(No warnings. You are a perv, or you would not be here. Then again, if you somehow manage to be a god-fearing, holy-rolling kind of perv, you will be offended.

It may take a little while to get to the parts that really interest you, but I promise you'll get there in part one, and be in the thick of it by part two. Nevertheless, please don't skip part one. Personally, I think porn without plot and character development is totally boring. What you have here is a little speculative fiction that helps to occupy my brain as I attempt to fall asleep.

This story is public domain. That means there is no copyright, and you can steal it if you like. The story is free, but Nifty needs money to stay online. Go to http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html and make a tax deductible contribution.)

The Next World

Part One

I should not have to go through the history, but then so many of you young people are so very (and stubbornly) ignorant. So as not to lose your fractional attention, I will make it very brief.

Once upon a time, there were these people called Islamists. They didn't like us, and they didn't like the Europeans or the Chinese either, but they also didn't especially care for each other. They had some incredibly stupid ideas about something called "jihad," and started a whole new form of warfare, which consisted of getting young people to strap on explosives or drive motor vehicles filled with even more explosives into crowds of people who mostly might have disagreed with their doctrines, and blew themselves and those other people to shreds.

Older people, like me, never blew ourselves up. We knew better. Mind you, I'm no Islamist, I'm a leader in the foremost Christian community here in the Republic of Texas, the Texas United Religious Denominations. You can't live comfortably in the Republic of Texas without adhering to some nut-job Christian sect or another, and we've brought a lot of them together.

Yes, I'm kind of a secret secularist, but that didn't stop me from achieving the post of Bishop in the Church. I guess you could say I'm kind of in charge of the suicide bombings, which most Texas sects insist was their original idea, and just copied by the Islamists. Well, who cares? If the Islamists hadn't come up with it first, we probably would have thought it up eventually.

Mostly, we try to hit the West Coast -- you know, places like L.A. and San Francisco, with all those Jews and "hipsters." Me, I could care less -- but a job's a job. And when some fat 15-year-old with acne all over his face comes shambling in and tells me he wants to go to heaven by blowing up some bunch of queers or commies, I don't get too upset.

Okay, I'm gay as the month of May, and maybe inclined towards a little old fashioned Marxist-Leninism, but taking care of myself is objective number one. At least it was. Until Alex walked in.

..........

I suppose I should tell you a little bit about myself. I knew I was gay by the time I turned 13, but in Kansas, which together with what used to be Oklahoma and Texas constitutes the new Republic of Texas, you just don't mention those kinds of things. I didn't mention them, but somehow still managed to find some cocks to suck in my teen years.

When I got into my twenties, it got easier. I'd moved down to Austin, where there was kind of a gay underground, and a lot of young guys were available. Many were Mexican teens, just looking for better than peon wages, but it was okay. It was when I was in my thirties that I found my "vocation" in the Church, having lost my job selling aluminum siding. The Church sent me to San Antonio, and it was okay there. I met plenty of guys in their twenties. When I hit my forties I was moved up in the hierarchy, because I have this fantastic talent for hypocrisy, and that's the road to success -- no matter what field you're in.

I also got moved to Beaumont, almost on the border of the Confederate States, and a hell of a lot too born again to keep a man of my appetites happy. Yes, there were men available -- fellow church workers in their thirties, forties, and fifties -- but why in hell would I want to get frisky with saggy assholes who looked like me? I may have been forty-something, but my hormones, somehow, had managed to stay pretty much teen.

I didn't want to settle down and get married -- not even to a twelve-year-old girl, which would have been fine by both the Republic of Texas and the Texas United Religious Denominations. I was still hungering for young male meat.

And that's when Alex walked in.

..........

He was almost thirteen, very young for a suicide bomber. He had flopppy, dirty-blond hair, dark blue eyes, and the pinkest, most delicious looking lips I'd ever seen on anybody at all, boy or girl. He was slim, but his ass was round and perky. His skin made me want to jump right up and lick it.

He was almost exactly the age I was when I figured out I was gay. "Letting this boy kill himself," I thought, "would truly be a crime against humanity. And maybe even God."

So, instantly, I changed the interview protocol. "You can call me Bishop Bob," I told him. Then I pushed my big rolling chair back from my impressively large desk and invited him to come around.

