Get caught up on Part 1 of Jesus Is; A Love Song here.
Greater Saints Ministry looks much smaller now. Or maybe, I’m bigger. My body is for sure. That much I can see from my reflection in the glass of the storefront church. I wonder if you’ll recognize me. I shaved my infamously thick head of hair completely off once I got to college. I was obsessed with Meshell Ndegeocello and so was everyone else at Sarah Lawrence. Today I’m much more my actual self. Filled out around the waist and ass, comfortable in my femme, but still bald and black as a Tootsie Roll.
Through the glass I see your face on a sign. A plain-faced bearded black man is beside you. I’ll assume he’s your husband. He’s cute, but he’s not me. You look good. Your copper toned cheeks round as a smile turns your eyes into slits. The braces really worked. Those eyelashes still long as ever, taunting me like they always have. You don’t wear glasses anymore and I can see how those watery round eyes are betraying your smile. I can feel your longing through the photo. Don’t worry babe, Salvation is near.
I pull open the door and the chill of the AC makes my nipples hard. I drape my shawl over my arms and click my snakeskin heels down the center aisle of the church. The last time this aisle was graced with my presence, I was a lusty teenager sobbing and running in the opposite direction. Today I am a grown woman, ascending into a childhood memory to finally fix it. A queen on a quest to save her queen from a life of eternal sexual suppression. No one in the congregation seems to remember me. There are no hushed murmurs or sucking of teeth. Only smiles and waves as people make space for me in the front of the pews. You are mid-sentence when we make eye contact and you go red and stop preaching. The silence is familiar. Like the air in the bathroom just before the door opened. I smile at you, and you catch your breath and continue.
“…then Jonathan made a covenant with David because he loved him as he loved himself says the word. This covenant is what kept David safe in battle, safe from Saul. The power of friendship gave us the great man that David would go on to be.” You preach. How timely that you are preaching the story of David and Jonathan, perhaps the only real mention of homosexuality in the entire bible. You skimmed over the verse that mentions how Jonathan stripped himself naked in David’s presence and gave him everything while proclaiming his love. I intend to do the same once your sermon is over.
“How many people here today can say that they have friends that can speak life over you if called in the middle of the night?” The church responds in moans and waves of fans. The organist plays a few chords and I feel a swell in my chest. “How many people know of the greatest friend we’ll ever have?” Now a few of the older women are jumping. “How many people know his name?” you ask. “They say he’s a Love Song!” you growl. You go into that song that started my life so many years ago. And now I know that you know why I’m here. “Jesus is…a love song,” your alto vibrato has aged well. You went from sounding like Karen to Dorinda. The more I watch you sing, the more I can see the resemblance. “The day he opened my eyes and he changed my heart” you belt.
I stand and wave my hand. I feel the wetness of my pussy begin to drip between my legs. The organist plays along as you sing from a place of deep desire. You hold my gaze as you bring it home. The congregation screams and shouts but I can’t hear them anymore. It’s only me and you and the Holy Ghost present now. If you don’t stop singing soon I just might cum all over myself in the middle of the aisle. I brace the back of the pew and breathe deep. I try to regain composure as I hear folks shuffling through the church. The service is over, but my worship is just about to begin. I feel you staring at me through the crowd. Once we make eye contact, you excuse yourself and head toward the bathroom. Our bathroom. I follow quickly and discreetly.
You’re in the mirror wiping at the faded lipstick on your mouth. I hold the doorknob in my hands behind my back, my knees suddenly weak. It’s funny how getting close to what you always wanted will do that to you. “Lock it,” you say. I exhale sharply, relieved that we’re on the same page. Although it was you who messaged me on Facebook a week ago inviting me to hear your sermon, I was still nervous about what would happen once I finally got you alone. I know what I would like to happen, but I need you to want it just as bad as me. “Danielle, I’m sorry—” you start, “I shouldn’t have abandoned you all those years ago.” You stare at me through the mirror and I’m still leaning against the bathroom door, part of me is afraid to say anything and wake myself up from this dream. Another part of me needs to be sure that the door won’t open and interrupt us.
You turn to face me now leaning your ass on the edge of the sink, the corner cutting its softness in half. My mouth waters. “I was young and scared and this church was—is the only place I’ve ever had,” you continue. “I invited you here today, because I wanted to make things right between us. I’ve spent years wondering about what happened to you…” You walk towards me now. I see tears welling up in your eyes so I grab you and hold you and hug you. At first you are stiff in my arms, unsure if this embrace is something to fall soft into. Maybe you are seeing the flashback of what got us to this moment in the first place. Maybe fear is creeping in and you’re considering how your life outside the door is in direct conflict with the life that is transpiring in this bathroom right now. I pull out of the embrace just enough to look you in the eyes. My arms slide down from your arms and onto your waist and I stare directly into your mouth and tell you, “I’ve waited for this moment for so long.”
