GOD'S WILL, part 5

Fortunate for me, there was a lot more johns looking for ladies that Saturday night than boys, so I had some time to plan out my sermon for the following morning. I had Miss Lena's Bible, and I kind of remembered one of Daddy's sermons, which I'm pretty sure he stole out of a book of famous sermons he had. I didn't remember it exactly, but then I'm pretty sure neither did he, and anyway I wanted to make it my sermon so God could speak through me.

Even though there was this one last john woke me up past three AM for a fast blowjob, I still was up by eight Sunday morning. Nobody else was, though, so I had to wait. I arranged the chairs in the parlor for my congregation, in front of a platform the ladies sometimes used to entertain the gentlemen. It had a pole mounted in the middle, but I didn't think it would get in my way. It was then I wondered what to wear -- it didn't seem right to preach the Lord dressed in a girly nightie and lace underpants.

I did have a necktie that some john left behind, so I figured I'd wear that so as to make myself a little more formal like, but since Fat Alice never let me have boy clothes, I decided the rest of me ought to be just the way the Lord put me on this Earth, which was naked.

Now my text was Deuteronomy 32:35, which says, "Their foot shall slide in due time," which was a pretty good text for Fat Alice's place where men would shoot their wads on the floor with fair regularity, and it sometimes got to be treacherous walking around. You may think that had something to do with Onan, but it didn't, even though Onan disobeyed the Lord by letting his seed drop on the floor when the Lord really wanted him to fuck his dead brother's widow. If you don't believe me, go look at Genesis 38:8-10, it's right there.

Come 10:30 or so, which was the time, not a Bible verse, the smell of bacon on the griddle started moving through the house, which meant that Cole Black was making breakfast. The smell of that bacon, I knew, would rouse all those sleepyheads except maybe Fat Alice way up top, and after my congregation had them some bacon and eggs and biscuits they'd be ready to hear me. You'd think I was nervous, but I wasn't. I had faith in the Lord to give me the right words.

Clint, who was always hungry, came down first, followed by Mustafa, Sookie, and Miss Lena. Rose and Catherine came down together, propping up the Chief of Police between them. Chief Littmore was none too steady, and probably was still drunk from the night before. As you probably guessed, he got a free pass to Fat Alice's place whenever he wanted, which was pretty much any time he wasn't at some other Branson whorehouse. (By the way, that's what they called places like Fat Alice's -- they called them whorehouses, even though I myself didn't see much similarity between our ladies and the whore of Babylon.)

If Chief Littmore needed saving, which I figured he did, I was his boy. If God hadn't wanted him there that morning, he could have been off at Rae-Jean's or the Pink Orchid, or any of a dozen other places. The Lord had sent him to me, and I was gonna do right by him.


After breakfast, everybody gathered in the parlor except for Cole, who wasn't allowed there except to clean it. He was just outside, though, watching from the kitchen door.

I don't remember the whole sermon, nor even half, but I can give you the gist of it. It was called "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God," which was the title of the sermon Daddy used to preach that he got from that sermon book. Has a nice ring to it.

Anyway, I started with my Bible verse, and told them as how it wasn't just about sliding in some puddle of pud and falling on your ass, but sliding right off the world and down into hell. There in Deuteronomy, God says it to the Israelites. who had pissed him off royally by worshiping other gods. You would think that being Jews they would be smarter than to do that, but probably those other gods promised them a bigger markup on their sheep.

God is really pissed in Deuteronomy 32, and you ought to read the whole thing sometime to see just how pissed God can get. He even turns the wine into cobra venom, and just as easy as you can pop that little string an inchworm uses to get down from a tree and mush that inchworm under your foot, that's how easy the Lord can do it to you.

And he will, if you don't give up your sinful ways. If the Lord tells you to fuck your dead brother's widow like in Genesis, or stone your disobedient son to death, like a little later in Deuteronomy, you better do it. You are just hanging there, over the fires of Hell, and any time God wants to let you drop he can do it. Maybe you think you can fool him with your fast talk and dumb tricks, but he's GOD -- he may hold you up for a while, hoping you will stop being such a lame-ass sinner, but if you don't repent, that's it for you.

