Mama was a Preacher Chapter Four Beyond the Horizon Copyright 1996 AUTHOR22@aol.com All rights reserved.
"Where have you been Sport." Jackie asked as I crawled into bed.
Mama was already asleep. I knew that I should take a shower, but there was something about having the smell of Mary-Lou still on my body, that made me not want to. "One of the local kids took me for a walk. Did you know there is a creek over by that bunch of trees?"
He didn't pursue the conversation. I could hear his breathing change. He was asleep. As I lay there my body felt good, but my mind was not sleepy and had many questions. I compared that first time feeling with Jerry, against the late night play with Peter, and now this much different experience with Mary-Lou.
Eventually the Sandman entered the room to sprinkle my eyes with dream dust. The evening's adventure continued in my imagination as I slept, blending the feelings of love, of physical experience, into a single being whose abilities in affection, passion, and sensation went beyond any single human.
"Good God John ... go take a shower; you stink!"
I was still on my side of the bed, as Jackie's epithet startled me into reality.
"Ray has called a powwow. We are to meet in the tent in one half hour. So get a move on it."
Mama and Jackie were both gone as I got out of the shower. I examined my penis to see if there were any signs of last nights encounter, and was disappointed to discover that it looked the same as it always did. Although, at second glance, maybe it was a little larger.
Steven Hay and Harry Wiser were both in the tent along with all of the others as I joined them.
"Johnny, Steven and Harry have made a wonderful suggestion."
"Amen sister," Ray added to Mama's statement.
What Harry and Steven had proposed was the formation of a special organization to spread the word by radio. The idea, in some ways, was patterned after the Reverend Fuller's Old Time Gospel Hour.
We were to take one of the Presto Recorders and record each of our services. We would select the best two from the first week in a new location. When we made our advance trip to pick out the location for our tent in the next city, we would contact radio stations and buy radio time for the week preceding our arrival, supplying them with those transcriptions.
Once the recordings were aired, they would be sent to the new organization in Little Rock. They would first be aired on KRLA then forward ed to an ever expanding list of stations carrying our services.
Harry and Steven, under Harry's father would establish a bank account in which radio "offerings" would be deposited. A check would always accompany each recording. As Harry Senior had said, "Wish we had more clients like that."
As the meeting broke up Harry asked me to walk with him and Steven to the station. "Hey Stud. Hear Mary-Lou got your cherry last night."
I blushed, but said nothing.
Steven added, "Peter has been trying to get into her pants for the last six months."
Finally I mustered enough courage to ask, "How did you find out?"
"Hell, it's all over town. She's been bragging that you are going to be famous ... and she was your first fuck."
That sense of first love, evaporated in a burst of betrayal.
My wounded emotions must have been displayed upon my face, as both boys let the moment pass, moving on to other matters.
Brother Gregory was planning an advance trip to Memphis. It was expected to take two days. Jackie and I were to go with him. Mama and Ruth would conduct the evening services.
In the intervening days since my encounter with Mary-Lou I felt every one was staring at me. Nudging each other, whispering about the sinful thing I had done. During the evening services I felt like a hypocrite. I wanted to hide in the trailer. But I couldn't let on that there was something wrong; even though I knew everyone in the tent was thinking, "He fucked Mary-Lou." I hoped that Mama and Jackie wouldn't find out.
So it was with great relief that I realized our stay in Little Rock was coming to an end, and that tomorrow we would go to Memphis for two days.
Wednesday started very early. Harry came by our trailer at 5:30 and asked if Jackie and I would join the Wisers for breakfast at the station at quarter past six.
While the radio listeners may have found that early morning show a relaxing way to start the day, I didn't find it so. There was a constant pressure to keep things moving and to keep things interesting. There were no breaks for commercials; everything was live. Communication was by passing written notes while others were talking. Mrs. Wiser asked if everyone would like a cup of delicious Hill's Brothers coffee; that led to a coffee commercial. I was sipping a glass of milk while saying how delicious the coffee was, then I ad-libbed, "What kind of coffee is this?"
Junior handed Jackie an envelope and three transcription disks which were the recordings of our services. "You'd better ask the station to read this before and after the broadcast. Also, each side is 15 minutes, so they can use this material to cover the switch over from side 'A' to side 'B'." The announcement was an invitation to help support the radio ministry by sending contributions to the "Old Time Revival Hour, Post Office Box 777, Little Rock, Arkansas".
The announcement went on to say that we would acknowledge the gifts with tax deductible receipts, and a thank you gift photograph of those in our ministry.
The breakfast show was finally off the air. The control room clock read seven AM. The Wisers thanked us and bid us good-bye.
Ray was chomping at the bit when we returned. "Time's awaistin', let's get going." The good Reverend jumped into the rumble seat. I sat next to Jackie. At eleven o'clock we entered the outskirts of Memphis.
"We gotta lot to do today," Ray announced, "First we should talk to the pastors of as many of the churches as we can. They will make valuable suggestions on a location for our tent. Come to think of it, they probably can give us pointers as to which radio stations would be best for this new radio ministry."
