Jesus working overtime

The saga of the gorgeous guy at work continues. Only now what’s happening is that I keep getting ridiculously close to saying something indescribably inappropriate, and trying to keep my mouth shut is wearing me out. I’m exhausted.

Not to mention that Jesus is seriously kicking my butt — that’s wearing me out, too.

I woke up at 5 AM and before my eyes were even open, the very first thought in my head was: God, I really, really want to fuck that guy from work. And Jesus was already right there. “Remember those textbooks from your final year in Divinity School? The ones with titles like: Ministerial Ethics: Moral Formation for Church Leaders, and Betrayal of Trust: Confronting and Preventing Clergy Sexual Misconduct?”


Lust sometimes makes me forget that I’m a minister. I do have the black shirt with the white collar, but if you’re not getting married or buried, there’s no reason whatsoever for me to wear it. And I don’t have any sort of a church building surrounding me. And Lord knows, I wasn’t given a congregational flock to tend to — Jesus saw right away where that was going to go (i.e., nowhere fast), so without these things to alert  people that I’m a minister and that my behavior should be held to a higher standard 24/7, it’s easy for me to wander unobserved down a bunch of dark alleys and succumb to the allure of my darker side.

Obviously, if the gorgeous guy were single, none of this would be bothering me at all. I’m allowed to have sex. But he’s not single. And, even though I rarely come on to a guy sexually, when I have, they have never said no, even when they weren’t single. I have an uncanny track record. And it’s not because I’m so alluring, gang. It’s because I have a killer vocabulary that practically requires a concealed carry permit. Even if you only have a drop of testosterone left in your body, I know the words that will find it in a hurry. And that’s because I was a very effective erotica writer for over 20 years.  Language is an incredibly manipulative thing. I try never to play that card. With or without Jesus. But the fact is that Jesus is always along for the ride now.

A few years ago, when I was extremely close to moving back to New York, I reconnected with an old flame who still lives back there, who now lives in the town I was planning to move to; a chef who owns a popular restaurant there.  We reconnected because his mom had died and he needed spiritual help, especially from someone like me who understood his complicated emotional entanglements with his mom who had been a famous jazz singer who was never home, never emotionally available to him.

I don’t usually fall in love with people. I do love people deeply, but I don’t usually “fall in love.” This man, though, was one of those rare guys that I fell in love with at first sight, when I was 27 years old, and never really fell out of love with.  But he’s a loner, in the truest sense of the word; the song Desperado was written for a man just like him. And even though, 30-some years ago, he wanted to have a baby with me — something I really, really wanted — I knew he would just never, ever be around for that kid. Loners are loners are loners.

After we were talking for a year re: his mom’s death and the things he was forcing himself to see about who she’d been, I did go out to see him. For a year, I was really careful not to let myself fall in love with him again, even though it was all still right there, all those feelings. But our re-connection wasn’t about distracting him with sex — he already knew how to do that really, really well. It was about helping him focus on other issues that were really painful for him.

He is really good looking in a very hard & bony sort of way; slim and tall. He lives above his restaurant. Being (an incredibly good) chef is his whole life, his world. After the place was closed for the night, we were alone in the restaurant’s kitchen because he wanted to grab something from the walk-in and take it to his kitchen upstairs. I stood there and waited, looking at all his grills, the layout of his professional kitchen that he had designed with such care. And suddenly he was standing right behind me, pressing himself right up against me, his arms came around me and his voice was in my ear. “You wanna stay over?”

In a nanosecond, it was all back, all the feelings. I melted into those arms of his. He was always so erotic to me. I sure fucking do wanna stay over. I forgot about everything else.

We were upstairs in his bedroom, both of us pushing 60 and we haven’t been together since we were 30 years old. But it was like no time whatsoever had passed. We fell onto his king-sized bed — and here comes Jesus, working overtime for me again. And Jesus is, like: “Girlfriend, what do you think you’re doing?”

Well, I’m naked; he’s naked. I’m wet, he’s erect. It’s looking obvious to me. You can figure it out, right?

“This is not what you signed up for; not what I called you to do. You came here in my name; do you really want to play this card?”

And of course, I didn’t. I didn’t go through with it. In a really unexpected move — his penis was literally just starting to go in me — I called it off. “This isn’t right.”

He was exasperated. He flopped down next to me on his side of the bed, stared out the huge open windows at the night sky. “Marilyn, you always did think too much.”

So Jesus is working overtime for me again. Because of this guy at work. Because all I think about these days is fucking that guy at work and I know that fucking him would be off the charts. Plain vanilla sex, super kinky sex, any combination there of, would be, well, a really successful erotic encounter. I can just tell. I’ve been around, for godssakes.

Last night was one of those nights where we were both at work and where what he was doing required that he was basically standing right next to me for the whole shift. And by now, I’m so out of my mind with lust for him that I can barely function.  At one point, I looked up at him and was literally going to say: “Anytime, dude. Anything you want to do to me — anything at all — I’m not gonna say no.” And at that crucial moment, Jesus pushed a jumble of other words out of my mouth instead. I have no idea what I wound up saying, but it was completely meaningless, I know that.

And then Jesus said to me, “You tell me where, in all the hundreds of gospels written about me, whether they’re canonical gospels or lost and secret gospels that have been hidden away in caves for thousands of years — you tell me where it says that I ever taught that it was okay to tempt somebody to betray a trust.”


So, through a literal miracle, I kept my mouth shut. I don’t know how I did it.

Later in the evening, at the end of the shift, I sat outside with a group of co-workers and I watched him smoke a cigarette. He is so darned sexy, even when he’s just sitting there, smoking. And once more, I was thinking: Dude, fucking you would be off the charts. And, of course, he looked right at me. And I tried like hell to just look away.

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