[SS-1597] Ex-Pastor Jogger

EX-PASTOR JOGGER 

 I was just out driving. Windows down, warm breeze on my face, not really going anywhere. One of those days where you don’t want to think too hard. Then I saw him.

At first, just a guy jogging on the side of the road. Shirtless. Built. Tanned. Wearing practically nothing.

But as I got closer, I recognized him.

The Pastor. Or, I guess, ex-pastor now. He used to preach at my old church, all fire and scripture and deep eye contact that made my stomach twist in ways I didn’t understand back then. I sat in the back pew, trying to keep my soul in check while he talked about temptation. He was the temptation.

Then one day he was just gone. Vanished mid-sermon, people whispering about sin and shame and “falling.” But no one ever said the word. They didn’t have to.

Now here he was, jogging down an empty road in a bright orange jockstrap, like it was the most normal thing in the world. His ass literally out, his shirt in his hand, body shining with sweat and confidence.

My foot came off the gas. My pulse went nuts. I rolled down the window.

He spotted me, slowed down, and smiled like this was fate. “Well damn,” he said, walking right up to my car. “Didn’t expect to see you again.”

“You disappeared,” I said, trying not to sound like I was having a heart attack.

He shrugged. “Had to. Couldn’t keep lying about who I was.”

I looked him up and down. “You seem... different.”

“You mean hotter?” he said with a smirk, tugging at one of the jock straps.

God. Yes.

He tilted his head. “You just gonna sit there staring, or are you gonna offer me a ride?”

I reached over, popped the door open. “Get in.”

He slid in like he belonged there, still shirtless, still glowing like a sunset. The seat squeaked under him as he settled, thighs wide, straps cutting across them like little orange arrows pointing to things I should not have been looking at.

“Nice car,” he said. Then, more quiet: “You used to watch me.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Back at church. Always in the back. Quiet. But your eyes said everything.”

My throat dried up. He wasn’t wrong.

He leaned in a little, voice low. “Go ahead. Confess.”

I exhaled. “I used to think about you. All the time. During service. After. It messed me up.”

He smiled. “What’d you think about?”

I looked at him, completely overwhelmed by how close he was. “Your hands. Your mouth. What you looked like under all those layers. What it’d be like if you weren’t the pastor.”

He leaned in closer, his breath on my cheek. “And now I’m not.”

The silence burned.

He touched my face, his thumb brushing my jaw. “You’ve been holding that in for a long time.”

I nodded. “Too long.”

“Then stop.”

And that was it. His mouth met mine. Slow at first, then desperate. Years of guilt, heat, tension, all breaking open. His body was on me before I could think. Legs straddling the console, his skin hot under my hands, that jockstrap doing absolutely nothing to hide the way he wanted me too.

It wasn’t holy. It wasn’t pure.

But it was real. Finally.

We stayed tangled there for who knows how long, sweat and breath fogging the windows, his fingers gripping my hair like he was scared I’d disappear again.

And yeah, maybe we left the church.

But right there, in that car, with him on top of me and his lips against my neck?

I swear I found heaven.

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