Baptizing John

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I would have preferred to have slept in on a Saturday morning, but I owed my older brother about $50 and since I didn’t have the cash to repay him, he asked me to drop by the church where he preaches in order to check the baptism pool for leaks before the big day tomorrow. It seemed that the county commissioner’s teenage daughter was going to be baptized before a packed house and my preacher brother didn’t want to take any chances.

For those of you who may not have attended a Baptist baptism before, you may not realize that Baptist churches usually have small pools usually built behind the altar and choir loft – there are no water pitchers, wash tubs, or sprinkling because they like to do it just the way Jesus did it. Well sort of if you consider a fiberglass baptism pool the same as the River Jordan and the fluorescent lighting the same as the Judean sun. The congregation can only see the preacher and the person being baptized from the waist up because the bottom half is hidden by the choir or, in the case of my brother’s church, whitewashed paneling purchased from a home improvement store. After all, the newly reborn do not expect a spa experience in the baptismal pool.

My job today was simply to make sure the pool wouldn’t leak or rupture during the ritual soaking the self-important politicians in the front row and embarrassing my self-important brother. Despite the additional utility costs, my brother was to begin pre-heating it tonight. The deacons had voted to shoulder the extra expense following a scandalous incident at a neighboring church 2 years ago when a recently-saved teenage girl stepped into the cold water wearing a rather thin blouse…

The early morning thunderstorm slowed my drive, but I pulled into the parking lot in my jeep about 9. My brother had left the back door unlocked. I opened the pool spigot to full blast and just waited for it to fill up. It was going to take a very long time. I knew I could have easily smoked a few if I were a smoker, but instead I drained my coffee thermos and started in on my ham biscuit.

The heavy rain on the green metal church roof drowned the sounds of the door opening and so I was very startled to see a twenty something guy come in with a handful of paint buckets and brushes. Well, maybe he wasn’t a college student, but he was the right age, about 10 years younger than me. He had a bit of a bedhead look going and was obviously not expecting anyone else to be here, or else he might have worn a cleaner shirt or shaved. He was no aspiring eccentric artist working on a goatee, his face betrayed Republican politics and a likely obsession with cable sports networks.

“Hey man,” was about all he said as he walked into the sanctuary.

“Mornin'” I replied. I wondered if my preacher brother knew him, Frank hadn’t mentioned anything about anyone else being here. “Did Frank hire you to recreate the Sistine Chapel before tomorrow’s service?”

He laughed only a little, “Hardly. I gotta fix the painting up there,” he replied while motioning toward the mid-20th century landscape (garish) mural of the River Jordan flowing through Galilee and emptying into the baptism pool I was filling.

What a task. But I was curious, “Do they still make those leaded colors?”

He chuckled a bit, “No way, why do you think Frank made me come in this morning? Gotta mix them myself.”

“Oh, really, so how much money did you borrow from him?”

He looked at me bewildered, “Nothing. I’m getting my degree at the institute and the career office called me about the job.”

I was relieved as I had almost reached the conclusion that he probably attended church here and was actually here out of earnest devotion; but no, he was in it for the money like me. Unlike my preacher brother, I was not a devout member of any congregation and I doubted my ability to make polite chitchat all morning with a young guy who took that stuff too seriously.

The tub was about half full. I wondered whether Baptist congregations out west were allowed to use so much water for a ceremony that takes only three minutes…

I raised my thermos to the painter, “Coffee?”

“No thanks, I just had some in my truck before I got here. Name’s John by the way.”

“I’m Kevin, Frank’s brother.”

“A priest’s brother, eh?” he asked as he set up his supplies next to the pool.

“Priest? Frank is no priest, that’s for sure. You must not have spent much time in Baptist churches before…”


“Ever been to a baptism before?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

It was fascinating to meet someone in this county with such little exposure to conservative evangelical Protestantism.

The illegal bahis tub finally filled close enough to full to test it. I headed toward the spigot to shut it off and decided to continue my effort at pointless small talk with Michelangelo, “So you gonna redo this a bit, update it, bring it into the 21st Century?”

