Sinchester
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Chester free porn video
My name is Chester. I still hold it against my mother for giving me a pedophile first name but in the end, she probably knew what she was doing.
I was some sort of genius as a kid. I tested off the charts and everyone told me how great I was going be. In high school I had a teacher who wanted to mold me, show me the way. I would have let her do whatever she wanted. She was my Latin teacher. She was younger than anyone else that worked at the fancy prep academy. She had bigger tits than anyone I had ever seen. She taught me Latin and although it wasn’t on the curriculum she thought if I were going to study the classics I needed Greek too. She took to giving me lessons in Greek after school.
I didn’t have friends. I was awkward and studied dead languages after school rather than play sports. On my eighteenth birthday I marked the occasion by writing a paper on what it meant to turn eighteen and translated it into both Greek and Latin and sat in her office as she read and corrected them. She asked if I needed a ride home.
She didn’t take me to the little apartment I shared with mom but to the little old house the academy provided her. She taught me the things I didn’t know about being a man that I had left out of my paper.
I had one girlfriend in college. She was as weird as I was. We mostly got high and watched freaky European porn. I don’t know where she got it, I tried not to think about where she went when we weren’t together. The French movies were all about women being taken by two or three other people. There was a lot of body hair. The German ones were even stranger. The polish film didn’t have subtitles so we had no clue what was going on.
I applied for Graduate school up and down the coast. I wasn’t going to go any further from mother than that. None of them would accept me. I had to know why. I didn’t understand. I went to the small liberal arts college that was just across town and hunted down the chair of the department. She was a cold woman – nothing like my mentor. Yes, I wanted to fuck her but I don’t think she fucked. I had a mastery of the language, that was certain but I had no gift for analysis. If my submission had been about a work originally in English it would have been the type of paper an elementary student might write. She suggested other ways I might use my mastery of Latin and Greek. She was half joking when she suggested the seminary. ‘They don’t want you to find any subtext,’ she had jeered.
I moved to Arizona and studied the bible. Please don’t be offended but I have read it in the original Greek, Latin, and Hebrew. They taught me Hebrew in about nine months, compared to Greek it was a piece of cake.
I didn’t want to move. I liked the weather. The gentle old man that hired me as an associate pastor was so gracious. He was so excited to have some youth and energy in their ministry. He fucked up.
It was only my second week when the girl slipped into what was supposed to be my office. It wasn’t large enough to have a real desk so it was hard to call it an office, there was a plank of wood along one wall. She was a sophomore in high school and although she wasn’t even able to drive yet she had the body of a stripper and would have had to wear longer shorts and more of a top to pole dance in some states. She was fighting with her friend and was struggling to understand what Jesus would do. Jesus was never an insipid teenage girl so he never would have had to deal with shit like this. I had to get away from her. I gave her a pamphlet and a devotional book. I was supposed to sell the little books but fuck it, I would cover the six dollars if they asked and I sent her away to talk to her mother. I resolved to focus on the college group.
Most college students are busy with beer and other bullshit. They aren’t going to waste their Wednesday nights listening to an asshole like me explain to them what Paul was trying to tell the Philippians or whoever. I got newsletters that told me what verses to read to the sheep and what they supposedly meant. They even gave me these little stories to tell. They told me to tell them as if they were things that happened to me or to someone I knew. It was such a crock of shit. I was good at it though. The prof had been right. I had found a calling.
‘The lord has given you these gifts. It is your duty to explore them. Your abilities to calculate, your doubt, your sense of wonder. These are his gifts. You only become closer to him by exercising them. Sexuality is just one of them.’ I had come up with that myself. It wasn’t in any of the emails or the books they had given me. Kristen, or Kirstyn, or whatever her name was hung on every word. Her small white sundress barely covered her thighs. Her breasts gave the dress its shape rather than the dress shaping her tits. Her arms were long and tan and her fingers thin and delicate. She was nineteen, I checked twice. I had to wait for her to make a move I’d told myself. That made it acceptable. If she kissed me I had been the one Jesus had tempted. She was slow to make her move. She waited until we were praying. In the small office we had been too close to each other all along but when we bent to pray our heads were inches apart. I took her hands in mine as we prayed for guidance. She kissed me just after I had said amen.
