Absolute Convergence
Chapter Sixty-seven
John Yager

This is the sixty-seventh chapter of an ongoing series. I've appreciated all the comments, questions and encouragement I've received from readers and hope to continue hearing from you. I try to answer all messages promptly. If I'm slow at times it is only because of the pressures of work.

Andrew continues to give much needed proofing and editorial help, for which I am sincerely grateful. I could not post chapters as quickly as I've been doing without his invaluable assistance.

This work is copyrighted © by the author and may not be reproduced in any form without the specific written permission of the author. It is assigned to the Nifty Archives under the terms of their submission agreement but it may not be copied or archived on any other site without the written permission of the author.

All the stories I've posted on NIFTY can be found by looking under my name in the NIFTY Prolific Authors lists. If you'd like to receive e-mail notification of subsequent postings, previews of upcoming stories, and other bits and pieces, please let me know by sending your request to the e-mail address below.

jvoyager@hotmail.com

We were still in bed, our naked bodies happily entwined. It was Sunday morning, our second day in London.

"Roger," I said, as I leisurely roused myself, "can I ask you something"

"Sure, sport," he moaned, clearly preferring to doze a little longer.

"I've been thinking about what you were saying about religion, all that stuff."

"Yeah?"

"Well, I guess what it comes down to is simple, really. Do you believe in God?"

"Absolutely, Rob, although I'm not sure I'd define God the way a lot of conservatives do. I certainly believe in a Prime Mover, a creator. There's just too much evidence of design and logic in the universe. What did I say that made you think otherwise?"
Roger asked as he gently kissed my neck and stroked my chest, a wonderful combination!

"I don't know," I said. "It just seems as if there are contradictions. You went to church with me in LA and we're going off to Westminster Abbey for the service there this morning, but what you were saying last night about how you see yourself, and I guess how you see me, seems to go against a lot of Christian teaching."

"You mean all the moral standards the church tries to impose."

"Well, yeah, I guess. At least what you were saying is a lot different from what I learned as a kid in Sunday School."

"What you learned in Sunday School was some fairly flimsy traditional teaching. The Biblical principles that are used to support those ideas can be lost in the man-made rules. I have nothing against the principles. I just object to the huge mass of tradition built on them."

"So you're saying the church has gone beyond what the Bible really teaches."

"Absolutely. The concept of revealed truth is understandable in itself. Either we recognize principles which are immutable and unchanging or we end up with morality by committee, always changing and always in flux."

"Are you saying the basis of ethical law laid down in the Bible is good but what mankind has imposed on it is unacceptable?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"But doesn't that mean you're doing a lot of picking and choosing where scripture is concerned, taking the parts you agree with and rejecting everything else."

"Well, I'd say I emphasize the good parts and de-emphasize the rest, but isn't that what all the denominations do, trying to stress the parts that support their own doctrines?"

"I guess so," I said. "I never thought of it like that but most churches sure play down the parts they don't like."

"Exactly. The Bible gives us the Ten Commandments. I have no problem with them. But ever since, first the Rabbis and later the Church Fathers have been trying to justify their own prejudices by connecting them to the authority of the basic Laws. In the process they've constructed a mass of man-made rules which have little or nothing to do with the underlying Laws. Every religious tradition has come up with its own rules to justify its doctrinal teachings."

"Give me an example," I said.

"Well, alcohol, for example. How many conservative Christian groups ban liquor?"

"Most of them, I guess."

"And where in the Bible does it say 'Thou shall not drink wine,' or whatever other version of that rule you want?"

"No place that I remember."

"Exactly, but because some conservative sects have decided that drinking is inherently wrong, they've assigned it the status of a Biblical Law."

"What about monogamy?"

"Well, don't tell the Mormons, but if the you look at the Old Testament, the practice seems to have been polygamy most of the way through."

"And even slavery, right?"