I said the sermon pretty loud, because it kept looking like Chief Littmore might fall asleep, and I guess I finally woke up Fat Alice. She came down the stairs just as I was explaining to Sookie that it was okay to be a whore because Onan's big brother's wife dressed up like a whore to seduce Onan's father, Judah, and the Lord was cool with that even though she wound up with twins. It's all God's will, after all.

So Fat Alice listened to the rest of my sermon with a big smile on her face, and I was thinking maybe she was saved instead of Chief Littmore, but Fat Alice had other ideas. She pulled me aside later that day -- we was not allowed to do business on Sundays except for Chief Littmore and members of the Town Council -- and asked me if I would like to give a sermon every Sunday for the johns who had no place else to go.

I said, "Sure!"


Much later, up in the room with Clint and Mustafa, I asked how I did. Clint told me I was fantastic, and to give him a big kiss on the mouth, which I did. Mustafa told me I made the "bullshit" sound better than anybody else he'd heard, and he'd let me suck his Moslem dick with my sweet Evangelical mouth and see if that converted him.

First, though, Clint buzzed him down. Most Turks are not all that hairy -- at least that's what Mustafa said -- but he might have had some Jew in him, because his dick hair and his chest hair looked pretty much the same. He popped a real stiff one while Clint was buzzing him with the electric buzzer, while at the same time working that cut Turkish cock with the other hand.

My mouth was watering. I really, really, REALLY wanted that dick in my mouth, heathen or not. Besides, he said it might convert him, and converting a Moslem was a whole lot better than saving someone who already was a Christian.

We shook the bedspread out the window to get rid of the hair on it, then put it back on the bed and climbed in. Like I might have said before, Mustafa's dick was kind of pointy at the top and thicker at the bottom, which meant that when I sucked it my mouth was kind of puckered around the head and got wider open as I took him further in.

Anyhow, it was kind of nice, because Mustafa was a friend of mine. I think it always is nicer to suck off a friend than some total stranger.

I didn't get to swallow his stuff, though, because just when he was getting ready to shoot, Clint pulled my head off him and sat on his dick. Mustafa seemed to like that, because he started ramming that wedge shaped cock up Clint's ass harder and harder. Not wanting to be left out, I sat on Mustafa's face, and felt his tongue shoot up my hole. If there had been enough room, I would have sucked Clint's cock while Mustafa was fucking his ass and licking my hole, but that just didn't work out on account of I'm just not that bendy.

Funniest thing though -- when I turned around so Mustafa could suck my little thing he wouldn't do it. "No, man," he told me, "I'm not a cocksucker." Tell me, does that make sense? I mean, there he was with his dick up Clint's ass and his tongue up my ass, not bothered by it at all, but he didn't want to suck three little inches of boydick. I have learned since how some boys try to insult other boys by calling them cocksuckers, but it still doesn't make sense to me to let it get to you.


I was real excited about getting to preach to the johns every Sunday, at least until Miss Lena explained to me what Fat Alice was up to. Like I said, Fat Alice had to close down on Sundays, it being the Christian States of America and such. Well, sad to say, but Fat Alice wasn't saved by my preaching -- she just figured if I was preaching it made the place kind of like a church, and churches get to stay open on Sundays, so she could pull in more money.

I thought about that for a time, but I couldn't think of any reason not to take the opportunity to preach to the johns, even if Fat Alice's motives were not too pure. If I could bring some of those men to the Lord, I figured it didn't much matter what Fat Alice was thinking. Come Sundays, that whorehouse would be a church, and I'd be its boy preacher.

I opened Miss Lena's Bible and stuck my finger down, figuring it would hit on just the right text for the following Sunday. Actually, though, it took a few tries. First I hit on all those "begats," but I didn't see much interest in who was who's father. Then I hit on rules for sacrificing animals at the Temple, but there hadn't been a Temple in a mighty long time.

Finally, I found me a pretty good text, from Ecclesiastes 6:7 -- "All the labour of man is for his mouth, and yet the appetite is not filled." That seemed like a good one for the johns, whose appetites was never filled. Didn't seem to matter how much they sucked my wiener, they never was satisfied, because they came back again and again, and when their hours was up, they seemed more sad and hungry than when they started. Fact is, it seemed to me they left Fat Alice's more empty than when they come in.


