The Missionary Position

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Hairy

I was born and raised in a big city, and did my first university degree in another big city, so when I went away for grad school to a smallish liberal arts college in a similarly smallish town, there was more than a little bit of culture shock. The college was an oasis of progressivism and diversity in a rural sea of white, religious conservatives, and there was a time early on in my studies when I wasn’t sure if I could tough it out for the two years of my degree.Let’s be clear on one thing: most of the people I met outside the school weren’t assholes. They were, in fact, extremely friendly and polite for the most part; I became a regular at a diner around the corner from where I lived, and got to know a handful of other regulars. I probably would have kept more to the student-oriented establishments, except that this place was close and the old woman who owned it was a fantastic cook. And the food was cheap and plentiful, not a small consideration for a cash-strapped grad student. It got to the point where people would hail me by name and wave when I entered, and made conversation about my life in The Big City (which they always referred to with a rueful head shake, as if they couldn’t quite reconcile the fact that such a handsome and friendly young man—as the women there flatteringly called me—could have been produced by a godless sink of depravity). There were not infrequent suggestions that I should meet this or that person’s daughter, to which I always pleaded busyness; though I noticed such suggestions disappeared when it became clear that (a) I did not attend any of the local churches, and (b) I was not “saved.”So: nice people on the whole. As is the way of things, however, the few assholes there were tended to overshadow everyone else. It was them that made me question my decision to come to this god-fearing place. I learned very quickly not to wear shorts, as this was—as far as certain pickup-driving douchebags were concerned—a sure sign that I was a cocksucking deviant. The fact that I am a cocksucking deviant notwithstanding, it was still pretty terrifying, even though the douchebags in question only ever shouted from their moving trucks. Suffice to say, I never shared with my diner friends the real reason I wasn’t interested in their daughters, and was relieved when they stopped making the suggestion.On campus things were much better, and I had a few one-night stands with cute guys I met there, but nothing serious—I was telling the truth when I pled busyness. I spent my days buried in reading and writing papers. The occasional fuck was a nice release, but to be honest, I was just as happy keeping to myself. There was a certain pleasure after a life of city living to being free of the noise and bustle and having the space, uninvaded by the multitude of urban distractions, to focus on books and writing.It was during the summer between my first and second year that I met David.It was a pleasant Saturday morning, and I was sitting in my small but comfortable kitchen nook with a book isvecbahis and a cup of coffee when I heard a knock at the door. I opened the door on two men, one in his early twenties and the other about ten years older, both of them clad in white button-down shirts and ties. My first thought was to groan inwardly, thinking Mormons; my second thought was that they were very good looking, especially the younger one—red hair and pale, freckled skin, with high cheekbones and a wide, lushly lipped mouth that parted in a friendly grin when I greeted them. His elder, dark-haired and grey-eyed, was slightly sterner. It was he who spoke.“Good morning, friend,” he said, nodding at me. “Have you ever given much thought to the Bible?”“As a matter of fact,” I said candidly, “I have.”As a matter of fact, I had. I was in the midst of a masters degree in early modern literature, the largely proportion of which is deeply Christian in content. That previous year I had taken an intensive course on the Bible as Literature, and was intimately familiar with Christian philosophers from Augustine to Aquinas.None of which my visitors knew, of course, and I suppressed a smile at their momentary consternation. I now suspect that they had heard tell of a friendly but godless young man in need of saving. Or perhaps they just plied their missionary trade in town, trying to pick off college students. Either way, it quickly became clear that they were not in fact Mormons but garden variety evangelicals.The elder recovered. “So … you are a Christian?” he asked.“No, I’m an atheist.”His eyes narrowed. “But you have given thought to the Bible?”I’m not sure what possessed me then—under normal circumstances I am polite but firm when people come to my door talking religion, thanking them for their concern for my soul, but ushering them away in short order. Perhaps all my study ached for a chance to be tried out on non-academics; or perhaps (and more likely) I was a bit lonely and horny. I could already imagine a wank session later in which I imagined the younger guy sucking off the older; a little longer in their presence would make the fantasy more vivid.So instead of shooing them away, I opened my door a little wider and said, “Do you want to talk about it? I just put on some coffee.”Which is how I ended up spending over an hour with a pair of evangelicals in my kitchen arguing scripture over coffee. David was the younger guy’s name; Edward, the elder, did most of the talking. He was intense, speaking in a low, measured voice, snapping off Bible verses with the professional tones of a voice actor. I found myself mildly aroused at his unwavering gaze, but I also glanced over at David from time to time. I’m not sure if he was really following the argument—his eyes looked slightly dreamy, and a slight smile creased his lips. I became suddenly aware that I was dressed in a tight white tee shirt and boxers, under a ratty old robe I’d had for years. Their crisply pressed shirts and dress pants, and ties knotted just so, made isveçbahis giriş me feel vaguely naked.I liked it. I wondered if David did too, based on that look on his face.Edward was one of those Bible-thumpers who had basically memorized the entire book and could literally quote it chapter and verse, but didn’t know much beyond the text. It was almost too easy to draw him into logical traps, and make him take refuge in the basic fundamentalist defense that, if it’s in the Bible, it’s true.