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A-Theism, the Great Godkiller

By: Eli is Coming



[[This story (in two parts) could fit into several categories. It contains mild interracial, May-December, light femdom, anal, lesbian, and heretical action. And like much of fiction there is also death which is in no way portrayed in an erotic fashion and is not intended to be treated as such.]]

*

As Yusef Muhammad awoke one afternoon from uneasy napping dreams he found himself in his study transformed into a monstrous heretic. With a snowstorm compelling all of the Twin Cities metro to stay inside and the first day of Winter (Christmas) Break well in effect, the young professor's body became weary after a semester's conclusion and collapsed as he worked at his desk. Smacking his lips, he plucked his consciousness from the forgotten but disturbing dreams, groggily clutched the desk clock, and pulled it before his face. He sighed and slammed it face down. He had slept for four hours. Sitting in his desk chair, he struggled to convince himself that it was in his best interest to get up. This was true of course but his brain could tell his body the truth until he was blue in the face and it still might not move. What little work the TAs left for him was complete but he had no plans to celebrate a Christian holiday with his secular Muslim family in Oman and Saudi Arabia. And he was fairly certain "secular" was blasphemy in the latter.

He successfully tricked himself to get up and he cautiously stood for a stretch, careful not to pull any muscles strained by his odd sleeping posture. Satisfied nothing broke, he realized he was hungry and turned from his desk towards the house's old kitchen but his peripheral vision noticed a change of environment. Forgetting the snack, he investigated the unsettling feeling of unknown change. As he walked about his study, he tried accounting for every object he passed but also whether Lupe, his maid, had been around. No, surely not, she would have woken him with the sound of her vacuum. And besides, as a gesture to her devout Catholicism, he gave her the week off from cleaning for him. He nearly gave up before he realized the obvious and noticed his free standing black-board covered with white chalk. Though the writing was in his handwriting, he could not recall writing it. The first equation was the "ABC" of logical philosophy—his focus. A + B =C. "A. All men are mortal. B. Socrates is a man. C. Therefore Socrates is mortal," was typically the first example of this formula he gave his intro class.

He nearly started back for the kitchen but when the formality of simply re-remembering the act of writing the equations became an ordeal, his curiosity peaked. Examining the board closely to perhaps jog his memory, he realized they were not many small equations but a single long one. Personal intrigue and professional curiosity enticed him and so he continued to the bottom, realizing it kept going onto the reverse side.

"Sensational," he muttered as he mouthed the logic equation and turned his eyes to the symbolic-key, illustrating what the formula letters stood for like on a geography map. "Remarkable!" he exclaimed at one particularly tricky but well deduced section. "Oh how controversial! How on Earth did this get here?" he asked himself as he read on. After five minutes he reached the end but he was not finished. He read it yet again, this time for a thorough twenty minutes to triple check the correctness of the conclusion. His initial excitement over this mysteriously appearing equation was tempered by repeated examinations but his mind grew more aroused when it was satisfied of its correctness, prompting him to take pictures of the equation with his digital camera just in case it vanished as instantly as it appeared.

He cursed when he saw the clock. His colleague Tina was supposed to arrive soon for coffee but his excitement exaggerated that half hour into eight. He pressed a pen to paper and scribbled a fairly long note of explanation that indented several sheets below. As he exited into the storm with little else but the clothes on his back, he taped the note to his front door and high stepped in the fluffy snow.

Tina's car arrived 25 minutes later. Walking to the door dressed in a metallic gray trench coat as unquestionably feminine as a Hawai'ian shirt is manly, a ribbon weaved cap, and stylish black leather boots to match it all, she nearly rang the home's doorbell before she noticed the note and used that hand instead to remove it. The cold drew mucus from her nose and the snow struck her eye lids and stuck in her fiery hair as she read. Finished, she smiled first with bemusement but as she considered it further, she realized its ring of prophesy. He had gone from his home leaving an absurd note behind him, such as great men have written, and the world has read later when the story of their struggles has become famous. Her gloved hands folded it and neatly placed it within her inside breast pocket just in case her instincts were correct.

*

Arthur Zimmermann was not a happy man. Even though he was the chair of the University of Minnesota's department of philosophy, he had the most dilapidated and drafty office the renovated building had to offer. New seats, floors, piping, and those new-fangled several ply windows that one could never open were installed in every room but 307. Perhaps socially he might claim this was because, as someone with a logical philosophy Ph.D., he was picked on by the Continental philosophy Ph.D.s. Because of their stuffy air of superiority, they wallowed in their own genius. In reality however 307 was untouched because he called in a few favors. Though they needed to examine the pipes underneath and the wiring in the walls, which meant tiles replacing laminated cement and dry wall patches, everything else was original; this included the windows.

As the left half his butt sat in his window's niche and his right leg supported his corpulent frame, the bald department chair grunted when he opened the window facing the ten foot bronze statue of a solitary Civil War soldier, loosing the cold December air inside. Billy Yank, his ears perked as his neck turned Southeast to Richmond, carried the colossal and august ideal of Union upon his hardened shoulders as well as what snow the storm bore down. Arthur glanced to his office door and honed his ears for his secretary's soft footfalls. Nothing. Relieved but still half listening for the slightest sign of her, he placed the Lucky Strike into his mouth and lighted it. The first drag was unhurried, merely sighing past his lips and out the window. The following ones however were swiftly inhaled and he was careful to keep as much smoke out of his office as possible.

With only half smoked, Art heard the swift sound of pounding shoe steps. Though clearly not his secretaries delicate ones, it was probably someone she would have to show inside. He frantically tried to suck the lingering smoke before dropping out of the niche and sprinting to his coffee mug to snuff out the cherry.

"Blast—some smoke came with me," he quietly cursed, spilling some ashes onto his desk. His secretary's soft knock sounded on the door and like a child nearly caught masturbating, he desperately tried to hide the contraband and clean up the mess he'd left. "Just a minute," he requested, careful to hide his hurry as he dropped the butt into his coffee. His secretary ignored him and stepped inside, careful not to open the door more than she had to.

Dressed as usual in her flowery full skirt and blouse adorned with countless little flowers, Arthur's personal secretary and confidant Fanya Kaplan stood with her back against the door, her nylon covered legs spread several feet apart. Though her smile and behavior was very matronly, this 25 year old belonged at the arm of an equally young and talented doctor. A throwback to a bygone era, the woman's protective and supportive demeanor yet challenging conversation would make her the perfect wife and companion of one lucky stiff some day; she sniffed the air, drawing a weak frown from Arthur, and shook her head reprovingly. Until she found that lucky stiff, or Arthur did the impossible and found someone better qualified, he had to suffer her attentions. 

Perhaps naively unaware that men melted at her seductively long legs and toned ass, she stepped lightly in her simple gray running shoes, the single deviance from an otherwise flawlessly classic professional behavior and attire. The first time Arthur saw her bruised aching feet, she had worn heels but a few hours; insisting they were fine even as she sorely massaged them, she reluctantly accepted Dr. Zimmermann's ultimatum that she switch to anything more comfortable—even bare feet. He hadn't heard their clacking ever since. It was only later he realized this silence made it harder to sneak a smoke but the disadvantage was acceptable so long as Fanya walked without pain. 

She offered her palm when they came face to face. Looking suitably ashamed, he placed the coffee-wetted butt in her hand. She impatiently twitched her long fingers towards herself, demanding more. Reluctantly he placed the pack of cigarettes in her hand like a child spitting out his gum in class. She glanced inside the pack, spotted the lighter, then rewarded and punished him with a pleased but disappointed smile that met her cheekbones.

"Art, you know you shouldn't be using these," she chastised. "The doctor says you have to watch your health and dieting isn't enough."

"Well the way you've been feeding me I'd be surprised all those fruits and vegetables won't do me in. My old eating habits were balanced AND tasted better."

"Balanced how?" she asked without believing he could satisfy her.

"Strongbow comes from apples and you can't make a decent pizza without tomatoes." Neither laughed though Fanya rolled her eyes.

"I cook you dinner so you live longer, sir," she whimpered slightly as her small hands adjusted his tie and collar and brushed away any lint from his shoulders. "I want you to die at a hundred and with your shoes on." Satisfied, she touched his cheek but looked warmly into his brown eyes. "Your body is a temple sir, God wants you to treat it well."

She switched to an office appropriate but still cheerful smile. "Dr.Yusef's in a state and nearly ran straight through your door without so much as talking with me first, so it must be urgent." She proclaimed as she turned around. Her ass cheeks of steel bobbed with each step, attracting his magnet eyes. Damned if she did not treat him like a (not his own) mother. His wife left him for (amongst a host of things) his "daily sacrilege"and Fanya, who took it all lying down, was the closest he had to one since. 

In a different world they would have married long ago and lived pleasantly; this was assuming of course in this magical world he was not twice her age. When she cracked the door, a breathless Yusef nearly burst through, spilling snow from his shoulders as he went. Unfazed, she continued and discreetly closed it behind her.

"What's up? Sticking around despite the gentile holiday? That Fanya decided to stay just because I was here..." he trailed off with a tone and gesture implying he was done with the perfunctory small talk. A man of few words, he only used it as a courtesy to others but Yusef was snow capped, wet, pink cheeked and visibly exhausted. Clearly he had something of great import to say.

"I woke up an hour ago Art, and you won't believe this, but there was a formula on my board in my handwriting but I didn't write it!" he said as he glanced at his surroundings, almost deciding if there was enough room to pace excitedly. Intrigued, Arthur nodded for him to continue. He knew Yusef as a competent professor, not one prone to excitement over the superfluous, so he listened on. "This," Yusef said as he reached into his pocket for his camera, "will blow your mind!" Arthur glowered suspiciously at the contraption but after Yusef showed him how to zoom and follow the equation on the screen, his face became more expressionless the further he went along. The formula was like a set up for a long joke. One kept himself eager and ready in anticipation for the punch-line but was repeatedly roped around every time and amazed at every turn how it still continued. When he arrived to the end ten careful minutes later, he laughed.

"This is wonderful!" he roared excitedly, shaking the floor with his furious hopping.

"Well, it's certainly ground breaking but I don't know if it's 'wonderful'..." Yusef replied confusedly.

"No don't you see! This'll put all those religious nut jobs in line! They can't beat this!" he chortled victoriously at Yusef's discovery.

"But that's not my intention at all!" he tried to tell the overjoyed and overweight Jew while he skipped and leapt like a five year old. Feeling Art's vibrations, Fanya opened the door and queried Arthur, expecting his joy to be nothing more than childishness. Having arrived just at that moment, Tina emerged from behind Fanya and stepped inside just as confused as the secretary but expecting a real answer from Yusef.

"What's up?" Fanya asked like she failed to understand an inside joke. Art confidently handed Tina the camera. 

"Our boy Yusef has just ended a debate as old as mankind itself," he said proudly, wrapping his arm around his taller colleague's shoulder. He awkwardly smiled back and looked to Tina whose eyes lay solely on the camera's LCD screen. Fanya, kept entirely out of what she continued to think was a joke, rested her hand on her hip and cocked it to one side.

"So what's so funny?" she asked playfully. Swinging his knees and arms, Arthur strutted to her and plucked the cigarette pack from the small breast pocket she placed them in for safekeeping just in case she left her desk and he dug in her drawers. He was a brilliant sweet man but a weak one. Nevertheless she wished she could have him as a husband of whom she could take care. She did not resist the cigarette's removal but frowned in disappointment as she reproached him. "Sir, that's not good for you and your body..."

"...is no longer a temple!" Arthur finished for her as he bowed his head down and shielded the lighter's flame to light the smoke.

"Whatever do you mean?" she humored.

"Yusef's logic formula has argued that you've been following the teachings and praying to something that never existed!" he started with pursed lips that held the cigarette in place. "With the way society is now the only legs your people had to stand on was doubt and possibility. 'Maybe there's a God and maybe there isn't but I believe in him', right? That doubt's been the only thing keeping religion as popular as it is! That," he removed his cigarette and pointed it at the camera Tina continued poring over, "removes all doubt that all the supernatural—from organized religion right down to Ouija boards—is bunk! Budkes!"

Visibly hurt by this statement and her employer's unabashed joy in saying it, Fanya's eyes began to water and she shook her head. "No, it can't be true. You can't prove or disprove that. No one will believe you!" she looked at Yusef but spoke to Arthur.

