At the end of a long story I find myself staying in a strange town with a total stranger.
Worse.
The stranger is a minister in a church.
Ok, so he's retired.
It's awkward.
I inwardly curse my cousin. Really?
Did she really have to join this church and invite me to her thing?
It's probably got a name, but, I'm there for my cousin, not her thing.
Not my thing either.
Two kids.
Two families.
We had to be each others brother. Sister.
"I'm there for you."
I fly into the city.
It's industrial and shitty.
I get to my cousin's apartment, there's a pipe burst upstairs, she's flooded, there's no rest for the wicked.
She moves to the other side of town.
I get to stay with the minister.
Retired.
How does that work?
How can you retire from a job like that anyway?
I ask him. He laughs.
Offers me a glass of wine while he makes us dinner.
When did church ministers start with a glass of wine?
When did they learn to cook?
Loaves and fishes isn't a food joke.
Another glass of wine.
Awkward.
Grace at the dinner table.
I don't really get talking to invisible friends, but the food is a blessing.
He's actually not a bad guy.
Easy to talk to. Funny.
Ok, not the loaves and fishes joke.
He's just had a birthday. 70.
We sit on the sofa in his living room and sip coffee.
He cracks open a bottle of duty free liqueur he's had for ten years.
Armagnac.
Warming, free-flowing conversation.
Disclosure follows comfortable disclosure...
"So, what is the rock that you crash on?"
He looks interested. "Trick question?"
"No, no, Jung. Everyone has a dark secret that is ultimately defines them."
He looks at me somehow expecting more.
"Some dark secret... ?"
"Yes, that's right. That defines you, like the rock you become wrecked on."
He looks uncomfortable. Embarrassed.
"I'm a retired minister of the church. I - I - I..."
"It's all yours. Tell me..."
He flusters again, makes funny little suck-in noises between his lips and teeth. Nervous.
Twitchy.
A long pause in the conversation.
I stare meaningfully at his crotch.
The swollen bulge of his cock and balls is too obvious.
"Well, I never..."
"At least not for a long time..."
He gasps.
Tries to be indignant.
Then looks away.
Enough already.
I open his zipper.
His body denies his words.
I smooth his leakage wantonly over his twitching cock head.
The fabric drags at his sensitive tip.
I fish his cock out.
I lean in to stake my claim...
He gasps.
"No ... no!"
I hesitate.
He stares, mesmerized.
He doesn't move a muscle.
He doesn't stop me.
My cock begins to harden.
"You know I know your rock, your dark secret."
He bows his head a little, staring straight ahead.
"You can continue to pretend, or you can ... "
He swallows noisily.
Licks his lips.
Like a moth to a flame.
"... you can ..."
I tug meaningfully at his belt.
He undoes his belt as though it's heavy.
Carefully opens his slacks.
"These too."
I pull his underpants down.
He doesn't look at me.
He stares into the distance.
Some ridiculous attempt at modesty stretching his polo shirt over his all-too-obvious cock.
I stop the charade.
Teasing his nipple, I can see the waves of indecision break across his face.
I take his shirt.
His flesh is clay to be sculpted in my hands.
"Please..." he says, in supplication, taking my hand in his. "Please."
Next day he insisted on taking me to the airport.
But not before giving me his blessing.
And not before inviting me to come and stay with him again.
Soon.
Worse.
The stranger is a minister in a church.
Ok, so he's retired.
It's awkward.
I inwardly curse my cousin. Really?
Did she really have to join this church and invite me to her thing?
It's probably got a name, but, I'm there for my cousin, not her thing.
Not my thing either.
Two kids.
Two families.
We had to be each others brother. Sister.
"I'm there for you."
I fly into the city.
It's industrial and shitty.
I get to my cousin's apartment, there's a pipe burst upstairs, she's flooded, there's no rest for the wicked.
She moves to the other side of town.
I get to stay with the minister.
Retired.
How does that work?
How can you retire from a job like that anyway?
I ask him. He laughs.
Offers me a glass of wine while he makes us dinner.
When did church ministers start with a glass of wine?
When did they learn to cook?
Loaves and fishes isn't a food joke.
Another glass of wine.
Awkward.
Grace at the dinner table.
I don't really get talking to invisible friends, but the food is a blessing.
He's actually not a bad guy.
Easy to talk to. Funny.
Ok, not the loaves and fishes joke.
He's just had a birthday. 70.
We sit on the sofa in his living room and sip coffee.
He cracks open a bottle of duty free liqueur he's had for ten years.
Armagnac.
Warming, free-flowing conversation.
Disclosure follows comfortable disclosure...
"So, what is the rock that you crash on?"
He looks interested. "Trick question?"
"No, no, Jung. Everyone has a dark secret that is ultimately defines them."
He looks at me somehow expecting more.
"Some dark secret... ?"
"Yes, that's right. That defines you, like the rock you become wrecked on."
He looks uncomfortable. Embarrassed.
"I'm a retired minister of the church. I - I - I..."
"It's all yours. Tell me..."
He flusters again, makes funny little suck-in noises between his lips and teeth. Nervous.
Twitchy.
A long pause in the conversation.
I stare meaningfully at his crotch.
The swollen bulge of his cock and balls is too obvious.
"Well, I never..."
"At least not for a long time..."
He gasps.
Tries to be indignant.
Then looks away.
Enough already.
I open his zipper.
His body denies his words.
I smooth his leakage wantonly over his twitching cock head.
The fabric drags at his sensitive tip.
I fish his cock out.
I lean in to stake my claim...
He gasps.
"No ... no!"
I hesitate.
He stares, mesmerized.
He doesn't move a muscle.
He doesn't stop me.
My cock begins to harden.
"You know I know your rock, your dark secret."
He bows his head a little, staring straight ahead.
"You can continue to pretend, or you can ... "
He swallows noisily.
Licks his lips.
Like a moth to a flame.
"... you can ..."
I tug meaningfully at his belt.
He undoes his belt as though it's heavy.
Carefully opens his slacks.
"These too."
I pull his underpants down.
He doesn't look at me.
He stares into the distance.
Some ridiculous attempt at modesty stretching his polo shirt over his all-too-obvious cock.
I stop the charade.
Teasing his nipple, I can see the waves of indecision break across his face.
I take his shirt.
His flesh is clay to be sculpted in my hands.
"Please..." he says, in supplication, taking my hand in his. "Please."
Next day he insisted on taking me to the airport.
But not before giving me his blessing.
And not before inviting me to come and stay with him again.
Soon.
curation: bestgrandpas.tumblr.com
curation: yfrontsandback.tumblr.com
curation: sadezus.tumblr.com
curation: bestgrandpas.tumblr.com
curation: antorot.tumblr.com
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