Missionary Positions

Jason stared through the tempered glass window next to him as the city bus rattled over the uneven street. In the aisle seat to his right, his companion, Greg, lay with his head back against the headrest and his eyes closed to help against the car sickness he felt from the fumes and rough terrain.

Although it wasn't their first time in the area, the transition to the rough neighborhood was as shocking the second time as it was the first. Jason watched for it on this ride and as soon as they crossed Center street, yards went from well trimmed and even to ragged lawns covered with old toys, machinery he couldn't identify, and other random pieces of trash. The sight of it saddened him, knowing that the people were living in poverty. He imagined them stressed and despondent and it filled him with a virtuous resolve, to help them spirituality in order to lift them up.

Muffled music played from headphones behind him. Rap he thought, with a frown and a slight shake of his head. He hadn't heard much of the music and only then it was accidental but it was distasteful stuff. Full of bad words about violence and the mistreatment of women and sex. The music itself was discordant, blaring and repetitive while the lyrics were spoken rather than sung. He closed his mind to it, pushing it away until it was an annoying buzz at the edge of his hearing.

It was a difficult time for him. Not because of the temptations offered in the modern world - lewd music and movies and video games and television shows, no. He knew others around his age or even younger who fell prey to those sinful traps. No, the time itself was difficult. The world was too loud for him, and too modern. He yearned for decades ago, as his superiors described it. People were more chaste and willing to wait for everything rather than the constant need for now that his generation had. Not for the first time, he wished he'd been born earlier to a life that made more sense to him. Boys his age and even younger were mocked for their virginity and Jason couldn't understand why. Worse, the girls around him wore such revealing clothing and makeup, as if they were eager for adulthood.

Adulthood and sexuality. The thought of them turned his stomach. Bright, painted colors with clothing barely larger than underwear beneath them. Of course, he'd felt the stirring when he accidentally spied one of the poorly dressed women but he always looked away and the feelings passed. And, anyway, he wasn't the one that drew their interest.

The bus shuddered when it ran over a pothole. Jason's belly jiggled from the impact. He sighed and looked over at his companion. Greg was the one the girls would watch and talk about. The young man often woke early in the morning to work out before their studies. He was tall and lean with a bright smile, perfect teeth and hair that positively glowed in the sun, golden and pure while his blue eyes lent his face an open, honest look.

Jason tried to be happy for his friend but it was sometimes difficult when the difference was so great between them. He stared at his faint reflection in the window while touching his puffy cheeks with his finger. Greg offered to work out with him from time to time but it was difficult to wake up early. Jason lowered his hand to his belly.

I just enjoy food a little too much, that's all, he told himself. There's not much to do until mission work is done so it's not entirely my fault that I let myself go a little. Once it's over, I'll get back into shape.

"We're almost there," Jason said while elbowing his companion gently. He pushed against a plastic strip over the window to request a stop and then leaned back to wait while the bus slowed and merged into the right lane. The brakes squealed until it slowed and parked next to an empty green bench. "Come on, let's get some fresh air."

"I was just praying, that's all," Greg groaned before turning and standing with his hand firmly clenched against the handle on the back of the seat.

"Sure, I know," Jason said, standing and shuffling past the seats. He slung his backpack from his lap up over his right side, sliding his arms in place before settling it comfortably in place.

The two young men walked down the aisle of the bus with Greg leading the way. They both thanked the bus driver before telling him to have a good day. Greg breathed deeply once he was outside. He gripped the single strap crossing his chest and exhaled before smiling.

"Okay," Greg said, looking around to orient himself. "Let's go."

The summer sun shined brightly overhead, despite how late it was in the evening. A quick glance at the simple digital watch on his left wrist showed Jason that it was just past 6 p.m.

"More light for us to see when walking," Greg said cheerfully when he noticed Jason checking the time. He clapped the other boy's shoulder and set off, leaving Jason to scurry after in order to catch up.