"You didn't get your Ph.D. learning how to argue." He took a savoring drag and looked to the floor as if in deep thought. "You've never seen Pluto, right?" he turned his eyes up to her.

"Well yes I have, in pictures..."

"Tisk, tisk, tisk. But you've never seen it, have you? Not in the sky? Not with a telescope?" He returned the cigarette to his lips and inhaled.

"Well, no. Of course not. It's too far away."

"Exactly," he snapped his fingers and pointed. "But a bunch of expert types say it's there and show you pictures, say how many moons it has, what it's made of, how cold it gets, and you take their word for it because you can't begin to understand how they figured all that stuff out." 

"I suppose...but...but" 

"When they all got together and decided there were eight planets and it was demoted to 'dwarf', you went and accepted it even though Pluto had been called a planet your whole life?"

She gave no answer but both knew what it was. The impact sunk deeper into her psyche, beginning the slow and painful demolition of her Christian assumptions of God that underpinned her entire life. As her head lowered, her hands muffled her cries, and tears streaked down her cheeks, Yusef wondered if this was how Albert Einstein or J. Robert Oppenheimer felt when they realized their pursuit of science was far deadlier than they anticipated.

"Oh my God, this is brilliant!" Tina shouted, mouth gaping over the camera's screen.

* *

Ellen hated history class. She especially hated the first history class second semester and she seriously contemplated skipping the whole day in favor of her bed, her principles of punctuality and attendance be damned. The lecture hall was emptier than expected so she freely draped her legs over the chair in front of her, her beaten brown sneakers bobbing to the beat and rhythm of a song solely within her mind. Since she was wearing thick black long johns, she could sit in such a posture and wear her short skirt without fear of wandering eyes trying to catch of a look at her underwear just in case she bothered to wear any that day.

At her side and nearly passing out from the weariness of their partying the previous night was Mary Beth, her eyelids weighing heavily on her head as it slowly tilted closer to rest on Ellen's tingling shoulder; it achingly anticipated feeling her weight. For as long since Ellen had befriended her red-headed southern companion, she had loved her. Every night and day they spent together was better than the last and, even in the platonic co-habitative lifestyle they developed as room mates complete with cooking and cleaning together, she had lost none of her charm or appeal. Usually animated and filled with spirit, Ellen's weary angel gave up her battle against sleep and finally succumbed to it, putting the full weight of her head on Ellen's shoulder. She smiled. The professor's lecture became but an echo and Mary Beth's blissfully soft breathing carried them both to a dream world. 

That was of course until a boy behind them noisily popped a gum bubble in his boredom.

Jarred awake, Mary Beth jerked her head away and wordlessly apologized in embarrassment and coughed awkwardly. Ellen smiled politely to show it was no big deal but it was quite the opposite. She wanted it to stay there and she quietly steeped her mind in slow burning anger for the inconsiderate prick who woke her sleeping beauty. Fear of revealing her love for Mary Beth kept her in her seat instead of face to face with him. Her love made her impotent and she hated that restraint.

Fortunately, the irritating popping continued and gave Ellen the chance for retaliation. Looking around, Ellen saw a few neighbors jerk with each pop, a few even looking back to investigate. The pink gum, probably three sticks worth, blocked the entire lower half of his face. When finally popped, the strained rubbery mess dangled below his chin before dragging back inside with loud stuttering slurps and starting all over again. If his annoying act was malicious, he deserved anything that came to him. How could he not see the annoyed shutters and subtle coughing urging him to cease? No, it was inconsiderate ignorance of social behavior. 

This certainly did not warrant a punch to the face, her usual reply for the maliciously annoying, even though he took Mary Beth's weight off her body, so she devised a more polite but clear as day scheme. She removed five sticks of gum from her purse and after chewing them for ten seconds, stretched and readied them for blowing. Still in her seat, she twisted her torso back and looked straight at the boy behind her. Sensing her eyes, he looked uncomfortably at her but still noisily chomped on his gum. He was greeted with a steadily expanding green bubble noisily stretching with her hot breath. Passing her still staring eyes and nearing her brow, it popped loudly leaving its flimsy remnant streaked from her nose bridge and curled round her chin halfway along her jaw. She slurped it just as noisily back inside and blew one more time before she turned around, a triumphant grin upon her face. The boy did not do it again.


A-Theism, the Great Godkiller Ch. 02



As with most of my e-rotica, this one is a story with sex rather than the other way around and thus does not have an immediate climax....so to speak. Chapter one received criminally low scores from downvoters (placing it in the ranks of stories that repeatedly misspell "orgasm" and have no compound sentences) apparently upset at the story's title, neglecting the finer points of plot and the coming conclusion. If the same happens for chapter two, I will disable voting again.

Re-cap: Humble logician Yusef Muhammad of the University of Minnesota woke up to find an irrefutable argument on his blackboard that proved the supernatural as humans understand it, meaning God or Gods, ghosts, spirits, etc. does not exist. Naturally this drew criticism and praise. It also affected those close to him, including frequent student Ellen with her seemingly heterosexual room mate Mary Beth, fellow professor Tina and her effeminate husband, and department's head Arthur Zimmermann's adoring secretary, Fanya. Is God's wrath the strongest restraint on bad behavior? Is Yusef truly infallible?





Applause thundered within packed auditorium's sound resistant walls, the protests outside grew as faint as a fluorescent bulb's gentle hum. This particular speaker was such a hot commodity that he could only play the largest venues short of stadiums. Stadiums naturally were a grave security risk considering the number of death threats his tour organizers received on his behalf. This theater was smaller than he was used to but the demand remained high and continued to soar the more he continued. The public's itch it seemed could not be satisfied as the speaker's celebrity ascended to an unknown plateau. Realizing the importance of his speaking tour, the city had universally agreed to ignore its own occupancy ordinances and let people fill the aisles and line the walls.

"Thank you," Yusef tried to overpower their applause to no avail. "No really, thank you," he smiled and pleaded, his hands asking for quiet. His modestly false smile bathed the crowd. "Please, please, this is too much!" They gave a standing ovation and blew whistles that pierced Yusef's ears but remained trapped and filled his already swollen head. Though embarrassing for the first few weeks of his book tour, he had come to adore their exaltation of his unimpeachable brilliance. After a minute or two, the applause finally faded and they sat down. On cue, a few stage hands carried three standing microphones into front of the aisles and plugged them into outlets at the stage's base.

"Don't all rush to them now," Yusef warned. Before the organizers had learned their lesson, people would run and tackle everyone in their way to ensure their question got asked. "First off I'd like to pre-emptively answer some of the most commonly asked questions on this tour so we can get this all squared away," he continued as he casually unbuttoned his dress shirt's cuffs and folded them back. "I did not set out to destroy religion, I merely sought the pursuit of reason and a better understanding of the universe," he started off with half a lie. 

He never told anyone except for Arthur how couldn't remember writing the formula even though it was in his handwriting. He did however continue to disseminate the formula for understanding—this part was true. "I will sign copies of my book for a half hour," he continued to answer questions he knew would come. Money, along with understanding the universe, was the other reason he disseminated. "My favorite color is red," he drew some laughs from the crowd. Jerking to a stop, he leaned against the podium and leered at them. "I'm not kidding. That's a fairly common question," he answered sternly. Though he gave more such answers for the next five minutes (he knew what to expect by this point), the moment he finished, the microphone lines snaked down the aisles. He pointed to the first one on his left. "You there."

"Yes, um," stalled a twenty-something man with sweeping blond hair and spectacles without a frame around the lenses. "I just wanted to say that, all my life I've felt like there was something wrong with me for not believing in a higher power," he pushed the nose bridge higher. "Praying seemed silly to me but now I can be, uh, free from this all and so I thank you," he awkwardly ejaculated. Most of the audience were young persons from San Francisco's High Schools and Colleges; slowly taking their first breaths of free choice and living, the times when their developing minds would determine what jobs they would hold or what God they would pray to, he was instilling the burdenless liberty of atheism as the natural human condition whereas many Continental philosophers had argued to the contrary. As he saw it, he was setting the world right even as he witnessed the glimmer of God's light disappear from the eyes of youth. The audience applauded the blond man's statement.

"Well thanks, but I forgot to mention," he held up one finger, "that I only allow one 'Gee you're great' statement per lecture," he humored. "Though I appreciate them, they take too much time. Next person please," he used that same hand to point to the woman at middle microphone. His eyes wandered a bit down the line and fell upon a young Asian woman wearing a woman's white dress shirt and a green plaid skirt like a parody of a Catholic schoolgirl uniform, distracting him from the asked question. Patiently awaiting her turn, she held her hands behind her, rocked a bit on her heels, and glanced at the backs of the audience's heads before her to occupy herself. Yusef, a recent and enthusiastic connoisseur of readily available women, found this culmination of his two newfound fetishes irresistible and he could not take his eyes off her. Suddenly she looked directly at him, catching him in the act, smiled, and winked knowingly.

"...and so your move was entirely irresponsible," the woman he had called on earlier continued, unaware he had ignored most of her question.

"I, uh," he frowned as his hand massaged his temples, "do you actually have a question?" he interrupted.

"No."

"Then move aside," he shooed her away, "and let that woman take her turn," he pointed to the next microphone though his eyes dwelled on the patiently waiting self aware fetish. The questions continued until finally his raven haired angel stepped up to the microphone and awaited her turn. His heart thundered in his chest.

It was not to pass however because as the person in the first microphone began, only one question away from her, the protesters outside burst in and disturbed the satisfying air of anticipation for his every utterance. Undermanned for such throngs of people, the theater's security was overcome but, remembering the disastrous protests during the Schock Prizes, unwilling to use their guns or pepper spray lest the media brand them butchers.

"ABORTIONIST, SATANIST, GOD-KILLER..." they charged as their placards flashed hand painted slogans and equally insulting remarks.

"Please keep this outside," Yusef shook his head with weathered disregard. "You're allowed to protest outside just not in here, okay?" He vainly reasoned with the mob. They could not hear him above their shouting but it was unlikely that they would have stopped anyway. Yusef had long since learned one cannot rationally argue with irrationally religious people—especially in this new day and age. The police, prepared but not deployed for the inevitable, finally arrived to relieve the burden from the guards. The righteous protest, buoying the zealous Faithists into an artificial high of moral outrage that neglected rationality, emanated an aura simultaneously buffering them from the threat posed by the men in blue but, like an addict fearing the withdrawal, reminded them that their high was fragile and temporary. Protesting against an irrefutable professional consensus takes a special kind of person, one who rejects to better informed judgments of others and instead goes with their gut, the "yuck factor", that claims any progress as anti-thetical; this same factor fought Copernicus, the Wright brothers, and, at least in the uniquely misinformed and conservative American public, stem cells, and gay marriage, and would eventually lose—but not soon enough as far as Yusef was concerned.

Since most of the great protests in history were done by liberals demanding reform, there had been little theorizing of just how conservatives, effectively the franchised complete with home field advantage, could protest so heartily. In the preceding years Yusef had personally heard some members of the Christian right complain that "activist" judges were white-outing God from the government and history; that there was a blatant war on Christianity. Never mind that activist judges told Topeka, Kansas that "separate but equal" was unconstitutional. So the Christians, angry, bitter, and frustrated with their nearly complete domination of American politics and judicial appointments for 225+ years were not gonna take it anymore. Unfortunately for Yusef he was far more dangerous and an easier target than any activist judicial system.

Five minutes passed and still the crowd would not disperse. Yusef looked helplessly to East Asian beauty at the microphone. She shrugged her shoulders just as a burly officer freed himself from the fray and hopped up the stage, replacing Yusef at the microphone.

"If ya'll don't leave we'll have to use the pepper-spray!" he screamed into the mic. Still the mob would not move. "Alright, that's the way you want to play it. People," he swept the air to cover the swath of the audience, "I'm gonna have to ask ya to leave using the emergency exits so the spray won't affect you. " Yusef nearly begged him to reconsider but instead looked helplessly for the young woman in the bustling crowd. Her hair flew high when she turned to face Yusef, briefly sharing his look of longing before turning around and calmly walking away amidst desperate audience members.