Fat Alice got me a pair of shiny black shoes and long black socks come up to my knees and held there with garters, and I wore those along with my tie. The rule was that any man wanted to spend time with the ladies (or us boys) on Sundays had to sit through my sermon first, and sing along with the hymn. That way, Fat Alice figured, she had us covered.

For six weeks, it went just fine. Then come a day when I was preaching on Jeremiah 2:33, which goes, "How skilled you are at pursuing love! Even the worst of women can learn from your ways." Well, this one fellow nobody seen before just got up and walked out in the middle of my preaching.

He was back later, with a half a dozen men from the local Piety Police. We was all being charged with sacrilege. Especially me. I got to tell you, I was angry, Christian charity notwithstanding, but then I figured that somehow God would show them the way.

When it come to court -- that being the Church court and not the one they used for ordinary killers and robbers -- it was just me and Fat Alice before the judges for sacrilege. They'd sold off the ladies to some other whorehouse already, and Clint and Mustafa was held on sodomy charges, which I never heard of before, but which seemed pretty dumb kind of charges to make if all the preachers I ever knew was not also guilty as heck.

Fat Alice got me and Mustafa and Clint some boy clothes for the trial. She also got us a lawyer, a good Christian man named Abe Gershowitz. He figured the best way to get Fat Alice off was to get me off, so that's what he figured to do. Well, Abe was so good you could have believed he was a regular Jew lawyer from New York -- but Jew lawyers ain't allowed down in the C S of A.

It really wasn't Abe who saved us, though. He did put me on the stand, and I preached a pretty good sermon on the text of Matthew 5:44-45 -- "But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous."

Anyway, I thought it was a pretty good sermon, but maybe the judges figured they'd be rained on one way or the other. It wasn't looking too good. My real saver was Mustafa.

I don't even know if Abe knew he was gonna do it, even if Abe smiled a little when it got done -- and I guess it had to be Abe got Clint and Mustafa in the court that day -- but Mustafa stood up and said, "Your holiness, I'm here to testify that that preacher boy is the real thing, and that he brought me, a benighted heathen, to Christ! I am saved, hallelujah! And if it wasn't for Jimmy, that sweet boy preacher, I'd be continuing on my way to heathen hell. Sure as hell!"

Then it was Clint stood up, saying, "Your honor, he saved me too, and I was a goddamned Jew before I heard his preaching!"

The persecuting attorney objected. "He ain't no Jew, and never been one! Look at that yellow hair and little bitty nose! He ain't no Jew."

With that, Clint dropped his pants and waved his cut wiener at the court. My guess is that the jury figured that was proof enough. The judge called a recess, but nobody was anxious to leave, especially the press, who wanted lots of pictures of Clint's dick, especially after he started getting hard.


The judge called me to his chambers during the recess, to hear what I had to say about the new evidence. I just figured that since Clint and Mustafa was my best friends, it just made sense that they would let me help them find Jesus.

That judge had the biggest one I ever seen. I think if I had to take that whanger up the ass, it would have split me in two, but luckily all I had to do was suck the part that stuck up from between Clint's legs while pinching his Honor's nipples hard as I could.

It's funny, but guys who like it when you hurt them never much want to hurt you back.


I figure Fat Alice is back in business by now, with different ladies and boys, but I can't be sure. Me and Clint and Mustafa all got manumitted, Mustafa being old enough to be our guardian, and the judge gave us Cole Black to be our slave into the deal. For some reason, the judge never got all that happy with Fat Alice, even if he didn't put her in jail.

I think he didn't much like women.

We all went across the river to Illinois, so we all are free now, even Cole, who now calls himself Irving Goldfarb and hopes to attend law school one of these days. Me, I'm still traveling around with my converts, Clint and Mustafa, preaching the Gospel from one whorehouse to the next. Seems like, even here in the North, you can't find a whorehouse don't got a whole lot of Christians inside.

Anyways, it's all God's Will.


That's it for this one, boys! Thanks for reading.