“You mean put Israeli tanks on the tops of the hills of Galilee?”

“Whatever Frank is paying you, I’ll double it if you do.”

“Right, aren’t you here because you owe money already? Besides, it’s art just like it is. It might be amateurish, working-class, low budget art like a velvet Elvis, but still, these paintings are probably disappearing every day. Some ought to be saved.”

“Like the CDC thinks the small pox virus should be saved?”

John ignored me and started mixing up the hue of electric orange cream he would need for the sunset. “So I guess you didn’t owe Frank too much if you’re just drinking coffee and eating breakfast.” He caught me right in the eye as he spoke.

“A fortune, a bloody fortune. I didn’t get home until 3 this morning, I needed the sleep, but had to check out the pool before her highness takes the plunge under tomorrow.” I removed the paneling in front of the pool so I could check for leaks by dusting just a bit of flour around the seams to see if there was any seepage. “You know I like this pool a lot better without the paneling, don’t you? They could create a human aquarium to relax the congregation, don’t you think?”

John crouched over with his brushes and sponges. His sweatpants were stretched pretty tight in the rear and clung to his crack. I wondered if he might be hairy under the cotton, but John was mostly blonde and I thought it was more likely than not his crack was smooth since he had so little arm hair, but then again, you never can tell…

“Well?” John asked me as if I was a complete idiot.

My mind had obviously wondered, “Sorry, I was checking the pool out for leaks, what was that again?”

His fading patience was evident; “I said why do they go to so much trouble to sprinkle them in a pool, why not just do it at the altar like everyone else?”

“Sprinkle?” I started wiping the flour off with some enthusiasm since it looked like I wouldn’t have to actually make any repairs to pay off my $50 debt. “They don’t sprinkle you, they dunk you under.”

John looked sincerely shocked. “Get out of here.”

“Why do you think they’re called Baptists?”

“Even the fat ones go under water?”

“Yeah. They’re real buoyant though, don’t worry.”

“Even the ones who are scared of water?”

“Especially those, it’s like handling rattlesnakes,” I laughed.

“Does anyone drown?”

That was a good question, “It must have happened but I have never heard of it if it did.”

“How many does the priest, I mean, preacher dunk at once?”

“Just one at a time, there might be one after the other if there has been a revival or something, but just one at a time gets in with the preacher until they’re done and then the next one would get in after the first one got out.” Damn, you’d think everyone knew this kind of basic stuff, especially a handsome 20-something blonde artist…I decided to get off the religious discussion, “So do you get to paint a lot of naked chicks at school?”

“Chicks? Do plump 40 year old divorcees with leathery complexions and ass pimples who need money for crack count?”

Hmm, crack, yes, I wouldn’t mind seeing John’s crack, but I played the game “At 3 a.m. they do, but I’m not sure about under fluorescent lights when you’re sober and paying a lot of tuition.”

John stopped working. “Yeah, I’d bet these overhead hospital lights make for some ghastly baptisms. Do they wear black swimsuits or something?”

“Dark dress suits maybe, but no swimsuits.”

“Like a choir robe?”

“No, like a suit from a department store Easter sale suit. They get dunked in their regular church clothes.”

“This place is starting to spook me.”

“Good.” I tried again, “So do you ever get off painting those nudes?”

“Well I prefer the shapes of these Galilee hills to most of the breasts I see in class.”

Then I took a chance, “y’all ever do guys too? Maybe I could earn some extra bucks?”

“Oh yeah, meat is a lot cheaper than pussy and they try to keep our fees down.”

“How cheap?”

“I’ve never asked, guess it depends on how much the students or teacher likes looking at you.” He sort of winked at me.

“Think I’d have a chance?”

If John was surprised I might be serious, he didn’t show it; without turning to face me he answered right away,

“No problem.” illegal bahis siteleri I wondered what he meant but it felt too awkward to pursue.