Those darn protesters had ruined his chance to get with that attractive young woman. Of course they may have saved him a mess of trouble if it turned out she was under 18. That first night in Sweden, where the woman in the red dress threw herself at him, he had done many no-nos. He fucked her without protection and, because his passion had overwhelmed him, forgot to pull out and filled her with his hot seed. Second, because she looked old enough, he did not check her ID even for reassurance. He knew better now and not two weeks ago when a girl who looked well into her twenties nearly serviced his johnson before he had the presence of mind to ask for her drivers' license. When she confessed she was not even old enough to drive, he pulled up his pants and made a quick exit.

With his questions and book signing cut short, his organizer informed him he had an hour and a half to kill before they need to leave for another commitment. Thrilled at the prospect of free time, he insisted he be left alone to sit and read somewhere. Before heading out however he changed his dress shirt and pleated black pants to a plain gray T-shirt and deep blue jeans. His security adviser recommended he change clothes as often as possible so he was less likely to spot but the most famous face in the world tended to stick out anyway. He also grabbed a Giants cap to blend in with the locals and large black framed sunglasses to protect his eyes from the afternoon light as well as a deranged fan/critic's recognizing glances. 

He sat outside a coffeehouse just blocks from the auditorium, nearly burying his entire face into his novel. His eyes went from left/right top/bottom but his mind retained none of it; he thought about Tina. Since most of his free time of late was spent in bed with groupies or an infatuated co-ed, he repeatedly forgot to call her. The divorce from her outted husband had been hard, or so her weekly messages to his voice mail revealed, but his recollections and uneventful free time rarely coincided; he reached into his pocket for his cell.

"Excuse me?" a soft voice interrupted amidst the vibrant rush hour street noise. His unseen eyes looked up to the source of the feminine voice. Surprised, he placed his opened book face down, removed his hand from his pocket, and crossed his arms as he looked his standing guest up and down.

"It was hard to recognize you without the fetish," he said deadpan. "So why'd you dress like that in the auditorium? To get my attention?" he asked.

"Well," the woman began, "it was a less hostile way to ask my question and they were the only street clothes in my abbey. Dressed like this," she swept her hands down to signify her black garb, "people tend to act differently."

"I've yet to answer a question from a nun," he answered honestly, continuing to examine her habit. The stiff black robe, her flawlessly white collar, and the coarse wool hat that merely contained her long black hair, ensconcing her soft high yellow skin, cheekbones, and stretched eyelids in piety only seemed to make her more appealing. Though Yusef had met a few young nuns as conventionally beautiful as this one, he always just saw them as nuns. Not "untouchable women," thus implying desire, but as nuns pure and simple.  "You know, you're right. I would act differently. In fact, right now, I'm remembering you in that uniform and now in your habit, and I'm still quite attracted to you," he said bluntly. The nun blushed at his forwardness. Before his book tour he would have never said such a thing out loud but the nun smiled pleasantly. "I suppose if I first saw you in that get-up I'd think nothing about how gorgeous you look." She blushed deeper but sat down at his table rather than walk away.

"It's good to know I'm still attractive."

"Pffft!," he waved her statement away. "You're still good looking, sister. You couldn't've been older than 25 to pull off that uniform."

"Why thank you Dr. Muhammad," she smiled and nodded politely but enjoyed his praise more than she let on. "And I've been meaning to tell you. I'm a novice—I haven't taken my vows so I'm not officially a nun yet." If Yusef had learned anything new from his recent experiences, it was that religion was a sensitive topic; he decided against asking if she planned to stay on with her Abbey. She crossed her legs and rhythmically bobbed her resting leg up and down, displaying her black patent leather and heeled embellishment. Yusef pointed to her dangling foot.

"Isn't that a little ritzy for your vow of poverty?" The novice looked curiously at her feet like she saw them for the first time.

"Well, they're new if that's what you mean," she looked to his face and shrugged her shoulders. "I bought them months ago, after you got that prize and the media wouldn't shut up about you," she continued with a humorous smile as she recalled the news blitz like an overplayed song on the radio.

"Ah, you experienced it as salvation then?"

"Salvation?"

"Yeah, it's in my book. Chapter eight."

"I'm only on five," she lamented, furrowing her brow, frustrated with every duty over the last week that distracted her from the book. "And who remembers the introductions when there's so little context?"

"Well not to spoil too much, there're two kinds of people," he removed his sunglasses and held up two fingers. "Those who experienced my formula as salvation in this modern sense were people who tried not to be gay, unwilling kids forced to go through baptism, etc.," he wiggled one finger. "Then there are people who experienced it as a rupture. Unstable believers who actually physically needed spirituality like some drug, ministers, and, but I guess not in your case," he pointed to her, "nuns."

"Well I do like these shoes but I'd hardly say they're a sign of your new salvation," she mused. "Some of us did 'rupture'. But our priest Father Ben went the other way. After much praying he finally decided to leave and go to college. He's still quite young so he can have a career ahead of him," she nodded as if to convince herself.

"Right. It's not exactly what I meant but close. Why did he leave?" he sipped from his glistening ceramic coffee mug, a cream colored ring marking the former level.

"Well...," she scrunched her face on one side, "he was a homosexual. Everyone knew because he admitted it—but he wasn't practicing. That's what really made the difference."

"So I've learned."

"Speaking of learning, I was hoping you could come to the Abbey and give us all a talk," she changed the subject.

"I'd be delighted but I've an engagement in," he thought of his agent as he looked at his wristwatch, "45 minutes."

"Oh that's all right, your appointment is with my Abbey." Yusef checked the electronic organizer his manager gave him. She craned her neck forward and raised both eyebrows. "St. Clare's?" she asked.

"Well sure enough, you're right," he smiled quietly.

"Would you like a ride? We can take my Honda," she offered, pointing a thumb to an unseen location behind her. His security adviser warned him about taking unnecessary risks. In sex for example; his newfound appreciation increased proportionally with his fear of disease and pregnancy. Never without condoms on hand, he was vigilant and never strayed. Though his fear of carnal love's fruit was high, he was unwilling to compromise on his pleasures while the iron was hot. For a brief moment he weighed the risks of riding with this young woman before remembering that, at least as far as laymen were concerned, she was a nun! Yusef had met many crazy fundamentalist Protestant and Muslim leaders but never once a Roman Catholic. In all his experiences he found the followers either lapse or passively dogmatic. As for their leaders, certain fear-of-God types like Bill Donahue preached the conservative social stigma against birth control and the like. Still some others were quite cool on a personal level and avoided the Hell and damnation bits of religion. Like a bridge or skyscraper built to sway instead of stand rigid, this ability to dismiss parts of ones own religion let it endure violent wind storms. The Catholic church certainly had a stance on hot button moral issues of the day but whether its adherents followed them or not, while still calling themselves Catholic, was an entirely different matter.

As his Oriental penguin playfully bobbed her leg atop her knee and waited expectantly for his reply, he remembered her holy station and determined she was probably of the cool variety.

"Sure, I'd love to," he finally smiled, looking forward to a calm late afternoon of tea and conversation. If all the nuns at her convent were anything like...

"Say," he began as they walked down the street, her legs colliding with her stiff habit, "what's your name?"

"Huong," she closed her eyes as she bowed her head slightly.

If all the nuns at her abbey were anything like Huong, it would be a fine safe time away from the rigorous schedule and adoring young women.

Though they came in through the side entrance, a plain brick and mortar extension of the grand but obscured abbey, his anticipation for a quiet evening in a historical building that dated to San Francisco's Spanish founders mounted. The high ceilings and stone walls provided a stark contrast to San Francisco's few surviving red brick stores and homes straight out of "Full House." She continued towards the altar, accustomed to the vastness of the mahogany pews, stained glass, and carved stone embellishments that captivated and immobilized Yusef.

"How does this place survive earthquakes?" he muttered to himself.

"It was made to last," Huong's answer echoed just ten yards away. "All the stuff outside is meant to withstand quakes but not Father Time. They'll all be replaced by more modern buildings when they're outdated but this," she raised her hands to the ceiling, "is meant to last centuries. Even in San Francisco." Satisfied, he followed her to the front of the church and up three shallow but wide stairs to the altar. Yusef walked alongside and ran his fingers across its flawlessly smooth surface; though carved from marble and, to the casual observer, perfectly in place with the rest of the building's furniture and decoration, its simplistic appearance lended itself to the theory that it was newer than anything else in the church. "That was installed after Vatican II," Huong said as if to answer his unasked question.




A-Theism, the Great Godkiller Ch. 02



"Pardon?"

"That altar," she pointed, "is used by the priest to prepare the host which is given to all Catholics or even non-Catholics who genuinely want it. It used to be done semi-secretly over there," she pointed to a smaller but grander one imbedded in the stone base for the story high crucifix. The cross made no bones about the many hours of torture Jesus endured before and during his Roman execution. Just below his punctured and bloody feet, imbedded into the altar's high backed facade, was a gold plated niche resembling an expensive knick knack compartment. "He would prepare them with his back turned in the days when mass was done in Latin. My Grandma still goes to Latin mass every Christmas and I swear she knows it all by heart!" Huong laughed. Yusef passed her and stepped to the pre-Vatican II preparation site like he was on sacred land. Carved into it were religious symbols he naturally did not understand and intricate depictions of plants and animals he imagined were there just because they looked nice. "Many churches just ripped them out but we kept ours," she smiled with pride as he continued admiring the craftsmanship. 

"What's that?" he pointed to the small niche protected by ornate gold doors.

"That's the tabernacle. It's where the host is kept before mass. As well as a few other sacred vessels."

"You know, this might come as a surprise, but I don't hate religion. It's always fascinated me..."

"Has it?"

"Oh very much. You know, someone once told me that Catholicism isn't based on the Bible. That it's just traditions that have grown up around it." Huong tilted her head rightways and her eyes looked to the left. After a few moments, she had her answer.


"Yeah, I suppose that person's right," she smiled and stepped closer to him. Still admiring the altar, he felt her small hands touch his back reassuringly like a teacher urging him to press on during a difficult portion of a test.

"Truly beautiful," he muttered as he softly shook his head.

"I'm glad you like it," she smiled as her hand delicately rubbed his shoulder and caressed his upper back. Yusef treated her comforting gesture with deference until it continued for a whole minute. His back stiffened and Huong withdrew her hand. He turned to her.

"What was that?"

"What was what?" she asked curiously. He nearly pressed her but thought against it.

"So where are your sisters?" he changed the subject.

Frowning slightly, she conceded her answer. "They should get here in a few moments."

"Good. It'll be nice to take a break from my routine," he answered honestly. It seemed to him that he had been on the road for years, going from place to place, meeting so many new faces, and almost every time seen the backs of their heads while he fucked them from behind. Though as horny as ever, these nuns represented a welcome and refreshing change.

Sure enough the sisters, dressed in their habits, steadily arrived and sat in the front pews, idling chattering away.  Unlike Huong they further encased their faces with the white hat support that separated their forehead from the cloth cap. They also wore a pure white cloth circle around their necks and over their shoulders like a tablecloth. Contrary to his image of the whizzened but well meaning Mother Angelica type, not one looked over forty and, perhaps because Huong's little dress up at his speech had broken the barrier that prevented him from seeing nuns as objects to be desired, he could see they ranged from average looking to stunningly gorgeous. One, slightly older than Huong, had breasts so voluminous that, as she walked, they made the waist section of her habit billow several inches in the open air. Strangely this was more attractive than the waist hugging dresses of other comparably gorgeous but less endowed women. As if suffering from lower back pain, that same nun audibly winced as she sat down and adjusted in her seat for half a minute before finally settling—either from achieved comfort or acceptance of her uncomfortable position.

"So now that we're all here..." Huong started.

"Wait," Yusef interrupted, "I only count twelve. Aren't there any more?" The large church grew awkwardly silent as the nuns ceased their chatter and looked uncomfortably at the floor. The oldest one finally broke it.

"There have been, uh, some changes since May," she alluded to the Schock prizes. 

"Yes, Sister Huong told me your priest left."

"She's correct. However, many of us had a crisis of faith—I think you call it a 'rupture' in your book—and others like our Mother Superior became fanatical." She rolled her eyes and twitched her brow, suggesting more complexity than she was willing to detail. "They went off with her to D.C. to organize the Rally of the Faithful march planned for this month."

