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About three months had passed. The dream of going to the conference in Seattle had turned into a reality and I was extremely excited as I stood beside Joanne at O.R Tambo airport, waiting to check in for my flight.
"Have you got everything?" she asked for the umpteenth time. I was glad, as I had really come to rely on her during our years of marriage. She was the practical one, and while I wasn't incapable of organizing -- as was evidenced by the successful ministries that I ran -- I could relax when she was around because she automatically sorted through all the distractions of day-to-day stuff and picked out the essentials.
I knew it was going to be a challenge for me to take care of all the details of the flight, the accommodations en-route, the conference and the eventual return home. So while I had her with me, I relaxed into the luxury of not having to think too much. I just enjoyed the anticipation of the impending trip and the excitement of hooking up with all the men and women that I had "met" online (as well as the feeling of freedom as I left the familiar behind me).
At last the gates opened and the queue started shuffling forward. I was a bit sad that we hadn't brought our kids along to say goodbye here, but they were small and it would have just complicated matters. As it was, Joanne and I could just focus on each other and the reality that I would be separated from her for any length of time for the first time in our marriage.
As I got to the desk, I lifted my luggage onto the scale and handed my ticket to the young woman who took it with a dazzling smile. I turned to Joanne, who was as usual, the epitome of the cheerful wife.
"I'm so jealous that you're traveling business class!" she said again and I couldn't help but pull her in for a consoling peck.
"It helps to know people in high places," I confirmed, meaning both God and the rich church member who had a connection at British Airways and also happened to be kind enough to donate a free return ticket.
"And don't worry, one of these days we'll be traveling to the Exit training together." I was referring to the training course that we were in the process of organizing. It would lay the foundation for the Exit ministry in South Africa, which I was due to lead.
"That's not the same thing at all!" she said, gentle exasperation evident in her tone. "For a start it's not overseas, and the b) we won't be flying business class. So don't try and placate me with sloppy seconds."
To take the sting out of her protestations she leaned in and kissed me on the mouth, just as the hostess handed me my boarding pass.
"You'll board through gate 6," she said, amusement evident on her bright face.
"Thank you sir, and enjoy your flight." Her eyes automatically dismissed me as she focused the beam of her professionalism on the passenger behind me.
Having been relieved of the burden of my luggage, Joanne and I moved out of the way.
"Bye my darling, I'm going to miss you," I said as I took her in my arms. Her familiar scent was a comfort to me and I was already missing her as I buried my nose in her hair and whispered, "I love you" into her ear.
"Bye my darling," she responded, "I'm going to miss you too."
Completely unbidden, a picture of another goodbye to Sparky, the last boyfriend I'd had before I became a Christian. I was going away on business and it was also the first time we'd been separated. I'd been completely smitten with him, a red headed angel (hence the nickname) that stirred such passion in me that I turned into a jealous idiot when he was around. This fact had probably caused him to seek greener pastures in the end.
I remembered the agony I'd experienced as we stood on opposite sides of the gate, tears in both our eyes. Of course, as gay men, we'd only been able to give each other a brotherly hug in farewell; unlike the public demonstration I was able to indulge in now. I couldn't bear to be separated from him and it was almost as if I was seeing him for the last time. I compared the emotions that had shaken me then with the quiet assurance I felt now and the contrast gave me a bit of smug satisfaction.
Then I remembered another trip I'd gone on later, and the answering machine that had picked up every time I had called him, and the numb knowledge that, although I hadn't spoken to him, I knew that when I got home I would find that he'd left me.
Joanne released me from our hug and I returned to the moment with a start, the dread of the certainty of impending loss that my memory of Sparky had evoked in me, fading like a bad dream. One thing I knew for sure: when I returned I would find her here waiting for me. Barring death or an act of God, Joanne and I were together, as sure as summer follows spring; as sure as God knows everything.
As I sat down in the luxurious business class seat I put my head back against the soft headrest and closed my eyes. I focused on feeling around in me for the reassuring Presence I had come to treasure when I felt uncertain or grateful or anything at all, really. There was literally no circumstance that could cause me to feel lonely or deserted if I only took the time to centre myself in Him and become aware of Him in me.