Jackie suggested that after the first two visits, we should split up with Ray being one advance team while we would be the second one.
While that was probably a good idea, it didn't work that way. The first minister was from the Pentecostal Church of Memphis, and he solved all of our problems. His church owned a vacant lot on the east side of town which was ours for as long as we needed. He also read the sign off prayer at one of the local radio stations. That station carried the Reverend Fuller's Broadcast. He felt certain they would be receptive to our buying time.
Ray suggested that he continue canvassing the churches, inviting their participation. Jackie and I would talk to the program director at the radio station. We would meet for an early dinner at five-thirty.
Jackie let Ray take the Ford after dropping us off at the WMTN studios on Central Avenue.
Jason Hunt, was a tall, gaunt looking man. He reminded me of that character actor in the movies that always played the part of an undertaker. His appearance was in sharp contrast to his jovial, and out going personality.
Mr. Hunt wore two hats, that of Program Director, and that of Station Manager.
The Pentecostal minister had called ahead preparing our way.
After chatting for a few minutes he asked to hear one of our 16" disks.
We accompanied him into an empty control room and listened.
"I'm not sure that we can donate that much air time on a regular basis."
"Mr. Hunt, I think you misunderstood. It is our intention to pay for the air time," Jackie paused, "Pay for it in advance."
"You know air time is pretty expensive. What kind of a contract are you willing to enter into?"
Jackie just looked blank, the question had not been anticipate. "Give me an idea of what we are looking at."
Money figures were being tossed around, all of which seemed fantastically expensive. In the end, it was agreed that Friday evenings, six to six-thirty would be ours. The first broadcast would be day after tomorrow.
Jason also tossed in ten free commercials promoting our hour. In addition Jackie and I were to be guests on a live Gospel music program at noon on Thursday.
When we met with Ray over dinner that night, he was quite pleased. Everything had gone better than he had expected, and our promotional appearance tomorrow was icing on the cake. However, he was concerned about leaving the "girls" alone for two days. He took the Greyhound back to Little Rock.
We spent the night with Jackie's grandmother.
She had two empty bedrooms. The beds were both double sized, and as soft as a billowy cloud. It was just a little after eight when we arrived, but we had had a full day, and I found myself in bed by nine.
The next morning she woke me, announcing that breakfast was ready, and that Jackie had already left. I was to take a taxi and be at the radio station no later than eleven o'clock.
At nine o'clock a tooting horn hailed the arrival of the cab.
This was my first ride in a taxi. Jackie's grandmother had put a five dollar bill in my hand, and told me to give the driver the whole thing.
The vehicle was painted black with white squares. The driver said, "You going to the radio station?"
I nodded yes.
"OK. You sit up front with me."
I climbed in along side of the driver, who didn't look much older than Jackie. He was wearing Levi's and a T-shirt. His hair was almost blonde, and he smelled of after shave lotion.
"If you like to read, there are some magazines under your seat."
I reached down, and pulled out one. It was an old issue of "Esquire". As I started to open it a double sheet fell on the floor. I picked it up and opened it. It was a large color picture of a naked woman. Oh! she was pretty.
"Hey that's my favorite. My name is Joe, what's yours."
"John." My little pecker had instantly jumped to full mast, and bulged the front of my trousers.
Joe moved his right hand down to his pants, and adjusted his very stiff dick. "Gawd that picture gives me an instant hard on." He paused then continued, "I see I'm not by myself." His hand again moved his dick.
My eyes were glued to what he was doing.
"My cock is always yelling for me to do something with it."
Mine was throbbing away, so I moved it to a more comfortable position.
"My shorts are always too tight. Mind if I take it out for a breather?"
I didn't answer, but again moved my stiffy. Whereupon he began unbuttoning his pants. I should have been frightened by his odd behavior, but I was mesmerized by what was happening.
"Move over closer to me and grab the wheel, this is going to take both hands."
I slid closer to him, and held the wheel with both hands. He was pulling his cock through the fly. Joe placed his hand on my left one, pulling it free of the wheel and on to his hot throbbing shaft. My heart was pounding in my chest. His right hand had released mine, and was now seeking my stiff one.
His hot member was velvety to the touch, and my hand squeezed it, testing its rigidity. A wetness began to cover my hand. I knew I should spring away from him to the other side of the seat, but a deep rooted compulsion demanded that I continue to play.
"What time do you have to be at the radio station."
I told him eleven o'clock.
"Good, then we've got time to solve both of our problems. Have you ever had anyone suck on your prick?"
For some unknown reason I told him about what Jerry had done.
"Did you like it?"
I admitted that I did.
Joe had released my cock and was lubricating it with fluid coming from his. It felt good.
He pulled the cab on to a dirt road behind an old abandoned building. We moved to the back seat, and he took all of my clothes off. I sat there on the back seat with Joe on the floor between my legs. His lips were kissing my stomach, then my abdomen, then my inner thighs. He took my nuts into his mouth massaging them with his tongue. Again he kissed my stomach, and licked from my belly button down to under my balls.