"Oh of course," he nodded as if this was obvious. Though Yusef never once thought of openly mocking the religious remnant, he solemnly believed attempts like these were rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic. "And you all?"

"We're kind of in between. We're waiting and, I think everyone will agree with me on this," she leaned forward to look at her sisters, "to hear what you have to say before we make our decisions." The nuns all nodded in agreement.

"Alright then. Do you want to hear one of my prepared speeches or would you rather have a Q&A?"

"What would you like to do?" Huong asked eagerly, not sitting with her sisters but remaining behind him. Though she clearly intended to accommodate him, her anxiousness was strangely off putting since he was being asked to give these holy sisters direction.

"Well, I know my speeches by heart now but I'd rather just take your questions to mix it up a bit." He did not wish to offend; when as popular and desirable of a speaker as himself ran the circuit, there was the inevitability that every engagement would be just another day at the office but, not embellishing too much, the event of a lifetime for a few attendees. Yusef was sure that many students, hanging on his every word, banking on more to come, and anxious to get their battered books signed, were cursing the protesters who took Yusef away from them. Both parties in this situation however were eager to accommodate the other and Yusef didn't mind doing pro bono work provided it did not interfere with monetary gain. "So what kinds of questions do you have?" he asked as he sat on the steps before the altar. He spread his hands open, ready to receive whatever they could give. Huong joined him on the steps and hugged her knees.

Finally they spoke and for the next hour the nuns, all of whom seemed to have read his book, asked him to elaborate on cryptic or esoteric references to logic and the consequences of a-religiosity. Though he articulately answered every question, too much of the time was spent apologizing for the quality of his book. Though Yusef couldn't explain why, the mere presence of the nuns made him feel guilty for every flaw.

"It was really rushed to the publisher—they wanted anything regardless of how well written because they knew it would sell," he explained the first time. "When it comes out in paperback I'll work on all that. Believe me, I have a list of problems I'll fix," he laughed. The sisters laughed as well but Huong, whose voice came from behind his ears, especially chortled at his humor. Since she was but halfway through his book, much of their session was brand new and either captivated her eager mind or lost it in a sea of confusion that only allowed her to helplessly laugh.

"Well what I was talking about there," he answered another question, "was God's role as a base in philosophy like evolution in biology," he paused mid sentence as he heard Huong's body slide closer, her hips touching his own, "and," he squeaked like a pubescent teen, "that it would slowly wither to very little without Him."

"Yeah, you really don't like philosophy, do you?" Huong laughed, seamlessly pressing her body even harder. The nuns laughed at his startled shaking. Could it be they enjoyed watching Huong advance on him?

"I, um, like philosophy just fine," he cleared his throat, "I teach it. It's the 'I think therefore I am' stuff that I can't stand. Guys like Mill are OK, they're political philosophers. But people often think that's what philosophy is and neglect logic so it just irks me."

"True, true," the busty sister replied. "I knew it existed but that was about as far as it went." Excepting Huong, who stared longingly at the tan man before her, the fellow sisters nodded in agreement.

When no more questions arose, Yusef thanked the ladies for the discussion and slapped his knees to rise but Huong quickly placed her small hands onto his inner thigh to hold him down; this intimate contact after nearly two hours of obvious flirtation flooded Yusef's dick and swelled it from a flaccid inch and a half to a hard seven in 4.6 seconds. He certainly could not get up now or else offend the sisters with it.

"On behalf of our Abbey I'd like to thank you for your talk, I'm sure we all found it most enlightening," she smirked and suggestively raised an eyebrow, much to the amusement of the penguins sitting comfortably in the pews. Finding his erection, she squeezed it and abandoned any subtlety. Yusef laughed uneasily and looked to her and her sisters as if searching for a way out. Huong smoothly leaned her head to his ear.

"I need you, now," she whispered loudly enough for everyone else to hear. Held in place by her still clenching hand upon his erection, he shifted uncomfortably. Sure she was attractive and under normal circumstances he would pursue her, but she was practically a nun and, though not raised in the faith, he recognized her purity.

"I, uh, can't," he answered facing forward as the sisters sat pensively and watched the scene unfold.

"You certainly seemed to like me in that little girls uniform," she recalled. "You had no problem ogling me when you thought I was underaged," she whispered again, her hot breath curling the small hairs on his lobe with its wetness. Though he'd been hoping she was of age rather than intentionally lust after jailbait, she had a point; he could find her attractive despite constructed obstacles like age of consent laws or her holy station. "Would you prefer it if I take off my habit? Would that make you more comfortable fucking me?" She seductively removed her cap and threw it to her sisters' feet. Giving in far more easily than he feared, he gulped.

"Where can we?" he spat out.

"What's wrong with right here?" Shocked, he turned his head to her.

"Right here? In the Abbey?"

"No, right there," she nodded to the front altar, "in front of them," she pointed to her pensive sisters.

"You're crazy!"

"Not at all," she squinted, her lips reaching for his ear "we're liberated, Godkiller," she whispered again as her delicate mouth gently nibbled his hanging lobe, drawing his eyes closed in pleasure. As if on cue, the nuns stood and walked over to the couple. Huong relinquished his ear and promptly stepped away from the scene as two nuns reached under his armpits and raised him. One briefly clasped her hands, knelt before him, unfastened his belt, lowered his zipper, and dropped his pants while another started pulling his shirt over his head, raising her arms into the air with seeming reverence.

"No, wait..." his eyesight obscured by his shirt, he weakly protested but was silenced by a smothering kiss from the bustier nun whose tits pressed against his chest whilst her hands simultaneously dropped his boxers. In a short time he stood exposed and surrounded by black and white in this holy place. He looked to the crucifix above the back altar, the saddened face of Jesus looking down upon the scene, then to Huong who remained in her holy dress but with eyes bereft of any lingering lustrous sanctity as she, and the others, stared longingly at his throbbing erection. She leapt atop the altar and laid herself down, spreading her knees within the confines of her ankle length black dress. "Aren't you going to take it off?" he signaled his commitment to her request but showed a modicum of resistance.

"I wore this as I came closer to God," she began as she genteelly rolled up her skirt like an old fashioned can of sardines, exposing her hairy black muff, "and now I want you to take my virginity as I cum farther away." Indicative that he had chucked Huong's divine station from his mind and out the stained glass window, her nakedness beneath her sacred garb but faintly resonated with him.

The sisters still hovered about, escorting him to Huong; he accepted his duty and climbed onto the altar. With eager eyes they looked on, his naked body ascending their still holy altar, and his body hovering over their young novice, her hair lay spread like a halo on the cold marble. He straightened his arms on either side of her anxious writhing body, careful not to touch his naked person to her covered but eager form or the frigid stone. Her hands reached up to his broad shoulders and wrapped themselves, forcing his heavy body upon her. Their mouths locked in a novel embrace, tentative like one would share with a new mate but with all the passion and want of two new lovers desperately wishing to explore further.

She moaned in delight at the new sensations of intimacy and lust, overwhelming her otherwise low intimacy baseline and twitching her body joyfully at his slightest touch. But unfamiliar with her own genitalia let alone his, her shyness forbade her to insert his cock herself. As they kissed, the sisters encircled, save for two who passed the altar to the tabernacle at the foot of the crucifix. They removed the gold plated chalice and perfume bottle sized containers of a red liquid that Yusef, between his delicate kisses of Huong's face and neck, determined to be red wine. The sisters mumbled a few words over the wine and poured it into the chalice.

"Just stick it in, I don't want to be a virgin anymore," Huong moaned between their embrace, begging for relief from her lifelong celibacy. He gave her one soft kiss and, after planting his knees more securely on the slowly warming stone, grasped his cock before slowly inserting it into her sopping hairy hole. Even with just the head, he met significant resistance, forcing her beautiful face to wrinkle and wince. "It's fine," she inhaled sharply, "just keep going," she lied to make him continue. Yusef saw through this of course but his lust made him act, slowly inserting each dry inch into her tight velvety wet pussy until he came to the hilt, her vagina whimpering in pain to accommodate his girth. He stayed their awhile, lowering his body to hers as she wrapped her arms around his back and embraced him.

"Are you OK?"

"Yes, fine, just go..." she sighed with an eagerness that outweighed her obvious physical discomfort. Her forehead was sweating. He turned his head to the sisters, their gazes still locked upon them, and finally pulled his hips back, withdrawing to the rim of his glans before pushing it back it and drawing another but less prolonged wince from his Asian novice. With each withdrawal and thrust, she grew more accustomed and his cock slid more easily into her looser and lubricated walls. After a few minutes of cautiously slow but intimate penetration, her appearance softened and she briskly grasped his ears, pulling his head to her mouth, and kissed him voraciously. Her hands, free to move wherever they please on his naked body, had the distinct pleasure of exploration whereas his spent most of their time supporting his weight even as he lay upon her bodice. Though her petite breasts were hidden beneath her black habit, the religious uniform and his defiling of the woman wearing it was a greater turn-on than he'd expected and he surprisingly found himself pumping harder than he had for any virgin before her.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes..." she moaned while his mouth and tongue explored her steamy warmth of her delicate neck and engorged lips, tasting her salty sweat and tears. She pressed harder and wrapped her bare legs around his back as she hungrily received what he gave her with savage grunts for each deflowering thrust. "Yes, take me!" she cried, concentrating intently on the fast approaching orgasmic sin—the last step separating herself from a God with whom she had already devoted so much of her life. But just as her pleasure came to its peak, the 40ish nun carried the wine filled gold chalice to Huong's level. She relinquished his head and removed her lips as she turned her body to the side, roughly grasped the chalice, and drank horizontally as best she could. She slurped noisily, possibly spilling more down her chin and dripping onto her soft flesh and hard stone. Yusef licked it off her chin and neck in short order only to be offered the cup himself. Embracing their ritual, he slowed his penetration much to the novice's dismay, and thirstily downed the remaining wine as the nun's chanted in unison.

"The blood of Christ..." He jerked it back to them and swiftly resumed fucking with all deliberate speed, pleasing Huong who resumed her audible whimpers as each attack brought her closer to the unknown limit of orgasm.

"I'm feeling something," she moaned beneath him, sweat dripping onto the altar.

"You probably won't cum your first time," he answered knowingly. "Even experienced women don't always get it during regular sex," he punctuated each panting word with a quick breath.

"Then, then, what's this?!" she arched her back and clenched her eyes as the muscles around her sex spasmed in glorious orgasm, spreading throughout her whole, filling her heart, and flooding her mind with divine relief of 22 years of voluntary celibacy. "Oh fuck Goddamnit!" she shouted as she pressed his lips closer with the strength of a woman thrice her strength. This was all Yusef needed and, sooner than he expected, his own orgasm boiled within his balls. He desperately sought an exit so he would not cum inside her. He struggled to escape her tight lock.

"Please, you have to let me pull out," he begged her, his orgasm bubbling within his loins.

"No! I want to carry a piece of you with me!" she urged, clasping her arms and hands behind him. No longer caring and quickly complying, he impale more furiously than before until his cum raced through his loins and filled her with four voluminous spurts as he continued to pump his steadily softening sensitized cock. Sweating like mad above his clothed beauty, he collapsed his whole weight atop her, his head on her breast and his cock still inside. She lovingly caressed his head, keeping it close to her calming but still rapid heartbeat, as the realization of their location slowly resurfaced. The nuns gazed lecherously at the expression of humanity's carnal nature upon their altar, some obviously struggling not to applaud the bravery of the display.

"The body of Christ..."

But naturally the fact he was naked atop a nun on an altar at the front of a church dawned on him once again and, as his limp cock finally pulled out of her cum filled hole, he descended from the altar and quickly tried to reassemble his clothes.

"No, no, no, no, no," the sisters begged as their unseen feet stepped closer to him and their arms touched his bare body to prevent his dressing. "We don't want you to leave yet..." one proclaimed.

"Oh, so you just wanted me to fuck one of your own. Is that it? Show just how depraved I am?!" he accused.

"No, you don't understand. We already had our minds made up about whether we'd stay or not. We just wanted to be with the man who showed us the light," another one continued. "You're a wonderful philosopher like Jesus must have been 2,000 years ago, and we just want to be a part of that," the older one explained.  "Surely there's no harm in that?" the busty one finished with a wince, displaying the same discomfort as she did when she first sat in the pew.