I couldn't grasp what it had to feel like to have no awareness of God's comforting Presence there. I remembered the first time I'd gone to see a movie after committing my life to Him, little knowing the horror that awaited me in that dark room. I don't recall what movie I saw, only the desperate sadness I felt for the characters as they stumbled through their lives with no knowledge that they were loved and cherished by a God that sought them out with a fervour that was as relentless as it was inescapable. I'd had tears in my eyes and I just kept repeating to myself, "These people need Jesus, these people need Jesus."
I was pulled out of my reverie by an air hostess' polite "Would you like some sparkling wine, sir?" I gratefully accepted her offer and sipped some of the bubbly golden liquid. The reality that I was on my way slid down my throat with an equally satisfying sweetness; the anticipation and the wine both had an intoxicating effect on me.
I was due to go to Buffalo, New York first. A friend who knew my past had suggested I visit there on my way first and undergo some Theophostic ministry. The guy that I was going to work with was an old friend of Joanne. She had met Brian, a young Irishman, through a church she had attended before she met me.
I arrived in the picturesque town and was collected at the airport by a driver who deposited me at the offices of the ministry that was to host me. Although Joanne knew Brian and his wife Shannon well, I had personally never met him. I was exhausted from the flight, a fact that he quickly picked up on so he had me driven to the guest house I was staying at.
It turned out, like most of the buildings in the town, to be an old one-story structure with huge rooms with wooden window door, and window frames. I unpacked a few of my things when I got there and although it was late afternoon, decided to have a nap.
I lay down on the soft bed, appreciating the fresh smell of the linen and the freedom of my customary freeballing state, anticipating a nice snooze. The absence of any restraints -- the distance between me and Joanne and the lack of responsibility for others' spiritual well being -- was curiously stimulating. I felt my penis chub up in my shorts and I couldn't resist sliding my hand into the waistband to grip the girth and enjoy the liberating solitude.
I started stroking my appreciative penis from the bottom to the top and down again, gliding the foreskin over and back. This simple flap of skin was one of God's most effective devices and the pleasure that radiated out from the tip of my organ and down the whole of my body was a song of praise as effective as a hymn or a psalm. I decided that I needed to have better access but rather than pull my shorts down, I pulled my now straining rod out through the leg of my sports shorts. This always felt so naughty that my heart inevitably beat faster at the sheer illicit indulgence of it. I once again started stroking slowly up and down and with my other hand started kneading my testicles, squeezing lightly and pulling them down and away from my body. The mild pain and discomfort only added to my joy and anchored me more firmly in my presence in this stolen moment of indulgence.
I was making groaning noises and I could feel the telltale tickle up my urethra as precum pushed its way up and out of the eye of my penis. The head felt so deliciously slippery and I worked the lubricating liquid over the shiny, swollen glans. The hand that was working my balls found its own way down towards my anus and started stroking the skin around the entrance to my body lightly. The sensation sent shockwaves up my thighs and the root of my dick. Then I stole a finger even deeper inwards and tickled the pucker and felt my anus blossom hungrily in response. The moistness that I felt there caused me to lift my hand up to my nose and sniff appreciatively at the uniquely sexy smell I found clinging to my finger. I stuck the digit into my mouth, and the flagrant taboo made my heartbeat like a tribal drum at a sacred ritual. I liberally laved the middle finger with saliva; the thought that I was ingesting the pheromones in and around my anus propelled me to mindless recklessness. The now dripping finger found its own way back down and started massaging my hole.
My body was responding to the physical stimulation, but my mind was taking a route of its own. The stimulus at my back door was conjuring pictures on the canvas of my imagination. My body remembered -- in a previous incarnation -- being invaded by a long thick appendage that plumbed the depths of me in a most delicious and satisfying way. Just as I was beginning to feel the electric tingle at the base of my testicles, the hungry hole below caused me to paint in a picture of a face above the chest, above the hips, above the appendage that I imagined rearranging my insides, and to my horror, the face resolved into that of Danny, the young guy that I had run into so many months ago.
As I ejaculated spectacularly, the repeated streams of sperm squirting way past my head and landing on the pillow behind me, I simultaneously felt deep and shameful guilt flood my solar plexus. As the exquisite waves that coursed through my body receded, the self-reproach that replaced it brought with it a gut-wrenching nausea.
Disgusted with myself, I grabbed the T-shirt that lay beside me and wiped the evidence of my treachery from my abdomen, shoulder and even ear.
"Father, please forgive me...!" I whispered as I turned on my side. Tears trickled out of my eyes and joined the alkaline-smelling cum stains on my pillow.
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