Killing Jesus

By Nick Thomas

A short story about a 20 something year old gay male who plots to kill Jesus Christ whom he believes responsible for his unhappy and unfulfilled life.

The characters: Joel 20something year old gay male and Jesus Christ

Every night is the same as the night before. I lie in bed plotting my revenge on the man I consider responsible for my pathetic life. Nothing has gone right for me. I can’t find anyone who will commit to me. A life consisting of one sexual encounter after another. No love.

Sometimes I meet guys in the trails at night, sometimes I meet them through glory holes in the booths at the local adult bookstore. More often that not, the other guy slides his hard dick through the glory hole waiting for me to service him. As old as it gets, I oblige, not wanting to go home without anything to show for my effort. A mouth full of sperm is better than nothing at all.

So I lay here tonight once again all alone and craving a man who will love me. This is the state of my world, one left me by Jesus Christ. He is the reason my life is loathsome. My mind races as I contemplate ways to get revenge on Jesus. A face to face confrontation that needs to be carefully planned.

I know Jesus seeks to bring others into his fold. That he seeks out those in need. So I can use this weakness to lure him in. I will play a restless soul in need, once he’s here in my room, I will make my move. I’m certain I can overpower him, wrap my hands around his fragile neck and squeeze the life out of him, all the while looking into his eyes as he fights for air.

I imagine those dark brown eyes pleading with me for life.

As he nears blackout and becomes helpless, I remove his robe and gaze upon his smooth dark brown flesh. His naked body is pleasurable to see. I wonder how many others have had the privilege to gaze upon it. I look back up into Christ’s eyes and then back down again as he lies helpless on my bed.

His dick is beautiful, being of perfect size, with a thick bush of black pubic hair. I cannot let him die before I satisfy my desire to swallow his milk.

Before I can take his dick into my mouth, it appears to grow harder, as if in anticipation of my warm lips wrapped around it, giving suck. Maybe there is something about his destruction at my hands, that gives him this strange erection? Am I the first or have there been others? Does Jesus have the same needs as every other man?

As good as I am at sucking dicks, I hope this will take awhile. I want to enjoy his member in my mouth, my tongue lapping at his balls and tasting his hole. Could anything be better than the best sex on the final day of ones life? Especially a life never having enjoyed pleasure of the flesh.

I follow that sexy trail of hair from his navel to his dick, my mouth watering in anticipation of soiling the savior; of showing him that which he has deprived himself of all his life. I feel a sense of power over him lying helpless on my bed. With his dick in my mouth as I slowly bring him to orgasm. That wonderful smell of his balls, and my tongue exploring his hole and feeling his ass hair as I lick him out.

My dick is throbbing as his dick comes closer to exploding in my mouth. I feel him throbbing in my mouth and mine throbbing in my shorts. Then a quick spasm and a huge load of sperm, the milk of men, rushes into my hungry mouth, while at the same time my dick explodes in my shorts.

OMG! What a wonderful feeling. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before, not once. I slowly remove his still hard dick from my mouth, making certain to not let one drop of his precious milk escape me. 

I delicately lick all around his rod and his hairy balls and gaze at his dick, then follow his hairy trial back to his navel and then to his chest. I look back to his face as he lies on my bed defenseless and spent. A sense of remorsefulness engulfs me. I look for a sign of life on his face, a twitch of a muscle, any sign of life.

I raise my face to his, looking down at his perfect face, touching my lips to his. I feel the faint breath of life and then a spasm, then nothing. He is gone.

As I look upon his lifeless body, tears well-up in my eyes, then down my cheeks.

What have I done? There before me lies the body of Christ. A wasted life. I couldn’t move him. I laid next to his lifeless body in my bed, gazing upon his beauty, until I fell asleep.

I did not know what to do. I hoped I would think of something, before night turned to day.