A-Theism, the Great Godkiller Ch. 02



Though his mind was reluctant, his body was anything but the opposite and in no time flat his cock grew harder again, much to the delight of the women surrounding him. "On the altar?" he asked regarding the trivial matter, thus affirming his desire to continue.

"No," the forty year old answered. "We'll put you in the priest's quarters. It looked like the altar was a tad uncomfortable," she continued as if stating the price of gasoline. They looked to it and spotted a small pool of blood and cum below Huong's sex. She was a virgin all right, yet she pressed him on to continue and had an orgasm despite the pain. He motioned to help her but the nuns stopped him. "Sister Andrea is our nurse. She'll tend to Sister Huong." He reluctantly accepted this answer and turned back around.

His cock bobbing with each step, they ushered him through the church to the plain dormitory style dwellings, leaving her shell-shocked and spread eagle atop the altar. Their heels clacked and echoed down the hallway. One opened the door to a room and told him to wait inside. The priest's simple room had only a bed with a modest metal-columned headboard with no complementing furniture so, for lack of anyplace else, he sat naked upon it. 

Scarcely a minute later, the busty younger nun entered with the same look of discomfort on her face. She stood there briefly before closing the door without locking, encouraging Yusef to witness her modest dress and chaste inference before letting him have his way with her. She playfully frowned, leaned her head forward, and meekly looked at the ground like she could not look him directly in the eyes. Even though Yusef knew this was an obvious rouse, her faux worship unsettled him. Because of his tour and the constant worshipping fucks with young girls (often several at one time) gave him, half of his pleasure was derived from their selfless dedication to have one night in bed (or anyplace he desired) to do anything and everything he asked. As the nameless statuesque nun stared at the ground, her cap pointing to him and concealing her hair, his erection grew firmer at the thought of the sister pleasing him anyway he asked. She looked to him and strutted his way, accentuating each swing of her hips and clacking her shoes. Grasping her collar, she ripped it down the center, spilling out her massive F cup breasts. Her elbows jutting and her hands at the torn cloth, her tits bounced joyfully like a dog finally freed from a kennel and running in the grass with its returning master. Even with all the women he had been with, he could not recall seeing such magnificently bulbous yet firm tits of any size let alone these gravity defying melons.

Like a newborn his hands instinctively reached for them. His palms over her erect nipples, he first grasped them like a basketball, testing their firmness and discovered, to his astonishment, they were natural. Oh God how natural they were!

His fingers spread out, caressing along the side, running a circuit as she sighed pleasurably and he drooled like an infant. Then, just like a baby, his mouth gravitated to the hard nipples and suctioned firmly onto them, his tongue running clockwise then counterclockwise along her small pink aureola.

"Mmmmm, I remember how good this feels," she sighed as his hand caressed and pleasured the other breast as well. "I gave up carnal pleasure to be a bride of Christ," she continued dreamily, her eyes closed and legs weakening as pleasurable memories rushed back to her and supplemented his pleasant beginning. Removing his mouth, he kissed a path between her breasts until it arrived at the other where he resumed, his hands reaching behind her to squeeze her firm muscular ass. His mouth did not limit itself to the nipple but explored all around it, neglecting not a single place he could comfortably reach in his sitting posture. His hands slowly bunched up the dress behind her, raising her hem inch by inch up her nylon stockings until the pink flesh of her ass was fully vulnerable to his attentions. He pressed his hands against her supple butt, letting the wrinkled dress fall beyond them, and massaged her softness, gradually nearing her warm sweaty cleft. Without warning his fingers touched upon something solid and obviously foreign; he immediately ceased sucking and looked up curiously through her tits. A slight double chin formed as she looked him directly in the eyes.

"What's this?"

"A butt-plug," she answered proudly. Yusef nodded, his chin lightly pressing into her slick sternum, finally understanding why she seemed so uncomfortable just sitting down and walking in the church.

"Why?" To this she looked at him like he asked a stupid question. "No, no, no, I mean, I know what it's for, I'm just not sure why you want anal is all."

"Well," she smiled bashfully, "a nun doesn't have to be a virgin. I had a few boyfriends in High School but..." she trailed off as if reliving her past experiences, "...but I wanted you to be my first SOMETHING. I've always wanted to try it and now's as good a time as any," she shrugged her shoulders. Finally understanding, pleasure replaced confusion and he delicately tapped the plug farther, making her shudder and wince from the sensation. Still pressing firmly upon the unseen plug, he rose to meet her face. Even with the high white artificial forehead and the black veil draping over her hair and down her back, she was quite obviously a beauty. Her hands rose to her headware but Yusef quietly urged her to stop, preferring her sanctity intact for the sinful act to come. Kissing her briefly on her soft sticky lips, he kept his hands on her supple ass to guide her onto the bed. She crawled upon it, her black draped ass widened by the posture that also hid her face and chest, pressing her cantaloupe sized breasts flat. Yusef teasingly rubbed the coarse fabric up her sheen white stockings and hairless legs, drawing unseen whines of protest.

Her ass completely exposed, the cherry red plug showed itself in all its preparatory glory as her rubbery anus vainly struggled against it, completely distracting him from the shy hairy cunny staring him down. He brought his nose to it, testing its cleanliness. Met with the faint smell of wet soap but only a touch of fouling alongside the latex, he determined she washed her ass but hours before, probably in anticipation for their encounter. Turning his head to the side and firmly grasping the plug's end, he slowly pulled, stretching her eager pucker and forcing muffled moans of pleasure and pain from the plain white pillow she pressed her face into. His cock involuntarily throbbed as every agonizingly slow millimeter got him closer to its goal. With a loud pop, he plopped out the latex instrument, his surprised hands shot nearly a foot backwards from the momentum. Looking into her gaping asshole, he knew he would not have long before the two rubbery rings closed and complicate their pleasure; already it twitched, glossy from the hours old lubricant, and was closing altogether. Quickly he stood on his knees and guided his cock-head inside, drawing another unseen whimper from his black and white dressed bride of Christ. He grasped her covered hips and slowly inserted his cock inch by inch into her warm and foul hole, successfully penetrating his cock-head past her inner sphincter before it feebly closed 'round his circumcision scar. Her anus continued to spasm around his cock, reminding him of his duty to lock it in firmly but also increasing his pleasure for their taboo act.

"Ahhhhhh..." she moaned in either pleasure or pain when her cheeks met his cock's hilt, forcing him to stop. "Oh that feels soooooooo good in there," she continued, turning her head the side and exposing her blushing face beneath her secured white and black cap. Even as her spasms diminished and her rectum adapted to the intrusion, he noticed a small tear in her eye. "Keep going," she urged. Ever one to oblige, he slowly withdrew until just the head remained, and the dove back inside, this time gently slamming into her cheeks and causing a small but not at all unpleasant ripple. "Yes, like that!" she encouraged, encouraging him to penetrate her colon even harder the next time, drawing a proportional plea for more, faster, and even harder than the last.


Though not new to anal sex, this was his first time without a condom and, just like vaginal sex, it was even better without. Had this been any other woman but a nun, he would never have considered sticking any part of him inside any part of her without protection. In his mind's half day vacation from touring, he found himself fucking attractive women as he normally would after a lecture; this time however he gave his cock the holiday inside the orifices of a saintly order who worshipped him like Christ himself.

Unlike Huong, he took his time, finessing his wanting cock in and out, in no rush to end the wonderfully tight sensation as it rubbed against her struggling crinkle. Moaning with each thrust, she embraced their Dickensian sex and urged him to continue as if only she could possibly receive pleasure from their coupling. His right hand reached around under her stomach and searched for her hairy muff. Locating her wet pussy underneath, he delicately separated and rubbed her labium individually whilst pushing his cock harder and longer into her ass.

"Mmmmmmm..." she moaned again as she bit her lower lip. His massaging however became more crude as he pumped faster, steadily approaching orgasm and forcing her to cast his hand away and replace it with her own which, with the practice only coming from first hand experience so to speak, knew exactly what to do where and when. "Mmmmmm, yeah..." she continued as she furiously rubbed her sex, freeing Yusef to grasp her sweaty frame at the hip and pump her even harder, his orgasm slowly building. "Ahhh—hu-aaaaaaah" genuine clitoral moans passed her lips and tremors at her waist rather than the ambiguously ambivalent pleasure/pain of the treatment her virgin ass received, encouraging him to pump faster still and slam into her jiggling ass. "Ahhhh..." she cried open mouthed, "Keep going, yes, yes, don't stop! Fill me up!"

After already cumming once in the last twenty minutes, his orgasm was taking its time but for the sake of simultaneous fun, and denying what she demanded, he paced himself and resigned to a slower gyration. Her fingers however were unrelenting and, minutes later, her whole body clenched, further resisting his invading cock, and she cried out joyfully in spectacular pleasure audible to whomever stood beyond the door. "Oh it's been too long since I felt that!" she heaved several sighs for what seemed to take minutes. Knowing her end of the exchange was satisfied, he hurried, slamming his cock harder into her asshole, smacking his hips against her soft cheeks, sliding her whole body to and fro atop her flattened flesh pillows until he too cried in ecstasy and shot three small spurts of less viscous cum into her hot bowels. "Yes, yes! Give me your sperm!" she pressed her firm ass into his softening cock, crumpling him backwards and nearly off the twin bed.

Though not even middle aged yet, his two orgasms rendered him weary as if his life force was slowly drained. He pulled out, collapsing to her side, his beads of streaking sweat landing upon the sullied white sheets. Recovered from her orgasm, she draped her habit back around her ass and placed her steady feet upon the floor. Now composed, she adjusted her cap, hiding the few rogue strands of light brown hair that escaped during her receiving posture. Satisfied, she knelt down to pick up the dropped plug. Forced from her anus, a bit of his thinned cum dripped down her unseen thigh into her white stockings as she stood and exited, leaving him to stare equably at the cracked and peeling paint on the ceiling.

Though he was a slim man, he was not as young as he once was. Battling the weight of his stomach, he handily defeated the weariness but was still left with inklings of doubt. Breathing, like one's heartbeat or digestive system, often continues without notice but unlike them breathing can be terminated by conscious action. Yusef loosed a large yawn as his body spasmed in a shuttering stretch and inhaled a large breath to compensate for any air otherwise not taken in. But just like any human function, breathing can easily be stopped by outside action—he was not so sure that fatigue from sex would go under this category. This paranoia lasted but a second when he reminded himself to relax and remember he was not nearly that exhausted. He sighed relievedly just as the door newly opened by the exiting nun was loudly closed. He slowly turned his head to it and through blurred vision he caught the carnal stare of the oldest sister in the pack.

Unlike the last one who looked timidly upon his naked body, her hands loosely locked together, this one kept her arms straight at her side and seemed to have no trouble looking directly at him. "So'our're..." he mumbled past his heavy lips, trying to communicate with the new presence. Her shoes softly tapped upon the ground as she stepped closer, gray blur became articulate and so did his mind and mouth.

"So you're the oldest one?" he ventured a guess, thinking he knew her. She looked to his limp cock with open disappointment before turning her eyes back to his half closed lids gazing someplace directly behind her.

"Is that a problem for you?" she asked without caring whatever answer he could give.

"No, I'm just a little out of mind, I guess..." he lazily waved his question away. "I've just always had a thing for older women I suppose...."

"How old do you think I am?"

"Forty-something," he confidently replied, realizing it was a loaded question he had to answer anyway. She raised her left eyebrow.

"Forty-two," she said sternly like the nun he envisioned on television. "It's not polite to ask a woman her age..." she drifted off. Yusef faintly heard an Irish accent he had not heard before, strengthening her nunnish archetype.

"You asked me, remember?" he answered smartly. "And besides, that age thing has more to do with available women, doesn't it?"

"Don't get cute with me," she squinted her eyes and poked the heavens with a disapproving finger. He half expected her to brash his knuckles with a ruler—the thought of which brought some sensation to his well used cock. She noticed his involuntary response to her anger but did not acknowledge it. Pressing her cloth at her hips between her fingers, she raised the dress above her ankles and softly kicked off her laceless shoes. The first scraped along the floor and, standing on the ball of her newly liberated foot, she stood poised and kicked the other which crashed into the wall and floor with dull thuds.

"How old are you Yusef?" she asked with the Irish accent more pronounced, convincing Yusef it was a conscious act on her part.

