Page 10 of Slay the Gay Away, Daddy

“Mine!”

His cum feels like molten steel as it strikes my dick. I count four loads before I finally stop counting and look up at him. He’sgot his eyes locked on mine, and there’s so much fucking love in them, it leaves me breathless.

“Yours,” I whisper as the final shot shoots out. “I always have been.”

chapter four

There’s something crusty on my face. It’s right there, just beside my mouth, making it look like I’ve been drooling in my sleep. It’s not the first time I’ve noticed the white crust aftera long night spent alone in bed, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out what it could be. I’d noticed the patch of white flakes a month or so ago, and it’s popped up at random a few times, my jaw a little sore, my voice a little raspier than usual as I lean in closer, staring into the mirror secured to my dresser, musing, “What the heck?”

Oh, well. Another battle for another day. I walk to the ensuite and wet a washcloth, using it to dab away the crust. Once that’s done, I take my morning piss, moaning as relief washes over me while I empty my bladder.

Back in the bedroom, I power my phone screen on, and I can’t keep the smile off my face when I look at my background. Every night when I go to bed, my wallpaper is a crucifix atop a majestic hill. Then, sure as the sunrise, I wake to find it’s been changed to this picture. I think my phone is malfunctioning. It’s a picture of Dare and me. We're wearing sweat-drenched shirts as we try to save souls. Every abdominal muscle between us is visible. Gosh. I sure do love this picture, but I don't know why it keeps defaulting as my background.

I’ll tell you, those two fight like cats and dogs, but I know they’d be fast friends if they just gave each other a chance. Yeah, maybe Mal’s a little unkind to Dare, and maybe Darren can be catty in return, but they’re the most important people in my life. Now it feels like I’m losing them both. Well, I’m definitely losing one of them, at least.

Mal and I have been in counseling with the only sexologist in Tallulah, Texas, for nearly a year. It was her idea. A last-ditch effort to save our crumbling marriage. I try to love her the way she deserves, and the way I know I’m supposed to, but the fluttering hearts I write about in my books have never presented themselves to me. I’ve never looked at my wife and had a desire to fornicate. I enjoy her company. I enjoy bringing home little surprises after a trip up in town. I even love the way we used tocuddle while I wrote my books, before she decided she couldn’t do it anymore and moved her stuff into the guest room.

I’m a man headed for divorce, and as much as it should hurt me, it doesn’t.

As for my best friend . . . Gosh. Darren sure is something. He’s going to be my shining star one day, I just know it. As I lead him back on the straight and narrow, I know he’s going to win the hearts of millions. He’ll rise to the top of the evangelical map, and I’ll be right there, riding his coattails into my dreams. It ain’t that I’m trying to use him, I just can’t picture a future without him standing right there at my side, and he’s said the same about me a million times. He says we’re going to be iconic, whatever the heck that means.

Television.

If the speed with which he’s managed to pivot back to God’s intended path is any indication, I know the rest of his conversion will be a cakewalk. I can’t believe how much progress we’ve made over the last few months. I’ve always known he was a little fruity—even back when he was still a boy—but when Mr. Matthews sent his only son to college in Dallas of all places, I knew the fruit would rot. Sure enough, he was fermented in homosexuality when he graduated and returned home, four years later.

The first time I saw him after he came home, I almost threw up. He was wearing this little pink crop top that rested halfway up his stomach. The wordsDaddy’s Boywere big and bold, right in the center of his shirt like it was something to be proud of. And those shorts. Glory, glory hallelujah, those shorts were like a second skin. A neon shade of green that could probably be seen from space if an astronaut looked hard enough. Trust me, I couldn’t take my eyes off the thin slip of fabric. They were practically obscene.

“I come to you seeking a peaceful heart,” I pray. “I pray for your guidance and courage, my Lord.” Falling to my knees, I rest my hands on my wife’s side of the mattress. Surprisingly, it’s still warm to the touch, which doesn’t make any sense, because she hasn’t slept in our room in months. Leaning down, I put God on hold and sniff my sheet. It smells a little like vanilla with a light dusting of cotton candy. It’s familiar, though not overly so. The scent is everything great and good in this world, and whatever its source, I want—no, need—more.

