Homobitch

I was still in my teens when I first spoiled a man’s life. The man wasn’t my first, but he helped me realize two important things about myself: I want to fuck with men all the time, and I love to spoil their lives.

Arthur was a rector of the Evangelical church that I visited twice a week to kill time and soak up the atmosphere of human hypocrisy. I was a lonely kid. I knew I was gay even before I went to school. Then, in high school, I realized I wasn’t really attracted to the dudes of my age. I wanted an older man. Mister Wright, Andrew, our school psychologist, was my first crush. I was dreaming of him while masturbating for the first time in my life. He knew how lonely I was and tried to help. I guess he knew I was gay. What he didn’t know, though, is that the school bullies often took advantage of my mouth and my butt in the old garage of Kyle Walker, the toughest of all teenage bullies in the neighborhood. I guess Andrew wouldn’t try to help if he knew. But he didn’t because I was cautious and never told him about my adventures. I never told him much about myself either. I didn’t want to be fixed (though it wasn’t a bad idea). I just loved to spend time with him and talk nonsense, lying on the couch in his office, while he listened and took notes. I bet he had a giant cock. At least, the bulge that I sometimes noticed in his pants was impressive...

We had sessions on Tuesdays, and he even contacted my mom to discuss my mental issues, but none of my issues concerned her as much as her personal life. She was through a lot of shit back then. My grandpa (one of the two men my mom was really close with) died of cancer at age 80. Then, at age 40, my step-father (the second of the men) found himself a younger wife and left us to start a new family. Mom didn’t break down as this wasn’t her style. She moved on and searched for new horizons but nearly forgot about me on the way. I didn’t blame her. I was grateful. She never turned mothering into smothering and mostly stayed out of my life because she was busy with her own. Her religious devotion was quick and highly effective because it helped her deal with stuff. We went to church together on Wednesdays to listen to a sermon, and I went to church alone on Sundays to see Arthur.

He was handsome and masculine and charismatic. He wore a beard. He knew how to inspire and support. The flock loved him. I hated him because he was a homophobe. It was America of the 90s, so people still shared these primitive beliefs about other people. Arthur was no exception despite his exceptional traits. Because of him, I’d turned away from God so much that I bought myself a Satanic Bible and sometimes read it after a sermon to cool down. I wasn’t going to believe in a God who hated me because I was gay. It made no sense. As for Arthur, he asked the flock to pray for the countries where gay people are allowed in churches. He said those countries lived in sin. It made no sense either, but the flock prayed and the flock was pleased. Judgment let them think their church was better and they lived in true righteousness. The flock couldn’t even imagine there was an impostor among them. A teenage faggot who lusted Arthur, wanted to worship him in bed, suck his dick, lick his balls, his ass, his feet. A faggot who craved to give his mouth and his butt for Arthur to fuck and fill with sperm...

My desires made a lot of sense to me.

We hugged after each sermon. It was a tradition that I hated and a chance that I wasn’t going to use right away. I wanted to add value to it. Everyone could get a bit of Arthur’s attention. I mean, he wasn’t a pop star. He was there for us. Mom would always be the first to hang on his neck and thank him for his job. She called it a job, and I guess this is how she saw him. A shrink, not a preacher. He didn’t mind. I stayed away as though I was shy with strangers. I never hugged with the flock because I didn’t want to let any of them in my private space. Besides, Arthur was watching. I could see this welcoming look in his black eyes each time mom let him go. He looked at me. He waited. I waited, too. Then it happened. One evening I ran up to him. Before mom. Before everyone else. I wrapped my arms around him and buried my face in his chest. I could feel his smell — a mix of perfume and musk, — his warmth, his heartbeat, his breath on my skin. He squeezed me in his big strong arms, and it felt amazing. As if a loving father was petting me. Pure bliss.

“That’s it, that’s my boy,” he said quietly so that the people around wouldn’t hear.

He was talking only to me, and his voice vibrated through my body. I didn’t say a word, just smiled, but I knew we both were pleased with our first physical contact. He thought I opened up a bit, and I did, but not the way he’d find appropriate...

One evening I stayed after the sermon to ask Arthur about the discrepancies between the gospels. It was the first time I spoke with him, so I was a bit nervous. Well, quite a bit. Take Matthew and Luke, I said. Why did Matthew write for the Jews? Did he try to trick them, implying obvious parallels between the biographies of Jesus and Moses? And is he the true author of the gospel? And if the church chose the canon, can we be sure that the Bible is indeed holy? I mean, it was the second century, long before they burnt witches. Little did they know about the world around them, right? And Luke? Why did he depict Jesus as a beggar? Did Luke target some other audience?

Arthur smiled. He was gorgeous and kind and confident. He didn’t interrupt, though it was clear to him why a kid asked questions like these. The kid was a rebel who wanted to find God. Arthur was there to guide me. He wasn’t a fool, but he had no idea that I was looking for ways to steal his heart. I didn’t know how to do it, but I did the right thing to seduce a religious homophobic heterosexual. Our meetings were getting longer and more frequent until I was absolutely sure Arthur waited for me after each sermon. I got more and more questions for him, and he got all the answers except one: why is he always there for me? I was inexperienced but well aware of the power he gave me by letting himself be a fool. The story unfolded quickly.

