The church wasn’t huge, just a small brick church with a white steeple -your standard small town church. It had a covered walkway near the back that led to another brick building, the fellowship hall. I could look out the window of the tiny florist and there it was across the street. Everyday that was my view – the most exciting thing was when they changed out their “pithy” quotes on their sign below the church and pastor’s name and the schedule for services. For the last several months, the little blurb had been: “What’s missing in ch__ch? UR!”
One day I noticed a couple of older women were changing the sign. One lady was pulling off the name of the pastor and putting up someone else’s name. Another was putting “Meet and greet out new Pastor R. Marsh this Sunday.” Curiosity got the best of me and I walked across the street.
I came to find out that there had been a sensational uproar among the congregation and the old pastor, and he had quit. The new pastor had been hired a week ago and this Sunday was to be his first official sermon. I used the ruse of asking about the altar flowers to find out what I could and the ladies just gushed when they talked about the new guy. He wasn’t married (the older ladies already had single ladies lined up to meet him) and from the way they talked he was…almost… as handsome as Jesus Himself.
Weeks went by and I had not seen the new pastor. The parsonage was way behind the church itself, so I never saw him coming or going. And I never saw him when I delivered the altar flowers early Sunday mornings (I looked around very well).
One Saturday I had a small wedding to set up at the church. It was nothing big – a few candles and a big arrangement, plus a few things in the fellowship hall. I was putting a few finishing touches on the candle stands when I heard a cough behind me.
“I hope you’re putting something under them to catch the wax,” said the deep, but melodious voice.
“They’re mechanical candles. They’re dripless. You refill them with these…,” I was saying as I turned around, and then stopped. The coiled spring inside the mechanical candle caused the wax refill to shoot out and hit the man in the chest. “Oh, my god, I’m so so sorry!” I said, cringing.
“Don’t shoot me again, heathen!” he laughed. He approached me, holding out his hand. “I’m the new pastor, Richard Marsh.” I shook his hand and introduced myself. He then took a step back, bent down, and retrieved the wax refill. I was impressed with the view. “You could really…well, I was going to say ‘hurt’ someone with these…but you really couldn’t, could you?” he laughed as he handed it back to me. He gave me a wide grin and I almost died.
Pastor Richard Marsh was a rather handsome man. My first thought was of that portrait of blond white Jesus the church from my past had hanging in the church foyer. As a younger horny gay guy I actually thought that white Jesus was rather sexy and, occasionally, the thought of whom was in my head as I jerked off. Praise the lord, I thought lecherously to myself as the ‘real’ thing stood right in front of me.
Pastor Marsh was in his thirties. His hair was about medium-length and brushed back, a few strands falling into his face. He had dimples in his cheeks when he grinned and a strong square jaw. He had strong broad shoulders and tight waist. Okay, he was looking very Henry-Cavill-esque.
We chatted for a few minutes. He asked me a few questions, like if I worked across the street and if I was from the town. I found out that he had never lived in a small town, but he liked the change of scenery for the most part, except for the lack of bookstores, coffee shops, and restaurants. I agreed with him. I told him I was born here and left after high school, but had just moved back recently.
“Well, I need to finish up some work in my office. It was nice to meet you. The ladies had told me you did the lovely flowers for our altar. Have a good wedding…er, I mean, good day…and please don’t ‘shoot’ anyone else,” he said with a wink and a grin.
“I’ll try to control my itchy trigger finger,” I joked, motioning in the air with my fingers as guns as he walked away.
“Don’t make me have to call the cops!” he jokingly yelled back at me.
He gave me a little wave with his hand as he left.
I went on to the fellowship hall and tidied it up. I was about to hang a couple of bows on the doors and leave when Pastor Marsh showed up again.
“Hey, Pastor Marsh, whatcha need?” I asked, thinking he was returning my bad joke from earlier.
“Oh. Please, call me Rick. I just wanted to ask…well, we’re about the same age…and I didn’t see a wedding ring,” he said to me.
My heart stopped for a second.
“No, no, no,” I stammered. “I’m just not the marrying kind.”
“Well, okay,” he laughed. “I just thought you might like to come over for dinner. These ladies have made me a ton of food, but I’m really craving a good Chinese stir-fry. I figure you’d enjoy it too, since we have both immigrated to the countryside. You could tell me about the town and all.”
“Oh, that’d be great. I’ll bring some win…,” I paused.
“A bottle of wine would be great,” he said, and kind of rocked back on his heels, his hands in the pockets of his trousers. “So, about seven?” he asked me.
“Perfect,” I answered as he turned to leave. I noticed he gave me a little glance back around as he left.
The wedding was over and all cleaned up around five. I raced home to shower and change. I was back at the church a few minutes to seven.
I rang the doorbell at the parsonage and waited. I stood there holding a big bottle of red wine and wearing a wild Versace shirt. Well, no need to hide who I am, I reasoned to myself. Rick answered the door. He was wearing a pale blue oxford shirt and khakis.
“Great Versace!” he said, welcoming me in. “I used to wear those when I was a new pastor. I tried to be hip and cool. Do they say hip and cool anymore?” he chuckled. “Now I’ve become my father,” he said, motioning to his clothing. “Boring, I know.”
“Not boring,” I told him. “Think of it as classic style, like the little black dress,” I said as he led me to the kitchen.
“And how many little black dresses do you own?” he teased, looking for a corkscrew in a drawer. “No corkscrew, of course. We’re in teetotaler country, I forget.”
“Okay, I’ve just got to lay it on the table, I’m gay,” I said, putting my hands on the counter. “If it’s a problem, I can go. I understand if you’re not comfortable.”
