Page 24 of Slay the Gay Away, Daddy

“Darren—”

“Please?”

Staring down at his hand, it feels like someone’s ripping away layers of wallpaper meant to mask the man underneath the persona he’s created. An awakening of sorts. I thought I’d finally overcome, but the longer Darren holds my hand, the less sure I feel.

Someone honks behind us. We’ve been at this stop sign for about three minutes now, because my Songs of Praise CD has skipped a track ahead while I was lost in Darren’s eyes.

Darren glares at the rearview mirror before rolling down the window and sticking his head out. The action places his entire butt on display. His gray slacks cling to his backside like a second skin. I can see the curve of his crack through the fabric, and I can’t stop a desperate, possessive growl from crawling out my throat. Thankfully, Darren doesn’t hear me. He’s too busy cussing at the man behind us to notice anything, so I let my eyes linger just a bit longer.

“Oh, I’ll give you something to choke on, alright!” Darren’s shrill voice screams, pulling me out of the moment. I blink a few times, and when I finally pry my eyes away from his butt, I realize he’s watching me as I watch him. He blushes. “We should go. He might shoot us if we hold him up much longer.”

With shaking hands, I take the wheel, staring straight ahead. “If anyone ever shot you, there wouldn’t be enough prayer in the world to stop me from killing him.” Darting my eyes in his direction, I rest my hand on the center of the bench seat and clear my throat before turning my attention back to the road ahead. He grips my hand gently, his fingers weaving perfectly with mine. We don’t really talk after that, just coast down Lavender Lane, refusing to let go.

When I pull into the church’s parking lot, he rips his hand away, and it feels like he’s taking part of me with him. I park in my designated spot, remove my seatbelt, and turn to face him. Darren is staring straight ahead, seething worse than he did when I told him I was taking Mal on vacation without him a few months ago.

“It’s not what you’re thinking, Dare. I didn’t bring you here to pray.”

“Then why? Did you need God’s protection from the local queer? Are you afraid to be alone with me?”

“Just come inside with me. I promise, you’ll love it.”

He shakes his head, refusing to budge. When it becomes clear he’s not going to get out of the truck on his own, I hop out, walk around the truck, and yank his door open. His eyes follow my every move; first, when I reach across his lap and unbuckle his seatbelt, then when I swivel him around to face me, and finally, as I pick him up and place him on my hip. Leaning down, I grab the lunch I packed us in the kitchen after our talk with Mal.

“If the mountain won’t come to Mohammed,” I mutter, carrying him across the parking lot. Once we’re inside, he tells me I can put him down, but I just hold him even closer. Just in case he decides to do a runner, obviously.

We head behind the altar, into the small stairwell leading to the baptismal pool. Well, “baptismal pool” is downplaying it a bit. The pool we use for baptisms is actually a jetted hot tub Mal found on eBay. Energy bill be damned, Mal insists we keep it running at all times, just in case she decides she wants a late-night soak, so that means it should still be warm enough for me and Darren.

The room the tub is in isn’t much of a room at all. It’s just a small loft that looks out over the congregation through a retractable stained-glass window. The window between the chapel and pool is rolled up at the moment, casting pretty red light fractals through the small enclosure. The red light is coming from Jesus’ robe, so it almost feels like he’s blessing this moment, but that can’t be true. Jesus may not have ever mentioned homosexuality himself, but the Bible is very clear on the matter. My savior would never bless something with the potential to become my undoing. Darren hops down and picks up two towels from a small end table next to the hot tub and starts the task of unpacking picnic items. While he does, I turn the tub’s heat a little higher, wanting to get a good soak.

“Do you remember when we used to come up here? Back when we were kids,” he clarifies.

“I wasn’t a kid when you were a kid.” I test the water with my fingertips to make sure it’s still warm. It feels fantastic. I get a little nervous about stripping down to my skivvies in front of Dare, and he must notice, because he gets the ball rolling, lifting his shirt over his head.

“It’s okay,” he soothes. “It’s just a hot tub. We used to do this all the time, and I never molested you then.” He smirks at me. “I may have masturbated to the memory of your shirtless chest, but that’s neither here nor there. Strip.”

