Part V

Self portrait II by the Son of Colin.

I do hope you’re enjoying these interview blogs as much as I am, since they go on. I like this exchange of questions. Judge and jury of one, verdict quite negative. Yet they must proceed, Jesus is still in my cave. Visit one of your regular porn sites for a while, these will be done at some point and you can come back here.

Concubinage, now there’s a sweet word, what about haremity? A fine thing in female flesh, don’t you think? Peccadillomy, the spectitular, suckular talents, flexiness, sexexcessary, pornability- wait, is that going too far? Thank Colin Aela will never read these.

Let’s consider other adjectives, and after that we can look at objectification.

Luscious, curvy, soft, white, dark when she needs to be, lush, gorgeous, willing, tits, the ass that is such a masterpiece, the legs, skin so far from yours you can hardly bear it, eyes that devour you, hands that are only interested in you and your flesh, fingers that know what to do with it, long, glorious hair, sweet lips that smile and suck, a bite, a scratch, pain and pleasure, something indescribable, something wet and welcoming, feet that are small and shapely, a shoulder that needs lips- do you like this list? All this and more I want from a woman, all this I find in my Goddess, Aela.

I pity you, collectively, all this is leaving you now, in an androgenous drove, a herd of the unsexed.

Ah Woman. Afraid of yourself.

Meanwhile in my cave.

A parade of the above, a swirl of hips and dark, sultry eyes, seduction in sinuous lines, Jesus starts to pant, I leave him alone and come back when the ground is clean again.

He has one in his lap still, he defies me to move her by closing his arms around her. She nestles into his lap, half asleep and wildly dishevelled, her legs dangling. He runs his hand down her thigh and smiles at me.

Jesus: Your party favours are delightful, Pandor. Now, if you will be so kind as to call for glasses and pour, I’m refreshed, no doubt you are also, we can go on with our interview. Let me just say here that if I had any idea the interview would go like this, you could have saved yourself a bribe. Tell me which of your men is most open to those, so I can come back when I want.

Satan:  Oh, Jesus, can you doubt your welcome at any time or place? Surely you’ve seen how fond I am of you, and let me say here that you are nothing like I imagined you. I assumed you had it all taught to you, but in fact you’re very charismatic, so you would always rise to the top. Not only are you the son of a god but you have been gifted by a different one. Your father has no access to those kinds of things, they’re in other hands. Genetics- a concept I can explain to you if you have a few years, have a great deal to do with ability in your species, but sometimes it’s just a gift. You really think people love you because you’re the son of a god? How many men are there claiming that right now? Start counting, check the street corners, the filthy alleys, I’m sure you know you’re not the only preacher in these lands.

Jesus: See? You hit it right on the nail. I’m not a preacher, never have been, I know nothing about what I’m supposed to be saying, and don’t care. In fact, I threw a fit at the temple to win a bet, I sit and listen to old men sometimes, I find them interesting. You know I have special abilities, I like to use them to entertain people, but no, they want lessons, I tell you, people are unfathomable. I make up stories, they really like that, pretty soon they start following me around, wanting more, so what am I going to do?

I pick a hill, tell a story, do a few tricks, never more than four hours in the sun. Then it’s a shady tent, with people serving me and bringing me the best food and wine, the women come and kneel, head facing down but eyes looking up at me, sweet, dark invitations- I’m pleased with all this, who wouldn’t be? But then word gets out that I’m a son of god and now they want miracles, they want laws, they want me to care about them for heaven’s sake. Do you know how many there are? Like swarms of locusts, needing something from me, feeding on me. This is a bit tougher to deal with, solitude is what I miss, what I crave constantly. No magician wakes up with his inn surrounded, no entertainer has to touch lepers.

He stops short, shifts the girl in his lap and looks over at me.

Jesus: I’m not a saint Pandor, and I never want to be one. Smoke me up again, I have a few things I want to know about you, just for my own sake.

I share my endless supply of joints with him, the night goes on, he has slept, I never do. Part VI will be along soon enough. Will I be indiscreet with his ‘father’s’ secret? Will I literally put the fear of god into him? Am I that kind of Devil? Guess and place a bet. Or don’t.

“This Love is Here to Stay”  Thomas Dybdahl    From the House of Lies Soundtrack, which I recommend with and for pleasure.