[Editor’s Note: I can’t imagine a highly religious sort enjoying this site on a daily basis, but if for some reason that’s you, you may want to pass on this Greely short story. But, for those who are interested in a very different perspective and perverse bible interpretation, read on.]
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After Jesus was crucified and the Apostles set to spreading rumors all over Judea that the Savior’d risen from the dead, a lot of opportunistic swine began popping up, claiming to have been infused with the spirit of Jesus, and were therefore worthy of being listened to, followed around, and given cash. Post hoc apostles, as it were.

Prior to Paul arriving in Caesarea, I’d met two of these upstart prophets. Each had got head-hacked by Nero within two weeks of his arrival. One was a fish-eyed fat fuck who said his name was Luke-Mark. The other, a self-starver with a cancer ate away half his nose, went by Thomas-Tim. Luke-Mark didn’t resist or nothing, just turned over the “alms” he’d collected to the guards and let his dull, lazy self get towed to the chop block. Thomas-Tim, on the other hand, was given a chance to save his ass. He’d hauled a crowd of three or four dozen self-starve recruits from Antipatris to Jerusalem, half of them heart-attacking on the way. The powers that be were impressed with this ghoul’s perseverance, so they offered him a mammoth fucking meal of stuffed peacock, figs, olives, yams, and all sort of shit, which the pseudo Saint dove into; and half way through the goddamn persimmon pie he leaned back, and instead of renouncing Christ like he said he was gonna do, he bent over and purged all over a guard’s foot. The governor pl”2″ d Tom-Tim in the throat with a salad fork, then personally dragged the bleeding, gagging skeletal to the block, where citizens were already assembled for the lopping.

I almost lost my girl to one of these swindlers.

But before I impart the incredible sequence of events, it’s important that you get to know me:

My name is Remo Colossus. I’m thirty-four and a Roman citizen. My father’s a mason, and my mother’s a maid for the Roman Tribune. I decided early on I wasn’t gonna be lifting bricks or feeding some lazy politician’s family and mopping their excrement from the alcoves. See, I got some royal blood in me. Pa denies it; back-handed me even for insulting his bloodline, which he says is hard-working Romans all the way back. But I know different. I was adopted. Had a vision. Then, I went to the Soothsayer and he confirmed it. He was so impressed with me, he gave me a hand job and asked me to come back any time. So how’s that?

Physically, I don’t share a freckle with pa. Unlike the pathetically satisfied cement mixer, I got a full head of raven hair, which I keep a uniform length all around and comb back with first cold press virgin oil. Pop’s shaped like one of those granite stumps he rolls up the fucking hill all day, and with vile matted tufts of curl sprouting from all over his front and back. Me? I’m tall and smooth. Completely hairless from the chin downward. I shave my ass, balls, pupe batch and pits; and my girlfriend, Maria Felix, she says in the light of the moon I look like one of the stud statues in front of the casino.

In addition to being royal, and handsome, I got intelligence. Enough not to accept pop’s invitation to apprentice down at the rock grind. Shit. He calls me a bum cause I’m still living at home. Ma don’t mind, cause I tidy up and feed the cats. And Maria’s pop, governor Felix, is low-ded, so she spots me cash whenever I need it.

Maria’s ma, Drusilla, who spends her days masturbating and swilling pomegranate wine, once gave me twenty sesterces to give her a nude view, no touch. I should’ve charged her double, cause when I pulled up my robe, the poor lonely sink just dove, cranking it, kissing it, drawing designs on it with her tongue. I yanked free when she started wringing it out like a chamois. I swear, she chased me out the back door and into the yard on all fours.

Governer Felix had a liking for me too. I came over once to set fence posts and caught him spying on me from the upstairs window. He came down with a bucket and ladle and after ogling me up and down while I hammered a post in-I was glistening with sweat and pumped up so’s veiny muscles were bulging all over-he said, “You’re a fine handsome young man, Remo.” Then he dipped the ladle and poured icy cold on my back. “You have had a good influence on my daughter.”

“Well, sir,” I said. “I know what I like, and seems most folks start tunneling down for it through the rock and the clay instead of letting it roll uphill by itself.”

Felix’s eyes smalled and he tilted his head, but then he laughed heartily, massaging creamy mud circles around my shoulder blades.

I was banging Maria’s best friend Myra too, cause she had a set of ruby tipped cans Maria was lacking. I was pounding Myra from behind-which is the way I like it-in the olive grove and had just pulled my cassock on when Maria showd up. She didn’t suspect anything, but that was too close for cozy, so I cut off the extra cooze. I didn’t miss it too much. In fact, I appreciated the regained silence. See, Myra’d had a Jesus vision, and it was getting so’s it wasn’t just a speedy aggressive flush from behind, but I had to listen to twenty minutes of her new Christian insights beforehand.

Was Maria told me about Paul, the self-proclaimed thirteenth apostle. Apparently, the man was Jewish but raised a Roman citizen. Post-crucifixion, he was first in line for the job of persecuting Christians, and at that time used his birth name, Saul. He did this for a while, then, while strolling the road to Damascus, hatchet in hand, he was struck blind and infused with the spirit of Christ himself. Then, after a night of demon/angel inner torment, all the bad left him and he became Paul. Actually, a Paul shell with some filled with Jesus. He went sailing all over; Antioch, Ephesus, Athens, Corinth, drumming up crowds wherever he spoke; I mean, larger groups than Jesus himself leashed around; which makes sense, you know, like most risky fads, once they catch on, everyone wants to get on board. Maria said he was a self-flagellator and a starver too. Admitted to having all this self-hatred, rubbing dirt clods in his eyes and drinking goat piss to punish himself. And people went for this. I don’t get it, but the guy was a fucking hit.

