Don’t Mess with a Missionary Man

Don’t Mess with a Missionary ManWritten by mrwankles
I live in a community where too many guys spend their Sunday mornings attending Sunday School and their summer evenings at Vacation Bible School instead of going hiking, going water-skiiing, smoking pot by a pool, or grabbing a beer together after work. I tried to mind my own business but when people like me wouldn't come to them, they would instead come to us. These suburban missionaries almost always dropped by during supper or while I was busy washing the car. Although I sometimes get a kick sparring over doctrine, verse, or church organization, most of the time I just quietly accepted their brochures and sent them along to the next house. But I decided about 6 weeks ago that should they ever return when I was home alone, I wouldn't be such a disinterested lost soul. I wanted to teach them an uncomfortable lesson that they wouldn't soon forget for wasting my and everyone's else free time.

I didn't have to wait long, because as soon as school started back, the local church began sending out Wednesday evening indoctrination teams (always two in number). About three weeks later I had been able to leave the office early and spend some time alone because my wife was working late and I didn't have to fetch my kids at their grandparents until 8. Because I usually work long hours, I almost never had time to putter around the house or play online without someone else being around.

To say I was merely annoyed when two missionaries pulled into my driveway would understate it. After double-checking the car to make sure it carried no business advertising (if there is any difference between churches and businesses), I ran upstairs to put my lesson plan into action. I figured I'd get our address blacklisted by the evangelicals for good this time.

The doorbell rang. I opened the window and yelled through the blinds and screen, "I'll be right down!"

I opened the door...wearing my wife's bathrobe. My hair was wet where I had quickly doused it under the bathroom spigot for good measure. "Yes?"

The older one, about 45, greeted me, "Good evening, Mr...."

"I'm David." I shook his hand.

"Hello David, Gary," and then Gary motioned toward the younger guy, apparently an apprentice, in his mid-20s, "and this is Russ."

I nodded, raised my eyebrows, and smiled blankly as if to ask what they were doing, although I knew full well.

"Russ and I are out visiting your beautiful neighborhood this afternoon and encouraging all of you to pay us a visit on Sunday."

Gary knew this was the point at which he sometimes was ordered from the premises of disinterested backsliders. I decided to remain rather tight-lipped to make it more difficult for him, "Ok."

"Now, Dave, if you don't mind my asking, do you or your family belong to a church in the community?"

I wondered how many times Russ had listened to Gary's opener before, but his face expressed only sincere interest in my anticipated response.

"Not exactly," I replied, "but let me ask you something: Is your church one of those fundamentalist churches?"

Gary and Russ beamed, certain God had anointed them for a special mission this Wednesday afternoon in the suburbs of America. "If by fundamentalist, you mean Bible-believin', then yes it is."

"So you believe every command given by God in the Bible is an instruction to you both?"

Russ nodded without delay. Middle-aged Gary smelled a trick question but soon nodded slowly and replied, "Of course." Although he was about 10 years older than I, I thought Gary was handsome: I liked his white-collar appearance (casual Wednesdays hadn't yet caught on at one church, apparently) and I had no doubt a pillar of his church.

My plan just might work. I smiled, then stepped back into my foyer and opened the door wide, "Y'all come in. Can I get you a drink?" They joined me in the foyer but declined a drink.

I continued without a breath, "I don't want the neighbors to see me in my wife's bath robe. I don't have to tell you how embarrassing that would be." I closed the door and started to un-knot the robe, "Besides my wife will kill me if I crinkle up the satin belt to her favorite robe." I saw their jaws drop.

Gary sensed trouble, "You know, Dave, we just came by to invite you to join our family of believers this Sunday. We really need to be moving along." He looked at the floor rather than at me: my robe, which was now open in front, revealed my bare chest and thighs, and with little effort on the part of an observer, the black hairs of my crotch too.

Russ jangled some coins in his pocket and looked at his watch nervously, "Sorry, David, but like Gary said, we have to get going." Russ backed away, re-opened my front door, and walked out into the late afternoon sun.

When I saw Gary follow Russ towards the door, I sighed, "Oh, I get it: you have a problem with nudity...well, good night and thanks for stopping by." I began to re-fasten the robe.

Gary looked stunned. I don't think he'd ever had a visitation go quite like this. He stuttered, "Well, David, it's just...I mean...we just have to get back...Good night and we hope to see you and your family this weekend."

I couldn't resist my parting shot, "Well I don't think I could join a church that wouldn't welcome the prophet Isaiah."

From the stoop, Gary spun around towards me, "Pardon me?"

"Think about it. Good night." I closed the door behind them and watched them scurry back to their Oldsmobile, no doubt in a rush to get inside and lock the car doors so they could discuss what the hell had just happened. My plan had worked beautifully.

