Growing up I was a very small fish in a very big pond which made my dating pool virtually nonexistent, after all everyone knows the guy is supposed to be bigger and more masculine than his female counterpart. As a 5 foot 80 pound freshman my pool was so shallow it only contained two guppies: LeAnn and Amy. Since LeAnn's mom was the school's secretary and therefore had the divine power to make my life Hell, I prayed the 3/4 inch shorter than me Amy would fall under my spell. She did and thus began a four plus year courtship reminiscent of Dante's inferno. Amy dragged me to church and family functions as well as the other seven circles of Hell.
By the time our relationship ended I had grown up physically, mentally and sexually, and was therefore feverish to surrender myself to another, gayer ocean -- one filled with a wide variety of datable creatures. As I made my way through the turbulent waters of romance searching for love with the kind of urgency usually reserved for the sinning Catholic seeking penance for unspeakable crimes, I began to wonder if the institution of Love is a religion all its own. After all, Love has its own believers and non-believers, its devoted followers and the process of falling in Love often involves sacrifice. If Love, like religion, is a cult, are we willing to devote our lives to Love's worship, knowing there will be suffering? And if we do commit to Love, will our pain be greatly rewarded, or will it all end in Hellfire and brimstone?
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