Joe had lifted my legs so that my knees were resting on his shoulders. Then he did something that sent shivers of pleasure up and down my spine; he licked my butt hole. He moved back to my belly button, and proceeded to again kiss and lick all the way back down to my hole, only this time it didn't stop there as he inserted his tongue. I thought every nerve in my body was going to explode.
Finally he took my cock into his mouth and began to suck it deeply into his throat. That tingly feeling started to build. My muscles were tightening. He released my cock, and lowered my legs.
Then he stripped. His penis was larger than Peter's but not as big as Jackie's. I was fascinated by it, and eagerly grabbed.
He moved me so that I was lying full length on the back seat, then straddled me up side down. His mouth went back to my cock. His was just inches above my eyes. His fingers sought the wetness between my buttocks, and as he sucked me deeply into him, he inserted a finger into my hole. The wetness allowed the penetration. His finger was now massaging something inside of me that was beyond description. Again my muscles tensed, and he released my cock putting my balls back in his mouth.
My eyes were looking directly at his shaft. The swollen head was the only thing in my view. His balls were hanging behind them. The head was secreting drops that were falling onto my chin. The odor was enticing. My hand reached up grasping the shaft, pulling it toward me. As I did so, he put his mouth back on mine.
His prick was less than an eighth inch from my lips. My eyes tried to focus on the head, but blurred. I moved my other hand so that it touched his testicles, then gently pulled him closer to me, so that the magnificent tool was now touching my lips. I kissed it, then licked the slippery end. My own instrument was again close to ejaculation. I opened my mouth, and pulled his cock into mine, closed my lips and sucked. My own was now beyond the point of no return. As I spurted, so did Joe, his ample emission being more than I could hold, flowed from my lips onto my neck and chest.
We turned so that I was laying on my side. Joe was pressing hard against the back. His member had collapsed, as had mine.
The passion of the moment had passed, and I began to feel guilty about what I had just done. We laid there for a short time. Joe said, "Well, we'd better go if we are going to get you to the station before eleven."
He was dressed and behind the wheel even before I had my shirt on. I sat in the back all the way to the station.
"So, kid, how'd you like the extra service? Think it's worth an extra large tip?"
I gave him the five dollar bill explaining that that was all that I had. He growled something about rural hick kids as he sped away.
Jackie was already in the studio as I entered. "We are going to do two songs, Softly and Tenderly, and Daddy Sang Bass. In fact they want us to open with Softly and Tenderly, and I'll conduct you like we did at KLRA. Daddy Sang Bass will close the program."
Jason Hunter put me in front of the microphone. Jackie was seated in the front row. I took a deep breath, and sustained B above middle C and held it for the entire measure. Again a deep breath, and I sustained the D above middle C, and held it for the entire measure. Then during the next measure I shifted rapidly from D, to F Sharp, and down to E. For the next measure it was again D, F, and E.
But my mind was on the event with Joe. I flawlessly followed Jackie's directions, but the sparkle just wasn't there.
Again, at the end of the program something was missing, and if it hadn't been for Jackie's ability at the piano, Daddy Sang Bass would have fallen flat on its face.
After the broadcast we drove back to his grandmothers. "What's wrong sport. You just weren't with it today."
I said something about I didn't know ... nothing really.
"Mary-Lou's big mouth bothering you?"
"Oh God, it's true. The whole world knows I fucked Mary-Lou," was what I thought, what I said was, "Does Mama or the Gregorys know?"
"No, I don't think so. I over heard Steven and Harry talking about it."
I just sat there without saying a word. My mind was racing between what I had done this morning with the cab driver, Mary-Lou's betrayal, what Peter and I had done that late night, and what Jerry and I had shared. Everything seemed wrong when exposed to the light of day. Even Jerry's love seemed soiled by his sharing my first squirting.
The world was "fucked."
His grandmother insisted that we have a late lunch. I love corn bread and hers was the best. Nevertheless I ate sparsely.
We were on the road again, heading west toward Little Rock. The silence was deafening.
"John, something is bothering you. I think I know what it is, but I'm not sure. In any event I want you to remember something that I told you and Jerry when we drove him to Crabtree about strangers becoming intimate with you, about ensnaring you in a net of sexuality, and then betraying you? Well, you just had your first taste of that."
I shook my head acknowledging the truthfulness of what he said, wondering what he would say if he knew about the cab driver.
"When you are young it's difficult; no, it's down right impossible to keep your dick under control. I enjoyed the sex play we have had, and if it will keep you out of trouble you and I can play around as much as you want. Hell we already sleep in the same bed, so taking care of that 'problem' shouldn't be that difficult. Promise me, that in the future when you feel horny, you will come to me, and we will do something about it."
I nodded a silent OK. Yet, Jackie's offer did little to soothe my guilt ridden conscience.
The services were already underway as we turned on to Cottondale. Our lot was already full, so we parked on the far side of the KLRA building.