"I'm 31," he answered more awake than before.

"Just like ouwr Lard and Savior. Tell me Yosef, do you feel bod for the domage you've dun?" She called him by his first name again. Though fame and celebrity had expanded his ego probably beyond its healthy limits, he found people usually felt so socially detached from him that they used his full titles. When he spoke to the sisters inside the church, right before they made him bless the altar with Huong's broken hymen, they always called him "Mr." or "Dr." Perhaps because his last name was that of a one name prophet—soon to be devalued to the rank of other one named celebrities like Cher or Madonna without riots breaking out—people avoided just calling him "Muhammad" without an honorific. But they seldom called him simply "Yusef."

"The 'damage' as you call it is entirely your own," his thoughts and voice even clearer, "Any damage is done by you."

"I disagree," she stepped lightly towards him, her feet slapping the floor.

"You can disagree all you like but you're still wrong. If I burn a flag in protest, the only harm that will come of it is from people who'll hurt me. Same with stuff about my own people. You flush a Koran down the toilet or say a Miss Universe woman would be a suitable bride for Muhammad, the only damage from that is when people protest and then riot, usually killing themse..." she placed her palm over his mouth, cutting him off until his voice was but a muffle. She placed her index finger on her free hand over her lips and shushed him.

"Didn't I tell you to stop talking?"

"Wah-wuh-wly, du whidn't," he tried to articulate despite her obstruction.

"Well then I just did and you talked anyway," she removed her hand and stuck it palm up, curling her fingers to her. "Give me your honds, your knuckles need to know the cost of your behaviour," her accent grew thicker still. It seemed she wanted to play a game and Yusef, a recent acquaintance of this sort of play, complied by sticking out his hands, falsely whimpered, and prepared for punishment. But rather than a ruler, he heard the clank of metal as she reached into a large front pocket. Almost instantly she produced a pair of hand cuffs, captured one wrist, wrapped it around a metal bar in the headboard, and snatched the other wrist. At first he laughed at her unexpected aggressiveness but as his immobility set in, he, however weakly at first, struggled with the cuffs.

"Oh don't," she offered indifferently, "they're very real." She sat upon the edge of the bed, her weight sinking his lower half and displacing his center of gravity, further unnerving him. She lightly touched his bare knee, sending a slight shiver up his spine and reminding him of his naked helplessness. Again she looked at his cock but this time she smiled approvingly at its steady engorgement. "I suppose you like this, huh?" she asked as she gently rubbed his leg like one would a large dog.

His experiences with this sort of play was, with but the occasional lapse, solely his prerogative and always his own dominance. As the nun looked upon his body, examining it in every detail, he realized she was the natural dominatrix or sadist, the perfect choice if he felt compelled for this treatment.

"Get me out of these!" he yelled as he fought the cuffs, sliding them up and down the metal headboard's bar. He did not make this choice however and resented this non-compliance as she smiled to him like one would a naïve child.

"Awww," she offered sympathetically. "You really want to get out of these cuffs don't ya?" her hand reached for his cheek but he sternly turned it away from her. Rather than press on, she placed her palm upon his chest, swirling the sparse chest hair as it made its way lower until reaching his package. Grasping it hard, she lurched forward, her mouth millimeters from his own, and scowled.

"You sar are not being very coöperative," she snarled as she clenched her hands like a spider and shook them, forcing a silent wince, "and you have to understand that the sooner you shut up the sooner this will be over and the other girls can get a shot..."

"What the fuck are you talking about, let me the fuck go! Do you know what you're..." she forced her pursed lips upon him, pressing his head alarmingly hard into the pillow. Fearing his jaw would break if he attempted to open his mouth, and unwilling to accept her forced embrace, he determined to keep his mouth shut. A minute of this passed until the older nun grew irritated.

"Gawd, stop being so difficult," she moaned behind her fevered kisses. She brought her thumbs to his cheeks and pressed them against his lower jaw, forcing his mouth to open just to relieve the pain she created. Hers gaped open, its tongue jutting inside his mouth and, as it felt to him, down his throat as well. Her wet lips smeared her slick saliva on his upper lip, instantly cooling after she moved elsewhere to repeat her stiff kisses. Though Yusef kicked in anger, his cock continued to grow steadily, betraying his aching prostate and testicles. Forming a tight seal around his mouth, she jutted her tongue farther and moaned delightfully when it was met with his own. Though his jaw was pried open just in case he might bite off her tongue, his body flushed with warmth and pleasure as he locked in a submissive embrace to the uniformed woman. She relinquished his mouth and freed his jaw.




A-Theism, the Great Godkiller



Mary Beth nudged her friend and smiled in mock embarrassment for her tact. Ellen easily saw her efforts to restrain her laughter. The pop-less lecture continued for some minutes before Mary Beth looked at her watch and gasped.

"Crap! That thing's happening sune!" she whispered. They noisily assembled their belongings and ran indiscreetly out the lecture room and into the hall, even forcing the usually stoic professor notice. Mary Beth's paisley skirt freely billowed around her gams with each running stride while her arms embraced herself, securing her books against her feminine waist; her plump breasts struck the upturned books with each crash of her feet. God she was beautiful. 

As they rounded the corner to the main lecture hall, Ellen saw other persons such as herself running inside to catch a seat. Though the presentation would not begin for another five minutes and most surely would start late, everyone wanted to find a seat. Despite the four-hundred person capacity, it was difficult to find two seats next to each other. Ellen considered telling a selfish loaner to slide down one or remove his jacket and backpack from a seat, but she knew Mary Beth would be genuinely embarrassed so they sat in the nosebleeds.

Ellen immediately recognized every logic professor the University of Minnesota had to offer stood in front by the podium. While most chatted amongst themselves, the always stoic Professor Yusef (he insisted on that name) stood hands grasped in front of him, eyes squarely forward. Though men were not her thing, Ellen agreed with every girl he taught—and a few of the men—that he was perhaps the hottest professor in the liberal arts. Mary Beth's eyes did not dwell on his chiseled body and brown skin but rather Professor Zimmermann, a short, bald, and corpulent Polish Jew who shuffled up to the podium. She checked her watch and gasped sarcastically to Ellen that they were actually beginning on time.

"Yes, thank you everyone for coming, please turn off your cell phones, stop talking, and let me begin without interruption. This is being recorded for posterity and I don't want some complicated ring tone rendition of a flavor-of-the-month song mucking up the record. If your phone goes off, I'm willing to make a fuss in the recording by personally booting you out." He took a sip from his bottle of water just as some of the crowd erupted in laughter. He paused mid sip and stared back at them. "Don't think I'm kidding," he finished his sip. A few people, unsure if he was joking, laughed uneasily but the rest clearly understood he was serious and simultaneously filled the room with ringing clicks and flips as they checked and turned their phones to vibrate or silence. 

"You all know I'm a man of few words so I'll let Professor Yusef speak for me and for himself. You all know HIM to be quite modest but in my last few seconds let me just say this on for his behalf," he leaned his mass against the podium and pointed resolutely at the center of the audience, causing a few attendees in front to lean as far back into their seats as possible, "this is the most important non-material creation in the history of the world. I am quite serious on this..." he trailed off. Now smiling gleefully, he stood aside and let Yusef take his place. The new voice coughed uncomfortably into the microphone.

"Um...thanks. Uh, that wasn't quite the introduction I was expecting but rather than start over I think I should just go with it," he mused with a helpless smile. Though quite a few found his humor refreshing from the abuse they just had, no one was reeled out of their caution and resisted laughing. "This assembly was hastily gathered by Dr. Zimmermann's request so I've no remarks prepared. On the screen behind me," he pointed, "will be a transparency of an equation simple enough that even skilled undergrads can solve but like many inventions, it is more difficult to find or create than it is to explain," he defended the creating process, a tinge of deserved ego materializing. "The solution is an explanation to the question our colleagues in Continental philosophy have debated for centuries," a few murmured at the word 'colleagues', one braved a boo despite Arthur's curt preventative admonishment not seconds earlier. His fists resting on his hips, the old Jew scanned the crowd for the culprit but his bitter expression made everyone cower, not just the glare's intended.

"I assure you the answer is correct and is already on its way to be published." He explained modestly as the lights dimmed and a transparency of logic equations projected onto the enormous white screen behind him. The skilled graduate students and visiting professors were the first to turn and chat amongst themselves after just a few minutes. Then the less skilled of each, then undergrads like Ellen and Mary Beth. Thankfully no students capable enough sat clustered near them to spoil the ending like someone in line at a movie theater telling you Darth Vader is Luke's father or at the bookstore that Snape kills...

"Oh my Gaw!" Mary Beth exclaimed, her drawl refusing to yield to shock. Ellen finished as well but could not grasp its significance. She had known most of her life that the supernatural didn't exist. What did she need this for? As far as she was concerned, each new scientific discovery stacked upon centuries of evidence that built a pyramid of reason. 

The oldest blocks, comparable to the theory of the Sun centered solar system, were the largest ones at or near the bottom. Micro evolution, the kind Darwin observed, was middling while macro evolution, the Big Bang and all that, just a little smaller and higher. Braving the fierce desert storms of ignorance and the picks of looting spiritualists (i.e. "Intelligent Design") claiming to know Truth but ignoring Fact, man's capability to breach and excel beyond God's exalted station was proven, freeing the other sciences to resume or start other pyramids, never ceasing until bestowing mankind the power to be gods themselves; this equation was merely the golden capstone. How well the world would respond to the ribbon cutting ceremony was not a question she thought to ask herself.

"Now, now, I assure you this is 100% peer reviewed and correct!" Yusef shouted and gestured quiet over the murmuring crowd. "I know it's unpleasant but it's factually correct!"

"Destroyer!" someone shouted from the front. "Atheist!" came another. Then the floodgates opened and all manner of praise and insults launched at him. 

Turning her watering eyes to Ellen, Mary Beth grasped her hand. "No, it can't be trew!" she cried as she lunged her face against Ellen and sobbed into her breast. Though her wrapped arms and smooth voiced assurances were those of a consoling friend, her pleased smile betrayed her to any potential onlookers.

As she squeezed her love harder amidst scattered boos and applause, one thought repeated in her euphoric mind. "So there is a God after all..."

* * *

The Schock Prize, established by the will of Rolf Schock in 1993, biannually awards men and women 50,000 United States Dollars for achievements in four fields including logic/philosophy. Until Yusef flew to Stokholm for his award, few if any lay people had even heard of them. 

Months after his formula was published and days before the ceremony, the major news outlets across the globe picked up on the sleepy bombshell. The atheist government of China's People's Republic heralded it, slouching culturally Catholic and Protestant Europeans shrugged at it, but the Muslim and American worlds cried all manner of epithets when they learned the academic community disregarded their certain faith in God for the uncertain logic of man. Catholics from Mexico used baseball bats to beat paper carcasses in Yusef's effigy stuffed with sweet sweet candy.

In a nod to the Wahabbists who could crush the monarchy with assassination and unrest with but a few strategic attacks on oil pipelines, the King of Saudi Arabia verbally chastised Oman for being the ethnic homeland of the latest infidel; secular interests were also met by simultaneously venting steam for continued illegal immigration from that country. And as usual, they read from the standard "Death to America" letterhead for Yusef's birth nation and its rampant secularity. This was quite an accusation considering 83% of those in the Great White Satan believed Jesus rose from the dead. 

Regardless, with such a free and fair press not on the ball, anger was fresh in the days leading up to the Schock Prizes but it was not until Yusef flew out to Stockholm that he realized just how passionate his countrymen felt. Flights out to Sweden were booked solid the day his award was leaked and thousands of American protesters awaited him outside the airport as he got into his taxi. The driver, uncertain which language Yusef spoke, somehow asked "Where to" with four syllables. He answered, butchering the name of his hotel, but the driver nodded reassuringly like he understood. Their cold reception matched the late Spring weather. Though Minnesota was notorious for its harsh winters, he was no match for Sweden's inhospitable wind chill. He glanced at the vehicle's external temperature gauge, an uncommon tool in American cabs, but cursed himself when he realized he couldn't convert Celsius to Fahrenheit.