"Yes, definitely slavery, and the subjugation of women, right up into New Testament times." Roger rolled over and sat up on the side of the bed. "I think the underlying principle is what Jesus taught as the Golden Rule. 'Love the Lord thy God with all your heart and all your soul and your neighbor as yourself.' If we could do that we'd be in very good shape."

As he sat there with his back to me I noticed for the first time that he had a small scar just above and behind his right hip bone. It was only an inch and a half long but for some reason I couldn't take my eyes off of it.

I scooted over in the rumpled bed and ran an extended finger over the thin white line. It was as smooth as the skin around it but when Roger turned to see what I was doing, the scar seemed to pucker a little, creating a shallow crease.

I moved forward again and kissed it, running the tip of my tongue along its length, feeling the shallow crease in his otherwise smooth side.

I guess it tickled. Roger chuckled and tried to push me away. I wrapped my hands around his waist and held on tight. In doing so, my hands met over his crotch. His cock was suddenly hard again, bobbing up against my wrist.

I kissed the scar again, harder this time, running my wet tongue along it and then sucking gently.

"Grrr . . ." Roger growled. "Stop that."

"How did you get that scar?" I asked, backing off a little.

"In a fight."

"You don't get a scar like that wrestling."

"No, not wrestling, a fight."

Clearly there were parts of Roger's history I didn't yet know.

"If we are really going to live by the Golden Rule," I said, returning to our conversation and trying to distract him from what I was doing, "it means each of us has to apply that standard to everything we do. It means every word we speak, every relationship we enter into has to be judged by that standard," I said, realizing the difficulty of what Roger was suggesting.

"Exactly, and most people would rather just have some religious leader or teacher or preacher or priest give them a long list of dos and don'ts. Living by the real spirit of Biblical Law isn't easy, Rob, and most religious fundamentalists can't deal with the ambiguity."

"So they want everything spelled out in black and white."

"Yes, and I have no problem with that if they want to accept such petty standards for themselves. I begin to have a problem when they decide that their rules are absolute and then try to impose them on everyone else."

"So where does that leave us?"

"Well, if you don't stop what you're doing and get your cute ass out of bed, it leaves us late for the eleven o'clock service we were planning on."
 
 
 

We did make the service and it was magnificent. The sermon was a call for and end to Apartheid in South Africa, not just platitudes but a well reasoned call for action by economic and social means. The entire service, especially the music, was truly grand.

I left Westminster feeling as if my entire being had somehow been elevated to a new level.

As the crowds streamed out of the abbey and into the summer sun, Roger hailed a taxi and we headed back to the hotel. I had little doubt about what he had in mind.

We ate lunch in the hotel restaurant and when we returned to our suite it had been painstakingly cleaned and put in order. The beds had been changed and made up with fresh linens.

"It seems a shame to mess up both beds," I said, looking at the fastidiously arranged cushions.

"We'll play in one and sleep in the other," he said, pushing me back against the wall.

"That sounds like a plan," I laughed. His left hand covered my still open mouth as his right pressed against my chest, holding me tightly against the wall.

"No more talking," he whispered, his lips against my ear. "Do you understand?"

I nodded, looking into his eyes, wondering what he had in mind. It wasn't too hard to figure out.

"Good," he whispered again as he slowly moved his hand from my mouth. "I mean it, Rob. No talking."

I nodded again.

His mouth closed over mine and I felt an involuntary moan escape my lips.

Roger grasped both lapels of my suit jacket and pulled it back and down. The arms were half way off and I found I could hardly move, trapped as I was in my own jacket. He moved back a little and began to loosen my tie. When the knot was free he pulled the tie away and tossed it on the chair which stood a few feet to my right.

Then, very slowly, very deliberately, Roger unbuttoned my shirt.

As he did so, he shrugged off his own suit jacket and then yanked off his tie. They joined my own tie on the chair as he continued to unbutton my shirt. I wore no undershirt and as the white Oxford Cloth dress shirt slowly gaped open, exposing my chest and stomach, he bent forward to kiss and lick every inch of my torso.

