Youth Pastor Erotica

(This is the kind of content you get when I’ve been laid up sick and taking Nyquil for 4 nights in a row…I’ll be back with a free article this weekend…maybe…if I am still alive)

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SHE enters the church, hair in a messy bun. Full makeup. Oversized shirt hanging down over black yoga pants, covering her butt. But it’s there all right, her butt. She definitely has one, and she’s looking good. Real good.

The church building is empty, except for HIM.

She walks into the closet beside the choir room, the closet that they are pretending is an office because there was no room in the office wing, I mean there was, but the worship pastor said they needed the spare office as a resource room, so it’s probably better to use the choir room closet, after all it’s closer to the youth annex, anyway the worship pastor has been here longer, so what can you do?

“Excuse me, I need a youth pastor,” she says sexily, leaning against the doorway.

He is bent over the desk, going through a stack of conference t-shirts, looking for a large. So many mediums, but where did the larges go? He stands up straight, but does not turn around. He is erect, in his posture, he has very good posture.

“We don’t call ourselves that any more. We use the term ‘student ministers’ now.”

She bites her lip, which means that she is feeling things.

“I know what you are,” she whispers.

He turns around now and gives her a look, like this.

“What am I?” he asks softly.

She stands up off the doorway.

“You’re a 31 year old man who dresses like a 22 year old, and you’re looking for a 24 year old woman to marry so the old people in the church will stop treating you like an 18 year old.”

He looks down at his salmon polo, his khaki shorts, and his Chacos. How does this woman know so much about—