This story is adult fiction containing explicit homosexual sex. If you are a minor or are likely to be offended, please read no further. If you are reading further, please consider a donation to nifty.org to help keep this service free and available to all.

Reminder: My stories are always total fiction. Yet some real events and some real places may be used to add reality.

Comments and criticisms are encouraged. This story deals with how an evangelical minister deals with his homosexuality. It is quite different from other tales I have written for nifty.org. I'd especially like to have your reaction. I will answer all your emails. Please write me at macoutmann@yahoo.com.

PASTOR JOE

by Macout Mann

XV

The challenges that Joe created for himself kept him so busy for the first few weeks that he had no time to think about sex. (And they were challenges he set for himself. No one expected him to so energetically take on his responsibilities from the very first, but they were glad he did). Before the end of September, however, the familiar tingling down in his pants got the best of him.

Centennial Park with its world famous replica of the Parthenon was in walking distance of the church. He checked it out. Found no evidence of gay cruising. It was too close for comfort anyway.

His stipend included a generous housing allowance. He had found a nice apartment off 21st Avenue south of the Vanderbilt campus and was able to furnish it comfortably. There was a mixture of upper middle class residents along his block, but no apparent gay activity.

He checked for bathhouses. Nashville had none. He had never been to a gay bar, but he decided to check out the Church Street strip. It was a Tuesday night. He hit the Canvas Lounge.

He went to the bar and ordered a beer.

"What brand?" the bartender asked.

Joe hadn't ever thought about that. "Bud," was the only thing that came to mind.

The bartender seemed very impressed with Joe. He was wearing a new pair of 501s and a Kentucky Wildcats sweatshirt. Joe was equally impressed with the bartender. After all he was chosen as much for his looks as for his ability to mix drinks.

As Joe nursed his beer, a neat looking guy about ten years older than he was joined him at the bar.

"Another Jack, Don," he said to the bartender. "And another one for my friend here." To Joe he added, "You look lonely up here. Why don't you join me at my table?"

"I'm fine with what I've got," Joe said. "I don't drink a whole lot."

"That's o.k., but join me anyway."

At the table they introduced themselves. Caleb Browning was thirty-five. He was Assistant Manager of the Preston Hotel, a gay-friendly hostelry that also catered to the family tourist trade.

"Haven't seen you before," Caleb said.

"Only recently moved to Nashville. Originally from Ashville, North Carolina."

"Beautiful city," Caleb responded. "You go to Kentucky?"

"Yeah, for four long years."

As they became better acquainted, Joe asked Caleb about the gay scene in Nashville.

"Not much beyond the strip here. Some action at Cedar Hill Park and Cane Ridge. Stuff going on sometimes at Green Hills Y and Mayfield Farms Y. Nothing at the Downtown Y. Too busy."

"I checked out Centennial Park," Joe volunteered.

"Cops watch it. Too many tourists around. Sometimes you can get into something. Best thing to do is what we're doing right now."

As the evening progressed Caleb suggested they go to his room at the hotel for a nightcap.

"I'm the only hotel employee who lives there," he explained, "but somebody needs to be there in case something happens in the middle of the night. You don't have to worry, I often have guests."

When they reached the hotel, Caleb didn't offer Joe a drink. He hadn't even finished the one beer he had ordered at the club. Instead Caleb said simply, "Well, we know why we're here," and pulled Joe's sweatshirt over his head.

"Nice abs," Caleb said. "You must work out a lot."

"Used to," Joe replied. "Haven't found a place here yet."

"Best gym in town is the Downtown Y," Caleb suggested. "Problem is it's so busy you usually have to wait to get on a machine. Better to use a fitness place."

Caleb led Joe to the bed, where they finished stripping each other.

It turned out that Caleb was a total bottom and had a purely mechanical approach to sex. He took Joe into his mouth and sucked him to maximum hardness, getting his dick sufficiently wet for entry, then rolled over and spread his ass cheeks. "Fuck me, man," he commanded.

Joe responded, ramming his prong all the way into his partner on the first stroke. He pounded ass until his dick mostly got the satisfaction it sought. It filled Caleb's ass with cream.

Caleb had expected Joe to spend the night, but that had never been Joe's style. His immediate needs being fulfilled, he thanked Caleb and bade him goodnight. As he crossed the lobby the desk clerk wished him a pleasant evening and added, "Caleb didn't make you happy, eh?"

Joe didn't respond. Caleb had given him his private phone number and told him to call anytime, but he had no intention of ever seeing Caleb again.

It was after midnight when he pulled into his parking place back at home. Another car pulled up at the same time. Its driver was a rugged Nordic type about Joe's age dressed in well-worn jeans and a black chambray shirt.

"Hello." The accent was decidedly British upper class. "Don't mean to intrude, but didn't I see you down on Church Street earlier?"

"You might well have," Joe answered.

"Well, isn't that amazing? Both of us living here. Bill Billingsley," he said, extending his hand.

"Joe Scanlon," Joe responded.

"Care to come up and have a nightcap with me?" Bill asked.

"A Coke would be good," Joe said. Something about the Englishman really appealed to him.

Bill lived in the apartment directly above Joe's. Joe discovered that he was at Vanderbilt, a Ph.D. candidate in Chemistry. Was a graduate of Cambridge, but wanted to do his advanced degree in the U. S. "Don't have to worry about being a poof over here...Not so much anyway," he laughed.

On the spur of the moment Joe decided that he had better be honest with Bill, especially since they lived so close to each other.

"I'm the Youth Pastor at Westside Baptist Church," he admitted.

"Not much into religion, myself," Bill responded. "Was baptized Church of England at six weeks old or so. Was the proper thing to have done. But that's about the end of it.

"So you down at Gomorrah tonight trying to save sinners?" Bill continued.

"No," Joe laughed, "I suspect I was down there for the same reason you were."

"Well, everybody's got to muck about sometime."

"Of course," Joe added, "if I had the chance, I'd try to convert you too."

"To the Church of the Holy Spunk? I might be interested," Bill grinned.

They spent an hour together, Bill totally irreverent, Joe taking no offense. They were obviously going to become good friends. When Joe left to go to his place, Bill gave his balls a neighborly tug.