Rick paused.
“Scotch,” he said, staring at me.
“What?”
“I’m a scotch whisky man. I don’t really drink much wine. That’s why I really don’t have a corkscrew.”
“Did you hear me? I’m gay.”
“I heard you. It’s cool,” he answered. “Since I don’t have a corkscrew, how about…”
I pulled a little corkscrew out of my pocket and set it on the counter.
“A scout is always prepared,” I joked. “Hey, just don’t try to convert me and no sermonizing, okay?”
“I promise,” he answered, marking an ‘x’ over his heart. “Uhm, so what else you got hiding deep in those pockets?” he said as he gave me a wink.
We got the wine open and both had a couple glasses. Rick made a great stir-fry. We both had some whisky with a couple slices of apple pie from one of the church ladies.
Afterwards, we sat in his living room finishing the wine and talked about everything it seemed. We talked about family and work. He told me about his strict conservative family and how he wanted to be an architect, but his father thought that it was practically the equivalent of a poor artist and made him go into finance.
“I guess I rebelled and I went to seminary instead. I figure my father couldn’t argue with God.”
“But why be a pastor?”
“I’ve always felt a longing to help people. I’ve always gone to church. I started volunteering and just felt being a pastor was a good fit for me. I saw people were oppressing other people and figured I could change that. I felt I was the kind of person the world needs right now ministering to people.”
“But there’s always that ‘God hates fags’ thing…”
“Not all Christians are focused on issues of gender and sexuality. Whenever I’m confronted with it, I try to steer away from it. I don’t hide the fact that I don’t think the Bible or Jesus condemns it. It’s people who make it an issue of division, not God. This church here is pretty liberal and modern to be in a small town. But there’s always that one who chews on it like a bulldog with a squeaky toy. Anyway, this has gotten really heavy,” he said as he reached for the wine bottle. The glass was filled to the brim. He got up and poured the remaining bit into my glass.
I don’t know if it was his words or the wine, but he had gotten even more beautiful, if that was actually possible.
“I have an uncle named Richard,” I said as he sat the empty bottle down and plopped down into his club chair.
“Oh, really?” he said noticing his full glass was still on the coffee table.
“Yeah, his nickname is Dick,” I laughed. “I guess that wouldn’t work for you.”
“Why’s that?” Rick asked as he carefully grabbed his very full glass of wine.
“Well, because of members of the congregation calling you ‘Pastor Dick’,” I said jokingly in an exaggerated voice.
Rick let out a big laugh and his wine sloshed all over him as he was taking a sip. His shirt had a huge wet dark purple stain over the front and there were splashes all over the front of his khakis. But he was still laughing. I took a sip of my wine nonchalantly, only to have him lean over and push at my glass. A bit dribbled down my chin and into my shirt. I started laughing uncontrollably. Rick raised his glass and finished it. He leaned forward to set his empty glass on the coffee table, but he missed and the glass fell to the floor. That started us both laughing hysterically again.
We finally both calmed down and Rick let out a loud sigh.
“That’s the best laugh I’ve had in a long time,” he told me. “But I am soaked.”
“Me too!”
Rick stood up and said he was going to change. I got up and said I needed to get cleaned up myself. He showed me the bathroom and went on down the hall.
I didn’t close the door as I took off my shirt and laid it by the sink. I turned on the tap, but it was going full force when I stuck my hand under the stream, causing a spray of water onto my shirt. I grabbed the hand towel and tried to dab up the water, only making it worse. I wiped the damp towel over my chin and chest, and then went to see if I could borrow a shirt from Rick.
I found Rick stripped down to his boxer briefs, his back to me while he looked in his closet. His ass looked perfect, so round and thick in his tight white boxer briefs. I walked up to him and tapped him on the shoulder. He whirled around startled. I drunkenly stumbled backward and fell to the carpet.
“You surprised me!”
“I should have said something. Sorry,” I apologized, holding out a hand for him to help me up.
Rick helped me up, but he didn’t let go. I noticed him looking at my chest, which was okay because I was marveling at his hairy muscular chest myself. He gripped my hand harder and tugged at it. I took a step toward him so close I could feel the heat of his breath. Our eyes were locked together. I leaned forward a bit and Rick did the same. Our lips met in a kiss and then I quickly pulled away. I felt his other hand grab my shoulder and pull me to him.
“We shouldn’t do this,” I said softly to Rick, my eyes still looking deep into his dark blue eyes.
“It’s okay,” he said to me before placing his mouth on mine and giving me a deep passionate kiss. His hand loosened his grip on me and his hands went to either side of my head.
My hands went to his waist. I slid them up his tight muscular sides and then across his hairy chest. I moved down over his six-pack abs and around to his round ass. I pulled him harder against me as our kissing got heavier and wetter. I could feel his hardness pushing against my leg.
I pulled away from him again.
“I just don’t know how I’m going to handle fucking around with a preacher. It’s completely not you…you’re gorgeous…it’s completely me. I dream of finding a guy like you to fuck around with…oh, my god, I can’t believe I said that. Fuck, I said ‘oh, my god’ to a pastor again. Fuck!” I yelled, putting my hand to my throbbing head and rushing off to grab my shirt in the bathroom.
Rick was putting on a robe as he followed me to the front door.
“Let’s relax and talk,” he said calmly to me.
My hand was on the doorknob and my head fell softly against the door. Here I was running away from a gorgeous man.
“We can talk about this. I’ve really enjoyed tonight. Don’t go,” Rick pleaded.
I didn’t look around. I just turned the doorknob, opened the door, and left.