A Little Faith

by Tara Tingle

  “Your duties?”

  “I will have to surrender them. ”

  “Your faith?”

  “My faith will remain.”

  “And your faith in God is stronger, right?”

  “Yes,” I told him.

  “Then... nothing will change,” he remarked grimly, seemingly crushed by what he just heard.

  “No... things will change,” I rectified. “Xavi... my faith in God is strong. It's infallible. But that faith also tells me that God has made me who I am for a reason. He has given me a heart so that I can love someone. He has given me self-awareness so that I can pursue what is right and what is good. And He has given me free will so that I can choose... I can choose how to live my life... I can choose my happiness... I can choose who to love. And I choose you, Xavi.”

  “Are you telling me the truth?” he asked, his voice cracking as a tear fell from his left eye while his lips quavered. “Or are you just telling me what I want to hear?”

  “The truth,” I honestly said. “Nothing but the truth. I am certain of that now. All I want... all I've ever wanted... is y-”

  He didn't allow me to finish.

  He leaped towards me, his body colliding with mine with so much force that I almost lost my balance. He threw his arms around my neck and burrowed his face on my shoulder. I embraced him in return.

  “Father... you... you're all that I've ever wanted too,” he muttered, his voice drowned by his sobs.

  “Forget about the pain I've caused you, Xavi, if you can,” I labored to tell him as he was hugging me too tightly. “Let's start anew.”

  “Yes. I'd love that,” he agreed. “How do we go about it, Father?”

  “Well, for starters, you can stop calling me Father,” I reminded him once more.

  He withdrew his head from my shoulder and wiped his tears. He was smiling. “Sorry,” he said. “Should I call you Joe then?”

  I grinned.

  “Joes' okay,” I confirmed. “But I had another name in mind.”

  “Another name?”

  “Yes.”

  “What?”

  “Daddy.”

  Immediately, I heard his heart thud. Sweat formed on his temples swifter than the tears that previously dribbled from his eyes. As I held his hand, I felt his pulse race faster than the pitter-platter of rain on a stormy afternoon.

  “D-Daddy?” he repeated, wanting to verify if I meant what I said, wanting to confirm without doubt that I was committing myself to that role, wanting to know if I was in it for the long run.

  I could reassure him with words.

  But words wouldn't be enough to express everything that was in my heart.

  And so, without warning, I hooked my arm beneath his leg while the other supported his back. I lifted him up and carried him inside, closing the door behind us with my foot.

  I brought him to his room and lied him on the bed. I began to remove his clothes. He didn't protest. He was down to his diapers when he regained enough sense to ask what I was doing.

  “What a daddy does for his baby,” I said before placing my finger over my lips to tell him not to ask any more questions.

  I played with him in bed, tickling his tummy as he twisted and turned to avoid my fingers. I went down on all fours like a horse, but I felt like a mule when he rode me as I realized that I wasn't big enough to be a stallion. I hid under the blanket and challenged him to find me, holding down the sheets whenever he attempted to pull them up. Then, it was his turn and I pretended to be forlorn as I couldn't find him anymore like he just vanished in thin air. He went out of hiding on his own, his face a picture of sadness. I kissed him on the forehead to tell him that we were just fooling around. Then he was all giddy once again, hopping in bed to eventually fall on his back while pumping his feet in the air.

  All the while, he was giggling and cooing and laughing.

  And I...

  I couldn't be any happier.

  We spent hours lost in the world we built in his room, savoring each other's company and reveling in our roles as baby and daddy.

  Then, after a prolonged period of active play, we fell on the bed panting. We tried to catch our breath, something which was made more difficult because we couldn't stop sniggering.

  But as our bodies collapsed on the mattress, our eyes met.

  His face suddenly turned serious.

  It was enough to let me know that he has shifted out of his baby self. The words he would utter next would confirm that.

  “I love you,” he whispered.

  “I love you,” I replied.

  His face approached mine, his mouth gravitated towards my lips.

  We kissed.

  We kissed for what seemed like a fragile eternity – cherishing every second, joyful that nothing could ever stop us, but afraid of the smallest possibilities that would threaten what we have won.

  We kissed for the longest time... our lips lost in bliss but needful for more... our tongues clashing to claim what our hearts desired.. our bodies pressing against each other, seemingly desperate to conquer the smallest spaces that have been left untouched...

  And then he turned away, shifting towards the other end of the bed.

  I began to worry.

  But his hand reached for mine, leading it towards his manhood, guiding it up and down the mound of flesh that was bulging in his diaper.

  I moved closer to him to get a better grip of that which he wanted me to covet. In doing so, my groin bumped his rear, with my own phallus squeezed in between.

  It felt good. Really, really good.

  It's been a long while since I've been with a man.

  It's been a long while since I've been with anyone.

  It's even been a long while since I touched myself.

  My vows prohibited me from indulging in such matters.

  Now, I have chosen not to be bound to them. I have chosen to pursue my happiness. I have chosen to satisfy my needs.

