From: vampyr@bu.edu (Eamon Daly)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.erotica
Subject: communion
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Date: 10 Nov 1994 13:07:58 -0500
Organization: Boston University
Lines: 97
Message-ID: <39tnhu$kur@amhux3.amherst.edu>
NNTP-Posting-Host: amhux3.amherst.edu
Keywords: mm
X-Moderator-Review: 8: distinctive take on a common theme

Archive-name: communion

standing in front of the congregation with the
choir, i am only dimly aware of my voice lilting
through the dusty eaves and the mahogany benches.
the people seem more excited than usual; the
ever-present "i'm only here because i don't want
to go directly to hell" arm-crossers are at a
pleasant minimum.

i like the times like this.

i can watch all of the eager faces smiling as they
sing along with us, their voices straining for the
high notes but making up for it with the glory of
enthusiasm.  i try to hold back a grin as i watch
the eyes of a little girl in the third pew widen
as her father's voice suddenly bursts to life, his
deep bass loud and booming underneath the
harmonies that flit from us to them and back
again.

and when the song is over, i turn back to the
priest and bow my head.  the smile on my face
relaxes a bit as i think of the week's events.  of
my failures.  of my sisters and brothers around me.

i wonder if i'm going to skip the eucharist again
this week.  it just feels so transparent these
days-- a pompous, long-winded parade that everyone
feels obligated to join even though they can't
remember what it is they're celebrating.

"this is my body," i hear sighed above the rustle
of missalettes.  i am not looking, but i know the
priest's hands must be holding the host up high
for all to listlessly stare.

"eamon.  look," the same voice whispers.

my head snaps up as the hairs on the back of my
neck rise to attention.  there is an iranian man on
the altar.

there is no sign of the priest.

i whirl to face the young woman next to
me.  sarah's forehead is slightly creased, her
eyebrows arched inquisitively at my surely
panicked expression.

there is soft laughter in front of me.  i spin to
look back at the stranger and almost bump noses
with him-- he is no less than two inches from my
face.

his dark hands, moving so slowly and so tenderly,
pull my face to his, padded fingertips pressing
lightly underneath my jawline, turning my lips up
to meet his.

my eyes are still open as he kisses me.  and when
the shock of realization washes over me, starting
from my scalp and slamming down through me like a
jackhammer blow, my eyes stay open as i kiss him
back, clutching him to me as tightly as i have
ever held a woman.  his beard meshes with mine and
there is no doubt that i am closer to this man
than i have ever been to another, and my passion
pulls us closer than can be imagined.

"j'hosua," i whisper when our lips finally part.

again, that smile.  and this time, he laughs.  we
hug each other for a moment, and when we finally
pull ourselves apart, there are so many questions
still burning on my tingling lips.  i briefly think
of kissing him again when he presses two fingers
to my lips.

"take me, eamon.  i will be with you forever."

i reach for him, and take the host from father
jim's hands.  i try not to shiver at the exquisite
rush as i run my tongue across the eucharist and
let it dissolve on my palate.  and my knees only
wobble a tiny bit as the choir rises to sing
"amazing grace".

--
                                                                        *sigh*
                                                      i hate netscape. <blink>
                                  <a href="http://acs2.bu.edu:3000/"> . . </a>
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