Revelations(35)

Yes, I’d be disappointed if he said no, or changed his mind, but I’d still love him. Forever.

“You’re what I want, Jude,” he says simply, “I want you. I trust you. And I want to be with you.” No more needs to be said, for he has spoken. My heart rejoices in his words. And my cock is more than a little thrilled as well.

Now the question is, where do I begin? Despite all the years I’ve spent dreaming of this moment, of being in just this very position with Jesus, I seem to have neglected to formulate any sort of a game plan for what I’ll do now that I’m here. I don’t want it to be painful, but pleasurable, for both of us. Damned short-sighted of me, don’t you think? I know I think so.

But not an insurmountable problem. We’ve already gotten past two thousand years of lusting after one another in our hearts, just in order to be here. What else can compete with that? Seriously? Certainly not the lack of any proper sort of lube about my person. I wasn’t expecting this, I admit it. I don’t carry a tube of lubrication about on the off-chance I might be in the mood to have sex and might find a willing partner. But nature is known to produce her own, so we’re still very much in business, as the saying goes.

My first thought is simply to make him comfortable with his body and mine, with our bodies together. I shift my weight so I’m not directly on top of him, but lying beside him, propped up onto one elbow. I reach for one of his hands, he gives it willingly. First I kiss each fingertip, lingeringly, my eyes locked onto his, feeling him shiver at my touch. I take one sweet finger between my lips and suckle at it gently, which elicits an unexpected moan from Jesus. An auspicious start. And to think, we’ve only just begun.

“Do you want to touch me?” I ask. He nods almost shyly. I take his hand and touch it to my bare chest. The hair there is neither thick nor abundant, being rather fine and difficult to see, as light as it is, against the backdrop of my pale skin. I pass his fingers over each of my nipples, and I mirror this by touching his own duskier nubs. Women don’t have the market cornered on having erotic nipples, after all, far from it, but not all men realize that fact, or utilize it. Once I see he gets the idea, I take his hand again, and show him how to lightly pinch one of my nipples, just enough to cause it to stand up and take notice. His touch feels so good.

I can’t help but be pleased that he’s so eager to learn. As eager as I am to teach.

“Touch me,” he murmurs, willing me to take the lead, and of course I comply.

I’d do anything he asks of me, and I don’t mind being first. He can always follow my lead.

I begin with his beautiful lips, but rather than devour them, I pace myself, taking my time, showing Jesus of what use a tongue can be. He allows mine entrance, and I move inside his mouth, touching his tongue, touching the roof of his mouth, everything I can reach, encouraging him to touch me in a similar fashion. If at first he seems hesitant, he quickly grows bolder, sucking at my tongue eagerly before moving inside of my mouth, reversing our positions.

He’s a quick study.

When I draw back from our kiss at last, I can feel his disappointment, his body arching toward mine involuntarily, and I press a soft kiss against those slightly swollen lips. “You’ll like the rest,” I promise. I am rewarded with his beautiful smile—I would kill to protect that smile, I would.

I want all of him, and I want to touch him—everywhere—and do everything that my fertile imagination can conceive of, and yet I also know we don’t have time for everything. Not right now, anyway. Is it arrogance on my part that presumes there will be another time? Or is it that I know him so well I know he hasn’t entered into this lightly, there must be something in the future for us? But our time is so short, just a few days left. A very few days. Didn’t I say I just knew this would be the hardest incarnation of all? Now I know why.

I push unpleasantness aside, concentrating on this beautiful man I love so very much. Nothing else. Not now. Nothing exists besides him and I. Nothing. We’re here and now and that’s all that matters.

I begin a trail, starting with his mouth, my fingers stroking and reassuring as I kiss and nip along his jaw line, before beginning a more southerly journey. Down along his neck, pausing at his pulse point, feeling his life with my lips. I find myself fascinated, and for a few moments I hold my position there before I begin to move once more, slow and easy, across his chest, grateful that it is a warm night, and also that there is more than enough moonlight to see this most beautiful sight.

I can’t resist kissing each nipple lightly, pulling one into my mouth, suckling at it, my actions eliciting more moans from Jesus. I’ve always wondered what Jesus would say when caught up in the throes of passion, surely not his own name? Now I know…the only name he utters is my own. And yes, it’s a balm to my aching soul.