Mormon Initiation

Marty Price leaned back in the water so only his mouth and nose remained above the surface and he held there perfectly still, breathing quietly. The heat penetrated every part of his body, abused from three hard days of skiing in deep powder. Nothing like it in the whole fucking world, he thought to himself, and smiled. If you haven't skied Utah powder, you haven't skied, that's the truth. Any moisture left in the air already dry from sweeping across the vast, parched expanses of the Nevada desert gets wrung out by the elevation gain over the Wasatch, dropping six inches, or a foot, or if you are blessed by the God of ski fortunes, a couple feet of the driest, whitest, lightest powder known to mankind.

He thought over his little extended weekend getaway and about where he might ski tomorrow, Sunday, the last day up here in the mountains. So many resorts to choose from, maybe half a dozen within a 45-minute drive. Hell of a place for a winter R&R trip. It had been a good decision to take the extra vacation days; the best decision he'd made in a few months in fact, because work had been sucking him dry.

Speaking of sucking, or the lack thereof, he mused dryly, the only thing missing in this country was chicks; available chicks to be more precise. There were plenty of these cute Mormon girls—perky and blonde with oval Nordic faces—but it's not like you could find a hopping bar scene and score a hookup, especially in the small towns. Maybe he should take a trip down to Salt Lake tonight, he thought idly as he ran his hands down over his stomach and groin. Times had changed; it was supposed to be less than half LDS in the city now, and he even read an article in the SLC Weekly over breakfast about bondage clubs, if you could imagine. Not your father's Mormon world headquarters anymore. He rubbed his underemployed dick and balls under the water, absentmindedly. The skiing was awesome, yes, but he was horny as hell after three days of doing nothing else.

His mind drifted back to work and the stress he was escaping in this solo getaway. Their fiscal quarter ran through the end of January and had just closed. He had pulled out amazing numbers, more than half a million in sales just in the three months, pretty hot shit in other words. He was their first rep, back when Brandi didn't even know how to sell the damn thing. He smiled thinking of her as CEO, a woman with a porno name but personality anything but: MIT grad, PhD and MD, starting the company with her new catheter idea in Boston and growing it to 50 people now.

The company had "crossed the chasm" as they say in the business world and was doing well, Marty heading up eastern US sales from his New York home base. But in the usual pattern, he was heading for a territory cut after delivering almost two million dollars in revenue. He wasn't fond of the term, but "coin operated" was how sales reps were treated in this, and really any industry, and the way of guys like him was to make a buck while the getting was good before management brought on another dozen reps to slice up his turf.

There had been fringe benefits. Last winter, on the company ski trip in Massachusetts, the flirting between he and Brandi came to a head and they had a post-party hot fuck in her hotel room. She was cute, firm little tits and a round ass, half asian, half white, with a Tiger mom that pushed her hard to excel in school and business. Marty was 32, Brandi the overachiever was in her late 20's. It was a fling, and neither of them had aspirations for anything real to grow there. Besides, work was too consuming for both of them, Brandi heading the production team and Marty constantly on the road anyway trying to sell the shit out of it. Lots of trips in and out of hospitals the past couple of years.

He pulled his body out of the steaming water to cool off—it was surprisingly hot—and rubbed the round knobs of his sore shoulders in the cold air. This bare, ten by ten foot, butt-ugly hot tub was all his for the moment, plunked down in a fenced-off concrete pad in the corner of the condo complex, and he had to admit that for the one job the hot tub had to do, it was pretty fucking good at it. The view was something to see too, looking up to the jagged peaks of Park City's slopes, and because the light in this valley was tightly regulated he could see stars everywhere across the dark night sky. He even made out the disc of the Milky Way galaxy on its side. Tiny, beautifully formed snowflakes fell on his exposed hands and arms, and he gazed upwards like a child with his mouth open to catch a few on his tongue.

