Pastor & I (Chapter 1)

I have always been attracted to older black women, especially those who were passionate about something. That is why when I first saw Reverend Bianca D Rosen at the Christ our Redeemer Temple of Faith in Southern Alabama, I was mesmerized.

As she stood at the pulpit expressing how disappointed she was about the church community’s lack of involvement outside the Lord’s temple, I could only stare. She had a tiny button nose, narrow expressive eyes that turned into slits when she smiled and pearly white teeth with two dimples on her cheeks. She had long dread locks that swayed back and forth as she outstretched her arms emphasizing her point.

From the pulpit she emitted power, determination, hope, promises, and (to me) sexiness. I could not keep my eyes off of her. Every step she took, every jump, every scream, every movement she made I made a mental note of it. And whenever she looked in my direction, I would imagine that she could see only me, and was talking directly to me.

In short, I needed to meet this magnificent woman. I wanted to know everything about her, what drove her into becoming a preacher, what was her childhood like, when did she convert to God, what was her favorite color, if you could have been anything other than a preacher would you, I wanted to know everything. But I had a problem, I am extremely shy to women I was attracted to. I could never muster up the courage to speak to them so instead I would just monitor their movements and see how they would behave from afar; can you guess what degree I’m studying?

I’d just completed my first year in college at University of Alabama within the field of psychology and was currently staying at my mother’s apartment because I did not feel like paying rent. I was working two jobs at the time to pay for my college fees when my mother invited me to her church. I considered my faith as moderately serious because I feared that I would not be able to have as much fun that I hoped in the future I would eventually experience. Within University I did go to church every Sunday, and bible study right after as well as on Wednesday and Thursday. I convinced myself that if I became closer with God that maybe I could be a door man or something because of my sexuality (heterosexuals get all the fun).

So as I watched the pastor from the pews my mind sometimes drifted into sinful territory about sexual acts within the church while no one was there, like me being on top of her, both naked laying down in one of the pews. She would be grabbing my Mohawk in a death grip as I slowly licked the shallows of her collar bone, while my hand would just as slowly descend down her body and softly stroke her pussy. My breath began to quicken as I imagined how wet she would be as well as the sounds that she would make as my long fingers entered her and softly stroked her pearls. Mmm I could imagine…

“Imani, are you alright?” My mother has a habit of grabbing my wrist and apparently she felt my pulse quicken. In a panic I quickly snatched it away and smiled at her.

“Yeah I’m alright,” I assured her as I looked back at the pastor and continued, “It’s just that this pastor is so passionate compared to the one back in Uni. It’s like I can feel her love and devotion to God as I sit here and her urgency to have her members commit…. It’s remarkable, beautiful even.” Crap, I looked back at my mother as she looked back at me in confusion.

I have yet to tell my mother about my feelings for the same sex, so me referring to a women as beautiful might have seemed a bit strange, but then she turned her head back to the pastor and mumbled, “must be a poetry thing.”

I sighed in relief.

Advertisements

2 thoughts on “Pastor & I (Chapter 1)

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s