I drew him into my lap, and wrapped him in my arms. It was taking a chance -- a big chance. If I ever prayed, I'd have been praying he wasn't really a dedicated Young Christian Martyr, but just another gay boy who'd decided that a suicide bombing was his only way out without going to hell. If my non-prayer wasn't answered, I'd be racing for the Mexican border in no time flat, and probably not make it in time.

But, hell, he was so fucking cute; and I wasn't quite dead yet.

"Alex," I murmured into his beautifully shaped ear, which I mightily wanted to nibble, "we need to talk before I can accept you into the program. But first, you have to relax. Come on. Just relax."

Some of the rigidity went out of his body. I stroked his cheek, and pulled his head against my shoulder. He relaxed a little more. "Close your eyes," I said, "and just let your body go loose. I'll hang onto you, and I won't let you slide onto the floor."

He let out a deep breath, closed his eyes, and just kind of went limp. I had to slide a hand under his outer leg to hang onto him, and if that hand went a little way up the leg of his shorts, well... well, I couldn't let him fall, could I? Anyway, that long, smooth thigh was the nicest thing I'd had in my hand in years, including my own dick. He tucked up his knees a little, making it easier for me to stroke that thigh instead of just hold it. Okay, I really was tempted to go for his ass, but it probably would have seemed a little too forward under the circumstances.

"Feeling comfortable now?" I asked.

He breathed an "Uh huh" into my shoulder.

"Then tell me why you want to die," I instructed him.

"So I can go to heaven."

"Do you know the Sixth Commandment?"

"Is that the one about honoring your father and mother? Because I don't have those anymore."

"Are they in heaven?" I asked.

"No," he told me, "they're in Houston. But they won't be my parents, and they kicked me out." Tears were rolling down his face. "Because I was bad."

"And that's why you want to die," I suggested.

"No. I just don't want to go to hell. Like they said I would."

The skies were brightening. There are only two reasons Christian Texan parents toss their boys out on the street and tell them they're going to hell, and it was pretty clear that Alex was no meth addict. He had to be gay, or at least they'd caught him doing something gay, with a friend or someone.

I had to think of something fast, because I really wanted him to do something gay with me. I ran my hand further up his shorts, which fortunately were fairly baggy, and discovered he wasn't wearing underpants. As I squeezed his soft little cheek, I kissed him on one of his tear leaking eyelids, then the other. He opened those deep blue beauties, and looked up at me, kind of surprised, I suppose. Then I kissed him on the end of his nose.

..........

I had a plan. I led him through a door behind my desk into a little room where I kept some changes of clothes and a couch I used for napping. And jerking off. Okay, mostly for jerking off. I sat down and pulled him into my lap again, and that time managed to get my hand all the way up his shorts so that both his little buns were captured. He certainly looked confused, but he didn't complain. After all, I was a man of God.

"Alex," I told him, "the Sixth Commandment is the one that says 'You shall not kill.' God never said 'You shall not kill except heretics or commies or Muslims.' He just said 'You shall not kill.' So what do you think happens to guys who go to a shopping plaza and blow themselves up with a bunch of other people, a lot of whom probably are innocent?"

He was pretty well indoctrinated, I guess, because his answer was, "But aren't they soldiers of Christ?"

"No," I said, wheels upon wheels turning in my head. "I mean, God the Father was a mean dude, but Christ -- God the Son -- never wants anybody to hurt anybody. And even God the Father's been a little bit persuaded over the centuries, because he tosses suicide bombers into Purgatory, and only lets them into some crappy little corner of heaven thousands of years later. Is that what you want?"

I was tempted to try inserting my middle finger into his hole, but it was totally dry and probably would have hurt him, so I settled for squeezing that tender flesh a little harder. Then I asked, "Alex, what did you do that made your parents throw you out?"

"Do I have to say?"

"Yes, you have to say. If you tell me, I can help you. If you won't tell, then maybe your parents were right about you."

He started crying again. "Jimmy Joe swore he'd never tell, but he did! He told everybody! And my parents heard!"

"What did they hear, Alex?"

He threw his arms around my neck. "Don't hate me! Please don't hate me!"

"Tell the truth, Alex, and I never could hate you."

He crumbled a little, and kind of mumbled into my chest. "That I was a little fag. A little sissy fag. And that he'd got me to suck his dick."

(To be continued. Your comments are welcome: heedon@tormail.org )