Ficlets

My Sacrifice

“What do you mean he doesn’t believe in sex?!” I whispered loudly to Tim in the lobby of the theater.
“I don’t know, I’ve just heard that Preston doesn’t do it. Or something. It’s a religious thing,” He paused, “You know he’s a pastor’s kid, right?”
My face contorted into a mixture of confusion and sheer terror, ”....What the fuck..?”
Being raised by a reformed Jewish father and a once-Catholic-now-Bhuddist-convert-mother, my religious background was slim to none. Living in Turkey, I had set foot in more mosques than in temples and churches. And unlike all my friends, I had never picked up a bible or bothered to learn a word of Hebrew.
“And you might want to cut back on the cussing around him,” Blake, another co-worker, chimed in.
“Are you fucking serious?!” I exclaimed. “You guys hear me, I sound like I have tourettes!”
Tim and Blake looked at eachother and shrugged.
I had to wonder.
If I, a renound atheist, was willing to compromise my profanity for this guy, what else was I willing to compromise?

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