Sunday, April 17, 2011


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The preacher takes a long hard drag from his whiskey flavored cigar and as he holds in the tangy pungent flavor until it worms its way through his nervous system, he thoughtfully studies the dying ember of the tip. About a minute later, he sticks the cigar back into his mouth and goes back to writing his sermon on the evils of masturbation. Before he could generate a few more vivid images to torture his congregation with, a sharp poke in his leg cause him to look up.


She sits down in his lap and drapes his arms across his muscular shoulders. Grabbing the cigar out of his mouth, she chews it down and a few seconds later, regurgitates and starts puffing away.

"I said no, and I mean it. I have a sermon to write on the evils of masturbation and I don't have time to watch your latest confession either."

She spat out the cigar, grabbed his notepad and after glancing through the contents, set it on fire by giving it a sensuous kiss. More than satisfied, she hands the burning notepad back to the preacher and gives him the type of grin that would cause his congregation to collectively unzip.

"This is unacceptable. I don't ask for a lot you know. A day off once every two weeks isn't highly unreasonable you know. Neither is tending to the needs of my congregation on a monthly basis. For all that, I do what you want, when you want it, with no questions asked."

Taken aback by his sharp tone, she bites her bottom lip and start to make a pouty face.

"And I won't have any of those crocodile tears either. Honestly woman, I do have an involuntary job that needs to be fulfilled. Just because my congregation isn't quite as spiritual as you claim to be, they still need my guidance. So please, get your shapely and sensuous body out of my lap and let me do what I was brought down here to do."

Narrowing her eyes, she readjusts her weight until she's sitting on his chest and has her knees holding his head firmly in place. She then spends another minute or so in quiet exploration of her body while the preacher tries not to explore with his eyes what's hidden to everyone else.

Gradually she crosses the finish line and the only outward sign that anyone really sees that might give a hint as to what kind of internal play was going on was the preacher grabbing two handfuls of poison sumac.


She briefly runs her hands through her hair before slowly stretching out her arms. After cracking her knuckles a couple of times, she readjusts her position and sits cross-legged on the preacher's lap. Pursing her lips, she shakes her head a couple of times, before taking his hand and tenderly kisses and sucks on his fingers.

"The answer is still no."

(c) 2011 by GBMJr. All rights reserved


  1. twisted..

    you are twisted...anyone that can write this is twisted...

    in a good way...

    and i like it!

    nice little snippet...great Sunday read!

    and the captcha is gobsomm...

  2. Bruce: Thank you sir.

    When all the elements are properly aligned, I often can get quite twisted and slightly disturbed with my writing.

    I think you would've gotten a kick out of my short story blog had I known you last year.

  3. Excellent! I would like to read more. And this is the best sentence in the English language:

    So please, get your shapely and sensuous body out of my lap and let me do what I was brought down here to do.

  4. M: Thanks.

    Someday, when things get back to some semblance of normalcy, I'll probably take another crack at writing this story.

    As it stands, its all I gots.


Originality. Is. Good. Be original. Be thoughtful. But most importantly, make me think.