I instinctively reckoned that conversation was at a dead-end, but I wanted to push matters, “Well, you know the best way to make sure this frickin’ thing doesn’t leak would be to baptize someone one in it before tomorrow’s service. Are you Seventh Day Adventist by any chance?”

John cocked his brow. “What the hell are you talking about, Kevin?”

I helped him out, “Because then today would be your Sabbath, right? And I could baptize you.”

“What if I someone already sprinkled me?” We both smirked a bit. “You must still be drunk from last night.”

“C’mon John, think of it as a cultural experience.”

“Not today, I didn’t bring my church suit, buddy.”

“It’s just us, c’mon.”

He didn’t immediately tell me to fuck off. “It looks cold.”

“Well, there’s only way to know for sure.”

“Stick your toe in?”

“I didn’t know you artists were such wusses.” He looked at me and grinned.

“Well if I said ok, what would I have to do?”

“It won’t hurt, promise.”

“Is your brother going to show up today?”

“Not as far as I know. Ok, let’s go…”

I made a bold decision, calculating that I was unlikely to get beaten up by an artist in a house of God and that I was also unlikely to see John again in any event. I began slipping off my shorts and t-shirt and watch. Every black hair on my chest and arm and thighs and calves was erect; the hairs curled and massed at the base of my cock grew electric. The thunder continued outside and the very thought of being in the baptism pool during a thunderstorm, completely naked in front of John, drove a drop of precum right out the slit of my swollen head and into my boxer briefs. I turned my back to him, peeled my briefs down, and pitched them behind the dismounted paneling and stepped in the cool (ok, cold) water of the chlorinated ‘River Jordan.’ Because I had over-filled the tub to check for leaks, the water rose up to my pecs. I drained some of it out.

“Afraid you’ll drown?”

“Nah, just didn’t want it to overflow when you got in.”

“When? You mean IF I get in”

“WHEN you get in” I repeated.

“Well I’ve got to take a leak.” And keeping his back to me so that I couldn’t see his crotch, he stepped off the platform and down the aisle behind the organ to the men’s room. He must have been hard, I thought, to go to so much trouble not to let me see him. Probably hard and dripping like me.

I could see my seven-inch cock through the clear water-the lack of paneling let the bright sanctuary light filter in. I moved to the edge and rubbed my cock and balls against the plexiglass, sort of casually fucking it, imagining the congregation was watching, horrified and mesmerized as my brother Frank wailed about the fires of hell. It felt pretty good actually. But when I heard a flush, I backed away.

John walked back in and seemed relaxed, he wandered out into the pews to check his painting from the observer’s viewpoint (so he said). Then as he got almost back to the altar he looked at me, “So do Baptists always get stiffies like you when they get baptized?”

My god, the water must be clearer than I thought! I laughed aloud knowing my face was red. “Wouldn’t you too knowing you had eternal salvation? “

“Good point.”

“Well, get in.”

“You’re not going to shut up until I get in?”

“Only one-“

John cut me off, “Only one way to find out, I know, I know…”

He walked right up to the edge of the small pool and faced me and used both hands to pull his shirt off, “Just one dunk and that is it, got it?”

I was too fascinated with his chest to object. No tattoos, no piercing, no hair, just two tiny light brown nipples and an outie naval. I figured he might be a little embarrassed to strip down right in front of me, but no, he pulled his sweats down in one movement -he was wearing no underwear at all. No wonder his crack had looked so defined…but he was so quick stepping down into the water to me that I only got the briefest glimpse of his half-bloated pink cock with its wild bushy reddish hairs wrapped around his balls.

John seemed all business, but we each knew this was anything but business as usual. He caught me in the eye, “Tell me what to do for your test.”

“You stand about two feet away, there,” I put my hands on his shoulders and biceps to guide him, “and I will put my right hand over your nose and my left arm will catch you as you fall back and then lift you back up, just down and up.”

“What about my hands?”

“Well canlı bahis siteleri cross your chest with them, I guess, I was 9 when I did it, I don’t recall.”

