I was eagerly waiting at the airport for RJ Powell to arrive. The youthful minister was scheduled to be the keynote speaker here to kick off a four-day Bible Conference sponsored by our denomination. I volunteered to chauffeur him around and make sure he was always where he was supposed to be for the next four days. My pastor had given me a stipend that covered meal and lodging expenses for Rev. Powell. I had a lot of time on my hands to assist the church and Rev. Powell because I was on disability, having been injured in an industrial accident at work some years ago.

When I met Rev. Powell at the terminal, right away I noticed he wasn't as tall or big as his photographs in the denominational newsletters made him appear. He was shorter than me, about 5'6", and weighed maybe 155 lbs. But he was as handsome and striking as his denominational posters portrayed him, even as he also appeared to be a little on the boyish side which, I guess, helped open up speaking engagements for him. His boyishness seemed to disarm people. He looked to be between 28 and 30 years of age. He had sandy-brown hair and blue eyes.

We had just enough time to collect the reverend's luggage and to get him to the conference center in time for him to take to the podium and address the several hundred people assembled there for the four-day shindig. I was impressed with Rev. Powell's speaking style and ability to deliver a "right on target" message that moved the audience and impacted lives. He certainly followed closely in the steps of his preacher father, who was a major name in our denomination. Powell junior himself was widely popular in churches and as a guest speaker at conferences throughout the country. His star was certainly rising fast on the denominational horizon! It was rumored in denominational circles that Powell junior was being groomed to succeed his father in the role of ecclesiastical leader once Senior Powell either dropped off the face of the earth or retired.

I had thrown myself into church work in an attempt to exorcise many "demons" of the flesh, some being sexual additions to the wrong things, alcoholism, adultery and fornication, and all around bad behavior. I am an adult survivor of a terrible divorce, and at age 36, it was time for me to get my act together. I decided to go back to church to get the help, spirtual and otherwise, that I needed. This opportunity to perform "good works" on behalf of my church and the denomiation was a great opportunity to atone for my past errant ways.

Following the evening service, I asked Rev. Powell where he'd like to go for dinner.

"Please, call me RJ," he said amiably. "And if you don't mind, what I'd really like to do is get something to go and take it back to the hotel. I'm exhausted from my flight and I'm looking forward to some relaxation. I don't have anything else on my schedule until a luncheon tomorrow afternoon, and then tomorrow night's service. Can we do that?"

"You're in charge," I said cheerfully and we got take out for the hotel room.

Once in the large, opulent room, RJ changed into sweats and a T-shirt in the bathroom. He went from a three-piece-suit- wearing preacher to a college looking guy in just a couple of minutes. We spread the take out on the table and began eating after RJ gave thanks. The denomination spared no expense for the room. I was going to be rooming with RJ for the next four days and I really appreciated the high-roller treatment I was going to be getting just for driving him around and helping him to stay on schedule.

We engaged in small talk about family, friends and faith. Then RJ got up and retrieved a bottle from his suitcase. I saw the label: it was an expensive brand of bourbon. I turned away my glance and pretended not to notice. Then he offered me a drink!

"I know what this looks like but let me explain," he said as he sat down and poured us each a drink. "I was in a rollover accident on an ATV at summer youth camp a few years ago, and I fractured my pelvis in several places. I am still on pain medication for it, but when I'm on the road like I am so much, it's more difficult to get the prescription medication than it is to get this." He showed me the bottle, then added, "It helps to ease the pain."

His explanation made sense to me, but I declined a second drink.

"I'm a recovering alcoholic and you know what they say; one drink is like a million and a million is not enough." RJ nodded, then said,

"Airplane flights are especially torturous for me, and I can't even walk straight once I'm off the thing." I had noticed a slight limp when we met at the aiport. Too bad a man at his youthful age must endure such pain and discomfort. He continued talking, "Self-medicating like this would really get me in trouble with my father."

"Really?"

"Yeah, you know the drill: we're not supposed to drink, smoke or chew or run with folks who do." I simple took his word on that.

He asked me about my family, and wanted to know if we were affectionate or close. I rambled on for several minutes about my folks and siblings and mentioned how overtly affectionate we all were. "My parents are big on the hugs and kisses," I said. "Even now when we're grown, my dad still hungs and kisses each of us. And now that the grandkids are starting to pile up, there's more love to go around. My Dad tells people, 'All my kids get all my love all the time!' He says love is not divisible."