Noises of people approaching caught his attention and he frowned. Even way out here thousands of miles from New York City where he worked every day among a million average fucks just like himself, hustling from home to work and gyms and dinners and dates and bars and back home again, it was still hard to get some peace. He thought about scrambling out of there before this group arrived, but the inertia of the hot water and the cold air and the view pinned him where he was with his head just barely sticking out.

Up came what looked like a crapload of probably Mormons, maybe eight or ten in all, traipsing up the icicled walkway and through the black metal gate to the pool area. They ambled their way over to the little alcove in the clubhouse—well-behaved, with a bit of reserved goofing around, as they hung their clothes and towels on the hooks that ran the length of the wall outside the bathrooms and sauna room. Then the line turned and shuffled from there towards Marty in the hot tub.

As they settled in around the perimeter opposite him, he noticed two things: first, that they were remarkable physical specimens of humanity, each one of them—clean cut, athletic, healthy, smiling—and second, that one of the older teens nearest him wasn't a teen at all but a man in fact older than Marty. He had the same look as all of them: crew cut, blonde hair, tanned face, and square jaw, so it was an easy mistake to make. A man who had found the fountain of youth, perhaps. Or maybe it was just the power of religious conviction. Marty wasn't that up to speed on every detail of the church here in Utah, but he knew enough that this group couldn't have been any more clearly Mormon than if they had been carrying an LDS banner over their heads.

Then he realized that the older teen approaching the tub next to the man wasn't a girl at all, but a middle-aged woman that must have been this guy's wife and the mother of these children. As she slipped in, Marty admired her narrow waist and slim chest. He wondered how she could have birthed all these children and still look like that good. A quick glance around the group showed at least two older daughters that inherited their parents' good looks, one blonde slumped lazily on the edge of the tub opposite Marty, and one petite brunette in the middle of the tub wearing an intriguing black lace one-piece suit over her shoulders, facing away from him and towards her siblings. They two were lovely young women, and Marty's annoyance at losing his solitude faded into a pleasant aura of observation.

"Hi," he said to the dad after a few minutes, taking the risk of conversation. "I'm Marty. It's a beautiful family. Are they all yours?"

"Good evening," the young-looking middle-aged man replied, and looked calmly over his brood, gesturing his hand over them. "I'm Wallace. Some are ours and some are their friends."

"Ah," Marty said, understanding. "I'm here skiing alone this trip. My brother has three girls, and I thought that was a lot!"

Two of the older teen boys were standing in the hot tub, jaws open in a jest, their ripped bodies above the waist on display. One stuck his stomach out taut and made a joke about still being able to see the dinner burrito in there. Another lunged towards him to give him a sharp poke in his belly, and they both fell over into the water as he connected. Yet another older boy was giving instructions to a younger kid who looked uncertain.

"Brax, you gotta do it. Ten seconds in the snow, if you want to get a letter."

The young blonde woman leaning against the tub edge, one of the pretty ones that Marty had remarked earlier, interceded. "Spencer, you haven't even done anything, why are you making him do it?"

"I got my letter yesterday."

"I'll do it," said the kid, rising to the dare. A letter was evidently an achievement worth laboring for. He pulled himself out of the tub and jogged over to throw his whole body face down into the snow bank on the outdoor pool which was wintered over with what must be a cover under there, Marty thought. Or maybe it was just frozen water supporting the big snowdrift that rose above the rectangular outline marked by metal pool stairs around the perimeter. Marty's attention level jumped up a notch watching the kid; I hope he doesn't step into the pool somehow and break through the ice, he thought. The other kids turned to watch, cheering him on, and the parents quietly observed. In spite of the interruption of his solitude, he had to admit it seemed like a happy family scene.

Unknown to Marty, the other young woman that he had noticed was not having the happy night that he imagined. Her name was Tabitha, and she was standing in the hot tub, hands arounds her neck, forearms and elbows hanging modestly over her chest. Bared shoulders were rare for a proper Mormon girl, and even though it was allowed while swimming, the black one piece was not something she wore often and it left her feeling uncomfortable. She gave a faint, polite smile as she watched her brothers' antics in the water and Braxton's attempt to letter at the snow challenge.