I opened the front door, peering in. Harry Junior was siting at the audio console, his feet up on a chair. He saw me, and motioned me in.
Jackie proceeded to the meeting, "Don't stay in there too long. We need you for the services."
I nodded in agreement, then closed the front door behind me.
Harry was listening to the revival meeting on the monitor speakers. He took his feet off of the chair, motioning me to sit.
"Hey John, I didn't mean to embarrass you the other day. Mary-Lou has got a big mouth. The only thing bigger is probably her pussy. I think Peter is the only guy in school that hasn't gotten into her pants."
I didn't know what to say. I turned red in further embarrassment.
"Well, Peter got pretty pissed off when he heard what she was saying. So this afternoon he really told her off. Told her she was a whore. That you were one of his best friends, and if he ever heard her say anything else about you, he would beat the shit out of her, female or not."
I smiled rather meekly, "I like Peter. Sunday will be our last day in Little Rock, so I guess it's not really a big deal."
"Steve said that they were going to drive up to Memphis to help you set up the tent, and stay overnight. He want's to be there for the first recording session."
Friday and Saturday nights were "Standing room only."
Jackie and I spent every spare moment expanding our repertoire. He kept a log of any "cute piece of business" that I accidentally created. "They were money in the bank. Sometime soon we will have the time to make your performances unique and hot.
I got the feeling of what he said even though I really didn't understand what he had in mind.
The new organization was to be known simply as "The Revival Hour."
In the past, most two week meetings had simply repeated the same services that had been held in the previous cities. Now with the services being broadcast, it was necessary to have entirely new material for each and every service. This created a tremendous respon sibility which taxed both Mama and Brother Gregory to the limits.
Saturday night was our last night. Reverend Gregory reminded us that tomorrow we were to visit the Little Rock churches so that they could contribute to our revival fund. Mama pointed out that the collections had already gone beyond our wildest dreams. The radio broadcasts had packed the tent each and every night. However, Ray said the Lord's needs were beyond the understanding of man. He always would need more than we had if we were to sweep the world of sinners to his altar.
We were up at day break. Joshua, Steven, Peter, and even Jimbo arrived in their pickup truck just as we started moving things around in the bus.
By nine o'clock the tent had been lowered, bundled, and stowed.
We broke into four teams for the church visits: Ray, Ruth, Mama, and Jackie and me.
The counting that afternoon was staggering. Brother Gregory announced that he wanted to broadcast all of the services in Memphis; live.
Our little revival meeting had expanded from two people to five in just two months. If Ray had his way we would need to add a sixth to our entourage; a broadcast engineer.
Harry Wiser, both senior and junior, advised against it. Try the slow growth with the recordings, then if that proved successful then consider radio broadcasts in each city.
Ray was adamant. We would broadcast each service in Memphis. Junior suggested we take Steven along as broadcast engineer, but only for the next two weeks. Steven and the Wisers expected that the new organization would become a full time job for both boys.
The counting late Sunday night exceeded that of the morning's collections. There would be no turning back, we had been bitten by the bug of success.
We departed Little Rock somewhere close to 4:30 in the morning. Our caravan now consisted of the bus, our car and trailer, followed by Jackie's model "A," and the Hay's pickup truck.
Ray asked Jackie to telephone Jason Hunter at WMTN. We wanted to buy an hour every night for the next two weeks. At first, Jason resisted the idea. It would be too expensive. There was too little time to set it up. At Ray's insistence Jackie wouldn't take no for an answer and asked for a meet as soon as possible.
Steven, Jackie, and Ray met with Jason. He didn't have a chance. Ray wouldn't take no for an answer. Every technical barricade was met with a solu tion by Steven. The Presto Recorder had two microphone inputs, a volume indicating meter, and a 500 ohm line level output. We didn't need to buy a console. On the matter of whether we could pay for that much air time, Ray laid ten thousand dollars, mostly in ones, on Jason's desk. The only problem would be the telephone company. Getting a Class "A" audio Line installed on such short notice was unheard of. Southern Bell Telephone had a policy that line requests required 2 weeks advance notice. Steven asked how they handled news remotes. Jason said Ma Bell had an exception clause.
That night, to the surprise of everyone, we broadcast live from the revival meeting. Friday night's transcription broadcast of the Little Rock Services had done it's job. First night, a Monday night, standing room only. Again every seat was occupied, every parking spot was taken and every car was occupied by people watching the meeting while hearing it on their radio.
Little Rock was behind me. I no longer felt intimidated by Mary-Lou. The Hay's were my friends. My enthusiasm blossomed forth in my performance. Even the little "Butt Jump" as Jackie called it, had returned when I sang "Daddy Sang Bass."
Tuesday morning Steven said we needed to have some pictures taken to send as thank you gifts for contributions to our radio ministry.
His camera was a 35 Millimeter German manufactured Leica. Steve took posed shots of everyone as a group and individually. Then for most of the next two days he kept shooting "Candid" snap shots.
