Fuck me Jesus.
If you'd asked me, if I would find that expression written in my own words in my journal somewhere, I would have said no. But, there it was, some 15 years ago.
Fuck me Jesus.
What was I thinking?
A middle eastern guy about 30 years old. Dark and swarthy. (Just how I like them) Dresses in something resembling a sheet, and not much else. Naked underneath? Hanging loose. Toned, he walks everywhere. Zero fat, I'm sure he would have that sort of diet.
Some say light emanated from him. What is there not to like?
Would I go to his place? A dark, hairy man? I'd be tempted.
It would be in a primitive kind of house, all dusty and bare, I would imagine. Lots of togas and sandals. (I've been in worse places)
The house of men. (I've lived in those sorts of houses. I know those sorts of houses)
What would Jesus be like? He's a god, they say, so I imagine he would be beautiful. Aren't gods beautiful? He'd glow. Have perfect teeth. Perfect hair. He’d have an aura, surely? A circuit boy, laugh, maybe not.
Perhaps too much hair, for my liking, long, voluminous, able to be tied in a pony tail, a long pony tail. Flowing tresses. Fur would cover his skin, his chin, his neck. He’d have a hairy chest, stomach. He’d have a bush of black pubes, and the perfect penis, circumcised, of course. A god-like cock. That's how I imagine it.
Which of the disciples do you think he slept with? All men. No women. Seriously? You don’t think they would have... loved each other? Being loving brothers, as they were. A band of men.
I'd go to the door of the primitive house. Who would answer? One of the guys? Would Jesus ask to see me? Would I know him when I saw him? You know, if the room was full of guys, sitting at a table, eating super. Would I be a friend with a member of his circle? Would we be strangers, introduced by Peter or Paul or Judas? Meeting in a house, with others present. Candles burning.
I've got the name, if not the belief. Would he try and convert me?
We’d go to his room. He’d lead me by the hand. "I don't have too much time, before I will be missed," he'd say earnestly.
I could see he would be instantly missed. He lit up whatever room he was in. Everyone was drawn to him. The light would dim when he left.
"I'm Christian, nice to meet you," I'd say.
He'd step close to me. Olive skin, brown eyes, black hair. "A Christian? We don't have a Christian..."
"Boom boom,” I’d say.
He'd smiled, as though he was refocussing on me. "It's a long story, I'll tell you sometime around a log fire with some marshmallows." That dry sense of humour, that gods are renowned for.
"So,... Christian's are out?" I'd ask. "Too obvious?"
He’d looked into my eyes and I lose my train of thought, he is so handsome.
"My middle name is Kevin," I'd offer. My mouth is suddenly dry.
"Kevin, I guess you are wondering why I asked you here... now?" He'd smile again.
"No, not really?”
I'd put my arms out, and he'd take me in his embrace. I would feel his long hair against my face, his warm breath against my ear. I would feel his broad chest against mine. He'd push his muscular stomach, and the curve in his thigh, against me.
The room is dim. The candle shadow flickers on the wall.
Would I pronounce his name the South American way? (That idea has always amused me)
His breath is sweet like strawberries.
The full moon in the window.
A lute plays somewhere in the distance.
Flames lick in the stone fire place.
A gentle zephyr blows through an open window.
The duck feather mattress on the floor is soft on my back.
John is waiting in the bathroom with the towels.
Would I wait around? Would he take me to the door and say goodbye? You know, kind of subtly. No fuss, seen off the premises.
Would he introduce me to the lads?
Would he take me to his table?
Roast turkey and cranberry sauce. Plum pudding with cream and caramel sauce.
Matthias was serving.
“Is it someone’s birthday?” I’d ask.
They’d all laugh. An ice breaker.
There would be talk. Peter talking about rocks, I assume he is a geologist. Andrew next to him, strapping Andrew. Swarthy, looks like he works out. He is in fish, works at the market, or something. Older James, who everyone clearly loves and young John, the baby of the group. Paul talks about his poor eye sight. Barnabas talks about his mother’s chicken soup. Luke talks about his writing. He studied medicine when he first left school. Jerome speaks many languages, quite a linguist is Jerome. Patrick speaks with a very thick accent and is hard to understand. He calls Matthias an eejit when Mattias gives him potatoes when Patrick has already said no to them. But it is all in good fun and everybody laughs. Matthew owns a pub and is doing quite well. Andrew dances there on hens’ nights. Mark has a band with John, Matthew and Luke. They are just back from tour. Judas asks me my name. He’s an accountant, with a mind for detail. Thaddaeus gets there late, still in his tradies outfit, shorts and hiviz, carrying his tools in. Good legs has Thaddaeus, his shorts shows them off well. The current job he is working is something just short of a lost cause, he is glad to finally be home. Isn’t sure when he is ever going to finish it.
A nice bunch of guys, if a little earnest.
Judas sees me out after dinner, through the garden. He tries to kiss me. I am surprised.