Somehow the United States, the first nation to adopt metric currency, missed the bandwagon conversion and still conducted itself with its stubbornly entrenched modified British system. Lengths for distance, weights for food, and volumes for soda were harmless in everyday life; its so called flaws, like aboriginal tribes, only arose when conversion was attempted. The metric system however had incontestable advantages in science and trade but the people who needed to know did and students continued to learn both in school. Celsius, Yusef believed, belonged to the sciences. One-Hundred degrees Fahrenheit was approximate to the average human body temperature (98.6), a handy reference point since its everyday use was the daily weather forecast. But Celsius, which used water instead of the human body, was tailor made for the lab. When absolute zero was comprehended, and astronomers began measuring in temperatures Kelvin where absolute zero was the absolute bottom, it was a scientific scale with a reasonable scope and contextual application unlike its Celsius parent.

A mother didn't need scientifically crafted temperatures to know her pot was boiling and, whenever her child became sick, a few degrees Fahrenheit could mean a fever whereas a non-digital Celsius thermometer would show no change at all. Total metric conversion by the general American populace would be painful and beneficial for uniformity's sake but little else since most simply used it for cooking and traveling, necessary but mundane acts that could frankly rely upon any scale so long as it was familiar. Sure they could become accustomed after a few years and certainly a few generations, but one had to ask if it was worth needlessly rocking the boat?

A few dozen protesters broke the police barricade and rushed the BMW. The driver had carelessly picked the wrong fare and panicked impotently as they encircled the cab and pounded their fists against the windows, nearly tipping it. "Why'd you do it!?" a newly frightened Yusef stiffly turned his neck to the protester. "How can you destroy Jesus!?" another began. "What good can come of this!?" and so forth. Though still panicked himself even well after the driver cleared the crowd, Yusef realized a majority of their angry exclamations were rhetorical questions not insults. He smiled queerly, unsure at first why this fact made the near-death experience more enjoyable. Questions, he remembered, were how understandings were formed and, if there was hope they'd wholeheartedly accept God's scientifically proven non-existence, these roughing-up exercises were comparable to a body stretching a tight new shirt. Sooner or later they would have to make an adjustment as the quality people, institutions, and businesses abandoned the God centered model for a secular one which was just as good if not better than the old irrational one. After all, charity was charity without some divine gauge. But religion was so stubbornly entrenched that the ultimately beneficial conversion would be painful. 

He would have considered this line further but his cab pulled in front of his hotel. Unfamiliar with tipping customs in Sweden, Yusef just doubled the fare. The driver held it in his hands and stared. Yusef apologetically reached out, willing to offer more money, but the cabbie clutched his Kroner to his chest and shook his head. Yusef promptly withdrew his hands. The driver popped the trunk and bolted from the car, tearing the wind as he passed the exiting professor. By the time his door was closed, the luggage was already out and the Swede smiled thanks. Yeah, he definitely over-tipped him, but Yusef just shrugged his shoulders. Whatever the customs in any country, what that driver went through for his single fare was probably worth twice that.

He checked into his room and turned on the television to find America in flames. Sitting at the edge of his bed and leaning forward, he stared mouth ajar at the live destruction in Washington D.C., Houston, Dallas, Memphis, Atlanta, Los Angeles, but especially the Twin Cities. When a CNN camera man on the ground provided an audio/video feed, the Swedish media immediately tapped it. The Swedish anchors knew little, but they translated and spoke over the American counterparts, claiming the protest filled with well dressed men and women of every age and class developed in residential St. Paul and traveled to the Minneapolis side of the University. Fists beating the air and placards held high, this diverse group yelled for all ranges of the religious spectrum. If Hell still existed anymore, it would have frozen over as religious skinheads walked shoulder to shoulder with Rabbis all in the name of God. Hastily assembled horse police in riot gear formed a line (seen from a helicopter news crew) to block the crowd. The audio from the camera on the ground recorded their megaphone demands.

"Go back to your homes and places of businesses. This protest is blocking roads and is not cleared through the proper channels. Please turn back, we'd rather not use force but will if..." just then the helicopter camera spotted a sudden red flash in the upper left corner of its shot. A fraction of a second later, the ground camera picked up the audio and, perhaps sooner than the people actually there, the audience at home realized a bomb had just gone off. The news crew switched visual to the ground camera and stole a look at the billowing hole launching shrapnel down at the Civil War memorial. Just as suddenly, uncertain of what happened and by whom, and fearing for their safety, the police instinctively took to their pepper spray. Some of the stunned crowd absorbed the reality of their situation, prompting many to swiftly run opposite the explosion and the deathly screams of pepper sprayed protesters closest to the police line. These fleeing sensible people worked an obstacle course past the resolute and/or stupid and filtered out the closest edge, merely caring to get away from the trouble. When the front thinned enough, the tear gas arrived.

Usually censors for live television are quite quick to catch obscenity, accidental nudity, and violence, or anything the FCC thought might offend at least ten people, but as the crowd hysterically ran away from heavy gray clouds of tear gas, they trampled anyone in their way including the camera man and an adjacent boy no more than ten years old, probably attending the protest with his mother. The camera was knocked onto its side and the protective outer lens cracked, crudely splitting and tripling the screaming boy's image as countless feet stamped his back. Just as a can of bursting gray smoke skipped a landing in the background but before the outer lens was crushed in the foreground, those rendered dozens of indiscriminate footsteps cracked the thrice rendered middle's skull, permanently silencing the scared child's cries. CNN immediately cut the feed, the American anchors apologized to any upset viewers, reminding them it was live television to cover their asses, and urged them to pray for the child's family. Their Swedish counterparts apologized that the feed was lost and moved on to the weather.

* * * *

"C'mon honey, Yusef's coming on!" Tina shouted and hopped in her seat as the television cast its hazy blue glow upon the darkened room. It was late afternoon in the states, but evening live in Sweden, and the over-cast made an artificial night sky. The only lights in the house were from the kitchen where her husband Jim made popcorn and outside where the moon reflected on the May snow. Peer review of Yusef's formula had been done with bewilderingly deliberate speed and readied it for the Schock Prizes just four and a half months after it was published.

"Do you see him on the screen?" he replied cattily. This was not a scathe however but the natural sound of his mildly effeminate tones.

"No, he's not on yet," she replied still excitedly.

"Then I still have time, you know how I hate wasted kernels and I'm not about to take the popcorn out early!" he shouted with a lisp that reached around the wall separating them. A moment later he arrived with a bowl of microwave popcorn and sat next to his wife. He crossed his legs knee-to-knee and away from her as it bobbed up and down in a steady nervous beat. The glow reflected off his glasses and nearly bare scalp.

Every major news outlet in the country was covering the Schock Prizes, a significant rise from the zero since 1993. The C-Span announcer dryly commented on criticism of Yusef in the last few months but took no discernible stance on whether non existence—or death rather—of God personally meant anything to him. Panned back, the convention center in Stockholm was packed with respectably dressed men and women in tightly organized large round tables. Tina had been to functions like this and figured they were too bunched to be accidental and probably meant to cram as many people inside as possible; unless this was some Swedish play on efficient use of space and resources. A tuxedoed blond man spoke for a few moments but proclaimed that, in a slight breach of tradition, they would give the Logic and Philosophy prize after the other three prizes and not before. Everyone of course knew that was to build suspense to an obvious and far more anticipated decision.

"See?" Jim lisped. Tina offered a fake frown and shoved him with her shoulder. After the other three awards were given, each recipient conveying appreciation before gracefully leaving the podium, the first man, now glowing with sweat underneath the stage lights, announced Yusef's win and a brief explanation as to why.

The blond man looked solemnly to the audience. "To quote Nietzsche, 'God is dead.' And though he did not literally mean this, Dr. Yusef Muhammad of the United States is slowly making that a reality." No one in attendance shifted in their seats. "Every day more and more people are convinced they have placed their faith in fictional afterlives called Heaven, Nirvana, and reincarnation so they may engage in communion with non-existent beings named Yaweh, Allah, God, Vishnu, Jah as opposed to Hell with Satan, the Devil, Beelzebub, Woland, the untouchables or whatever spiritual scheme you believe," his use of 'scheme' indicated his British English education. "The certainty is absolute—but God is not dead as long as people believe in him, her, or it," he ended ambiguously, receiving modest applause.

"Yeah, and there's still a flat Earth society but you don't hear much from them anymore!" Tina laughed triumphantly at the man on television. She knew it was like clapping after a movie in a regular theater, but she could not help herself. She also knew Jim had strong Lutheran sensibilities and tended to take her occasional bashes without a grain of salt but strangely, in this period of contention where not only his faith but the whole world's was tested, he remained calm and attentive.




A-Theism, the Great Godkiller



Yusef walked to the podium and shook the man's hand to great applause which he reluctantly accepted. Even the that ridiculous bow-tie knotted at his throat could not chip his certitude.

"I would like to thank you all for your enthusiasm, the last few months have been a real roller coaster," he leaned slightly over the podium. "I've already been the target of no less than ten fatwas from eight different Mullahs—not even Salman Rushdie got that many," the audience laughed at his joke. "But was ten really enough?" he went on to ask rhetorically. "Why not eleven? Or nine? I suppose because ten's a psychologically satisfying number, you know?" They laughed again. The audience was blissfully unaware of the George Carlin bit he stole that part from. "But really once you reach fatwa #2 it's like pressing an already pushed button on an elevator..." he continued with his own comedic touch also to the joy of the serious audience. 

He spoke briefly regarding the burdens of philosophy and its linkages to science and evolution. "We're not supposed to discover what's pleasant—we're supposed to discover, however unpleasant, facts; the carnivore cannot look down upon the butcher. And it is in the name of understanding the workings of our very existence without agenda that I accept this prize. I thank the Swedish Academy of Sciences again," he ended amidst standing ovations. Tina likewise vigorously clapped her palms and cheered her colleague on though with more personal satisfaction than those bloated European minds.

"Didn't he look handsome?" she asked Jim. He never minded when she talked about other men with him so long as she did not seek a relationship. In so many words she even told him of her and Yusef's "affair of the mind" some years back but Jim's demeanor did not change towards his wife's good friend.

"Yes, he did," Jim answered and nodded gently, "which brings me to something I've been wanting to tell you," he started ominously and swallowed hard. Curious, Tina turned to face him, unclear what was coming.

* * * * *

"Wait...what?" Yusef shouted into the suite's phone. The long distance and the hysterical woman at the other end rendered most words unintelligible. "I can't understand you, Tina!" he shouted again to overcome the protester's screams entering. It was to no avail. "Wait, what about Jim? He's a 'what'? I'm sorry, I can't understand, there're some protesters outside my window and they won't shut up!" He stuffed his finger into his ear as best he could to drown out the noise but still he could make neither heads nor tails of it. With his ears occupied, he failed to hear the electric click of his unlocking door and the entrance of an uninvited guest. Sensing a presence and feeling the slight draft, he turned his head to behold the first woman to ever make his jaw physically drop.

The blonde, easily six feet (183 cm for the locals) despite leaning back with her shoulder blades against the door, folded her arms behind her back and poked a toned bare leg from the high parting in her cherry red evening dress. Her soft shoulders, complete with a matching clutch made by designers people with means like Yusef had no business to know, were draped by her uniformly blonde locks that overflowed onto her bared chest. They were unable to block the radiance of her diamond earrings and necklace composed of flawlessly white pearls the size of marbles however and lighted half the dimly lit room. Her modest make up was eclipsed by the accentuating and complimenting red lipstick smeared tastefully upon her kissably puffy lips, making them resemble the velvety slit every man she met wanted to acquaint himself with. She seductively raised one modestly plucked eyebrow.

"Uh..." Yusef mumbled into the phone, zoning out Tina's hysterical pleas. "Yeah, let me call you back," he said matter of factly as he slammed the phone onto the receiver. Realizing this was one of the few opportunities in life where a person could act cooly before extraordinary circumstances, he wore the most nonchalant face he could muster and stepped cautiously to the beauty before him. Nearly opening his mouth, this time to ask a question, the phone rang again. His cheeks twitched with a nervous smile, eroding the cool facade. He gestured he would take but a moment and answered the phone.

"Not now, something's suddenly come up," he cut Tina off before she could speak and slammed the phone down again before stepping away. It rang a third time but without apology this time he swiftly knelt down and reached behind the night stand, plucking the cord from the wall. Perhaps not as cooly as he hoped in the beginning, he approached the sexy red dressed figure. He gestured to the door bewilderedly, asking how she passed his security. She produced a small keycard from behind her back and showed it to him. It looked like scores of other keycards he had seen in the course of his travels.