As I spoke, RJ just gawked at me. "My father is not affectionate at all," he blurted out. "He never hugs or kisses any of us, and I don't think I've ever heard him say that he loves me!"

My heart went out to RJ, and my estimation of his father started to plummet. During the rest of the conversation, RJ shared with me the pretense his childhood was growing up in a famous preacher's home. He described his father as "austere" and his mother as "distant."

As bed time approached, I got a shower. When I was done, I threw the shower curtin open and stepped out. At that instant, RJ entered the bathroom and startled me somewhat. Seeing my reaction, he apologized saying, "Too much bourbon, I've gotta go!" With that, he threw back the toilet seat and let fly with a steady stream of pee.

"I didn't know preachers had to do that," I joked, more or less revealing a tendency lay people have of putting their leaders up on a pedestal. "Oh yeah," he responded, and kept on peeing.

As I dried off, I noticed RJ looking at my genitals above which I had a hideous tatoo of a dragon about which I was embarrassed. Tatoos were against denominational code as well. "Interesting tatoo," he commented, but as I surveyed his line of sight, I could tell he wasn't looking at the dragon: He was gazing at my wet dripping penis!

Once finished in the bathroom, I donned my sweats and T-shirt for bed and turned on the TV. I was reclining on my bed when I heard RJ call to me from the bathroom, "Hey Frank, can you give me a hand?"

"Sure," I said and got up. When I entered the bathroom, RJ had his pants down below his bare butt and had a large syringe and a hot water bottle out on the counter in the bathroom. "Since my accident, my bowels have been all messed up," he said. "Plus with my travels and eating at odd hours and such, I get terrible constipation. Most of the nights before bed I have to give myself an enema, but tonight I hurt so bad I can't get the tube into my hole without spilling everything all over the floor. Do you mind?"

The sight of this preacher's bare bottom at first shocked me, but after a few seconds I collected my composure and assisted him. He was leaning over the counter in the bathroom waiting for me to insert the enema tube. I lubricated the tube, spread his cheeks, and slowly pushed the tube into his anus. I then took the hot water bottle and began pushing its contents into RJ. As his gut filled, I watched his reflection in the mirror. He closed his eyes and seemed to be enjoying the sensations of the warm solution as it entered his rectum. I also saw the reflection of his penis as it first hung down. But before long, it grew thick and even started to rise up. I quickly pushed the rest of the solution from the bag into his anus, and then left the bathroom so he could finish up. Preachers are people just like us, I mused.

While laying on my bed, I heard RJ in the bathroom thundering royally on the toilet as the annointed turds oozed out of his sanctified butt hole and hit the holy water in the commode. I thought that this nightly routine ought to certainly be done in private in a sound proof room!

I heard the shower water go on.

After about 15 minutes, I heard him call out to me again. "Hey Frank, can you do something else for me?"

I said, "Sure," and started to get up off the bed to go back into the bathroom but RJ instead came into the room totally stark naked!

"I know this looks strange, Frank, but I need to ask you a big favor...I need to have this analgesic cream massaged into my pelvis area because of my pain, and it's just a lot easier to do if I don't have my clothes on."

His explanation made sense to me and I motioned to my bed. He laid face down on the bed as I squeezed some of the analgesic cream into my hands. I looked down at his naked body and felt a surge of lust as my eyes took in his bare butt. You see, part of the reason my wife left me was because she found me in bed with another man. He was the home health care attendant my company hired after my industrial accident, and was supposed to assist me. He was assigned to help me do all the stuff healthy people do for themselve; bathroom routine, showering, etc. Before too many days though, his attentiveness turned sexual, and because I had temptations in this area anyway, one thing led to another and we were in the middle of a gargantic man-love escapade in bed when my wife came home. She called me a "Queerdulterer," and stormed out of the house. Within days I heard from her attorney and the divorce fight was on.

Gay behavior was against our denominational code as well, and was one of the things I was trying to overcome through the Spirit.

So now, as I surveyed RJ's body, I realized that he resembled that home health care attendant a lot, and I was beginning to get aroused at that! I fought off feeling guilty, and told myself, as with the enema a short time ago that this was ministerial and not sexual! Yet, here was this very human man with his very human naked butt exposed to me lying on my bed in a very human vulnerable position. This man in front of me was no preacher at that particular moment!

