chapter 27: personal jesus
“Abre tus ojos,” a soft command that feels more important. I don’t want to. I don’t want to open my eyes and see him, see myself. I pretend I can’t hear him, giggle a little. He says it again. Why? I ask him. “Look at me,” he says. Look at me. Again. He touches my face. I don’t like that. I tell him to stop and he does. I open my eyes and he’s looking at me, into me. I hate being seen. But I like this. This feels nice.
“Tell me a story,” I say.
“What kind of story?”
“A fantastical one.”
“Well, some people believe that Jesus died on the cross for the whole world’s sins, but the truth is it was all a misunderstanding. Actual Jesus was the son of the biggest asshole the universe had ever known, and as everyone knows there ain’t no silver spoon boys giving up shit for anybody but themselves. Jesus liked to do that slumming shit and so he came to earth one day cuz he heard there was some bomb pussy and some good ass snacks.
He did a total snot nose noob move and was just walking around with pristine clothes, looking around like a puppy. Everyone could read his ass, and so he got found by a bunch of thugs who had booze and promised ladies. Being royalty he had access to a lifestyle that most folks didn’t know. He got super drunk and started telling these dudes about his dad and the planets and teleportation and all that. At first they just thought he was hella crazy, but after several hours of it they started to believe him. The facts just seemed to line up. And they did what any smart criminals would do when a prince decided to show up like a dummy: they kidnapped him figuring his rich daddy would hand over something of value in exchange for him.
That night when God sat down for dinner there was no Jesus, and he started to worry. It was tater tots night. Jesus never missed tater tots night. So he started asking around, found out he was on earth and decided it was time for his ass to get back. He called up Jesus on his futuristic heavenly phone, but no one answered. He started to worry. Who could he trust to transfer his valuable properties to and carry on the legacy of his name if not Jesus? He had disowned a bunch of his kids. Maybe he could just leave Jesus down there? No. No. It took a long time to get a kid who was the right combination of dumb, selfish and easy to manipulate. Shit. He was gonna have to take care of it himself.
Well, heaven-time and earth-time were really different. On earth each year was just a few heaven minutes. So, just the time between tater tots and God realizing he had to find a way to get Jesus back was several years. The thugs started to get real restless. Jesus was a whiny lil bitch and they were getting tired of waiting to collect on their investment. They had been taking him out and making him say weird magical shit to people in hopes that someone would pass the word along that they’d seen Jesus, but everyone was so into these strange shows – cuz remember life was real boring at that time - that no one wanted them to end.
So Jesus’ captors came up with an elaborate plan. Serve him up as bait. Publicly. Get him to start wailing and screaming. Maybe his dad would come to them. They gathered around with some weed and some Scooby snacks and got to scheming. The higher they got the more elaborate the ideas, until finally they were like: let’s put him in some panties and hang him up on a cross. Well, it worked. God did take notice.
When he saw Jesus wearing panties his epic homophobia kicked in and he was like ‘fuckit.’ Jesus didn’t die for anybody’s sins. He died cause his dad was a bigot. The end.”
“So my grandma has been praying to a ‘lil bitch’ – was that the phrase you used…?”
“… and a bigot for years?”
"I mean, I guess that actually sounds about right now that I think about it. That story got me pretty wet though.”
And this is the moment in the story where Jesus ate me out, like a real feminist, like any real revolutionary pussy-loving human would. In case it’s unclear, I still do not realize he is Jesus. That’s coming.
And so am I. :D
“What are you? Some kind of clitoris magician?”
“Naw, I’m just hella old. I’ve eaten a lot of pussy. You know what they say? El diablo no sabe por diablo si no por viejo.”
“Oh my god. Are you actually the devil? Is this the surrealist twist to our encounter?”
“No, girl. I’m the dude from the story. My dad did leave me on the cross wearing panties. Some nice old ladies brought me down, did some brujeria, spit some agua ardiente on me, left me in a cave for three days, and when I woke up they taught me all about my male privilege and how to be an actual fucking human. Now I just hang around Mexico City giving head to girls with broken hearts.”
I sat there, panties around my ankles. He wiped his beard, laid down next to me again. I could smell my lemony cunt on his face. Had I just fucked Mexican Jesus?
"Wait, I had planned to meet you at a bar and you were supposed to tell me about my grandmother. What happened?"
"Girl, you still don't get this story ain't about your grandma?"
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I release a new chapter a week on Thursdays - unless I'm exceedingly overwhelmed or whatever I write is so epically terrible I'm too embarrassed to put it on the internet.