"Dis card can be programmed for any specific lock. All you need is sum-whon at the front desk to do it for you," she replied in a nearly flawless American accent. "The clerk was paid a lot compared to her job money, but it was little more than two nights out with friends for me. You see, because of you, now there is no more camel to pass through a needle's eye..." she mused as she delicately pressed her three inch red heels into the carpet with each stride. Unfamiliar with old Norse mythology, Yusef could not aptly describe her simple elegance in terms befitting a Goddess, but he knew she was likely the physical embodiment of one of them since she placed a spell of immobility upon him. Looking up as she towered over him, she touched her large yet feminine hands to his olive colored skin, scraping them a bit with her long red fingernails. Her mouth lowered, Yusef's eyes closed from her intoxicating scent, and his body shivered as her soft lips pressed against his and their tongues joined in a frenzied dance.

Taking command, she pulled out his already undone bow-tie with a loud scraping sound as the synthetic material rubbed together. She threw it to the floor. Next came his jacket, then his shirt, then finally his pants which dropped at his still covered feet like some hapless "victim" in bad pornography. The woman touched her palms to his toned chest and smirked at the man before her. 

This man, the very man she embraced, had single handedly dispelled any doubt of God's existence by proving he did not; it seemed it was easier to destroy God than it was to create proof he existed at all. She kissed the philosopher of the millennium and accepted his firm reach behind her back as he tried to unzip her elegant dress but stopped him. Releasing himself from her embrace, he backed away a few steps to reabsorb God's craftsmanship. Even with B sized breasts, this pale beauty fit the impossible (or so he thought) hourglass ideal and perfection of form. So enamored, he nearly tripped over his bunched up pants.

She giggled girlishly for a woman of 31—though Yusef did not know her age...or her name for that matter. She knelt down and leaned forward to delicately work her fingers in his shoes knots. Her dainty dress rode up into her heart shaped ass just beyond her impossibly cinched waist, presenting her hourglass form to the still hopefully locked door. After removing his shoes, she reached for his boxers and pulled them down to the pants to reveal a throbbing erection. Looking up into his eyes, she silently asked for permission to touch the penis.

"You're not a protester, are you?" Yusef asked his first and only question. He knew how futile the question was. And at this point, even if she said yes, he doubted he possessed the willpower to let her stop. In the great complexities of nature, particularly in insects like the praying mantis and black widow, one found males sacrificing themselves for the sake of sex. If she said "yes," would he succumb to the red hourglass spider's charms? Absolutely.

"No, I am your bigger fan," she looked up adoringly, a different kind of consumption in mind. "You've liberated us all and I just had to meet you," she continued, wrapping her blood red talons around his throbbing member and delicately squeezed already to find a bit of anticipatory pre-cum. Unlike any other woman before her, Yusef desperately needed to be inside this one. He softly grunted as her foreign hands twisted a massage like one would while swinging a baseball bat.

It had been a long time since anyone else had touched his dick. Occasionally, when finals came and he felt a bit frisky, he would mixed it up and use his left hand instead but this was the limit of variety. His celibacy, though not 100% voluntary, was more a product of an uncaring attitude for sex. Sure there were days he masturbated so much he gave his balls the equivalent of dry heaves. When he had sex it was nice. When he did not, it was just as well. But as his tan glans passed those puffy red lips and entered her warm mouth, he wondered, just like after every other break of indifferent celibacy before this one, how he ever lived without it.

"Awwww..." he whimpered as she swiftly engulfed his whole member, gently dragging her bottom teeth against the remnant of un-hardened flesh. This was replaced by her sloppy tongue whose tip caressed it and whose back twitched violently against his head's tight ridges as she slurped his newly wet manhood.

"Mmmmmm..." she moaned as she looked up into his eyes, further vibrating his sensitive flesh and turning his legs into half cooked pasta. Taking it out, she momentarily flashed her eyes open only to close them tight as her swollen lips sucked and her tongue licked along the side of his shaft while her hands gently tugged and kneaded his balls, a remarkable feat considering the claws at their tips. Lipstick technology must have significantly advanced since Yusef was last blown in this manner because not a fleck of her red lipstick remained on his hot dick, saving him the morning trouble of washing or peeling it off. Either that or it was a Swedish thing. 

Negative population growth is pretty tough to maintain. The irony of industrial nations—if one could call them that any longer—was that with all the comforts of commodity living, people had fewer children if any at all. And if all Swedish women were as good as this woman, Yusef could figure out why men came into their mouths before they even had a chance to get inside their pussies. Feeling flushed and the familiar tension in his manipulated testicles, he ran his fingers through her hair and cringed, easing his cock out.

"I'm cumming soon," he stammered a warning. His cooled cock returned to its warm home. Her mouth sucked harder with each successive head bob and her hands tweaked his sack and squeezed his rod. Starting in his balls, his muscles twitched in ecstasy as they propelled his sweet cum from inside his body to hers. It blasted against the back of her throat, causing a slight gag, but as she slowly withdrew the lip lock of his softening cock, he knew the cum never once touched the air outside of her sealed humid mouth. Her still coated lips dragged up his cock, reconnecting from the corners of her mouth on to the center until it was completely out. She swallowed his load with gusto, contentedly making noises one might expect from a woman enjoying a savory meal.

"Du are so in-fluent-shul and important and I have a piece of your inside me," she said with a near level of awe. "I want the whole thing now, I must 'av it," she slowly stood and crawled upon the bed, he feet dangling helplessly from her limp ankles. She clutched her dress, throwing the frictionless cloth in a collecting pile of softness by her side, and presented her lusciously bare pussy folds beneath the puckered asshole.

"Magnificent." Her ass cheeks protruded proudly like great twin mountains. Between them was the temperate valley that if followed correctly would lead to Shangra La and everlasting satisfaction. Also, if he was not careful, he could be granted immortality by giving Sweden another child conceived out of wedlock. Considering the esteem she already proclaimed, he wondered if, in her eyes, there was no greater honor than carrying his child. The fear dispelled when he told himself he would pull out before that could start. From behind, he had the control to pull out and would not be at her mercy like in cowgirl or even missionary styles. 

As he stepped to her and spread her thick pussy lips apart with his thumbs, he briefly considered the thought of women—dozens or hundreds of them—feeling themselves privileged in carrying an army of his sons and daughters. He stuck out his tongue and licked her pussy's length, forcing a pleased shiver. No, he could not spawn all those children and live with himself; he could not possibly afford the child support payments even with the ludicrously large sums every major publisher promised him for rights to his book. As he became more serious about the prospect, the money was certain to increase.

He crawled onto bed and guided her frame lengthwise to the bed. Hovering above her warm cheeks, he looked at the beauty's closed eyes as her head turned to the side, her chest lying flat upon the bed. He grasped her cushions and squeezed, eliciting a groan of pain but anticipatory pleasure. He lowered his body and craned his neck to bury his face in her welcoming sex Though he started slowly at first, his forcefulness and her pleasure increased as his cock slowly hardened once again in the certain hope it would penetrate her velvety pussy and cum harmlessly upon her dress.

* * * * * *

"Yusef?! Hello? Hel...!" Tina cried into the receiver. Not even a dial tone to give her hope he would pick up. "FUCK!" she exclaimed as the tears streamed down her face and fell onto her jeans. With rapidly short steps, she paced her home. Strangely empty of the knick-knacks Jim had already packed, it should have felt more like her home and not her and her husband's. As a Spartan woman, she did not need this much house. She felt a responsibility as the provider to please her mate and give him the lifestyle he wanted so long as it was within their means. But if she had it her way, it would have been her possessions in boxes and her moving to an efficiency—though probably somewhere closer to campus. But without help Jim could not even begin to afford all the hidden costs of home ownership and, as a proud man, he was unwilling to accept "loans" from his soon to be ex-wife. 

"I should have known," she talked to herself. "The way he talked, the way he overcompensated with football and soccer, the crap he filled the house with, how we never made love unless he started it and if he agreed...Oh God I'm an idiot!" she raised her arms in fury.

"Oh Tina you're one of the smartest women I know," Jim answered from the kitchen.

"Well why didn't I see it?" she asked angrily, not expecting a suitable answer.

"I've known lots of straight guys who act just like me in this day and age."

"But it's a new day and a new age!" she replied. "You said so yourself, now that you don't have to worry about Hellfire and damnation you can fuck guys again!" Jim stepped out from the kitchen and frowned with playful reprove.

"I don't think I said it QUITE like that, dear," he neglected to tell her about the gay community's frequent rejection of old timers like himself.

"Either way, I don't have a husband anymore," she offered meekly.

"What would you rather have honey? A husband who loves you but not in the way a husband should or a man who loves you and prefers your company to other men?"

"The latter, I guess..."

"Of course. And really dear, I just couldn't live the lie anymore. If we'd kept going, we'd both be more miserable. God, I wish someone came up with this formula of Yusef's sooner or I probably would have come out twenty years ago," he shrugged his shoulders. "And now that it's over, maybe you and him can deal with that latent tension between you two." He returned to the kitchen to noiselessly pack a few pots and pans.

"Yusef?" she asked herself quietly as she continued to pace around the room. "Well, we're both interested in each other..." she nodded as she continued thinking aloud. "And it does have a romantic ring that my new beau is the cause of my divorce without us even having an affair together..."

* * * * * * *

Ellen's sneakers splashed on the wet pavement as she ran her daily five miles. A variety of things, namely the preparation for the Fall semester, had distracted her efforts and forced her to run dangerously close to nightfall. Dinkytown was no Compton but like any sensible woman she avoided being alone after dark. Oh sure, if she was assaulted she knew the proper procedure. Tell everyone, don't wash up, and report to the police. Whether they caught the man was immaterial because they were not treating the real problem—the pervasive culture of rape. Sober men taking drunk women home with them was worthy of a high five so long as she didn't puke on them. And if she passed out in the middle? Well, finish up, then go home—just a funny story to tell to the guys. As far as they're concerned, women are merely vessels for their pleasure. 

She could not take her usual jogging route because construction crews continued to repair the fire damaged side of the humanities building that faced the Civil War memorial. Against the ominous and sturdy building, the scorched star-burst stretching from the blast hole was but a popped zit that would soon heal. And besides, apparently the office where the religious fanatic planted his or her bomb somehow escaped the big remodeling a few years back; the crew was really just doing what they supposed to do in the first place. None of the people she passed on her run seemed to give much notice to the destruction; the memory of the riots was fading away. Readily they became more and more accustomed to a world without a God above and a Devil below.

The Sun was nearly set by the time her labored body entered the apartment. As usual, Mary Beth lay indifferently on the couch in the dark as the TV cast its flashing blue glow. Ellen cautiously stepped closer to her friend whose moist eyes reflected the light straight back. She stood next to her beautiful belle and lightly caressed her hair as if she were asleep. It was just as well, ever since Professor Yusef revealed what critics and apologists now called the "Godkiller Formula," Mary Beth had simply drifted among her obligations. She attended class just as much, did well in the exams, and worked hard all Summer but did so without so much as saying five words a day unless prompted. And though both girls still got along, Mary Beth seemed anxious to speak her mind but always stopped before the words even escaped.

She had heard of other people across the globe who dealt with the Godkiller in the same fashion but with less success. One man on FOX News had quit his job to virtually live inside his synagogue and pray. Though she loved the formula for its academic value, and because it finally put those religious nut cases who claimed her love for women was invalid, she occasionally found herself hating it for what it did to non-fire and brimstone religious types like her pensive yet placidly rendered love. Without saying a word she stripped as she walked to the shower.

The next morning Ellen ate oatmeal and read the newspaper, careful not to wake Mary Beth who opted to fall asleep on the couch rather than go to her own bed. Ellen wondered if she ever would. As she read her horoscope, the soft landing of feet on house's hardwood floor told her Mary Beth finally left the couch. They entered the bathroom, preceding the soft sound of tinkling porcelain, and entered the kitchen a few minutes later. Ellen looked up from her paper as her love steadied herself before the cool air emanating from the refrigerator for several minutes, her matted red hair dangling as she ran her fingers through them like a simple comb.