Thursday, February 15, 2018

Sweet Jesus

And so then the idea was born
to write some stories about what kind of lover Jesus would be.
I mean, have you SEEN some of those paintings of him?
Pretty hot.
But then I giggled,
because
what if
he was really bad in bed?
Or just selfish, you know?
Like one of those uber cocky dudes
who acts like the sun rises and sets at their command
because,
like,
it does in his case
(if you believe in that sort of magic)
and so,
what if he was one of those dudes
that just sort of flops down on the bed
and grins up at you lazily
from his throne of alpha arrogance,
expecting you to worship his ridiculous boner
and you just kind of stand there smirking
with your own sheen of haughtiness
(bursting with naughtiness)
like,
seriously, man?
Not going to participate in this situation at all??
It can go one of two ways in those moments--
you either roll your eyes and walk away
or you hang back,
and make him come to you...
this is a two-way street, you vain motherfucker.
I could see Jesus being kind of a douchebag like that.
I would still fuck him, though.
Because
they do say
he's hung like
thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis,
so maybe it'd be worth the effort.
It's also rather lovely to imagine him a 40-year-old virgin,
kind of shy and sweet,
maybe it's his wedding night
and you're Mary Magdelene...
you usher him through the bases,
slowly savoring each one -

so you have to focus,
really pace yourself as you kiss his ear lobe
and lightly graze it with your teeth.
You leave most of your clothes on
for as long as you can,
so that neither of you
will accidentally
finish
too
soon.
You marvel at the deified perfection of his body -
those gnarly scars making him sexier
and you pause in awe -
maybe he's really a god after all.
You light some candles
and pour some wine
(it did start out as water,
but he winked and the color deepened
to a rich scarlet).
You show him how to touch you,
and where.
You whisper the sweet things
and the sweeter things, dirty around the edges.
You whisper his name,
then shout it -
slightly dizzy at the absurdity that this urgent chant
is his actual name as well as the right thing to utter at the height of ecstasy.
You collapse into a heap of sweat and satisfaction beside him
and he smiles indulgently,
I forgot how much I liked that.
He winks, and rolls over,
the wave of his hand extinguishing the candles and drying the wet spot.
Jesus. What a night.

No comments:

Post a Comment