RJ instructed me to rub his hips, his buttocks and his thighs. I rubbed the cream all the way down to his feet and massaged his calfs, ankles and feet. Then I decided to give him a full-body massage and rubbed the cream all the way up his back to his neck. He asked,

"Where did you learn to give a massage like this?" he asked.

"My dad is a chiropractor," I said cheerfully.

"That is so therapeutic!" he groaned. Then he turned over and I was shocked to see that he had an erection! His penis was standing straight up. "It was also very sensual," he said breathlessly. I gaped at his face but my eyes kept being drawn back to his man-tool standing at attention! A glistening drop of semen beaded up at the tip of his penis right at his pee hole.

"RJ," I said, "Just what exactly is it that you want?"

I was equally shocked at his answer. Tears welled up in his eyes, his lip quivered and his chin wrinkled up. "I want a man to love me," he blurted out.

"Look RJ," I protested, "I'm not your father."

"You're right you're not," he said as he began to openly weep now. "My father would never have given me a massage like you just did. When I was in the hospital for three weeks after my accident he never came to see me not one time! He always sent people from the ministry over to check on me. He never called, he never came, he never even expressed any interest in my recovery. My mom was there doing what moms do, but my father was MIA!" The young preacher laying nude on my bed now erupted in full blown crying now. I tried to comfort him but didn't really know what to do. Laypeople never have any answers; that's what preachers are for!

Trying to ignore his aroused penis, I rubbed the cream on the fronts of his legs, inner thighs and front pelvis area, taking care to avoid physical contact with his pubic area and genitals. I then bent his knees up into his chest to limber up his aching muscles a little. I kept looking at his boyish crotch though. RJ wasn't very hairy beyond just his pubic bone area and some pubic hair around his scrotum. His underside, however, was almost hairless except for some stray hairs in and around his anus. Naked there on the bed, I had a difficult time connecting this boyish looking naked man with that dynamic preacher in the pulpit a few hours earlier.

As he continued to moan in what I can only describe as ecstacy, RJ finally said, "I want a man to take me!" As he said this, he spread his legs and pulled his knees far apart, exposing his crotch, genitals and pink puckered anus for my lustful eyes. I gawked at his erection, his loose hanging balls, and the darkened ring that was his butt hole. Conflicting thoughts whirled through my head: Was I being invited to enjoy him sexually? This preacher? This nude man on my bed? OR was I simply supposed to ignore his overtures and finish up the massage and go to bed?

"What's it going to be RJ?" I finally asked.

He looked up into my eyes and with his expression pleaded with me to take him. My own penis was nearly fully aroused by now and I got undressed and slipped into bed beside RJ. The young preacher certainly knew how to give head, work my ass hole up good, tantizlize my testicles and cause me to blow my wad gloriously! In turn, I pleasured him as best I could, and within a few minutes, RJ shot what seemed to be a quart or two of sperm. Apparently, the massage was sufficient foreplay to get him going. He especially enjoyed being anally penetrated by a huge aroused penis!

When we settled in for the night, we talked. He tearfully confessed to me that he had committed, "the unpardonable sin."

I told him I thought the gospels taught that it was "blasphemy against the Holy Ghost."

"Maybe it is with the bible," RJ said, "But in my father's view, and in the view of the denomination, having love with another man is worse than divorce, it's worse than adultery and it's worse that murder! In their view, a man can be forgiven of every sin imaginable except sex with another man."

"Will you feel guilty in the morning?" I asked. He shook his head no then asked if I was gay.

"I'm whatever the temptation happens to be at the moment," I answered. "If it's booze, I'm a lush; if it's women, I'm a fornicator; if it's drugs, I'm an addict; if it's a man, I'm a queer."

He thought about all that, then commented, "I really admire your honesty."

"You're not honest?" I asked him.

"No, I'm not," the young preacher said. "I'm living a lie; a double life. I can't be honest about what I am and who I am to anyone in my family or my church, as especially to my father. He would totally disown me if he knew what I really am when I'm alone. I just can't face up to it."

I had read in one of the newsletters somewhere that RJ had gotten engaged to a woman. I asked him about it and he acknowledged that he was still engaged.