I swallow thickly, nodding, my eyes probably bulging from his admission. Gosh. I know he’s already told me he’s done that to himself while picturing me, but it still makes my head feel like it’s spinning. No one ever notices me. I’ve never had girls or guys lining up around the block to get to me, but sometimes there’s a look in Darren’s eyes that makes me think he would. He stares at me like I’m a walking work of art. My fingers fumble with the tail of my shirt, but as hard as I try, I can’t force myself to take it off.

Darren steps in front of me, doing what I can’t when he pulls my shirt over my head. “This doesn’t have to be weird. It’s just you and me.” He unbuttons my jeans before reaching down and removing my socks and shoes, one foot at a time. When he pulls down my jeans, his eyes linger on my half-hard erection, and his tongue darts across his lips. Thankfully, he doesn’t take my underwear off. Darren stands in front of me wearing a pair of hot pink briefs that cling to his bulge, and I have to lean against the wall to stop myself from falling.

“Dare,” I whisper.

“It’s okay,” he promises, pressing a hand over my heart. “There’s nothing sordid about this.” He moves a step closer. “I’m not going to fuck you in a baptismal pool, Father Daddy.”

With anyone else, I’d be screaming “Blasphemy!” at the top of my lungs, but with Darren, I just chuckle, blushing as I say a quick prayer that God doesn’t strike us down. Darren turns andclimbs into the hot tub, taking a seat in front of the stained-glass window, facing in my direction. I climb into the tub and sit opposite him so we’re face to face.

I reach behind me, grabbing one of the sandwiches from the table and handing it to him before collecting mine. At the time, egg salad sounded fine and dandy, but now, sitting in a steaming hot tub, I think I may have made an error in judgment. Darren doesn’t seem to care, because he shovels his down in four bites before pointing at my unopened sandwich. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

I shake my head, and Darren shrugs, grabbing the sandwich and inhaling it in three bites. He reaches over me and grabs a can of soda, his knee gently coming into contact with my throbbing erection. I’m hard and I didn’t even notice. I was too wrapped up in Darren. Just the sight of him like this makes all those walls I’ve put up feel like they’re not structurally sound in the slightest. All it’ll take is one strong gust—or one strong thrust—and they’ll come crumbling down.

I grind my cock against his shin, groaning. He places a finger under my chin and tugs until I’m looking at him. For a moment, I think he’s going to beg me to continue.

“Hey, Miles.” He’s staring down at me with a warm, loving smile. Inside, I’m shaking because the simple act of grinding against him is the single greatest sexual experience of my life, and I need to get my head on straight. Slowly, I pull away, offering a mumbled apology.

Darren pops the lid on his Coke and guzzles down half the can in one swig. He sets the can on the table and wades in front of me, grinning. His mouth opens, and he lets out an obnoxious belch, right into my face. The sudden shock grounds me, cutting through all my worry, and making me laugh. The laugh morphs into a high-pitched giggle. Darren is giggling just as hard as I am, and he moves to straddle my lap, cuddling against my chest.His erection digs into my stomach, but thankfully, he stays still, not giving into his hedonistic tendencies the way I just did with his shin. His erection remains dormant, pressed between our stomachs as I watch his face for a reaction.

“I used to love it up here.” He traces my eyebrow with his thumb. “It’s funny, really. From what I remember, you only dragged me out of the chapel when your dad would start screaming about the perils of homosexuality.” He gnaws on his lip and stares intensely at me, like he’s trying to crack my code and learn all my hidden secrets. I guess he’s succeeded, because I can’t stop an admission from tumbling out my mouth.

“I didn’t want you to have to listen,” I say, staring down at his chest. “I had to hear him screaming about it all my life, and I didn’t want that for you.” I look up, my hand reaching for his chest like I’m a magnet, and Darren’s heart is made of the strongest metals. “It killed me to listen to it, and your heart is fragile. It’s not made for all that hurt.” I sniffle, but I don’t look away from my boy. I can’t. Not when he’s staring at me with unfiltered love. “It’s why I never preach about it. I don’t ever want to hurt you.”

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