  And so I kneaded my member against his buttocks as I fondled his shaft. He moaned every time my hand would make a complete glide from the base of his manhood to its tip. I moaned with him every time my penis would be squashed against his rump as I continued to gyrate my hips.

  Xavier realized the pleasure that my act was giving me. He extended his hand backwards, fumbling as he searched for my phallus. “There he is,” he giggled as soon as he found it. “Your pow pow.”

  He remembered. I grinned.

  He crunched it for a while before he unzipped my jeans. Then he led it out, giving it a few more slides as if he wanted to be sure that it was as hard as it could be... as hard as he needed it to be. Once he was satisfied, he retracted his hand and placed it close to his mouth. He gave his palm some slurps before returning it to my penis to give it a few more rubs. The spittle made his strokes slipperier, smoother... he wanted to please me even more, but I also knew that he was preparing me for something else.

  True enough, he pointed my manhood in the middle of his rear, in between the crack that separated his buttocks, on top of the hole that was his anus.

  “Whenever your pom pom's ready, daddy,” he coquettishly muttered.

  It was ready. It was more than ready, so much so that I worried that I might not last long enough to bring him to bliss.

  I hesitated to enter.

  He proved to be impatient.

  He bent his body, pushing his rear towards my midsection. My penis, so hard and so wet and so lubricious, quickly penetrated the opening that he presented me with.

  He grunted in pain upon the initial entry.

  “Are you okay?” I asked with concern.

  “N-No...” he groaned.

  “Why? What's wrong?” I was beginning to panic.

  “I don't want just one thrust,” he clarified. “I want more. I want so much more, daddy... I want everything that you can give...”

  As if I wasn't already burning with overwhelming passion inside, his words only made me desire him even more.

&
nbsp; And so I pressed my body towards him, pushing my phallus deeper inside his hole – a strong, spearing motion that made him squeal a sound of beautiful agony. I didn't withdraw my manhood after that. It lingered inside him, making circular motions that scraped his inner walls, wanting him to know how much deeper I craved to explore.

  He wailed deliriously.

  He liked it.

  I pulled out as my hand, which was still holding his thing, slid up his shaft. I went in and my hand glided down his trunk. I synchronized my motions until I found a rhythm that intensified my hunger and made him mad with lust. His moans got louder and louder as I maintained that pace.

  He was drowning in ecstasy...

  But I was sinking quicker than he was...

  I tried so hard not to give in to the rapture that was swiftly building up inside me...

  But I couldn't...

  “I... I'm sorry,” I whispered in his ear. “I c-can't last much... much longer...”

  “It's okay, daddy,” he replied in between his rapid and shallow breaths. “Come... Come now... and I... I'll come with you...”

  I wasn't able to respond with words. Xavier's permission made my surrender easier.

  I came, exploding inside him, my body fluid squirting out of his anus as my thrusts began to slow down...

  And as I reached my climax, so did he, unleashing one loud, euphoric scream that signaled his own burst, drenching my hand with his warm discharge.

  I embraced him from behind once our bodies stopped shivering from the astute gratification that we experienced together. I kissed his nape. He held my hand and drew it towards his chest.

  A peaceful postlude to our first coupling.

  “Will this last?” he suddenly asked, unexpectedly.

  “I have no doubt it will,” I answered.

  “But your vows?” he wanted to know. “Your position?”

  “I will deal with them.”

  “When?”

  “Soon.”

  “How?”

  “I... I don't know yet,” I admitted.

  “Oh...” he remarked morosely, saddened by the uncertainty he derived from what I said. “So this... this may not really last, huh?”

  “I told you it will.” I repeated myself.

  “How can you be so sure?” he pleaded to know.

  “Because, Xavi,” I began to say as I caressed his hair and flashed a smile that, though he couldn't see, he could most definitely decipher from my voice, “I just know. I just know because...”

  “Because?”

  “Because my faith is strong.”

  Epilogue

  Two Years Later

  “And now I say unto you, the Lord is a loving God, the Lord is a merciful God, the Lord is a forgiving God. God cares for His children – all of his children – regardless of their age, gender, political beliefs, sexual orientations, and yes, even their choice of TV programs. God cares for you even if you watch every Kardashian show on TV.”

  The attendees laughed.

  “God cares for everyone... for He loves everyone,” I continued. “And God cares for the sick, especially. They are the ones who are most in need. They are the ones who have to endure unceasing pain. They are the ones who have to live in constant fear. They are the ones who suffer more than any of His children. And that's why you're here. Yes. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. And you.” I pointed at each of the people who were listening to me – all eleven of them.

  They all nodded with proud smiles adorning their faces.

  “God has given you those skillful hands so that you can help them,” I went on to say. “Those kinds hands alleviate their pains, uplift their spirits, comfort their sorrows, and inspire them to keep up the fight. God loves them. God cares for them. And God helps them... through you. You are all instruments of the Lord, loyal servants who carry out His will. Your roles are just as important – and maybe, even more vital - than those performed by bishops, cardinals and priests. Your roles are more important than mine, I'm sure of that. You aid, you heal, you save lives. I'm only here to remind you of the good work you've been doing.”