They walked easily together as they went from house to house, proselytizing and offering to do any chores needing to be finished. An older woman, living alone, took their offer at heart, asking them to pick up trash that had blown into her yard. The pair sweated beneath the sun as they worked with gloves they'd brought along, gathering food wrappers, discarded cans and other litter hidden within random clumps of grass. She offered them cold water and thanks when they were done but wasn't interested in hearing more, firmly but politely closing the door in their face when she took their empty glasses back.

The houses grew older as they continued to walk, dilapidated "new" construction leading to tightly packed brownstone rowhouses. Despite the elegance of the older buildings, most were in poor condition with boards over windows or large eviction notices from the city that covered entire doors. They knocked on the homes still occupied but, with the exception of a few curtains pulled aside for the owners to peek through, they stood silent.

Jason sighed while straightening his plain black tie and sliding fingers into the waistband of his slacks to force the ends of his white button-down shirt back down where the bulge of his chubby belly had pulled them out slightly.

"We should be heading back soon," Jason said while flicking sweat from his forehead with his fingers. He looked down the street, shading his eyes against the red sun partially hidden behind buildings on the horizon.

"One more?" Greg asked while they stood in the middle of the empty sidewalk together. His hand rested on the rounded cap of a stone column attached to the railing leading up to the last house on the block. He followed Jason's gaze before tilting his wrist to look at his watch, a heavy analog timepiece given as a gift from his affluent parents.

Jason pulled on his backpack's straps. His skin crawled while a cramp lanced through his side, twisting through his guts until it tied itself into a tiny knot of stress low in his stomach that left him with a hint of nausea.

"Maybe we should just go," Jason said, looking back towards their bus stop. He swallowed several times and the knot finally loosened in response.

"Last one on the block," Greg said, turning and starting up the stairs. "We can't just stop right before the end, come on. Maybe this will be the one."

"Okay but you do the talking," Jason told him. "I'm feeling a little off."

The design of the house matched the others on the block. However, where the others showed wear and tear to varying degrees, this one, house number 2482, was in perfect condition. Jason stared at the intricately carved front door and the dark stain covering it. He saw a shape in the corner of the door but, when he focused on it, the image slipped away, only for him to see more shapes at the opposite corner. It unsettled him enough that he paused a step behind his companion.

Sounds seemed to fade the closer they came. Only, it wasn't the absence of sounds but more so as if the entire house was breathing in. As if it were consuming everything - noises, smells, light, everything with a deep rumbling of monstrous lungs that lay just beyond the edge of his hearing.

"M- maybe w- we-" Jason stuttered, reaching out for his friend just as Greg lifted the ancient iron knocker to pound on the door. It was hideous, an oblong handle in the mouth of a miniature grotesque, fanged jaw open with a long, curling tongue hanging below the handle itself. "This isn't right, let's just go."

"Give them a few seconds," Greg said, watching the door and the curtains covering the window to his right.

"No," Jason whispered when he heard the latch clink on the door. His stomach dropped while color drained from his face. "Please."

A young woman opened the door wide without first bothering to see who stood on her doorstep. Jason stared at her, looking for signs to justify the dread filling him but she was just a woman. Her long, curly black hair was held back by a scarf tipped in beads with rings of different shapes and sizes and stones covering every finger. Bracelets and bangles clattered quietly over her wrist when she tipped her hand back to rest her fingers against her bare collarbone. Lines of a tattoo peeked out from the long sleeves of the blouse she wore.

"Can I help you?" she asked, looking from Greg, over to Jason nearly hiding behind his larger friend and back to Greg.

"Good evening, ma'am, we're mi-" Greg started to say with a smile.

"Oh, no, I thought so but, no," she said firmly. Just as she began to close her door, the skin around her eyes tightened minutely and she decided to continue. "You're wasting your time. Not just here, with me, but in your own lives. This- this- belief you hold is foolish."

Anger burned within Jason's chest at the woman's words. He stepped clear of Greg while his jaw muscles worked. He forced himself to remain calm but was surprised at how incredibly indignant he felt. They'd faced worse from other people but, for whatever reason, her words riled him enough to speak up.

"Well, with respect, ma'am, I don't think spreading the Word is ever wasteful," Jason told her with his hands curled into fists, hidden just behind him.

