Cappuccino Sex

When you meet a Nascar driver for coffee, it can be a slightly intimidating thing. He may expect more admiration than you want to give, or he may not want any at all. Having known those guys for many years, I was pretty stable, but like I've stated before, java-- especially the mere notion of espresso-- has the potential to infuse the system with courage. Mustering my adventurous spirit, I decided to go in a direction I'd never gone before. You see, I'm from a place where coffee is simple. I wasn't raised in the Starbucks era-- Len Sweet calls my era "Coffee Hell", which means I grew up with bad coffee (I just didn't know it!). So I was challenged by the aforementioned racer to try an espresso drink (I literally had to look up the words "cappuccino" and "espresso" just to make sure I spelled them correctly for this post!).

Anyway, I ordered a cappuccino, paid the perky college student, and started to walk outside with my prize. Before I hit the door, the humble barista said, "Enjoy that work of art you're holding!" I was curious. "How is this a work of art?" "Sir, you are holding perfect foam", was the reply. Wow, I was holding perfect foam. So I pulled off the cap and sure enough there was foam. In fact, foam occupied about 1/3 of my cup. I was indignant with the celebrity next to me. "What have you talked me into here?" I just wanted coffee, and now some brew-snob behind the counter over there is cheating me out of liquid by what-- trying to get me to value the foam? Foam as art? Perfect foam? What is that? "This is utterly ridiculous!", I protested. Quite the contrast to a moment that was filled with three young blonds who had just noticed the guy I was with. "Hey pal, hate to spoil your moment of adulation but you SUCK at ordering coffee!!"

"Perfect foam", I can't get it out of my head. Maurice Day kept the words "Chili Sauce" in his head. Marlon Brando in Apocalypse Now had "The Horror". Barney Fife, "Nip it!" For me, it's "Perfect Foam."

So as I sat there with a current most eligible bachelor, I drank foam and listened to the question for which this meeting was convened. Bottom line-- in less than a year, he had gone from a no-name kid who was inexperienced in love to a household name with more propositions than he could count. He was so overwhelmed that to say he was frightened is not an embellishment. "How can I take advantage of my new found relational clout without it getting messy?" I inhaled and choked on foam. "Let me see if I'm reading you right on this. By taking advantage, you mean, how can I sleep with these propositions and not break their hearts? Right? You want to exercise your ego without guilt. At least you are somewhat concerned about these women. That's something I guess. But it's not enough." He scowled. "Man, that's brutal." I sipped, "Yeah, but it's true, isn't it?"

Some of you reading this would love to be in this guys shoes. When I was his age, I can't say I would have handled it as well as he did-- at least he sought my insight as a pastor, and an older man. He was in tension with himself for some reason here. I have to believe that the tension occurred when he took a look at what it would feel like to enjoy a beautiful woman in a casually sexual way. He wanted that-- without damaging her soul. Deep down he knew that was not possible. To engage in such activity is to set a fire, a fire that starts out as passion but burns beyond the flesh and damages the soul.

Without the substance of commitment, friendship and loyal love, casual-- albeit passionate-- sex becomes nothing more than the foam on my cappuccino. Even if it's perfect foam. What I long for is beneath the foam. It's what we all long for.