“Kevin, I’m surprised, I thought for sure you’d say one holds onto the preacher’s prick for balance.” We both laughed.

“Whatever the Holy Spirit guides you to do…”

“Keep dreaming. C’mon, let’s go, and then I am out of here.”

The sloshing water massaged John’s slim waist and I could see tiny bubbles clinging to the stark white cheeks of his ass and thighs. He had a few muscles in his back shoulders but he was obviously not taking any steroids or wasting too much of his life in the gym.

“I’m ready.”

And slowly John leaned back, his legs stiff, his long body extended like a board, but he had not followed my suggestion about his hands and they hung by his side. He closed his eyes as my right hand (still slightly greasy from that ham biscuit) covered his nose and mouth. I felt sure lightning might strike us both at any moment.

As he reclined back into my waiting left arm, my eyes ran down his chin, chest and to his dick, the head of which now protruded from the pool water although its base and balls were still underwater; John’s face, with my hand over most of it, slowly submerged and I felt his full weight now on my left arm, and then I felt, and could also see, his right hand grasp my left thigh and squeeze tight. As he did so, bubbles from my own legs fought their way to the surface. I left him under water for a few seconds, his face looked relaxed and he ran his hand higher up to my ass and its hole and on up out of the water up to the small of my back. I realized I could try to drown him, but he was more fun alive.

I brought John up, just barely above the water line, removed my hand, and gave him a kiss on the neck. With my right hand now free, and the water supporting most of his weight on my left arm, I ran my hand down from his nose, across his tongue and lips, and left pec on down to his cock, and under the water to his suspended balls. With my thumb and index finger, I encircled the base of his shaft and pumped him, all the while watching the tip of the head above water. Liquid too thick to be water ooze down his pink head and into the pool.

John ran his own left hand down to his dick and began to squeeze the four inches or so above water, while I worked the submerged base. His right hand never let go of my ass and I felt his finger and fingernail wiggle my asshole. I scrunched and then loosened my sphincter to invite him in. I was in no mood to play hard to get. Just as he was about to slide his long finger in, I saw his first spurt of cum across his chest, the next hit mine, and the last three dribbled down into the water where the cum coagulated and globbed onto his curly crotch hairs. I had heard about premature ejaculation but never witnessed it, but as God as my witness, that was a fast orgasm. John looked ready to get up and out.

“Just one dunk, you’re sure?” I couldn’t believe he had been serious.

“Just one, sorry buddy.”

I lifted him back up, his hands fell away from my aching ass, balls and cock and down to the gelled cum all over his lower body. He rubbed it off and set it loose in the pool in search of ova and then stepped back up to his painting.

My balls were so full of cum I couldn’t stand it any longer, yet he showed no interest whatsoever in watching me cum, much less helping me! John fetched his faded sweats and t-shirt and stepped towards the men’s room to get changed.

I began rubbing my dick against the glass wall of the baptism pool again feeling my load swell. After a few minutes I head the door open again and expecting to see John, yelled to him “I don’t mind if you watch, you know.”

“KEVIN!! What is going on?” boomed my brother’s voice.

There was really nothing I could say. Nothing. Frank had a bird’s eye of me in this fishbowl with my hard cock pointing straight at him.

“Get dressed and get out of here right now!” My brother stormed up to the pool, “What is that floating in the pool?

Caulk? No, it can’t be, is that your semen? It is! Don’t lie to me. I’ve always known you were just the type to desecrate the house of God like this, but mother would never have believed me, this is going to break her heart when I tell her. I don’t care if it takes all day you are going to drain and clean and refill this tub and reimburse the church for the wasted water.”

In any decently-priced porn flick, Frank would have climbed in with me, but this was a Saturday morning in my straight brother’s church and I saw no erection in Frank’s pants or pent up lust in his eyes as he yelled at me.

I decided to ask my mother for the $50 plus another $20 for the water to repay Frank. To buy Frank’s silence I had to promise him I would start coming to church. Maybe I could pay my mother back by modeling for John’s class…

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