Communion

Communion

I was a priest long before a collar ever touched my neck. My mother sealed my fate at birth. As a young girl she had decided to pursue a life as a nun. However, her dream was shattered as she lay in the back of my father's pickup truck and the first seeds of life were planted inside of her. That night, my older brother Darren was created, and she promised him to my father, giving him a chance at immortality by passing on his family's name. With me, she chose to fulfill her broken obligation to the Lord, sentencing me to live a life even she herself could not adhere to. My protests were met with stern looks or iron fists and my early attempts at rebellion were quickly subdued. I resigned myself to my fate and started my life as a young man with a black and white collar cutting into my throat like a noose.

I tried to do my job as best I could but as time went on I noticed my devotion was waning even more. I spent most of my time in the confessional, listening to the sordid tales of my parishioners' lives. I found my reaction to even the most heinous of sinners was not concern for their immortal soul, but a jealous longing for the life they led.

One night I was attempting to study the scripture in my meager, one room apartment above the 8th street ministry but my eyes kept straying from the bible in my hands to the flashing neon lights outside my window. They seemed so beautiful and inviting compared to my bleak surroundings. I read a few more passages but my heart wasn't into it the way a priest's should be. I leaned my head against the wall and softly prayed. "Please Lord, send me a sign. Where do I truly belong?" I waited patiently for some miraculous sight but no omnipotent being flashed before my eyes. Instead the bare bulb in my ceiling sputtered and died, leaving me in darkness.

I left my apartment a little after midnight. I'd changed into a simple outfit of jeans, t-shirt, and my raggedy wool jacket, opting to leave my collar at home. I'd come out in search of verification. If I was on the right path, I wanted to be sure of it. If I wasn't, then I wanted to know what I'd been missing.

I picked streets at random, still not having a concrete goal in my mind but trusting my faith to lead me where I needed to be. The inhabitants of the city wandered past me, reeking of filth and spirits, and held out their grubby hands begging for charity. I knew what I should have done. I should have given them all I had, help them find shelter, or better yet, take them by the hand and show them the road to salvation. Instead I found myself pushing past them and silently wishing they'd disappear. For the second time that night I had to question my faith.

I ducked into an alley on 17th street in an attempt to take a momentary respite from the onslaught of vagrants. It was there I first hear the voice of the angel. He spoke softly from a spot that was bathed in shadows. "Not finding what you're looking for?"

"Who's there?" I asked, taking a few cautious steps forward. Slowly, he emerged, a Cheshire grin on his full lips as he stalked toward his prey.

"Perhaps you're looking to expand your mind." He touched his finger to the tip of his tongue in a gesture that was unknown to me. I moved closer, my curiosity piqued, and asked what he was offering. He reached inside his coat and showed me the edge of a paper. "Best acid in town. This batch is known as 'communion wafers.' Guaranteed to let you touch the heavens."

I leaned closer and saw rows of soft yellow crosses imprinted on the paper. I couldn't help but wonder if that was what I'd been searching for that night. It would be an experience, something I'd never known before.

"What's your name?" I asked, mostly just to kill time while I battled with indecision. His grin showed he knew what I was doing but he humored me anyway.

"I'm Jonathan. It means..."

"Gift from God," I finished, looking up into his emerald eyes.

"He reached out and stroked my dark hair, letting his fingers trail over my cheek and down to the plain gold cross hanging around my neck. "Exactly." He pulled his hand away and cocked his head to the side, looking me up and down slowly. "You ever tripped before?" All I could do was shake my head in response. "Well, five bucks gets you a hit. Make it ten and you've got a partner."

The first shiver hit me as I unlocked the door to my apartment. Jonathan ran his hand up my back and whispered in my ear, "It's starting. Don't be afraid."

He had stayed close to me the whole way home, wrapping his arm around my waist or nipping at my ear. My lack of response didn't seem to deter him and after a few streets I found myself moving closer into his embrace.

He told me he was 19, just four years younger than I was, and he'd been kicked out of his home a few months ago after he'd flunked out of college. I kept the story of my life to a minimum, telling him simply that'd I'd lived a sheltered childhood in a catholic family and was trying to figure out what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. He licked my cheek, his shaggy blond hair tickling my ear, "Why not just decide what you want to do with the rest of the evening?"

Once inside the apartment he lunged at me, backing me up against the wall and covering my mouth with his. I fumbled awkwardly in the kiss, my mind feuding between the desire I was feeling and the disgust I thought I should be feeling, considering what I'd been told all my life of such things. I reached for him, placing my fingers on the soft curves of his hips and feeling him press ever closer to me. The bulge in his jeans found my thigh and started a slow grind that made electric energy race through me in a way I had never felt before.

I broke away from him, gasping for air, and fell to my knees on the floor. Tears threatened the corners of my eyes as my body and drug clouded mind buckled under an onslaught of emotions. Jonathan touched my shoulder, which made me flinch and bend even closer to the floor. I imagined it opening up, thought I saw great streams of red and orange light break through the cracks as I was being drawn into the farthest depths of hell.