But the bare shoulders were only a minor thing. She was greatly troubled that night, her mind a whirl of confusion and fear, and yes, even anger, as it had been for the two weeks since her parents sat their twin daughters down in the bedroom and told them of God's plans for them upon turning eighteen years old. The plan was that they must face an important rite of passage in their religious upbringing, one that involved some things she couldn't fully confront head-on in her mind yet, and that it was coming as soon as tomorrow's service back in their conservative little hometown of Shelley, Idaho.

She loved the church with its rigid structure and her father's stern interpretations of God's rules to govern the routine and morality of their lives. For years she had accepted that it was where she belonged. Every Sunday in service, she sat and stood and prayed and sang for three, sometimes three and a half hours, where she read and listened with the congregation, mulling over the scriptures and what they meant for her life and those of her beloved family. She was a serious youth and often spent another hour or two alone in her bedroom quietly reflecting while Brighten ran out with her brothers or into town for the rest of the afternoon.

This peace was shattered when her father, with her mother there endorsing it, told them that it was critical as young women that they learn their place to serve man, and that a ceremony had been performed for generations for every woman upon coming of age. It was time to trust the church and the ways that had stood the test of time. She and Brighten were to be each given to a church elder, to learn this lesson of obedience. To pass through a test where they became women in all senses of the word. There hadn't been a lot of detail given but she had a creeping fear from the undertones what might take place in this ceremony, as they were expected to obey even the most demanding commands a man could give a woman.

A shiver passed through her body as she thought of the elders. She wondered if she was thinking disobedient thoughts. I accept my place as a woman, she thought, and I know that God requires me to serve men. I am ready to find a man to love, to bear and raise his children and be at peace under his gentle command. And I am ready to perform any lesson the church and my father require for me to learn and accept, even embrace, that role.

But . . . she could not overcome the thought in her mind that these men are so old. And she could not stop thinking about that look one of them gave her last Sunday when they were talking with father about church business after service. More of a leer than a respectful look, down over her white frock, as if he were inspecting her, looking her over; in her opinion not an appropriate behavior for an honest churchgoing Mormon man, much less an elder of the order. She shivered again with dread as she imagined pulling up her frock according to his command and letting this man touch her body, maybe even invade her body's most private parts according to whatever his conception might be of how a woman should be trained to serve a man.

Her heart was given to the church, but for the first time ever a shadow of doubt had crept in. Were the rules and structure under which she had lived her life purely ordained by God and the prophets? What if men like these elders had twisted or even invented these rules for their own worldly interests? What if they could not resist the material pleasures of beautiful young women, and let their own masculine desires overcome their true duties in tending and shepherding their flock? Then just as suddenly, the feeling left and she berated herself for allowing such doubt in her mind.

It was a crisis moment for her. A crisis of her faith. A crisis of her character, maybe. The tension rose in her body, tightening in her throat, and standing there in the hot water she momentarily was afraid she wouldn't be able to breathe and would faint. She pushed with her hands into her neck and closed her eyes. What was she going to do? There was no answer. Neither way forward was acceptable. Last night she had decided she would never let an elder touch her, and so it was settled, decision made, and let the chips fall where they must; but today in the light of day she couldn't bear the thought of disappointing and maybe even losing the connection to her family and church by disobeying and refusing this rite of passage which suddenly seemed such a crucial part of her life journey to her parents.

She looked over to Brighten, who was laughing with the boys. Brighten took these things so much more easily. Of course, she already had experience being naked with a boy, and maybe even sex. Tabby thought back to the night she had come home late from the marching band party and found Brighten under the covers in their bedroom with Wyatt, her boyfriend of a couple months. Tabby had immediately noticed the discarded bra and panties on the floor, and even the white fabric that must have been Wyatt's underwear. She stepped back out and closed the door before they noticed her.