I laughed a bit at how smart I was and how weirded out they must be, then went into the living room, crashed in front of the TV, opened the robe, and began playing with my cock while flipping between the weather channel and news headlines.

About 20 minutes or so later, my self-pleasure was interrupted by a knock at the front door. My cock was hard, but the robe was loose enough that I risked it by going to the foyer to see who it was...Outside my door stood Gary, but no sign of Russ. Oh shit, maybe my plan hadn't gone so well.

"Forget something?" I gestured for him to step in.

He did so without hesitation, "As a matter of fact, yes: I forgot to ask you something when Russ and I were here earlier."

"Where is Russ? Phoning the sheriff?" I laughed, but a bit nervously.

"Of course not. He's gone home to be with his family. But when we returned to church I tried to understand your reference to Isaiah and prayed to God for revelation. I feel He has sent me back here to discuss it with you."

"God sent you here?" Even I was surprised now.

"Oh yes, he directs his servants directly and I have opened my heart to his will."

I rolled my eyes; "Well my wife will be here with supper in about an hour and Wednesday is our sex night, so I hope whatever He directs you to do won't take all night."

"Just explain Isaiah to me and I will be on my way, David."

"Well go have a seat in the living room and I'll be in there in a minute." I stepped into the library next to my office and from the doorway watched Gary walk into the living room, watched his ass in his wrinkled suit pants make its way down my hall, and I almost felt sorry for him. Almost. I grabbed my junior-high school era New American Standard Bible off the shelf then squeezed the pre-cum draining from the end of my deflating cock (I wiped it on the robe). Now that I was armed, I joined the battle in the living room.

Gary was sitting nervously on the edge of the couch, as if he had drunk a cup of coffee on his way over. I sat directly opposite him on a chair and decided to keep the robe closed tightly for the moment, "Well, Gary, you expressly agreed earlier that you believe the Bible contains commands from God, and you just now agreed God calls his servants to follow him, right?" I looked him square in his blue-gray eyes.

He loosened his cotton tie, "Yes...?"

"Well, let me read Isaiah 20:2-3 to you, ok?"

"Read me the Word of God, David." His look was childlike...or was it more like a drunk? I knew he wasn't the least bit intoxicated on alcohol. Gary had to be asking himself what could a heathen on Pondview Lane know about the word of God that he did not?

I cleared my throat and looked him in the eyes every few words, " that time the Lord spoke through Isaiah, the son of Amos, saying, 'Go and loosen the sackcloth from your hips, and take the shoes off your feet.' And he did so, going naked and barefoot. And the Lord said, 'Even as my servant Isaiah has gone naked and barefoot three years as a sign and token against Egypt'..."

Disappointment showed on smiling face, "Is that it?"

"Yep. I get the impression naked Isaiah wouldn't be welcome at your church."

"Well..." suddenly Gary recognized the trap laid a half-hour earlier.

"Well, what? God sent you here to loosen your sackcloth."

Now he looked me straight in the eye, "You're confusing me with Isaiah."

"Am I? Are you suggesting God would have commanded Isaiah to do something inherently sinful?"

"Of course not."

"Well if there is no sin in God's eyes in Isaiah's going naked for 3 years in mixed company, then surely 30 minutes in my house is a small task God has called you do to."

"Why would God care? And why do you care?"

"Because when I went to undress on your first visit, you acted as if you had God's judgment on your side as you two fled to the car. Why would I want to join a church like that and why would I subject my children to it? It's just the principle of the thing. Some people handle snakes to prove their faith in God's word; perhaps you've been sent here to show your snake, so to speak, to demonstrate your faith to a cynic like me. You're the one who thinks you're made in God's image after all."

Gary stood up and looked at me again, unsure about what to do, but wanting it to end. He looked up into my vaulted ceiling and whispered, "Thy will be done," and immediately slipped his scratched up black wingtips off. Gary was in the lion's den and he knew it. Then he bent over and pulled off his black wool socks, a few tiny black threadballs stuck to his hairy toes. He hung his tie over the edge of my sofa. He unbuttoned the buttons on his oxford collar before tackling the ones that ran down his chest and belly. He laid his starched white dress shirt over his tie. He unbelted but did not remove the belt. Its weight sent his wool-blend slacks crashing to his bare ankles. He turned to hang them on a nearby doorknob and as he did so I saw a man, a clean-cut, untanned, middle-aged, married banker-type, probably a father, whose t-shirt had some permanent discoloration from armpit sweat and whose patterned boxers revealed little. Still facing me, but staring through me into the fireplace, he reached up and pulled the stained t-shirt over his head, briefly closing his eyes as he did so, and as he folded it neatly I observed the spattering of freckles and moles on his chest and shoulders (not unlike my own) and the renegade hairs surrounding his nipples (also like mine). He too had a slight paunch from banking hard all day at his desk.