From behind, her ass was a work of art. It was nubile. I couldn’t look at her ass and thighs and not have the word come to mind. It was from the latin and refered to being marriage material. How the fuck it came to be an appropriate word for an athletically toned young ass I had no idea but that’s how the Romans were. They were always fucking something.
I fucked her a second time outside of the burger place down the street and then a few days later in a park up the hill from the church. She only came to Rock’in Wednesdays a couple more times. (The apostrophe is in the wrong place on purpose referring to the rock on which he built his church. It was my idea.) She didn’t want to come to church anymore she wanted to explore the wonders that were secular life, sin, and being 19. I supposed it was my own fault for putting the idea in her head.
Ariel was named after a mermaid and had the same red hair. She was covered in freckles. She was of age, again, I was careful about that. We had celebrated her 18th on a Wednesday night with the band wailing away on a rockin version of happy birthday that hurt my soul deeply to sit through it was so bad. I’d had to show Ariel that the shit between her legs had purposes other than taking a shit. When I fingered her she screamed like a banshee. She made sounds you hear on nature documentaries. It took some coaxing to get her to reciprocate but when she did she learned quickly that jacking a guy off was not about being delicate it is about milking that fucker till it blows. She still wont let me fuck her but she still likes to show up on Tuesday mornings when I am working on my sermon. She’s up front about it and likes to show up in a short skirt or dress and toss her panties on my desk as I am bent over scratching out what I am going to say on a yellow legal pad. Her pussy is a perfect pink and she lets me play with it till my fingers cramp up. Her new thing is to aim my load at her chest and tell everyone how she spilled a milkshake all over herself.
Caroline was bold as shit when she came to me. She thought seducing the youth pastor was something new no one had done before. She followed me home. She was older, twenty, and had a plump round ass but smaller tits. You know, I never would have tried anything with her but when she showed up at my apartment just as I had lit up what was I going to say. She was good in bed. She bounced around jiggling the whole time. When we were done she ran into the bathroom. I had to force the door to get her out she ran home crying and I began to write up my confession in my head. I knew Pastor Doug pretty well at that point. I don’t think he was capable of an indecent thought but he was very understa
nding. He probably wouldn’t even fire me if Caroline ran home and told her mother.
Caroline never said shit. She still shows up and sits in the front row and glares at me though.
The mission trip was a nightmare. We were camping on the Indian reservation. We spent mornings doing home repairs for perfectly capable people too lazy to drive to the home depot. In the afternoon we played games. One afternoon we went swimming in this shit little creek. Teen-age tits and ass were everywhere. I couldn’t do a fucking thing. I threw out my sleeping bag when I got home it was so covered in cum from jacking off every night.
There were more – each one prettier than the last. They were all different sizes shapes and colors but each and every one was plagued with perfect skin, soft willing lips, and an innocence I couldn’t help but steal away.
They weren’t all virgins. Fucking Robin had a reputation. She was a serial monogamist who dated one dude after the next pledging her eternal love to him, swearing to marry him until they dipped their little Jesus loving wick. I’d thought about her, of course. She was tall and liked to wear denim shorts that showed the bottom of her ass. The French call it the Crease. Again, it is from the Latin meaning fold. It is that little shadow where a ripe ass turns into long young legs. She approached me during the pancake breakfast. She wanted to help out but would need a ride to the other side of town after clean up. I said sure. When we were done with the cleanups and packing up I took a bottle of Mrs. Butterworth’s. I drove her to my apartment. I told her I needed to drop some shit off. She laughed when I said the word shit and I asked her to forgive me. She laughed again. She asked why I had made such a big deal about the syrup, she never wanted to see syrup again after smelling it all morning. I asked if she wanted me to show her. She said sure. I pretended to think twice once we were inside. I told her it was inappropriate and we should leave. She said what could be so bad. ‘Its not like you are going to pour it on my neck and lick it off.’ I told her I wasn’t going to pour it on her neck and the little slut took it from me and poured it on her neck so that it dripped down between her two perfectly round breasts.
