Content Warning: If you dislike religion and more specifically Jesus being used in erotica then this may not be for you.
I don’t know how it happened, but I fell for a man whose name I can’t even utter in my own home. I was walking past the church at the end of my road and even though I’d passed it countless times before on this particular day I was compelled to go in. It made me late home and my housemates were horrified that my delay had been caused by something as sinister as a church.
I laughed it off, pretended I went in to see if I’d burst into flames, but the truth was, I’d loved it in there. My thighs, barely covered by my cotton summer dress had been welcomed by the cool wooden pews and the soft, worn leather of the bibles scattered around post service made my palms feel like they had been missing out on something their whole life.
I sat in that church and I ached for something I didn’t know was missing in my life. It was a hunger, a thirst, a need I knew I had to fulfil. I began to return in secret, always when it was quiet. It didn’t feel the same when I was surrounded by others seeking to worship. This was something I needed to do alone.
On my third visit, I realised I recognised these feelings, though it had been a long time since anyone had awoken them in me. As I sat staring at an painting of Jesus, I felt a damp, warmth between my thighs and my nipples we hard and tingling, desperately trying to attract my attention.
My eyes did not move off that painting, I didn’t even glance around to see if anyone was present. My hands moved knowingly to those areas of my body I had long since neglected, I was amazed at how instinctive it was and how right it felt to give into the pleasure I could administer to myself.
I imagined Jesus knelt before me, crucified hands bloody against my thighs his tongue lapping at my cunt. I moved my hands down to lay my hands upon his head, but his crown of thorns prickled at my palms, so instead, I placed them upon my own breasts, pinching my nipples while he provides much-needed ministrations as I hear his words, not in my ears but in my heart.
‘Truly, I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.’
Yes, paradise was right as those fingers moved inside me and though they were mine, they were his. My God, My God, they were his. My body reacted in a way I have never known, strong, convulsive ripples gripped every fibre of my being and the feeling building was all for him. Tears streamed from my eyes as deep heaving breathes were forced from my lungs and words I never meant to speak left my mouth.
‘Into your hands, I commit my spirit.’
With that, I took what felt like my last breath and when I exhaled a climax took hold of me, so powerful that it brought me to my knees. I slumped from the pew, my knees crashing against the tiled floor of the church, unable to open my eyes as euphoria and lethargy washed over me. It was then, an unseen and unknown hand took mine.
‘Hush my child, it is finished now.’
It wasn’t finished though, it was only just beginning …