“A wise philosopher once said that anyone who thinks the story of Adam and Eve is literally true should have no end of laughter,” I told him in one typical exchange.“That’s just liberal claptrap!” he sputtered.“No,” I said evenly, “that’s St. Augustine.”As the argument went on, I enjoyed myself more and more, but Edward grew increasingly irate—especially at the moments I made David laugh. Finally, tight-lipped, he snapped his Bible shut and stood.“It’s obvious,” he grated out between his teeth, “that you are not serious about this at all. This is about your soul.”I stood too, suddenly angry. “My soul is just fine,” I said as calmly as I could. “Not that it would matter to you people one way or another. Someone like me is always going to be damned, as far as you’re concerned.”David looked back and forth between us, confused, but Edward’s eyes narrowed. “I see,” he said, shaking his head. “Well, that’s on you. I won’t waste more time with you. David, come along.”He swept out of my kitchen and out the front door, slamming it behind him. David hesitated for a moment, still confused; finally, hearing Edward bark at him from outside, he mouthed an apology and darted after him.I was shaking slightly. I had all but outed myself to a religious bigot who, if he did grasp my meaning, would likely feel no compunction about telling all and sundry about the liberal elite sodomite who’d had the temerity to challenge his knowledge of scripture. I wondered if I would feel welcome at the diner again. I wondered of the louts in the pickups would do more than just shout at me.Angry with myself, I showered and collected my notebooks and left to go bury myself at the library.By the time the sun was going down that night, I’d calmed down. I spent some of my scant cash on a bottle of gin and sat by the window in my kitchen nook, enjoying the soft summer evening air and letting the liquor suffuse me with a mellow buzz. Instead of dwelling on my argument with Edward, I found myself thinking instead of David—his slightly dreamy expression, his pale, freckled skin and short-cropped ginger hair, and most of all his wide smile and slightly bee-stung lips. What a waste of talent, I thought—those lips were meant to be kissed. Better yet, those lips would look lovely sliding over my hard cock. I smiled and sipped my gin and tonic, feeling my cock stir and harden at the thought. Yes, perhaps this morning’s encounter could have two happy endings—one, running intellectual circles around that religious bigot, and two, pleasuring myself isveçbahis yeni giriş to the thought of despoiling his ginger acolyte.A tentative knock at the door jerked me out of my reverie. I stood, carefully adjusting my half-hard cock in my pants so it wouldn’t be obvious, and went to answer the door.I should have been surprised to see the object of my fantasizing standing there, but somehow I wasn’t—somehow, in that moment, I knew what he wanted, and that this might end up being more than an idle fantasy. A lot more.He was dressed more casually than, but still managed to exude an aura of upright, scrubbed church boy. He wore a short-sleeved button-down cream shirt, tucked into jeans that—seriously!—had a crease down the front as if they’d been ironed.“Hi,” he said shyly.“Hello,” I replied. “What brings you back to the heathen’s house?”His smile faltered. “I’m sorry about that. Sorry about… well, about Edward. He wasn’t very nice there at the end.”I shrugged. “I’m a big boy. I can deal with having my feathers ruffled.”“I don’t think Edward can,” said David gravely. “It’s not often he meets someone who knows more than him.”I didn’t answer for a moment, but just stood there and regarded him. He blushed.“You didn’t answer my question,” I said finally.“What question?”“What brings you back here?”He coughed, embarrassed, his blush deepening. “I… I felt bad about this morning. I wanted to come over and apologize.”“Why? You didn’t do anything. Or say anything.”“I know… I just wanted to apologize for Edward.”“Apology not accepted.”He looked stricken. “Why not?”I smiled coldly. “I know the whole basis of your faith is that one man took on the sins of all the others, but I’m not down with that. You can’t apologize for your friend. Only he can do that.” I let some warmth creep into my smile. “But you I have no argument with. Not yet, anyway… want to come in?” I opened the door invitingly.He stammered out a yes, and walked past me into my small, book-strewn living room. I motioned for him to sit on my couch, and went to fix myself a fresh drink. When I offered one to him, he looked for a moment as though he’d decline, but then nodded hurriedly, as if he was afraid he’d lose his nerve otherwise.I sat in the old armchair that had been living in the flat when I moved in and handed him his glass, already beaded with perspiration. He took a sip, winced, and then a longer pull. I looked at him as he swallowed the so-cheap-it’s-hardly-gin, recognizing in his grimace and the way he sat someone marshaling their courage.Oh well, I thought. I suppose I could just be straightforward. Worst case scenario, he storms out of here.“So,” I said casually before he could speak, “how long have you known you’re gay?”His eyes grew wide. “I’m not! I mean, that is—I think I might—I don’t know what you think you—look, it’s—”“Jesus Christ,” I said, and he winced at my blasphemy. “Calm down. Take a deep breath. And think very carefully before you answer this question: why did you come back tonight?”He fiddled with his drink, not meeting my eyes. He took another sip. Still not looking at me, he mumbled, “I wanted to talk to you again.”“Why?”He finally looked up. “I was very impressed with everything you said this morning. I’ve never seen anyone out-argue Edward.

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