I didn’t like the way Maria related the story of this new-comer philanthro. Seemed she’d went for it too. A little too much enthusiasm. I didn’t show my suspicion, though. I mean, I didn’t have anything to worry about. I could fuck any one I chose, female OR male; even though I have no interest in the latter, for the record, I could snap my fingers and have the Athens pole-vaulting team lined up on hands and knees for a test run with my beautiful pole.

But still, I didn’t want to lose Maria. We had some history. And though there’s pie-o-plenty in Caesarea and Jerusalem, there usually ain’t big wads of cash attached. I thought I’d better check out this Johnny-come-lately Christ child.

*****

This Paul-formally-Saul was not eyeball candy, I’ll tell you that. He stood about five-seven, had the body fat of a bamboo branch and was bald save for a couple saddlebag wisps. His matted beard swung from side to side as he spoke like it was holding a load. I was hiding behind a tree watching him preach to fairly large lowlife grouping.

“The Savior Jesus Christ resides within, and my word is holy,” He shouted nasally.

Can you fucking believe that? This guy had about twenty grownups all blinkless and nodding like pidgies. Eating it up. And when this one moron, who had his arms outstretched and was blocking my view-finally sat down on a rock, I near shat down my leg. Was Maria, kneel-sitting at Paul’s feet.

Paul kept preaching and bowing and whirling around while my gal just sat there gazing up at him gluey eyed. Then a band of Jews show’d up fisting rocks and sticks. That’s when I took off.

The next afternoon, I set out early for the foothills where Myra lived. Yeah, after thinking it through for a while, I knew who I needed to grill.

Myra was in the corral scrubbing down one of her pa’s hogs when I came busting through the gate. I shouted her name and demanded she tell me what was going on. My voice spooked the swine and they all scattered, squealing and oinking. Myra stood and planted her fists on her hips. Her clothes were soaked right through and sucking to her tits and rib rack. She confessed right away, which surprised me.

“Yeah, I took Maria to Paul’s sermon. And I introduced them.”

Then she started piping about how I took advantage of Maria, and would be scurrying like a skink to the nearest dark moist hole if the cash hose suddenly kinked off. “Paul’s the sensitive type, and I owe it to my best friend to try to save her…and Jesus this, and Christ that, and blah, blah, blah.

Was all horseshit. Myra was just pissed cause I wasn’t banging her anymore.

It was an easy fix, though. I smiled handsome, and I knew I looked good. I’ve been told I look sexiest just before sundown. It’s the light on my surface. Perfect. I winked and half-smiled and undid my belt. Myra dropped her fists and started giggling. We went at it right there in six inches of mud and pig shit, Myra gripping the fencepost and “oink-oinking” and squealing in between her groans.

So, next I had to confront Maria.

By the time I reached the city, it was pissing rain. First hard downpour in two years. I passed an incline that used to have ten or so slum huts planted. Well, those dwellings had been lifted right off the suckdry landscape and washed away. I was happy cause the storm meant some clean water for me to swim in. The river’d been stagnant with a film of piss mold for months. I used to watch the inhabitants of those eyesore huts lifting dead fish and gnawing on them right there on the bank.

Maria wasn’t at home when I arrived, but Felix and Drusilla fed me, gave me a dry robe and then went to bed. Felix said I could hang out until the rains stopped. So I peeled to just my loincloth, lit an awesome fire and roasted on the sofa.. The fire was giving my body that nice dusk effect to my surface; setting long shadows, bringing out the subtle contours.

Maria didn’t see me when she arrived. She slammed through the door, let her sopping robe fall off, pulled a dry one from the closet then approached the fire.

“Oh! You!” she shouted. “Leave.”

I didn’t budge, rather, spread my arms out across the back of the couch, propped my feet on the coffee slab and smiled.

“I’ve found my true love. A man who is gentle and honest and sensitive.”

“Yeah, I know all about it. The skinny bald preacher who’s about to be martyred.”

She gasped. “No way. Not while I’ Heltill daddy’s girl. Paul’s waiting outside to take me to Jerusalem. They were going to stone him, but I stepped in, threatened that my father would have the lot of them tied, castrated then punctured repeatedly while they watched the castle dogs dine on their tender little nutsacks.”

I lifted a pecan from the bowl and cracked it in my fist. The veins bulged on my forearm, and I could feel Maria’s eyes on my deltoid dents. Her nipples popped tumescent in a wink. And don’t even hint that it was the chilling weather, cause even though it was fucking deluge outside, was under-hen toasty inside the Felix residence.

“What are you talking about?”

“Never mind, baby.” I ate the nut meat and tossed the shells in the fire. “You two will make a great couple. Good for you. Nothing like a skinny sensitive man scourged by doubt and self-hatred to take care of.” I spread my legs to give her a tiny reminder of my perfect, hairless cock&ball set. “I guess I could’ve used your lap for weeping on, but that’s not what a gal’s lap is for, as far as I’m concerned.” I ran my palms up the insides of my thighs. “A man’s lap. Well, you know the medicine, baby.”

I picked up my robe and started toward the door. And I tell you, I knew what was next. I could smell it. I’m serious. I got the nasal acuity of an insect. Desire was seeping from her.

“Wait!”

I turned and connected with her. She pulled off my robe and ran her tongue across my chest, nipple to nipple. I seized her shoulders, flipped her around and maneuvered her over to the windowsill. And while I drove my perfect fuck muscle home, I smiled down at the apostle Paul. The rain was pelting the little bald man’s face, and when he saw the uppermost of my divine coitus, his whole frame fell into a state of frown. And Maria, in between her grinding and groaning and giggling went “oink oink oink”, then she squealed so loud I thought the rains had squeezed off.

END