The illusion was shattered as Jonathan set a glass of water in front of my face and I noticed that the streams of light were the just the flickering of the ministry's reck room t.v. that someone had carelessly left on. I looked up into Jonathan's eyes, now almost completely black from his engorged pupils. He read the fear and confusion on my face and kneeled down next to me with a caring smile. "You've already dropped, that can't be changed, but the trip you take is up to you. You can make it bad, or you can let it be good. The choice is yours."

"How do I make it good?"

"Just go with it. Don't think. Do what feels right."

He left me alone for a few minutes, wandering around the room while I regained my composure. I was in awe of him. He handled his drugs, and himself, with a confidence and certainty I'd only ever dreamed of. I was his elder and yet I felt like a child in his presence, a student for him to teach.

I watched his lithe form, skinny from his months on the streets but still beautiful and strong, as it paced across the hardwood floor. He found my bible laying open on the bedside table, the light of the moon making the guilded edges glow, and leaned down to read from it. "This people draweth night unto me with their mouth, and honoureth me with their lips..."

"But their heart is far from me." I swallowed hard, letting the words sink in. 'Their hearts have always been far from me. Or maybe mine was far from them. I don't know anymore." I looked up at Jonathan, searching his face as if he held all the answers. With a smile, he just shrugged.

"I've always preferred Matthew 26:26 myself," he said, unbuttoning his shirt and letting it fall to the floor. "Take, eat; this is my body." He threw himself onto the bed with a drug induced giggle, a crystal sound that seemed to spread itself throughout the apartment, invading every crevice until the entire room pulsed with his music.

I made my way over to him, looking down on his pure, white body, wanting nothing more than to feel it beneath my hands. After removing my jacket, I sat down beside him. "I... I don't know what to do." I flushed with nerves and embarrassment, my brown eyes cast to the floor. His fingers found my hand and moved it to his chest, laying it there softly.

"Just follow the words of the Lord."

My mind rebelled against my actions. It screamed of sin and repeated over and over again my vow of chastity. It tried to snatch my hand away from his body but for some reason my arm wouldn't comply. Instead, my thumb brushed over his nipple and I felt him shiver beneath me. When I pinched it between my fingers, his soft moan helped to drown out my thoughts.

My mouth slid over his torso in a slow exploration to learn his every curve. I took him into my mouth slowly, unsure of myself, but he was gentle and patient and taught me things I never would have thought possible. He pulsed against my tongue, a rhythm that seemed to be entwined with my own beating heart, and I dove my head down further, wanting as much of him inside of me as possible. He came in a short, hot spurt that slid down my throat as easy as wine.

... Drink ye all of it; for this is my blood of the new testament which is shed for many for the remission of sins...

My ecstasy was so great I felt tears spring to my eyes. I let them roll down my cheeks and drip on my chest, imagining I was baptizing myself in this new joy I was experiencing. Jonathan gathered me in his arms and kissed the tears from my cheeks.

"Damn Sean! I orgasm and you cry, that's a first."

We laughed and pressed our lips together, our tongues moving in a slow dance. He removed my clothing, and took me between his hands. I nearly cried out at the sensation. No one had ever touched me there, not even myself, not since I was 14 and my father caught me. He beat me once a week for a year, telling me it was a punishment from God for yielding to temptation. I held my breath, waiting to see what would happen now, but God delivered no punishment upon me, just wave after wave of bliss.

I moaned and placed my hand on top of his, feeling it move and squeeze. I learned his rhythm, his technique, and asked if I could try it by myself. The object felt almost foreign in my grasp. My eyes closed as I let the feelings overtake me, feelings I was creating with my own hand, feelings I had denied myself for so many years.

Jonathan stood me up on the bed and tried to take me into his mouth but I resisted. My hand refused to stop it's journey up and down my shaft. I was coveting my renewed ability for masturbation like a well earned prize and I planned to experience this pleasure to the end.

... All ye shall be offended because of me this night: for it is written, I will smite the shepherd, and the sheep of the flock shall be scattered abroad...

My lover would wrap his lips around my head or tease the tip with his tongue which made psychedelic fireworks explode behind my tightly shut eyelids. "I want to taste you," he whispered, and I looked down at him. He was kneeling in front of me, his mouth open and his tongue stretched out. He reminded me of someone waiting for communion. I made the sign of the cross in front of him and mumbled a Latin prayer, then I laid on his tongue my most precious offering.

We collapsed on the bed in a sweaty heap, our bodies intertwined to the point I couldn't tell my limbs from his. Our chests pressed together and I felt our hearts slow from a monstrous roar to a steady thud. For once in my life I felt at peace. The completion I had tried to find in the words of the Lord had instead been given to me in the arms of another man. I kissed his cheek and asked if he'd stay the night. He was my gift from God, and I cherished him as such.