Jackie and I spent most of Tuesday afternoon rehearsing a new, up tempo song "All things Bright and Beautiful". The lyrics were natural. It felt like I was expressing my feelings. He said that the joy of my feelings for the song showed in my voice, my face, and even in the way I moved my body.
That night Sister Ruth started the services. There were two microphones on the platform, one at the pulpit the other close to the piano. She introduced our new song.
I stood close to the second microphone. Jackie performed a light lead in. My voice met the sounds from the keyboard, now softer and more in the back ground. "All things bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small, all things wise and wonderful: the Lord God made them all." The joy that I felt was being fully expressed. "Each little flower that opens, each little bird that sings, God made their glowing colors and made their tiny wings." My eye was scanning the front row. As I started to sing "All things bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small," my eye spotted the cab driver who had driven me to WMTN. His eye met mine. My voice faltered. He winked and waved. I continued the song but it was pretty obvious that something had gone wrong.
Jackie gave me an odd quizzical look, and covered for me by taking the lead with the piano.
When the number was finished he asked, "Are you sick or something. You turned as white as a ghost."
I just nodded "Yes," and left the tent.
Joe was leaning against a car. "Hey Kid, what happened to you?"
I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing, feeling sick to my stomach.
"You've got a great voice. You are going to be famous."
Still, I didn't know what to say.
"Can you get some money for a cab ride? We could go out to that place we were last time."
I shook my head "No." If I had had any money I would have given it to him just to make him disappear.
"Too bad. Maybe your Mom would cough up the loot if I asked her. Think so?"
My body began to tremble in fear. I just stood there not knowing what to do next.
"What's wrong kid. Didn't you like the taste of my cock. Thought you did the way you went after it."
A blur moved past the side of my eye. I heard a thud as Jackie's shoulder barreled into Joe's chest. "John go call the police. This ass hole is going to jail."
Joe started to say something about my being a queer, when Jackie's fist hit him squarely in the nose. Blood started pouring from his face. "What does that make you, the Virgin Mary? Look you little ass hole, John is just a kid and kids make mistakes, but you are looking at 20 years of hard time. John go get the cops."
Joe made a break for it, running as fast as he could. Jackie didn't move. He chuckled, "That's the last we'll see of that ass hole."
He put his arm around my shoulder, trying to calm me down. "You've had enough excitement for the day. Go to bed. We'll talk tomorrow."
Alone in the trailer, I fell to my knees at the side of the bed. "Oh God. Please help me. If I am different from other boys please help me change. I don't want to be a queer."
Tears were flooding from my eyes. Exhausted, I fell asleep, my knees on the floor, my head buried in Jerry's comforter.
When I awoke I was in the bed, the morning sun was already warming the day. Jackie was asleep. I could hear mama moving about.
Quietly I left the bedroom closing the door behind me. "Are you feeling all right Johnny?"
I nodded yes to her.
"You gave me quite a fright last night. It's so unlike you to get sick. That's why I sent Jackie to make certain you were all right.
"He said you were just tired. That it was mostly the constant effort we all put out in the Lord's name. Was he right?"
There was no way that I could explain to her what had really happened, so I accepted Jackie's plausible explanation.
The continuous need for more material required the full time creative effort of everyone. One solution, which evolved as we traveled further and further east was to expand Mother's sermons so that they encompassed music and preaching. It was an elaboration of what we had done with 'Who made the mountains?"
As the months passed, and my participation in the services increased, Jackie provided insightful council. There was an undefinable phenomena that repeatedly occurred during our services; it involved everyone in the tent, both preacher and congregation. Jackie attempted to give it definition.
His contention was that what ever it was could and should be described in scientific terms; what we experienced was part of an over all process. We could replicate each performance if we understood the tools with which we worked.
On the other hand Mama and Brother Gregory referred to it as, "You can feel the power of the Almighty."
There was a difference between the atmosphere when Mama was preaching, and when the Reverend Gregory was behind the podium.
The congregation was an important ingredient for either. Mother brought the people into the aura of the service through music, and thoughtful participation. Ray's was less detectable. Yet when comparing the two, there was a feeling of power that rocked the tent when Ray preached. You could feel it. You could see it as he simply touched people and they fell to the floor. Mother's sermons were based on text from the Bible. She would spend many hours reading and making notes. Also, her sermons were part of a series, leading to a goal not reachable in a single evening. Each day she would provide a list of Bible passages that we should become familiar enough with to use them as lyrics in new musical compositions to be integrated into her projected sermons.
All of this work kept me buried in a sea of activity. I didn't have time to think about those traumatic events in Little Rock and Memphis. The scars were still there, as each night I would sleep on the far side of the bed. I desperately wanted to be sleeping in Jackie's arms, but every time that thought came into my mind, that scene in the Memphis parking lot dynamited the idea from my mind, up rooting the feelings from my body.
We were in South Florida when I turned fifteen. My body had matured. My torso was no longer too short for my legs. The growth spurt had completely consumed the baby fat. My constant hard-ons were now embarrassing as my little cock was no longer little.