She was excited as I removed her shirt but nervous when I pulled her shorts off. She had on a victorias secret bra and panties and I was again astonished by girls these days. She expected me to rub it on her tits she shrieked when I let it run slowly out of the bottle onto her barely haired little pussy.
She hummed as I ate it out of her until she came and then she giggled. I just kept eating and eating. She just kept coming and coming. Afterward she wanted to fuck and I told her no. I thought she should try some maple syrup. She had no clue what she was doing but knew what it was called. She kept blowing on me like I could feel that shit.
It got nasty with me holding her head. She ended up pushed back against my only decent chair as I straddled her chest and fucked her mouth. She was a trooper though. Swallowed it all.
We saw each other for a couple of months. It was bordering on a relationship. I had heard all about Robin and the only way to run her off and so I bought a fake ring, a piece of glass in plated aluminum or something and after one last good fuck I got down on my knee and proposed. She was very sincere when she broke up with me.
Carly was the prettiest of them all. She was almost too pretty and she could sing. She sang with the band on Wednesdays. She was earnest and played guitar. She was a long slow seduction and we actually became friends in the process. She was in college to be a teacher and I told her repeatedly she needed to give singing a real shot. I never really hit on her. She was out of my league. She was SI Swimsuit model hot. She came over to my complex all summer to play guitar, get high, and lay by the pool in a tiny bikini.
‘Why don’t you ever hit on me?’ she asked.
‘Because we are friends.’ I said. It sounded like it made sense in my head.
‘Don’t you want to kiss me?’ she asked. We weren’t even stoned. I hadn’t been to see my dealer all week on account of Vacation Bible School.
‘No. I don’t want to ruin what we have.’ Fuck me. I was being honest.
‘Do you want to see my breasts?’ she asked. I don’t think she knew I already had. Yes we were friends but we also got baked and she would pass out on my couch so soundly asleep she snored. I had peaked. I had once even untied her bikini top and bikini bottoms and while she slept jacked off into a sock as I stood over her in awe feeling the true wonder of his creation.
‘No.’ I told her.
She undressed in front of me and then made such sweet love to me that I was the one who cried after.
I had to put my foot down with the idiot kid who ran the band. One Wednesday I told him he had to let her do just a simple acoustic version of her own song. He told me that wasn’t what ‘Godly Thunder,’ was all about. I accused him of putting his glory above His. He pouted and moped off. I shot video of her onstage. Her song was about a young girl tempted and was essentially a prayer and you have heard it because when I sent it off to a producer in Nashville he flew all the way out to Phoenix to sign her. She is all over the radio these days and I can’t ever tell anyone I fucked her. It sucks.
Like Matthew McConaughey says, I got older, they stay the same age. I lost my hair prematurely. Not knowing your dad means that shit hits you out of nowhere. I became more of a father figure than ever and banged my way through the future elementary school teachers, nurses, and housewives that continued to prance in week after week with perfect legs and ripe delicious tits.
Tara had been going to the church since she was in Sunday school. She had that look about her way too young, she was the reason I left the high school group mostly to Mrs. Sanders and whatever parent volunteers wanted to fuck with it. I still had to speak Sundays at 11:15 and generally just rehashed whatever I had delivered on Wednesday. When I was accused of delivering too mature a message I delighted in telling some prudish parent that if they thought their precious little 14 year old went to a public high school and didn’t know what a blow job was perhaps they needed to wake the hell up. That was how I said it too. I said blow job and I said hell. Pastor Doug had gotten complaints and he loved to tell me about them. He praised me for my approach. He said it was why I was so good with the young men and women. I might have been wrong but I suspected on those Sunday mornings cheering and whooping and delivering the word to the young enthusiastic idiots that she intentionally parted her legs alluringly. That the way she played with the cross around her neck drawing it slowly in and out of her cleavage was some sort of plot. I was smart to avoid the high school group.