Then, in a desperately quick maneuver, his thumbs brought his boxers down onto my beige carpet. He stepped out of the legs and he left them lying on the floor. Now Gary stood there, in God's image, naked from head to toe: he had shed his sackcloth and his pinkish-brown sack hung from his soft cock only a few feet from my face. To think this guy drove from his church here in his Oldsmobile less than 20 minutes ago! Holy shit. Even I am amazed at how my own plans turn out sometimes.

Gary made strong eye contact to try to keep me from checking him out, but it didn't work. I really looked him up and down and nodded approvingly. I had to admit he was a good sport.

He finally asked, "Well?"

"I admit you're a true believer, I didn't think you had it in you." I felt a bit guilty for taking advantage of such sincere religious belief.

Gary smiled. "Your turn, David."

"What? You didn't want to see me naked before but now you do?"

"I simply want to know if hypocrisy is among the many sins you should beg forgiveness for."

"I'll take that as a yes, then," and since I am a frustrated exhibitionist, I undid the robe and let it fall away to the floor. There we both stood in my living room facing each other's long legs, dangling penises, bellies, chest, and yes, expressions of bewilderment.

"Now what? Happy?" I asked him, thinking he'd leave.

"Now that I've proven myself, I want you to sit on the couch with me and review a passage from the Bible."

"Bloody hell," I thought. But after all this, I figured I owed it to him. "Sure," I said.

We sat down together on the leather sofa (imported from Denmark, I think my wife told me) and Gary opened his Bible. He began to read when I interrupted, "What are you reading from?"

"Song of Songs. Ever heard of it?"

"Like psalms? I think so."

"Not exactly. It's a book many churches don't pay enough attention to these days. Here, come read it with me," he waved me closer.

As I leaned over his lap to see the text, my left leg pressed against his right. The hairs on our legs lengthened and brushed each other, and then, bare flesh found bare flesh. Most guys will go to great discomfort to avoid touching each other, even in a crowded car or bus, but neither of us said or did anything to avoid it on my couch. The passages were highlighted here and there and frankly, in my opinion, the pages looked a bit stained like the t-shirt he had taken off. "Here: let's just read the ones I've marked. You go first, David, read this one..."

So, naked, I sat next to a Bible-believing missionary and recited some obscure nook in the Old Testament: "My beloved is to me a pouch of myrrh which lies all night between my breasts..." What the hell? Was that about bagged balls hanging between a pair of tits? My own pouch began to tingle and roll around on the leather.

Gary seemed to know his passage by heart and he looked at me as he spoke it, "How handsome you are my beloved, and so pleasant! Indeed, our couch is luxuriant!"

At this point my cock was hard and pointing straight up to the heavens. Because of the placement of the Bible I couldn't see his cock and I presumed he couldn't see mine easily either. My soft cockskin threatened to rip apart I was growing so hard.

I was up next to read a highlighted verse: "Because I am lovesick, let his left hand be under my head." At that very moment, I felt Gary's left hand under the sensitive and swollen tip of my cock, lightly stroking just the underside of my circumcised head. He must've seen me hard to have had such good aim with his hand. This was not in my plan.

He acted as if he nothing was going on and continued with his part, "Open to me, my darling, my dove, my perfect one, for my head is drenched with dew..." He gently squeezed my tip as he finished his line.

"I have taken off my dress how can I put it on again?"

When I finished, he went next, "My beloved extended his hand through the opening and my feelings were aroused for him."

His fingertips ran down my balls into towards my furry asshole. Then his palm returned to my shaft and milked the length of my cock, from the base to the tip, in a slow and steady grip.

"Why don't you finish the reading for us, Dave?"

He passed me the Bible. It was easy to see each other's dicks now. I tried to concentrate on the text, "Your two breasts are like two fawns, twins of a gazelle..." I watched Gary slap his hard cock against his lower abs and upper thighs, while he continued to jack mine with his other hand. I wasn't at all sure he was still listening to me, but I continued on..."Your stature is like a palm tree and your breasts are like its clusters. I said I will climb the palm tree. I will take hold of its fruit stalks." He gripped my cock even harder. Then I felt his warm mouth on me as I began the last verse, and I convulsed pearly cream down the back of his throat, "Oh that you were like a brother to me, who nursed at my mother's breasts. If I found you outdoors, I would kiss you; No one would despise me, either." Gary sat up and kissed me and siphoned my cum from his mouth through my lips and onto my tongue. Without a word he took his New American Standard Bible back from me and unloaded glob after glob of his cum from his fat stubbly cock into the crease of page 955.

He stretched back and leaned against my shoulder. Out of curiosity I turned to page 981 to dog-ear the passage from Isaiah for him as an additional memento of his ministry this evening. But when I did, I discovered that the commandment to go naked that I had read Gary earlier had been highlighted and underlined by him long ago...

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