I had buried myself in my work as the months sped by. The guilt feelings, and the shame were still scars I would carry with me for the rest of my life. But time allows one to build a protection around those wounds, sheltering them from additional injury, suppressing the knowledge that I was different.
Despite the constant prayer, my feelings of sexuality persisted. Subconsciously I isolated myself even from Jackie. No longer was I moving to his side of the bed seeking his love and warmth. Almost frigidly I kept to my side. Yet, deep inside of me there was a need that could not be suppressed.
One Sunday morning I woke finding myself curled around Jackie. My arm was around his waist. My dick was hard, protruding through my Jockeys, and was resting in the same place as had his that night we slept at the Inn in Little Rock.
His warmth permeated my rod. I just lay there, hoping that he wouldn't wake up, hoping that I could just lay there suspended in time. However, my own equipment would not rest and began to pulse. Each time it did so the head tapped his balls. Within moments I knew there was no turning back. It had been too long since I had been "loved". I had suppressed my needs beyond practicality.
Without specific intent I began to rock back and forth. The feeling was incredible. Then it seemed to me that Jackie was squeezing his legs together, encouraging my play.
Within moments we had abandoned any pretense that we were not conscious of what we were doing. My hand dropped to his cock. My hand wrapped around it. As my own feelings marched up that mountain of pleasure, rushing toward that precipice of passion, my hand was desperately dragging Jackie up that same mountain, getting ready to leap off into space, demanding that we soar together.
Suddenly we were jumping. Our souls, our bodies, our entire beings ignored the existence of our planet, exploding into the "Big Bang" from which all things are conceived. Our magic wands had expelled the essence of creation.
And then it was over.
The passion had dissipated, the logic of normal life returned. My mind was ricocheting between what I had just experienced and the scar covered tissue of my Memphis wound. Jackie turned toward me. He put his arms around me, squeezing me against his breast. "It's about time. I wondered how long it would take you to get over Little Rock."
My substantial emission was flowing off of his leg onto mine. Yet we continued to just lay there.
My singing had become more and more a prominent part of each service. Jackie and I had expanded our repertoire to more than a hundred songs. We had begun to use the log book he kept as a source of "interesting" body movements I should incorporate into my routines. As with the lyrics, once I was totally comfortable with these extra pieces of business, once they became automatic, I then could further express creativity, enhancing and extending.
We were in Homestead Florida when I first noticed that the front row seats were being occupied by teenage girls. In the past it was the older folks, mostly women, who sat close to the stage.
When Jackie and I were alone he would tease me about becoming either "The Teen Idol," or "The Teen Stud". But joking aside, we were facing another problem. My sexuality was in full bloom. When I was horny the girls would practically swoon off of their chairs. If Jackie and I had played around in the morning, the girls were not as caught up in my songs. He observed that all animals, including humans, projected an aura, almost a broadcast of sexual condition. Pop singers like Frank Sinatra built their careers on that aura.
Surreptitiously on three consecutive days I looked at centerfolds of naked girls from Esquire. My cock was so stiff that I had to tuck it under my belt before going on stage. My performances were much better. The entire congregation seemed to be caught up in the sparkle, the creativity, the emotion of my singing.
Then I stopped reading the magazine, and instead got off before crawling out of bed in the mornings.
By comparison my performances lacked luster.
Without discussing this discovery with Jackie, I went back to getting myself turned on just before services started.
After the meetings I was the most vulnerable. My cock was practically demanding that SOMEONE give my instrument some attention. Girls would flock around me, trying to engage me in conversation ... and more. The memories of Memphis and Little Rock stopped me from accepting the many invitations to go for a soda, or to take a walk in the moonlight.
Jackie seemed to sense my vulnerability, and was always by my side. I was never alone. I always had his support. Then later, when we were in bed we practically rushed into each others arms satisfying my highly enhanced need.
We were still in South Florida when Jackie began to make comments to me on how good of a preacher he thought I would be. Soon he was expressing those same thoughts to both Mama and Ray.
He and I began putting together my first sermon, integrating Mama's idea's of music and biblical text. I chose the text. The theme was solely mine.
I had chosen passages from the book of Matthew: [5:3]
We rehearsed both the music and the sermon many times. But it wasn't until we reached Macon, Georgia that Brother Gregory agreed to let me present my first sermon. It was to be on the first Wednesday night which was usually the least attended night of our series of meetings.
Mother introduced me to the congregation, then whispered in my ear that she had something prepared just in case.
Instead of starting to talk, I moved back from the podium, and my voice hit middle C. Then using C, E, G, I sang "Blessed are the poor in spirit."
Just as rehearsed Jackie then created a keyboard run, based on those same three notes, but enhancing them, expanding them into harmonic chords.
I shifted to E Minor without piano, "For theirs is the kingdom of heaven."
Five seconds of silence followed. My fist came down upon the podium as my speaking voice thundered the entire line: "From chapter five of the book of Matthew: Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven."