Her sister was as tall as she was. She wore her hair the same way, long and straight all the way down her back. I wondered if they shared a closet as they both seemed to have an endless supply of too short, too low cut sundresses. They didn’t dress any different than any of the other young girls in the congregation. They just wore it better.
Tanya, Tara’s sister, was the innocent one and it was the innocence that got me off. I was too bold. It was on the college retreat to San Diego where we prayed and surfed and camped. I couldn’t help myself. She was too tall, too buxom, too leggy, I made a move. Her initial reaction was to draw away and I let her. That was how it works. I had a whole arsenal of suggestive remarks that could be explained as innocent misinterpretations. Tanya had only pretended to be offended as we sang songs of praise around the campfire because late that night she slipped into my tent. It was awkward on the ground but I enjoyed it. She was that pretty. It was two years later when Tanya was hardly ever coming to chu
rch anymore and Tara was moving up to the college group that I realized how fucked I was. I had delivered the Saturday the Saturday sermon to the high schoolers and made the ceremonial announcement about the seniors being welcome on Wednesday nights now. She approached me afterward. There were kids and parents all around us and she stood too close. She spoke loudly about how excited she was to move up to college group and work more closely with me. I rolled out some platitude about how excited I was to get more time to share Jesus with her. Already too close she leaned in until I felt her breath on the side of my face. ‘I know you are full of shit but I am still excited to COME on Wednesday.’ When she backed away from me I knew she had added the emphasis intentionally.
I had to shoo her away for weeks. She failed to appreciate my concern for the fact that she was still seventeen. She was a pain in my ass. She had always been a pain in the ass. She had been the one who had organized spin the bottle at confirmation camp that had all the parents in an uproar. She had been picked up for drinking once in high school and realizing it was the serious kind of shit that people took seriously when her parents came to the church for help dealing with her I turned them over to Pastor Doug. She was going to be trouble. I had heard about pastors taking sabbaticals and suddenly regretted spending all my extra cash on vintage vinyl and pot.
A group of girls marked her 18th with a big party at the Italian place that served everything family style. She marked it by showing up at my house in cheer shorts and her PE shirt that she had cut into a crop top. Do you know what cheer shorts are? I told her no and she sat outside my apartment for an hour until I let her in. She wanted a drink. That was a first. I poured her a Jack and diet coke and she drank it like an alcoholic housewife in two swallows. I poured a second and she nursed it.
She knew, she told me. And not just about her sister but others. She knew about the redhead just the week before.
‘Fuck.’ Was my only response? ‘How?’
‘Doesn’t matter.’ She said.
‘Tell me.’
‘No.’
‘If you don’t tell me, I wont be able to plug the leak. I will get fired and you will have Pastor Doug on Wednesdays.’ It wasn’t much of a threat but it was the best I had.
‘Marty?’
‘Marty Mexico?’ I asked her. He was my dealer. He worked out of a taco shop. He sold mostly shit from south of the border. It was good marketing.
‘Do you have any?’
‘Fuck.’
We got stoned. She got naked. I got laid.
Sex with Tara was different. There was no getting off on her innocence. There was no innocence there. With Tara, despite only being 18, it was about her experience and her enthusiasm. She knew shit and she liked it. The bitch fingered my asshole when she blew me. Where the fuck had she learned that. The fucking was better too. She didn’t just lie there surprised at what she was feelingbt was an active and willing contributor. It was only about the third time she showed up at my place in the afternoon that I realized I was excited to see her. It was no less filthy than it had been with the dozens that came before. I was still a filthy bastard fucking some dudes daughter but really, aren’t we all. Besides I liked her. She didn’t take shit from anyone.
‘The Jesus shit, you buy any of it?’ she asked me one night. It was right after my sermon and we had left separately in our own cars and driven different routes to the bar but she had suggested the place and when they served her a beer I understood why.
‘I like the Jesus parts. The Eastern philosophies he preaches in the Gospels. The rest of it that is just church doctrine for the sheep.’
‘I love that they just outright call followers sheep and him the sheppard. It is like, lets be up front about our bullshit.’
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