"How do you reconcile what we did tonight with being engaged to be married to a woman?" I asked.

"I can't reconcile it and that's just the problem," he admitted. "I hate the duplicity."

"Do you love this woman?" I asked, but he hesitated. I felt his body go rigid. Finally he spoke,

"She's a very devout Christian girl. She's lovely and wonderful to be with."

"You didn't answer my question," I scolded. "Do you love her?"

Finally, RJ admitted that his engagement and pending marriage was just going to be "one of convenience," because her family represented one powerful and influential faction of the denomination and his family represented the other. "If we wed, we will establish a dynasty hold on the ecclesiastical functions of the denomination for decades to come," he said.

"So, it's not about love, it's about money, power and...you!" I asserted. RJ nodded in agreement.

"You need to at least be honest with her," I told him. "She deserves a man who is totally devoted to her as a wife, woman and mother; not someone who is just marrying her for stature, position, power and control." I amazed myself at how mature and sensible I sounded to this man with whom I had just had sex.

"I can't back out now," RJ confessed. "The die is cast. It's not unlike the arranged marriages of other cultures."

"Then you need to be honest with your father," I said. "You need to tell him what you are and what you're doing. Otherwise, you're sentencing yourselve to a life of horrendous hypocrisy that will tear you apart from the inside out!"

"I can't tell my father," he blurted out. "It could result in a national scandal like Jimmy Swaggart, Jimmy Bakker and Ted Haggard! I wouldn't be able to endure the shame! Besides, I'm 30 years old and I've never worked a day in my life. I wouldn't know how to hold down a regular job like regular people because through the denomination, all our needs have been met all my life. It's the only life I've ever known."

With that, our meaty conversation was over and I drifted off to sleep with the young preacher at my side naked in my bed, next to my naked body. I recall thinking as I drifted off to sleep that I was much better off pschologically because at least I was honest with myself. I enjoyed same sex encounters (and opposite ones too), but at least I was at peace with myself! I wasn't living a double life, as RJ was doing.

***

At mid-morning the following day, RJ was dressed in his three-piece suit and ready to go. Neither one of us talked about the incident the night before. Once he was dressed in his suit--his "uniform"--he seemed like a different person. Before we left the room, though, he grabbed the bedspread, blankets and sheets of the unused double bed and threw them around a bit. He then fluffed up the pillows. I just stood and watched him. He turned to me and said sheepishly, "The hotel staff knows there were two men in this room last night. It wouldn't look good if only one bed was slept in!"

Before getting out of the car at the conference center, RJ turned to me and with pleading eyes asked, "Is my secret safe with you?"

I held up my hand. "Nothing was said and nothing happened last night."

He nodded. "Thank you," and went into the large dining room where the luncheon was to be held. I watched him work the crowd of preachers and attendees. He was glad-handing them and networking with them. Many of the ministers treated RJ with deference and respect, no doubt as a result of his father's stature and reputation. It occurred to me as I surveyed the crowd dynamic that played out before my eyes that RJ was finally getting the adult male attention he so craved. Like a kid preening for attention, he was basking in the kudos and adulation of that crowd. After lunch, he stood in the pulpit and delivered a powerful and moving sermon. For my part, I sat in the back of the room reflecting upon the young preacher's naked body in my bed, his aroused penis, an enema tube in his anus, and his boyish crotch with sparse pubic hair. I know I should have paid attention to the message, but I couldn't forget what we'd done the night before, and how that young man prompted my same-sex lust and yearnings. I kept remembering his tight little asshole and his erect cock and his delicious balls.

After the service, RJ told me he didn't have to be back until the evening, and suggested we return to the hotel. Once back in the room, he stripped birthday-suit-naked and plopped down on the bed and asked me to join him. Even though he was a man of God, I couldn't ignore the fact that he was a very beautiful man and his nude body beckoning me gave me a surge of lust, desire and longing for him. My penis grew and my chest heaved as I stripped and joined him.

We fucked all afternoon, rested, and then awoke for some more. We 69 each other, and I licked and sucked his dangling balls and hot penis. I licked his anus and gave him tongue-pleasure extraordinaire! Then totally out of the blue, he said, "Maybe I should give them up for Jesus."

"Give what up," I asked.