  “Nah, we're all doing good work,” one of them interjected – a middle-aged man in a white coat with a stethoscope draped over his neck.

  “Well, I thank you for that, doc,” I replied with a grin. “But our salary grades would disagree.”

  And again, the hallway resonated with a hearty laugh.

  “So, march on, brave brothers and sisters,” I proceeded. “Do as you've always done. The world wouldn't be the same without your commitment. And always remember... when hope seems lost, don't be afraid. You're doing the Lord's work. He's always by your side.”

  “Amen!” everyone responded in unison before dispersing. Some of them approached me to shake my hand. One of them – a female nurse who, judging from the fact that I haven't seen her before, was new to the hospital – held my hand a little bit longer before guiding it towards her forehead. I immediately recognized it as a Latin tradition of seeking a holy man's blessing. The girl did have South American features.

  I gently and politely pulled my hand away, much to her shock.

  “Mexican?” I asked her.

  “Guatemalan, Father,” she clarified.

  “Ah. Sorry about that. And no, Ma'am. I'm not a priest,” it was my turn to correct her.

  She was visibly startled by what I said. “No? Oh, I'm sorry. I though that... well... you know... the sermon you just delivered...”

  “It's not a sermon, Ma'am,” I told her. “It's a... uhm... a pep talk, if you will. I usually remind the good people of Santo Tomas General Hospital about the righteousness of their tasks and how important they are to our community. I do it twice a day, actually, at the start of every shift.”

  “I see,” she muttered. “I’m sorry. But... But you did sound like a priest.”

  I chuckled. “I'm not. Well, not anymore. I used to be, though, but that seemed like ages ago. Now, I'm a lay minister. I've been assigned to this hospital for close to two years now. I haven't seen you before, though. New here, huh?”

  She gave me an embarrassed smile. “Yes. Just started yesterday. My name's Monica.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, Monica. My name's Joaquin, but please... call me Joe. Just Joe.”

  She took her leave and continued with her duties. I walked around the floor, checking every room, trying to determine whether a confined patient needed to be reminded of God's love. Only a few quarters were occupied today, however, which was a good sign. The emptier the hospital, the healthier the neighborhood. And all of the people I've encountered seemed to be in good spirit.

  There was nothing left for me to do there. I decided to call it a day.

  I took the elevator down to the lobby. It was an old lift, the kind that would take almost a full minute before it could transport you six floors down.

  During that ride, I went on to check my phone. I rummaged through the old messages, searching for one in particular... a text from my mom some two years back, right after my request for removal of my clerical state was granted. I informed her about it. I informed her of the reason why. I told her that I was in love. I also told her that I was gay.

  Her response was completely unexpected.

  She said that she knew about my homosexuality since I was a teenager, and that she was just waiting me for me talk to her about the same. A mother knows her child, she said, more than the child knows himself. I asked her if she was disappointed with me for giving up my priesthood. She answered that she wasn't. Then she sent this message:

  I'm proud of you and I'll always be proud of you, and I know your dad would be, as well. You always wanted to be a servant of the Lord and I am sure that you'll find other ways to do that.

  My lips curled into a smile as I remembered how that inspired me to become a lay minister.

  The elevator made its stop and I proceeded to the exit. Just outside the hospital, in an adjoining building, was a coffee shop named The Beanery
. I always went there when I was done with my tasks for the day.

  He was waiting for me there, just as he always has for the last two years.

  There was an opening for a barista job when I took the assignment at the hospital. He signed up for it without hesitation. He'd be just a stone's throw away from me, he said, just in case I would need him.

  Xavier was finishing up the last of his chores – cleaning up the coffee-making machine – when I arrived. He quickly removed his apron and walked towards me when he heard me come in.

  We hugged and we kissed and we spoke of how much we missed each other.

  “Ready to go home?” I asked him.

  “Yeah,” he answered. “It's been a tiring day. Seven tour buses stopped by in the past five hours. Seven! I served like four hundred mocha fraps today. I'm beat!”

  “Nothing a bath wouldn't remedy,” I teased.

  “That sounds nice,” he agreed. “We've ran out of shampoo, though.”

  “I've got some in stock.”

  “No!” he immediately countered. “Not your shampoo! I need the J&J brand, the one for babies!”

  “Shampoo is shampoo, right?” I questioned.

  “Your shampoo's rough on the eyes,” he argued. “J&J's so much milder. No More Tears, that's their slogan.”

  “I see,” I grinned. “Very well, let's pass by the grocery on the way home.”

  “Sounds great!” he enthused. “Uhm... can we get a lollipop as well? I've been craving for a lollipop the whole day.”

  “Of course,” I assured him. “Strawberry?”

  “Cola! I want Cola!” he insisted. “The one that pops in your mouth!”

  “Cola it is then,” I conceded.

  “Yey!” he expressed his joy. “Thanks, daddy.”

  Daddy.

  I loved hearing that word from him.

  It always reassured me that I made the right choice.

  It always reminded me that life was great.

  And it always made me know that our best days were ahead of us.

  A Little Complication (Preview)

  Little Stories Book 2