Page 25 of Torn
He grinned. And then he reached for my fly.
“What are you doing?” I whispered, frantic. I swiveled my head around to make sure no one else had entered the church in the last three seconds.
He fingered the button holding together my jeans.
“You have got to be kidding me,” I said. Still, I didn’t make any move to stop him.
With a deft flick of a couple of fingers, he had the button undone. And then, just as fast, he had my fly down. I’d not worn anything under my jeans, and my dick, hard despite the reverential atmosphere, popped up. My dick doesn’t recognize whether it’s in a church or a bathhouse. If there’s a good-looking man nearby, it responds. I suppose you could make a case for this being as the Good Lord intended.
Walt grabbed it and gave it a playful squeeze. “There should be a chorus of angels singing,” he said softly. “And a shaft of pearly white light shining down on it.”
“You’re terrible,” I whispered. I knew the right thing to do was to knock his hand away and mention that we were in a house of God. But I couldn’t find the words. All the blood from my brain seemed to be rushing south. All I could imagine was the feel of Walt’s mouth around my engorged cock, surrounding it with velvet wetness.
Imagination turned to reality in about five seconds flat. Walt’s head made like a cow lowering its head to graze, and very soon, my eyelids were at half-mast as his head bobbed up and down on my crotch.
There was no other word for it. The sensations wereheavenly. So heavenly, in fact, that within less than a minute or two, I was filling Walt’s mouth with my seed.
“Take this all of you and eat it,” I whispered.
Walt moved his head up to reveal my still throbbing dick. A line of come ran down the shaft. “For this is your body.” He wiped an errant drop of jizz off his mustache with the back of his hand. “And your body’s delicious.”
Without another word, sacrilegious or otherwise, Walt pulled out his own engorged member and quickly jerked himself off. I watched in horror, lust, and awe as he shot a big load on the stone floor.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” I said.
If we weren’t caught by a priest making the rounds, we would surely be struck by a bolt of celestial lightning if we lingered much longer.
We were damned.
We pulled up, zipped up, and kissed.
Holding hands, we exited our Saxon church. I’d like to add that we skipped, but that would be stretching the truth.
I was giddy with relief, afterglow, and a sense that my Catholic relatives would want to have me burned at the stake if they could see me now.
WALT DROPPEDme off at the apartment building about an hour later. We sat in the car for a while, not talking but simply enjoying the contentment of having the other nearby. I’ve always thought that the quality of a relationship can be measured by its silences. If you can sit with each other without the pressure of always needing to speak, this could be a relationship that might weather the test of time. Besides, people don’t give enough import to what can often be said in silences.
Reluctantly, I at last broke the quiet. “Thank you for a very, um, unique day. As Sophie Tucker would say, ‘I’ll never forget it, ya know.’”
Walt chuckled.
“No, I mean it. I’m sure I’ll never forget you because you’re the man who sucked me off in an eleventh-century Saxon church. I very much doubt I’ll ever have that experience again.”
“Unless it’s with me.”
“Unless it’s with you.” I smiled. “Are you thinking of staying longer?” I asked hopefully, wondering what other religious monuments we could desecrate. I was already beginning to wonder how I might ask Boutros if he would mind terribly if I left him for a few days to throw in my lot with Walt.
Walt shook his head. “No, I can’t. I really want to head down to Wales. Never been.”
I hoped he’d ask me to join him. I was ready to say yes. I waited, but no invitation came.
“Well, I hope to see you again.”
“And I you, Ricky.” He touched my cheek.
We stared into one another’s eyes for a moment. Would this just be a summer holiday romance, to morph gradually into a bittersweet memory of what once was? Would I look back on my time with Walt one day with both a sense of gratitude and wondering what might have been? Should I bury my impulse to try and control this moment and simply let it be?
“Well, just so you know, we’re here for a couple more days and then we head back to London for a few days before flying back to America.”