Again in a minor key, single notes without piano, "Blessed are they that mourn:"
Using the same minor key, Jackie created more complex chords. Then shifting to a major key, again starting with just plain middle C, he created a path for my voice to follow in the last half of that verse, "for they shall be comforted."
Five seconds of silence followed. The audience was expecting my fist and voice to thunder that passage. That did not happen, instead, quite softly I spoke those same words: "Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted."
Using C, E, G, I duplicated the music whose only change was that the line being presented was from the next verse of Matthew: "Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth."
As my voice and fist thundered the third line, I could feel something coming from the congregation. It was not expressed in sound, nor anything else that I could give a name to, yet it was there.
What ever that something was, my own spirit grasped it, devouring its content, and regurgitating it into a more sensitive, and yet more powerful performance of the next passage.
Then softly, "Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled.
Each thundering passage seemed to be enhanced by the congregation and returned ten fold. Still that something was not definable. Yet my body rocked with it, my mind resonated with it. It was as though a chain reaction was taking place which encompassed every one in the tent.
Sister Ruth moved along side of me. My hand touched her shoulder. An explosion occurred as a discharge passed from me to her. I turned toward her, as she collapsed on to the floor. For just a moment during that touch a white flash of light shocked my consciousness. Momentarily my body was drained of energy, then just as suddenly as with the swing of a pendulum, the energy returned, swelling beyond what had been lost, carrying further into the nucleus of this happening "thing".
I have no idea what happened next, as my entire being had been caught up into this force. The happening had a life of its own. It had direction. It had its own agenda. It was not me. It was not one individual. It was every living thing within this tent.
Conscious retention of things happening returned as the meeting drew to a close with the "Call to Sinners".
Sister Ruth and Brother Gregory were standing arm in arm at the edge of the stage. There were three rows of people kneeling.
Totally drained, I sought the support of a chair behind the podium as Mama took control of the service.
I caught a glance from Jackie. It expressed both curiosity and confusion.
A thought flashed across my mind. Had I grasped a unknown tool; like a jack hammer in the hands of someone who couldn't control it? A chill ran up and down my spine.
I was as tight as a guitar string which had been adjusted to the breaking point.
As usual, Jackie and I had retired to the trailer. There was no way that I could go to bed. I was just too UP.
"Let's go for a run." Jackie's eyes showed total surprise.
Usually I looked forward to our night time frolicking in bed to bring my sexual appetite under control. Tonight it was very different. Usually my balls felt full and ready to over flow. But not to night. We passed Mama as we left the trailer, telling her we were going for a run.
The air was crisp and fresh. It was midnight, the only light came from the stars.
Tonight, for a change, I was doing the talking, and Jackie was doing the listening. Occasionally he asked about something that I had not been definitive enough about.
He was convinced that that fleeting thought had been correct. We had encountered an unexpected tool. A tool we had neither the experience or had the understanding to utilize. We needed to define it. We needed to learn how to use it.
Looking back I realize that I had touched the very tool that Reverend Gregory had mastered many years before.
Ray's attitude toward me changed. It was as though I had become his contemporary. I was no longer just Mama's son. According to him, I had truly been touched by the hand of God.
Jackie's attitude also changed. His curiosity had been elevated. He was certain I had been caught up in mass hypnosis of my own making. From now on it would be experimenting at every opportunity, and the keeping of copious notes on cause and affect.
We held services in Macon, Columbia, Raleigh, Virginia Beach, Roanoke, Knoxville, Nashville, then Memphis before returning to Little Rock.
The first Wednesday in every city became "John's" Wednesday. We tried to duplicate the happenings in Macon without success. Despite the broadcast demands for totally new sermons, we tried to duplicate Macon in Raleigh word for word, song for song. It still didn't happen.
Jackie and I were totally frustrated. I had lost my fear of that unknown tool, and was eager to experience it again. Jackie's frustration came from the lack of opportunity to reexamine the "thing".
Ray would not acknowledge that he possessed any special talent or technique; it was simply the hand and power of the Almighty.
It was not possible to prompt the hand of God, it either happened or it didn't. No amount of prayer, no special things could be said or done, which would cause the power to be visited upon the tent.
Jackie didn't buy that for a minute. He was equally certain though that Ray fully believed what he said. But that only meant that Ray didn't know what he had discovered. When the jack hammer came into his hands, he would recognize it and in some small way be able to use it, as a result of experience and expectation.
Looking back, Ray was correct, and Jackie was dead wrong. Without regard to how much you know about the "thing," the "happening," that definable "tool," you cannot use it, unless the other half of the equation is also in resonance with the happening. The people out front are just as much a part of the happening as is the preacher. When the two fall into synchronism the "thing" comes to life. It is resonance; it is truly a living thing with its own life and agenda. It is just as accurate when talking about rock concerts as it is when discussing revival meetings To agree or disagree with Ray's statement that it is the hand of God, you must first define "God".
As we moved from city to city, Jackie and I continued our task of promotion and expansion of our list of stations carrying the "Revival Hour".