"Your faith is based on greed," the woman said. An angry note rose in her words. "And, like many religions, the suppression of others, including those within your own faith. Your women are made into subservient breeders without a voice for governing. And all of it, all of it, are based on the ravings of a madman. Only yours doesn't have the obscurity of history to age the words into a palatable wine for the masses to drink, no. No. Just less than-"

"We're sorry to bother-" Greg tried to say while backing away from the woman. Fury built in her expression with every word until she wore a mask of rage.

"Don't interrupt me when I'm speaking!" she screamed.

Jason could feel himself grow faint from her outburst. The red spots in his cheeks, from his earlier courage, fled, coursing down his spine while a chill entered his body. He desperately wanted to argue against her but the words wouldn't come. The words he'd studied so carefully over the years. All he could do was wilt in her presence and pray she would leave them be.

"How dare you come to me," she ranted, slamming her fist against her thigh. She focused on Jason and the boy shrunk in on himself, his shoulders flexing forward while he bent forward. "A woman! You come to me to try to push your twisted faith on me?! In hopes of adding more chattel to breed mindlessly? No. No!"

"The- the- the women enjoy the s- same status," Jason tried to say, digging for anything that would help ease the pressure building over him. His temples throbbed.

Greg took Jason's arm, pulling him away without another word but the woman reached out to grab his other arm. Her bracelets chimed with a strangely jarring note as she leaned in. Jason stared into her eyes, amazed to see they were mauve. He tried to look away but couldn't, even when he felt her nails bite into his flesh. She laughed but there was no mirth in it. Greg's pleading voice was faint.

"I see you, Jason Smith," she cooed. "I see your true desires. The subservience in your soul."

"N- no," Jason gasped, unable to move.

"You don't want to rule over women like your religion dictates," she said, a true smile finally touching her lips. "You want to be ruled. Ohhhh yes you do, yes you do. Oh, little pet, don't you worry. The one I follow - the one with true power - will guide you. He will sculpt you into what you truly desire."

Blood boiled in a flash. The acrid, stomach-churning scent filled his nose while hot needles of pain lanced into his arm where she held him. Jason cried out and jerked away but she released him and the two boys staggered down the steps. The woman watched them go, tracking them until they were a block away and breaking into a run.

Their terror-filled run ended with Jason kneeling on the warm pavement by the bus stop with his hands beneath him for support. His chest heaved as if he would throw up but nothing came and, instead, he panted for air. Greg crouched beside him, patting his shoulder awkwardly while the pudgy boy caught his breath.

"Are you okay?" Greg asked. "What'd she tell you at the end? I couldn't hear it."

Instead of answering, Jason shook his head, not trusting himself to speak yet. Her words blazed in his brain, echoing throughout as clearly as if she were speaking to him right now. He knew they were just the words of an angry, crazed woman but he couldn't make them stop. Worse, he could feel his penis stirring and that frightened him as the implications of the words themselves washed over his body. His manhood slid against his body, held tight by his pants and underwear until he could feel it brushing his stomach beneath his belly button.

"I'm not," he whispered, shaking his head while on all fours. "That's not- it's not-"

"Come on," Greg said, reaching beneath Jason to help him up.

Jason gasped at the other man's touch, surprised at the strength and the strange warmth of his fingers against him. Even through the shirt he wore, he could feel a strange energy that pulsed outward, up to his shoulders and down to his hands. Hairs stirred along the path, raising while his skin tightened in a pleasurable way. He let himself be lifted, relying on his friend's strength more than his own, partially because he felt weak but more so because the idea of his companion tending to him was suddenly exciting.

"Th- thank you," Jason said, leaning into Greg briefly before standing on his own. He dared not look down to see what he assumed would be an obvious, shameful bulge in his pants.

"Of course. You okay?" Greg asked from his side.