"My testicles," he said eagerly. "They are the cause of all my sexual urges and problems. Maybe you could just cut them off and flush them down the toilet! Then I could get revenge on my father and deny him grandchildren!"

"RJ," I said, "Your testicles are not your problem!"

"Well, what is?"

"Your problem is you're not honest with yourself or anyone else. Cutting your balls off won't solve any problems."

But he was already down that trail way ahead of me. As we caressed and stroked and sucked and probed, he started to say, "Take them! Take my testicles! Cut them off! Castrate me and make me a eunuch! Bite my balls off, please! Have a nut harvest. Castrate my balls and throw them away."

I got the impression he wasn't really talking to me when he said these things. He seemed to be inviting someone...or something else...to take his testicles.

"RJ, are you alright?" I asked, somewhat alarmed. I was enjoying the sex but his pleas for castration and emasculation were getting to me. RJ ignored me and kept saying, "Cut them off...take my testicles...cut my balls off! Cure me of my urges...castrate me and flush my nuts down the toilet...Bite them off. Cut them off. Yank them off. Pull them off. Castrate me, please!"

He then got up from the bed and walked to his suitcase from which he retrieved some straps and some rubber bands. He then proceeded to wrap the rubber bands around his nut sack and tied the straps around his genitals and started manipulating them wildly, raising the straps over his shoulders and engaging in cock and ball torture.

"I do this when I'm alone in a hotel room," he told me. "I pretend that I'm going to be castrated at the end of a sex encounter gone wrong." I simply watched him play out his little fantasy. This was going to be a long four days!

Later when he got dressed in his three-piece suit, he was again, a different person. He delivered another great message, and when we retired to the hotel once more, he began to pester me about cutting his balls off.

"RJ, I'm not going to castrate you," I protested. "Furthermore, even though I think you're a hot male lover and a great man of God, I'm really starting to resent your behavior. The sex is one thing, but you're a different person entirely when you're out in public. I don't know which RJ I am dealing with: the one whose anus feels good to my penis, or the preacher in the pulpit delivering a great sermon. Just who are you?" I demanded.

He stopped his castration play and thought about it. "I'm both," he finally said. "I am what I need to be when the occasion comes about. When I need to preach, I'm the man of God. When I retire back to the hotel, I'm a stark raving lunatic pervert! I parade around my room naked with my balls tied off and a knife ready to slice them off. I wear a thong sometimes and I watch myself in the mirror pretending that I'm looking at someone else who is standing before me naked. I have a vibrating dildo that I push up my butt and I sometimes bring my sexual bondage stuff with me. I also engage in autoerotic play. Someday they might find me hanged in my hotel room. But when it's time to preach, I can stand and deliver!"

"Good grief," I said, "do you do this to all your drivers?"

"I don't always have someone like you to drive me around. Most of the time I'm alone in the hotel, except for when I hire someone to come up to be with me."

The next three days and nights went by quickly. RJ and I slept in the same bed each night, and before we left in the morning, he'd mess up his unused bed, "To keep up appearances," he said.

During the final service, the denomiation had a surprise for RJ: they flew in his parents and his fiance, and they all appeared on the stage with him to a standing ovation from the audience. As I took in the scene, it looked so much like an election night with the victorious president and vice-president making their victory speeches. There was no resemblance whatsoever of a religious or spiritual event. RJ's dad never hugged him; he merely shook his hand. The fiance was, as described by RJ, very beautiful, and I felt sorry for her knowing what kind of man he really was.

I quit going to church as a result of that whole charade.

A couple of months later I caught a blurb of news that reported that an influential young minister had been found dead in a hotel room. My attention perked up! Sure enough, it was RJ who had apparently overdosed on pain medication. The news report noted that RJ was engaged to be married, and that family had mourned the loss of one of the nation's brightest new faces in the ministerial firmament. RJ's denomination was quoted as saying that the minister had apparently become dependent upon pain medication and had inadvertently consumed too many pills and died as a result of an accidental overdose. His parents echoed the conclusion.

For my part, I simply concluded that RJ grew tired of living a double life and that the demon of duplicity was tormenting him to such a degree that he couldn't stand himself anymore. He did his fiance a favor, I thought, in dying before he married her and screwing up her life as well.

I also thought that if RJ died in his sins and went to hell, he certainly would be a great guest speaker there!