I’m looking at your mouth and then suddenly I’m tasting it. We are pressed against the door so tightly not even Goliath could break through. You are devouring me whole with your warm tongue and pulling up my dress with your hot hands. I am squeezing your thick ass and rubbing at the part in between your legs, staining your white pants with my sweaty palms. We are those same teenage girls again. I pull my red dress up and over my head in a swift movement. You step back and take in my naked body, slightly amused that I showed up to your church sans panties and bra. As if I knew I would have my way with you.
You run your hands over my breasts with care, your thumbs grazing my nipples. They are replaced with your lips and I’m a puddle. My knees knock under the sensation of your wet tongue. You suckle like you just came down from the Cross. You slide your face down my stomach and hover over my hairy pussy as if you’re praying. I hold your face up gently and search your eyes for remorse, concern, maybe even fear. But all I see is hunger. A deep hunger in those watery brown eyes. I put my thigh over your shoulder, grab a fist full of your hair, firmly pulling your head back, preparing my throne. I put my pussy all over your face forcefully. Fucking your nose, your mouth, rubbing my juices over every pore on that beautiful face.
The first orgasm happens fast. When I pull your face out from between my thighs it’s shiny and full of gratitude. You are smiling so wide, your face so sticky — I burst out laughing. I pull you up by your neck and lick myself off your face. Our scents smell natural together. You whimper as I lick your lips, your chin, your neck, your breast. I turn you around with a force that scares me, and look at myself behind you in the mirror. I look powerful behind you, like I’ve found a place that I fit. I smack your fat ass and pull your skirt up and around your waist. I grab a handful of your hair and pull your head back.
“Is anyone in there?” a voice asks from the other side of the door. The color drains from your face. “Just a minute!” I reply, my voice clear as a bell. I drop to my knees and spread your ass apart. I lightly lick your freshly waxed asshole, stopping when I hear your moans get louder and louder. Your pussy is dripping onto my chest now. I run a finger through the thick lips and flick your clit a few times and you squirt so easily I stifle a giggle.
“Is everything okay?” the same voice asks. This time you respond through a clenched mouth, “I think I have food poisoning. Sorry! Use another bathroom.”
“Oh my God, Pastor, is that you? Are you okay? Do you need me to get help?”
“No. No. Just 15 minutes. I’m almost done now.”
The tension in your voice from stifling your moans really sells it. The voice leaves and now I can finally eat your pussy in peace. It tastes like ice cream. The generic brand the church gave us at the closing ceremony of Vacation Bible Study specifically. It’s just as creamy. I push two fingers into you to feel the grip of your walls as you contract around them. I stroke it softly as I watch you moan into the sink, amplifying the sound. I almost lose my ring in the stewed okra viscosity of it. I wonder if your husband knows how lucky he is.
“Joanna baby,” a deep voice is at the door now. Your husband, the Pastor. Think of the Devil and he appears. I stroke harder now and you turn the water on to drown out your screams. Right before you squirt I take my fingers out and catch your wave in my mouth. You are sobbing quietly now, trying to regain composure.
“Let me help you.” The voice says from behind the door.
“It’s fine, I’m here, just cleaning her up now.” I say pleasantly as I get up and wipe up the mess we made. I smooth your skirt down and wash my hands. You look devastated — mascara is running, hair sweated out. Your husband will have no problem believing the lie of food poisoning. You wash your face and gargle water. I go into my purse, re-apply my red lip and hand you a mint. You look at my nakedness in the mirror as if you can’t believe I’m real. I blow a kiss at you and put my dress on. I turn to unlock the door and you stop me softly. Your hand rests on mine as tears well in your eyes. You shake your head no and start to speak. But I stop you because I only expected an orgasm today, not a miracle.
“Baby…” your husband rushes in so fast I’m almost knocked over. He’s rubbing your back and fussing over you. You’re trying not to let him too close you, lest he smell us. I grab my purse and prepare to leave. He grabs my arm, the same way you just had. “Thank you so much for taking care of my wife. She must have forgotten to take her IBS medicine. Can I give you anything for your trouble?”
“Oh, don’t worry. She’s given me more than enough,” I reply as I gather my purse and drape my shawl on my shoulders. You audibly choke on the mint you’re sucking. Your husband lets me go and tends to you. Patting your back. You can barely look me in my eyes as you squeak, “You be blessed, Danielle.” Your voice is raspy and cracked from all of the moaning and screaming you did on the pulpit and in here with me just moments ago. I think about how I had you bent over the sink and smirk, “You too Joanna,” I reply. Slowly I turn around and feel both you and your husband’s eyes on my ass as I leave. I saunter out of the bathroom of Greater Saints Ministry for what I know will be the final time, feeling redeemed.