"Yeah," Jason answered. He turned his arm to see where the woman had held onto him, just above his wrist. Four irregular spots of blood had soaked into the sleeve of his shirt. He unbuttoned the cuff and pushed it back to check if he was bleeding but there were no wounds. There were no scabs, either, as he ran his fingers over the smooth skin. Instead, four black spots with jagged edges marked where she'd cut into him, as if from electrical burns.

"Some people need more salvation than others," Greg mumbled, staring back the way they came.

The words warbled in Jason's ears. He groaned while leaning against the frame of the bus stop's enclosure. A cold sweat formed between his shoulder blades, echoed by a freezing ball of nausea that grew in the pit of his stomach, mirroring the sensation from earlier when he'd approached the woman's house. Jason shuddered and jerked, shoving his chest forward while wrapping his arms around his body. He raised a trembling hand to his forehead to wipe drops of sweat away and the burning flesh of his hand touched cold, clammy skin.

"...sure...okay?" Greg's voice wavered through the loud thrumming in Jason's ears.

"I think- think I'm going to be sick," Jason groaned.

Strong hands supported him, holding him upright while Jason swallowed hard several times. Heat warred with the chill permeating his body.

"The bus is almost here," Greg told him while holding him upright. "We'll be home soon so try to hold out until then, okay. Here it is, come on, I'll help you up."

"No," Jason told him, pushing him away. "I've- I've got it. You go first. Somewhere in the back. Please."

Jason followed his companion. He grabbed onto every handle he could as he shuffled to the back, supporting his weight with his weakened arms as best as he could. Greg sat in the window seat this time with his bag pulled around to his front while watching his friend anxiously. Jason slumped into the aisle seat beside him, wincing when his backpack shoved into him but he leaned forward to press his forehead into the headrest in front of him. A single drop of sweat slid from his scalp, curving down between his eyes until it reached the tip of his nose. It hung there as he breathed as shallowly as possible, finally falling when the bus hit a pothole in the road.

Greg reached an awkward hand over to his friend, hesitating a moment before patting Jason's back. The warmth was still there, radiating in little overlapping waves wherever he touched. Jason sighed, exhaling a lungful of air while steadying his breathing. Whether psychosomatic or not, the physical contact seemed to lessen the nausea slightly and he closed his eyes to try to focus on it as the bus made its way back downtown.

"We're here," Greg said softly.

Jason stood and groaned, swaying slightly while his stomach rolled and tumbled. Once more he gripped the handles on the backs of the seats until he reached the railing at the front of the bus. His knees dipped slightly when he reached the sidewalk but he forced himself to stand as steadily as possible while fast walking towards the apartment complex. Greg caught up to him quickly, asking if he was okay but Jason simply focused on walking. Sensing the mood, Greg went ahead to unlock and open the door.

Bile burned the back of Jason's throat, while excess spit filled his mouth. He swallowed, grimaced and swallowed again before rushing as quickly as he could, dropping his backpack just inside the apartment. Greg closed the door behind him, watching as his companion fled into the bathroom.

The toilet, blessedly clean, was cool against his palms when Jason flipped the lid. Sweat soaked into his clothes while tears leaked from his eyes as he vomited, gagging while his stomach clenched painfully tight. The force of each heave strained his body, as if wearing away at his insides with microscopic bites of his flesh.

Acidic drool fell from Jason's lips until he spat it out. The nausea was focused in his temples now with his stomach finally somewhat settled. He sat back with his knees bent and his arms wrapped around his shins.

"Uh, I think- I think we should go see a doctor," Greg said after staring into the toilet. While he could only remember one time that he'd thrown up, he'd remembered it was mostly just the remains of the food he'd eaten. What was left in the toilet was different. The boy pressed his forearm against his mouth and nose. Little chunks of white mixed with blood and other red bits in the frothy remains of the toilet. "Like, now, I think."

"No," Jason said weakly before reaching up to flush. The water drained but it struggled to empty the bowl until a piece of something shifted and the entire mess was pulled away. "I'm- I'm feeling better already. Really."

"Jason, seriously," Greg said carefully. "I don't think that was normal."

"I'm better. My faith-" Jason swallowed hard. "My faith will heal me. And some rest. I'm better. I'm really feeling better."