We were both groaning and I couldn't help wonder where this was all going. With Roger you could never be sure.

With one hand he stroked my chest and tweaked my nipples. His other hand found its way up to my mouth and pressed against it, his warm, moist palm against it, covering a great deal of my face. One of his fingers found its way between my lips and I slowly sucked it. It soon pulled back, only to find its way into my mouth again, joined by another and then another finger, until I felt as if I was in danger of gagging.

With his free hand Roger was tugging on my belt, loosening it and then attacking the button at my waist. With only one hand it was slow work but he eventually had my trousers unfastened and the zipper pulled down. His hand slid into the confines of my jockey shorts, exploring, teasing, finally grasping my hard, wet cock, and pulling it up and out.

Then, firmly holding my pulsing dick, he rose up and smiled at me.

"Come on," he demanded and led me off with little ceremony and even less dignity to his newly made bed.

We were a pretty comical pair. I was almost completely hobbled by the slacks around my ankles. Roger seemed to have toed off his shoes and tried to step out of his trousers but they were still gathered around his left leg and he was dragging them along with us like a ball and chain.

When we finally got into his bedroom he called time out and we stripped. I looked back through the open bedroom door and saw a trail of abandoned clothes all the way from the entry.

When we were both naked Roger dove onto the bed and pulled me down after him. For a moment I was on top of him, then we rolled and I was on the bottom. He was suddenly kneeling between my spread legs and, in his aggressive mood, I figured he intended to fuck me.

He smiled, lowered his mouth to my hard cock, and took it all the way in.
I gasped. It was sudden and forceful.

"Yes," I hissed.

He worked my cock deep into his throat, pulled back, and then moved down again. I was groaning and I knew if he kept that up I'd not last long. But then, as suddenly as he'd begun, he stopped.

You can bet Roger is always full of surprises.

I was sure he was going to fuck me, but instead he moved forward, kneeling over me with his knees on either side of my chest, reached back, grasped my wet, pulsing cock, and guided it to his own ass.

He moved the head of my dick up and down his crack a couple of times, positioned the head against the bud of his ass and sank down.

He wasn't well lubed but he seemed to have an amazing ability to open himself. We both gasped as, in one slow, uninterrupted motion, he impaled himself completely on my cock.

Roger was leaning back on his haunches, his face turned up toward the ceiling, his eyes closed.

My heart was pounding and I could feel his pulse in the pulsing of his cock.

"Oh, yeah," he groaned when I was fully in him. He sat very still for a few seconds, letting himself adjust to the presence of my cock buried deep in his bowels, then rose up again and settled back, rose and lowered himself again. He brought his hands forward and placed them on my chest, his palms flat, his fingers spread. He was pressing down on my pectoral muscles, pinning me to the bed, as he raised and lowered his body.

Roger was in complete control.

He'd begun slowly but quickly picked up speed. He was soon moving at a driving, unsustainable speed, beyond control, frantic to get us both over the edge. It didn't take long.

I felt my own body tighten, felt Roger's sphincter tighten and release, watched as his cock swelled and bobbed, then erupted in a massive explosion of his white, steaming seed. Repeated volleys struck my face, puddled in the recesses of my chest, coated my stomach. I felt my own cock explode deep in his ass, felt the hot, joyful release of my body into his.

"Yes," he hissed again and lowered himself onto me. His chest pressed against mine and our mouths merged.

We lay there, sticky, hot, exhausted, too tired to move.

I brought my arms around him and stroked his back. My fingers found the crease of the little scar above his right hipbone and moved slowly, tenderly back and forth along the length of it.

We moaned together as we drifted into a shallow, happy sleep.

"So," Roger said sometime later as we both roused. "It's time for a shower and then we're off. There's a lot of London left to see.

To be continued.