Virginia Beach was our first stumbling block. When we had driven from Raleigh to organize our forth coming visit, we found that no radio station would talk with us. None of the churches would cooperate. We found a vacant lot through a real estate agent. Only the pastor at the church of the Four Square Gospel would even meet with us. It was from him that we learned that we had been black balled by a coalition of churches. The Reverend Fullers Old Time Gospel Hour was based in Virginia Beach. They did not welcome the competition. Their radio ministry was in the process of expansion. They had their own preachers to sell the gospel to the radio audience.
We should have taken the hint, as Virginia Beach was a disaster.
Without the advance promotion, without the radio broadcasts, without the cooperation of the local churches, our meetings were less than a quarter full. The total collections at the end of our two week revival meetings was less than half of what it cost us.
I overheard Ray and Mama talking. Ray said that good Christians should help each other spread the gospel. But Jackie, ever the realist, injected that to the Virginia Beach crowd, spreading the gospel was a business, and they didn't welcome the competition.
At the end of the first week Jackie and Mama wanted to call it quits, and move on to Roanoke, Virginia, about 200 Miles south west. Ray refused to give in, saying that the Lord had put Virginia Beach on our itinerary for a reason. The sudden lack of response after such a positive tour left us with a sense of worthlessness. Ray said we should use this as an opportunity to recover some of the lost energy expended during the past weeks. Actually we used the time to polish our presentations.
We all began looking forward to the advance trip to Roanoke. During the past ten months we had developed a routine for staying in contact with Little Rock. Mail, and messages would be sent in care of the radio stations we had added to our network during the advance trips. As soon as the contract had been signed we would telephone Harry or Steven at KLRA.
The telephone call from Roanoke became the high point of this weeks work. Harry said that the radio ministry organization had grown too big for just he and Steven to handle. And as a complete surprise, he said there was more than $200,000.00 sitting in the bank. Jackie was over joyed to have received a telephone call from an old friend who was now the Dean of Boys at a school in California. The friend had been the original organizer of "The Hamlen Brothers". Then the high point for me was that there was a letter from Jerry being forwarded. Another message for me was from Peter wanting to know when I'd be back in Arkansas.
The next two months raced by as our popularity returned, we added more stations to our network, and we were again speaking to an overflowing crowd. The first Wednesday remained mine. It was in Nashville that I thought I detected the "thing". My mind felt heated, like when you are heavy into creating something. I thought I could feel that energy coming from the congregation. I began to concentrate on the how of what was happening, and the "thing" disappeared.
In the past months the event in Memphis had been left far behind, only to resurface as we returned. My apprehension was misplaced as we never again saw Joe. Even though I had not voiced my concerns, I am certain that Jackie knew. My performances were not up to par.
Our last Saturday night began as every other second Saturday. We enjoyed that "shared experience" feeling that had been building for the past two weeks as many of our repeat congregation were drawn closer and closer.
The good Reverend started the service with a lengthy prayer that mentioned every minister and church in the area. Once that chore was out of the way his wife led the singing.
The song was joyful and spirited. A familiar voice clearly sang out from the back row. I met his voice and harmonized. Just as it happened almost a year ago, Jerry and I had become a team. Jerry was here. My eyes searched the back of the tent. That much loved voice was coming from a tall youth dressed in baggy, farm bib overalls. He had changed as much as I had. If it were not for the voice I would not have recognized him.
I glanced at Jackie. He smiled a knowing expression. He knew. He had kept Jerry's presence a surprise.
At the end of that song, I signaled sister Ruth that I was leaving the stage, leaving the music to her and Jackie. I walked along the side of the tent toward the back. Jerry was watching me. I motioned for him to meet me outside.
I couldn't believe my eyes. He had grown. At least six feet tall. And he had filled out. Even through the baggy overalls you could see solid muscle. And his hair had grown. It was shaggy, and while clean and brushed it badly needed cutting. The color was lighter. The outside work on the farm had lightened it; almost blonde. But the smile, that's what almost had me in tears. I wanted to throw my arms around him, kiss him, and tell him just how much I had missed him.
But that would have to wait.
"How long have you been here." Before he had a chance to reply I continued, "How did you get here."
There were tears in his eyes. "I didn't know if you'd have time for me, being as busy as you must be."
My own tears matched his, "Oh, I missed you. You will never know how much."
"At home we always listen to the Revival Hour on KLRA. So when I heard you folks were going to be in Memphis I told Ma that I was going. The Jacksons, down in Clinton were driving into Little Rock, so I caught a ride with them, and then hitched to Memphis. Got here just before the meetin' was to start. Jackie saw me, but he was already on the way to the platform so we didn't do much more than wave."
We had been walking back toward mama's trailer. "How long can you stay?"
"Don't know. We're between crops on the farm, so I guess as long as I wanna."
We went into the trailer, and closed the door. We embraced, squeezing each other as though the world was coming to and end. Then he added, "And I wanna stay for ever."