned.  "Look...I like you, you're a nice guy and all that, but you're not my type."

"Not your type?  But...I starred in a porn film...."

"I like guys my own age.  Sorry."  The door slammed in my face.

Just my luck.  I meet the Hottest Guy in the World, and it's ten years too late.

See also: The Quest for the Bushman Penis.; In Search of Sex and Languages in South Africa

The Bisexual Fairy Godfather of the Summer of 1984

Between 1982 and 1984, I was studying for my M.A. in English at Indiana University.  I did not do well.  I couldn't focus on any one topic, or any one department -- I rushed around in the 3,000+ courses taught every semester, grabbing onto things like Mandarin Chinese and Russian Folklore, and ignoring my actual English classes

Besides, who had time to study?  I had just discovered bar pickups.  My friend Viju and I were out at Bullwinkel's, or a a gay bar in Indianapolis, two or three times a week, and we never came home alone.

Sometimes I brought a guy home, had sex with him, then went back to the bar to pick up someone else.

Meanwhile my classes faltered, and I squeaked by with B's and an occasional C+.  In grad school, anything below an A is considered failing. But who cared?   I was going to become a book editor, not a literature scholar.

So I squeaked by, and in the spring of 1984, I sent out resumes:130 publishing companies, 48 newspapers,  34 television stations, and 16 translation agencies.   No openings, no openings, no openings, no openings.

Classes ended. I received my M.A..  No job. I spent ten days visiting India with Viju, then a week in Rock Island, then returned to Bloomington.

I couldn't afford our apartment any more, so I got a room in Eigenmann Hall, and went back to my old job in the snack bar.

It was fun when I was a student.  But as my life's work?.  I imagined myself at age 50, still living in that coffin-sized room with the bathroom down the hall, still selling burgers and fries to undergrads.

All of my friends had graduated and moved away.  And any new friends I made would graduate and move away, again and again, an every-changing blur of faces and cocks for the rest of my life.

That summer was an endless cold, dark night.

53 people died in a mass shooting at a McDonald's in San Ysidro, California, the worst mass shooting in modern American history.

The lunatic in the White House (not as bad as the Orange Goblin, but still a lunatic) almost ended the world by "joking" that the U.S. had launched nuclear missiles at the Soviet Union.

The AIDS crisis was making national news for the first time, and dubbed "a gay disease."  Fundamentalist churches latched onto it to decry the "clinically insane, disease-ridden homosexuals" coming for your children.

All four of the factories in Rock Island closed, doubling the unemployment rate.  My father and brother were both laid off.  I couldn't even fall back on a factory job.

The movies I saw (by myself) are now hailed as classics, but I found them depressing: Ghostbusters, Gremlins, The Karate Kid, The Neverending Story, Revenge of the Nerds, Bachelor Party, Conan the Destroyer

Laura Branigan's "Self Control" was playing on the radio:

I live among the creatures of the night.
I haven't got the will to try and fight.
I must believe in something, so I guess I'll just believe that this night will never go.

Then came my fairy godfather, aka Ben, who worked in the bank downtown.  He was my teller when I withdrew some money (this was before ATMs), and two nights later I saw him at Bullwinkle's.

About ten years older than me, a chunky redhead with a long face, a smooth chest, and no biceps to speak of.  Not at all my type.

And bisexual -- he mentioned watching Family Ties, not for the hot teen idol Michael J. Fox, but for Meredith Baxter Birney, who played his mother!

I couldn't help imagining Ben screwing the lady.  His butt bouncing up and down while he plowed into her lady parts, squeezing her breasts, kissing her.  Gross!  Complete turn-off.

But I was depressed, and I would have gone home with Boy George just to avoid going back to my coffin-sized room in Eigenmann Hall.

Ben had a house in Unionville, about 10 miles of dark, scary country roads from campus. An old-fashioned wood-and-plaster living room, a four-poster bed with black sheets, a drawer-ful of porn magazines, both gay and straight.  Very cold for July.

We didn't start kissing until we were both under the sheets.  He had smooth, soft chest, a bubble butt, and a big cock, about 8", thick and ruddy.  I went down on him, and he finished with interfemoral.  Then he beat me off while we were kissing.  Not bad.

After the sex, it was too early to sleep, and I didn't want to  leave, so we sat up and turned on Saturday Night Live. I told Ben about my master's degree, my dismal job prospects, and my future at the Eigenmann Hall snack bar.  He said that he was working on a Ph.D. in sociology --- very slowly.  This was his seventh year in the program, and he wasn't nearly ready to start his dissertation.  The job at the bank took up most of his time.  But he still planned to finish, and become a college professor.

"I love being in front of a class -- it's an amazing rush.  Hey, why don't you go to work at a college?  They always need teachers."

"Yuck!" I exclaimed.  "I taught during my first year.  Surly students who didn't read their assignments, didn't know even the basics about...well, anything, and made homophobic comments."

"It beats making hamburgers, I bet.  Besides, just think of the beefcake!"

"But it's July.  Won't they have all the teachers they need for the fall?"

"Let's find out."  Ben walked naked into the next room and came back with The Chronicle of Higher Education.  5 English teaching jobs available in the fall that required just a M.A.

A month later, I was heading for Hell-fer-Sartain, Texas, an English instructor. It would be horrible, but later, I would teach as an adjunct, then get my Ph.D. (not in English), and spend the next twenty years standing in the front of classrooms.

It definitely beats making hamburgers.

And Ben was right.  The beefcake is amazing.