One evening I told Arthur I thought I was gay. Did he hate me now? Did God hate me? Arthur was lost. He told me it wasn’t that simple, it wasn’t what I thought, it wasn’t what the Bible says... He had no answer, but I knew he’d renounce the God who hated me. The serpent crawled into his garden of Eden and offered him a fruit from the tree of the knowledge. Arthur let up right away because he’d been wishing for so long to have this fruit and devour it whole. The time was right. The place wasn’t right, for we were about to sin in the temple of God, but all Arthur’s doubts faded once I’d kneeled in front of him. Looking like an angel. Talking dirty.

“I’m dying for your seed,” I said.

School bullies taught me I was beautiful and my body gave pleasure. Arthur couldn’t stand. I was underaged, but I rubbed my pretty face against his open palm as if asking for forgiveness and salvation. In a moment, my mouth was his new Eden.

“I want to sin for you,” I whispered, kissing his cock.

Arthur had a great cock. It was massive. It was throbbing. It leaked precum from its thick purple head. Somehow, despite its girth, this enormous thing fit so well between my lips. It didn’t take much time for Arthur to ejaculate into my mouth. We were like Adam and Eve now, but there was nothing to fear this time, for we’d been evicted from paradise thousands of years before I tasted his cum.

“We could make a paradise of our own,” I said.

He smiled. He knew I was right.

He picked me up and carried me to his office, where he tore off my clothes and showered my body with kisses. Then he got naked. I sighed in awe. He was tall and muscled and strong. He was perfect. He kissed my anus and roared with lust as I arched my back to tease him with my smooth little butthole. He knew I wasn’t a virgin, but it only made him hotter. He was hungry for a boy butt, and he wanted it so much because it was a sin. He fucked me on his desk, and I thought he’d tear me apart, but he knew what he was doing. And he knew I could bear it. He enjoyed fucking me as if I was his prey and he was a beast. His cock was huge, and it went so deep inside that I could feel its pulsing forehead in my guts. Arthur shot a thick load into my ass. And I came, too, without even touching my cock. It was my first hands-free ejaculation, but I was given no time to think about it...

He pulled his cock out, and I felt this painful emptiness inside. I was trembling slightly, and my knees were weak. He tucked me on a sofa. The leather was cold, so I moaned. Then I moaned again as he jabbed his cock back in. Now I was scared because I saw Arthur wasn’t tired, so he might fuck me for as long as it would take to satisfy his lust. He moved slowly this time, and it seemed like torture. My anus was stretched to the limit, and I could feel his cockhead rubbing against the walls of my rectum.

“Don’t stop,” I pleaded. “Please don’t stop!”

He leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. His beard was scratchy, and his hands were amazingly tender. He watched me and smiled. He enjoyed my ecstasy. I looked up at him and realized perfectly well that this man would never be mine. I still hated him. And because of this, I wanted him even more.

The next instant, I rode his cock. Suddenly, Arthur wasn’t in control. He looked surprised but couldn’t resist the pleasure of this unexpected power exchange. I sucked on his nipples and jammed my face against his hairy armpits to breathe in their pungent smell, my hands running up and down his furry chest. He moaned. Then he swore. Then he roared because I was fucking his cock furiously with my ass and it was a little bit too much for him. He shot another load, but I wasn’t going to stop, for it felt so good to have his big cock inside. I wanted to drain his balls completely. And he wanted it, too. He still wasn’t tired, so he forced me back on the sofa and kept fucking the hell out of me. I whimpered and whined and cried, and it seemed like forever before this crazy torture ended, finally.

“You’re God’s masterpiece,” he said, kissing me on the cheek.

Somehow, I knew this wasn’t our last time together.

The sun was going down, and it was getting dark in Arthur’s office. He smoked, standing naked by the window, and I enjoyed the look for a while. Then I stood up to kneel at his feet. He smiled at me. He knew I was already missing his cock. It was soft but still massive and potent and powerful. I kissed it with utmost tenderness, rubbed my face against it, stroked it gently, and simply admired the look of it. Arthur didn’t pay much attention to what I was doing. He was thoughtful but patted me on the head and waved his fingers through my hair. It was a moment of wonderful intimacy. The first of the many that we were yet going to share. Then he started to get dressed, and I knew we were done for now.

I felt like a kid whose favorite toy was suddenly taken away. Arthur seemed to have re-gained the power he’d given me before, so I depended on him now. I didn’t like that at all. I reached out for him as if asking for more of his attention. I kissed him passionately on the cheek, and he kissed me back, but not the way he kissed me when we fucked. This time his kiss was quick and cold as if he didn’t want to upset me.

I didn’t like that either.

He peered into the hallway to make sure there were no prying eyes. Then he let me go.