There was a battered Bible on his bed, right next to his pillow: a paperback, in Arabic, with creased binding and stained pages. As my mouth explored his, my eyes studied the well-used book, trying to imagine this gorgeous, half-naked boy beneath me sitting alone at night reading the New Testament. I don’t think I’ve ever shared a bed with a good Christian boy before.
I stared at the antique-looking icon of the Virgin Mary resting on his bedside table as his hands explored my ass beneath my clothes, shyly but surely.
I wondered about his past sexual experiences. There is a general consensus that he is absolutely gorgeous, so he must have had a sizable amount. Yet, he seemed shy and elated to a comical degree: “I feel like I’m floating with joy,” he said as he ran his hand through my hair, cropped shorter than his own. “Thank you for being in my life.”
He is hungry. My body grinded against his. I am hungry too. I kissed his lips, and stared at his stunning eyes. His laptop was playing an upbeat Egyptian song from the late 80’s, the CD a gift from a mutually-close friend. He kissed my breasts, and I leaned my head back to give him a better angle. I noticed his collection of necklaces with little crosses hanging from the mirror. I’ve never seen him wear a cross. I chuckled silently at the irony of sex bringing me to such close proximity to a boy of faith. People of faith do not usually like militant atheists such as I.
He runs his hands down my back with such tenderness that I might as well start believing we’re in love. “Are you happy?” he asks.
I smile. Of course I was happy. It is hard to not be happy when such a beautiful boy bares his body and soul. I nodded and kissed him some more. He tasted like cigarettes and smelled like a man. I haven’t kissed anyone in a while. My last two experiences were crap, but he doesn’t know about them. He doesn’t know much about me either, but during the past few weeks, he’s become a pro at knowing exactly how to hold me close as we sit, how to get the best out of me as we dance, and how to make me laugh.
He’s a simple boy. Maybe that’s why he likes Jesus, and that’s why his Bible, Virgin Mary, and crosses don’t bother me like they usually do. It’s his simplicity that’s attractive. It’s his naivety and innocence.
How does attraction work? Why does sexual energy have enough clout to make up for two completely irrelevant personalities? How long will the sheer sexuality between us maintain what we have? What will happen afterwards?
He kissed my lips for the millionth time in under 30 minutes and simply said: “The days are coming.”