“Sorry,” I say to God, staring up at my ceiling with a meek smile. “Where were we?” My mind races as swirls of vanilla invade my senses, making the world seem a little foggier than before. The memory of a man lying on top of me hits me like a ton of bricks, but whoever the man is, I can’t see his face. It’s distant, like staring the wrong way out of a pair of binoculars, all shapes and swirls of dark smoke. My entire body shudders when I hear a familiar-but-unplaceable voice echo, “Miles, baby,” in my head.

Was someone here last night?

Shaking, I stand and head to the closet. I don’t feel right praying to God when the image of a man on top of me is flooding my mind. I pause at the window and see Darren raking leaves in his front yard. There’s another man beside him, but his back is turned to me, so I can’t see who it is. They seem to be having a humorous exchange, because Darren is beaming brightly at the guy. Something triggers in me, and my hand curls into a fist, my nails digging into the skin. Who the heck is that man, and why the heck is he talking to Dare?

Trying to steady my breathing, I walk to my closet, but I pause in the middle of my room as another mental flash fills my head. Whoever the man in my dream is, I’m kissing his nipple. Taking it between my teeth and tugging. It’s been a vision I’ve gotten flashes of for the last couple of months, but I can never see aface. I must be losing my mind, because no one was in here last night. How would they even get in? I mean, Darren did a few weeks back, claiming I asked him to come over and pray his gay away while I was under the influence of my sleeping medication. I woke up with him lying beside me, using my chest as a pillow. I didn’t remember sending him the alleged text, and sure enough, when I checked my phone, there were no outgoing messages aside from the morning bible verses I send him. With the way my phone keeps changing backgrounds by itself at night, it probably just deleted the message too.

I pull on my khakis and tuck my Polo shirt into the waist. I’m spritzing cologne on my neck when the doorbell rings. The clock on my bedside table says it’s just a few minutes after seven, so I’m not sure who the heck would be here this early. Bounding down the stairs, I wonder if maybe Darren’s standing on the other side of my front door.

I have to pause, because it feels like my heart is fluttering, just like in my stories. I don’t know what that’s about. Maybe indigestion.

Seeing Darren is the brightest part of my day. We’re supposed to get together later this morning to pray for his soul, but maybe he got a little lonely being stuck at home with his parents. Maybe he wants me to give his day a little brightness too.

Unfortunately, when I open the front door, Darren is still across the street, raking leaves, his shirt sweaty, his shorts clinging to every nook and crook. I take another deep breath, because I’m feeling a little lightheaded.

“Pastor,” Brother Meadows says. Brother Meadows is our chapel’s newest congregant. Well, Doctor Meadows, I suppose, but we’re all brothers and sisters in Christ in the end. He joined our church a few months ago, claiming he’d heard wonderful things about the apostolic community. Ever since, he’s come to almost every service, and he even stops by my office for one-on-one discussions every few days. He’s curious about Darren’s progress as well. I can’t say I blame him. Darren is doing a remarkable job in overcoming his demon. He’s made faster progress than I did when . . .

No. Not today, Miles.

“Brother Meadows,” I say with a forced grin. “It’s nice to see you. What brings you over so early?”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a bottle of pills. “I’m going to be out of town next week, and I wanted to make sure you didn’t run out of sleeping pills while I was out.”

I’m thankful for having such a thoughtful congregation. I take care of my flock, and they take care of me. Other pastors might scoff at the notion of receiving medication without a prescription from their parishioners, but I’m not most people. I’m ordained by God. That’s what His voice tells me every night, at least. The moment my sleeping pill hits, my gaze goes vacant, and His word flows through me like an unending spring. He whispers praise and admiration for the work I do in His name. For the lives I change with my spectacular personality and charming, ruggish good looks.

“That was very thoughtful of you. I really appreciate it. I don’t know what it is about these, but I’ve never slept better in my life. Every morning when I wake up, I feel like a brand-new man.” The mention of his pills reminds me of a question I’ve been meaning to ask him, ever since I got curious a few days ago. “When I search for these on the pill identifier website, it doesn’t bring up any results. What are they exactly?”

His smile stretches wider, giving me what appears to be a genuine grin. “Heavy duty Ambien,” he says, like he’s been practicing the words, waiting for me to ask. Why have I never asked? What’s worse—why does it feel wrong to ask now? My head feels fuzzy, and there’s a dull pressure that spreads across my forehead.

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