Luke and Blow Jobs in Church Basements

Running Toward Hope, Chapter 1

pexels.com

It all started when Pastor Tim jerked open the door to the basement men’s room and caught us.

“I knew it, Luke Thomas!” he spits at me as he hauls me up off my knees by the hair. I can feel a couple clumps pull right outta my scalp.

Luke Thomas is what everybody calls me when I’m in trouble. You can just keep calling me LT, though. That’s the nickname Grampa gave me before he died.

I sure was in serious trouble that time! I guess getting caught giving a blow job in the church bathroom where people usually change clothes to get baptized is about as big a trouble as anyone could expect, huh?

It’s not like I’m some sex maniac, I swear. It just happened like that.

Brad, that’s the guy I was blowing? He ain’t even gay, or at least he says he’s not. You could fool me sometimes. Like the times he kissed me, even using his tongue. Or the times he held onto me really tight before we started doing stuff, or how he like nuzzled his nose up in my neck.

Kinda hard to believe he’s straight after all that.

I guess Brad’s why I’m here, though. Why I’m in New York and not back at Butler Community College in Council Grove.

I was gonna get an associate’s in IT. Get a real job. My classes were OK too. Like, I’m not the smartest guy in the world, but I’m smart enough, you know?

Hey Bobby, you see that guy over there? The one in the suit? Is he looking at you or me? I can’t tell. He keeps staring.

Guess we’ll find out.

Brad and me, we went to this ACE school, see, like this private Baptist school our church ran. Most of the church kids went and some other kids too, but it was real small.

Pastor Tim, he was the youth pastor for the church and the dean of boys for the high school age kids. Becky, she’s his wife, she was in charge of the older girls. She was really nice, though, not like Pastor Tim. He’s only nice on the outside.

Took me a long time to figure that out.

Hey, he’s looking at you for sure, that guy.

Anyways … Me and Brad.

We played soccer, right? For the high school. Didn’t have a football team cause it cost too much money. Mostly, we played other Christian schools from right around Council Grove, but sometimes we went to tournaments and had to stay in a motel overnight.

Pastor Tim drove the bus and Becky led activities. That’s what they called it. Kept us busy. We sang songs. Onward Christian Soldiers was our school fight song. That was our team name. The Christian Soldiers. Yeah, when I was 16 I thought it was cool.

Fuck me, man.

So, I already know I’m gay, right? We’re on this bus singing Christian songs and playing games, and Brad’s sitting next to me, and it’s like all I can do is smell his shampoo and see how fucking cute he is. Every time Pastor Tim drives over a big bump, Brad bounces into me and the skin on my arms goes all goosebumps.

Then after one really big bump, he splatters against me and pretends he’s all hurt and can’t move. I swear to God I got a hard-on. Talk about embarrassed! I was afraid he could feel it, but he didn’t seem to notice, so it was cool.

We get to the motel and Pastor Tim hustles us all into the lobby and starts hollering out room assignments. Four boys in each room. He tells me I’m in with these three kids in ninth grade. I should “set an example for them.”

Brad’s all pissed. He’s like, “Darn, you and me were supposed to be roomies!”

He marches up to to Pastor Tim and I see him arguing a little and then calling Greg over, this other junior. So, pretty soon it works out that me and Brad are roomies, just the two of us, and Greg gets to baby sit the ninth graders.

I didn’t have anything to to with it, I swear! It was all Brad’s idea.

We go swimming after dinner in the pool, then Brad and me play cards for a while in our room. Rummy. We hide the deck real quick when Tim and Becky come in to say goodnight. Cards aren’t allowed. It’s a sin to gamble. Or even pretend to.

Yeah, they were Brad’s cards.

So,we get ready for bed and Brad puts on these like short pajama bottoms and nothing else. I mean no shirt. I wear sweats. It’s kinda cold, really.

There’s just the one bed, so I’m all nervous and out of breath. My stomach feels funny. I don’t know how I’m gonna be able to sleep. I mean, being so close to him. His breath makes my skin tingle.

We get in and talk for a while but pretty soon my eyes get heavy and I drift in and out. I guess I can sleep after all.

I don’t realize it when I wake up again. It’s so gradual.

I feel so good. So warm. Brad smells so sweet. He’s in my arms. What a great dream.

Only it isn’t a dream.

The more awake I get, the more I realize how real this is.

Then.

Oh. My. God.

I feel it. Him. His.

He’s pressed into me, you know. All hard. And I’m pushing back and I didn’t even realize I was doing it.

He whispers hot into my ear. “You’re gay.”

His breath is so sexy I shudder all over and my hips thrust all on their own. I hear Brad moan in the back of his throat.

That was our first time. If I had to do it all over again, I’d answer him. I’d say, “Yeah, I am. Looks like you are too.”

I didn’t say a word, though. Just wrapped my legs around him and let my body talk for me. His body had some stuff to say too and I bet you anything it wasn’t lying.

Hey, look! Here he comes. That guy. He’s got two drinks in his hands. One of them’s for you. Listen real quick. Remember what I told you.

He blows you, it’s 150. You blow him, it’s 250. It’s 350 to fuck him, and you don’t get fucked. Period. Got that?

Yeah, I’m gonna be fine. I gotta a thing or two up my sleeve. Don’t worry about me, Bobby. Do you. If I don’t find a trick, I’ll crash at Marissa’s place. Big deal if her boyfriend fucks me again.

I can take it.


This has been the first installment of a serialized short story dealing with homelessness among LGBTQ youth. Over forty percent of homeless youth in the United States identify as LGBTQ. That’s extraordinary given that queer youth don’t make up more than 3 to 7 percent of the general youth population.

While the details of this story are fictional, I’m writing from my heart and from my experiences. I’ve known these kids. I’ve been there in many ways. The issues are very real and very serious. I’m fictionalizing the stories of real people.

I’m telling their stories because they need somebody to speak for them.

Next chapter: