Chaperone: (n) a person who accompanies and looks after another person
Back in the day before phones told us where the hell to go, there was a yearly event called the hayride.
It was a rather simple principle–young people who were somewhat infatuated with one another, with raging hormones, were placed at
dusk–nearly dark–onto the back of a wagon covered with hay and driven around for a while to supposedly conjure the memory of former days.
Matter of fact, even now I can remember the odor of the mingling of hay, sweat, apple cider and teenage urges filling my nostrils.
Here was the goal: it would be a fun time for the kids–and a chaperone, or maybe two, would ride on the hay to make sure things didn’t get out of hand.
The one time I went on such an excursion, I had no young lady with me (similar to going to a chili cook-off without your jalapeno).
Also, the minister who planed this particular hayride selected chaperones who happened to be recently married. So rather than watching to see what the kids did, they started making out in the front of the wagon, hiding themselves by covering up with hay.
This opened the door to a Biblical orgy. People were kissing and touching as I was…
Well, I was watching.
Little did I know that I would become the chaperone by default. Except, of course, I had no authority to stop anything, but instead, sat there and lusted in silence.
After the hayride, we arrived back–all the boys, girls and chaperones–with flushed faces and watery eyes.
When the minister asked if everybody enjoyed the hayride he received the enthusiastic “amen” that he rarely heard on a Sunday morning.
Later on, when it was revealed that our hayride was just a makeout buggy, the minister was reproved by the congregation, and as far as I know, no hayrides were ever held again.
The moral of my story is, chaperones should not be horny.