Father would be furious, Tabby had thought at the time. But now, after he's ordered us into this discipline lesson with the elders, she wondered if she had drawn the right conclusion from that incident. Was Brighten already ahead of her in learning how to pleasure a man and was that what God wanted? She shook her head. It still doesn't make sense, she thought. Father wouldn't want it done that way. Doing it for the church according to the rules and traditions was one thing, but letting a teenage boy from school fool around with his daughter late at night in her bed would make father very angry if he found out, she was sure.

Discussions with mother weren't very helpful, either. All she had said was that it was the way of their order for generations, and it would teach her a valuable lesson that she would remember her entire life, and that it would allow her to serve with clarity in her role as a woman for her husband and in the church. Mother admitted she had her own fears when she had turned eighteen and her parents told her what was coming, but that it was over quickly and she was satisfied to have passed the test and learned a valuable lesson.

Tabby still had a thousand questions, some of which she was too embarrassed to ask her mother or even her sister. There was a strict code of secrecy around this ritual, and she was forbidden to even talk to the older girls about it. She thought of her older friends at church, some 19 and 20, some just newly 18 themselves like her best friend Shannon; all beautiful and modest girls, and she couldn't believe that they had allowed the elders to touch them in the way that was hinted to her, without having had these events spill over in girl talk or at least whispered innuendos. But then she thought of her younger friends not yet 18 and realized that if she made it through this, she probably wouldn't want to talk to them either, out of embarrassment and shame.

Her train of thought was broken as Braxton grabbed her hand. "Tabby, come! We're all going to the sauna!"

She looked down into her youngest brother's smiling face, glad for the interruption, and smiled back. "Yes, Brax, I'll come with you."

Marty watched as the whole family minus parents clambered out of the tub and stepped across the cold concrete, disappearing into the service house. Through the steam rising from the water he tried to make out the figures of the two girls, and saw that the blonde was short and fit like a gymnast, a little thicker in the torso and legs, but all muscle and no fat. The brunette never turned towards him so he couldn't satisfy his curiosity about her slender figure and long dark hair. There was a moment of calm among the three adults as they enjoyed the peace of a hot tub without the rambunctious energy of the youth. After a few minutes, the wife whispered something quietly in her husband's ear and left. He seemed surprised by what she said.

The two men chatted politely with small talk of their work and the status of the job market for a few minutes until it became silent again. Marty watched with curiosity as the father deliberately closed his eyes, put his hands together in front of his chest as if in prayer, and tilted his head upwards. There was an intensity in his movements and facial expression that captivated Marty. When the man opened his eyes and looked directly at him, there was something like a religious fervor and Marty braced himself for some upcoming fanaticism, like maybe he was about to get a convert-to-Mormonism sermon. He had enough people skills to know that something was off here.

"Marty," Wallace began, then paused and took a deep breath and looked upwards, mouthing some words silently. Then back aloud, "I have a situation. Involving my two daughters."

Marty raised his eyebrows and waited, curious. The two good looking ones he had been watching?

"We are Mormon, and worship with the United Order in Idaho. We believe in the strict interpretation of God's laws, including the role of women in society and family." He stopped, and clarified. "With regard to men, specifically, I mean. God has told us that women should serve man, which means birthing and raising our children, but also obeying man and giving him pleasure."

Marty's eyebrows went up even further. What the hell is this, he started to wonder, as the Dad went silent to gather his thoughts with inspiration from the sky. Is this some nut survivalist family packing supplies for the apocalypse like the ones I've read about? The Dad looked without blinking to Marty and continued.

"We try our hardest to shield our youth from the influences of modern American society that can detract them from their true purpose. They struggle, especially the teenage girls, who are told many things from TV and the internet that undermine their role as God ordained."

Marty thought about the nice, good looking kids he saw playing in the hot tub the past half hour. He wondered what was so wrong with what they had learned so far in American society. On the other hand, if one compared this family to many others who aren't so well behaved, he thought, maybe the reason these ones were such nice kids was the strong morals their father was talking about, what they got from their parents and the church. Maybe this dad knew what he was doing, Marty mulled it over with an open mind and waited quietly for more explanation. He swished his hands back and forth under the water feeling it run through his fingers.