If you're here at Nifty, especially in this section, you know what to expect. If it happens to get you into any trouble, that's your problem. I have depended on imagination for more years than most of you have been alive, so this story are mostly untrue. Any portrayals of actual persons, living or dead, probably are fictional. Okay, assume they are fictional. Since this story takes place in the future, we won't know if it's truth or fiction until it has a chance to happen.
GOD'S WILL, part 1
Lots of things made me unhappy when I was a kid, but Daddy said it was just God's will, and I had to just "suck it up." Thinking about it, "suck it up" was, maybe, a kind of prophecy. Anyway, since it was God's will, at least it wasn't my fault. Some of it makes me feel bad -- mostly in my dreams -- but if that was what God wanted, who am I to think it was wrong? From what Daddy taught me, it all served some Divine Purpose.
I first had to "suck it up" when I was nine.
Daddy was the kind of preacher who didn't have one church -- we went from town to town doing revivals when the local Baptist preachers had to replenish the flock. Some of them guys was so impossible dull it's amazing anybody ever went to church. Then Daddy would give them a good dose of hell and damnation, and they'd start attending and tithing again. Daddy said it was his "calling," except when he got drunk, and then he said it was "a neat racket."
The first time I had to "suck it up" was in some town in Alabama. Daddy and the local preacher just could not agree on how much of the take each of them would get from the collections, and Daddy, noticing how the Reverend Beamis was kind of drooling every time he looked at me, decided to toss me into the deal. Me, I knew it all was God's will, so I did it. Reverend Beamis was a kind of smelly, salty old man, but you have to do God's will -- and, so, I did.
Mama was not happy about that when I told her, and she gave Daddy what for, but it was God who was in charge, after all, so it was no big surprise when Mama slipped off the cliff a couple of days later. Sometimes God works in mysterious ways, but sometimes He's right out there.
Daddy and me, we just kept moving around Alabama, Mississippi, Arkansas, Texas, sometimes a little Florida panhandle. Once in a while I had to "suck it up" for Jesus, but not all that much. It was when we headed up to Oklahoma that God fucked me over. Seems there was this harlot somehow got Daddy away from his loyalty to the Lord, at least long enough to get a little homesick for Mama. They say he was beating on her when she put the knife in him. I don't know.
That made me an orphan before I was twelve years old. Yes, I told them I had a couple aunts and uncles, but they never found any. I probably could have been a kid preacher if they'd let me, but they didn't let me. They figured since Daddy was a preacher, I'd better go with a preacher. Me, I'd have been okay with the Reverend Beamis, but he wasn't a choice. I didn't get no choice. I got the Reverend Jurkin, better known as "Big Bill."
Big Bill surely was a revelation to me. I had to be filled, he told me, with the Holy Spirit. It didn't sound too bad at first, since Daddy said stuff like that all the time, but Reverend Jurkin must have been a lot holier than Daddy, because when he filled me with the Spirit, I was so full it leaked down my leg.
"Precious," he said -- even though my name is Jimmy, he always called me "Precious" as in "Precious is the Lord" (although I can't really say where in the Good Book it says that) -- "Precious, I am going to clean you with the light of the Lord where you are dirty with sin, down there where the sun don't shine!"
I was figuring it would be another enema. He was big on enemas, and always travelled with that red rubber bag with the long tube and the skinny black nozzle he shoved up my ass, but since I'd already had an enema or two that night, I should have suspected. My pants already being off and my underpants down around my ankles, I was not too surprised to feel something shoved up my ass. It was bigger than that enema nozzle though, and a lot more wiggly. It was his big, hairy finger, and it hurt.
"Just relax and it won't hurt," he said, maybe reading my mind. I tried to relax, but it still hurt. "Push at it, like you're gonna take a dump," he said. I did, and most of the hurt went away, and he shoved it further up and, praise the Lord, it started feeling good. He kept that up for a while and, praise the Lord, I was getting to like it.
Then the finger pulled out and something else shoved in -- and I think you know what that was -- and it hurt for a minute until I remembered to push like I was taking a dump, and then it was not so bad. And a little bit after that, it was kind of pure Heaven. I can't exactly remember, but I think I was yelling, "Oh Jesus, oh Big Bill, do it harder! Oh, God, smack it up there! Deeper! Harder! Fill me with the Lord!"
And, like I said, in a little while the Lord was leaking down my leg.
He did that to me every night for almost two weeks before they grabbed him and strung him up. There is sinners everywhere, even there in the Christian States of America. I don't think Big Bill was such a bad sinner as to be strung up, but I was just a kid, and couldn't say nothing about it. Maybe he deserved it, maybe not.
Anyway, those Klan guys was not paying me much attention so I took off out the window. It wasn't a far drop, and I don't reckon they bothered looked too hard for me after I was gone. There was just two things I was thinking then. One was about getting filled with the Lord some more, but the other was about getting myself out of the Christian States of America.
I learned some about the history, so if you don't know, it was something like this. Once there was this big country where now there is the Christian States and the Old Union and the Holistic Empire of the West and the Big Empty. From what little I'd heard, the Old Union was just full of atheists and Episcopalians, the Holistic Empire was full of crazy nut jobs always high on whatever, and the Big Empty was pretty much empty. I figured them Episcopalians might be my best bet to get filled with the Lord and not get beat up so much, so I headed north and east.
Damn, I was still in Oklahoma when I met the first guy said he'd pay me good money to suck it up. He was a fellow went door to door selling these real pretty bibles, town to town, and he fed me a pretty good dinner of fried chicken before we went back to his motel room. Then I got a good wash with hot water into the deal, and he soaped me up real nice in that shower stall. Sure enough, his finger went up my ass while he was soaping me, but that was all that went up it that time, even though it wouldn't have hurt at all if he'd plugged in his dinger. He had a little one, least compared to Big Bill or many I've seen since.
We got dried off on those scratchy little towels they give you in them cheap motels, and headed for the bed. It wasn't too big of a bed because Ed -- that was his name -- just paid for a single and snuck me in. I asked if that was cheating, and he said no because it was the same damned room even if he had three whores and a trapeze act in there. Made sense to me.
So I worked his little dinger with my hands till he was moaning loud enough to hear up in the motel office, but I guess they was used to that kind of noise there, and nobody knocked at the door. I grabbed Ed's balls in one hand and rubbed them around like the Reverend Beamis liked me to do, then picked up his little stiffie and popped it right in my mouth.
Well, it wasn't all that little. Damn, it was at least three times longer and thicker than my own little dinger was back then, but I was just a little kid, after all, and I didn't even have my first hair down there yet. Truth be told, it was kind of a nice size for sucking it up, and I was having myself a pretty good time when all of a sudden he goes "uhhn, uhhn," and shoots a little gob, which I swallowed real easy, because it wasn't all that much.
After that, he was done for the night, except for the cuddling. Nobody cuddled me since Mama up till then. Yes, I liked it, even if I knew he'd drop me off on the road the next day and never see me again. I remember wondering if Episcopalians liked to cuddle.
He gave me fifty bucks.
(If you think it's worth it to continue this story, probably in Branson, Missouri, drop a line to firstname.lastname@example.org -- with the proper encouragement, it can get considerably more graphic.)