Worship was superb. The music was as solemn as the voice of the female chorister who led us was angelic. Our massive pipe organ provided a fitting accompaniment to the familiar tunes, and the perfection of the new multi-million-naira church building’s acoustics made sure all the ears within its walls were blessed with harmony. Almost every member of the more than one thousand strong congregations stood with their eyes closed and their slowly waving hands raised towards heaven. Some had tears, of joy or submission, streaming down their faces as they sang, and some were on their knees on the plush rug paying obeisance to the Almighty.

I was one of the very few who chose to sit, comfortably, and probably the only one who kept his eyes open to boot.

It was another thirty minutes before our father in the Lord, Bishop Abidemi Fabuyide, better known as Bishop Fabs, mounted the shiny marble pulpit and bid us stop. His cute American accent washed over us courtesy of the state-of-the-art public address system.

“Let no eye remain open in the presence of tha Lawd. It is time for prayers.”

Immediately my mind switched dimensions. As the choruses of “Amen” and “Halleluyah” rained around my physical presence, I was three hours back in time, spread-eagle on an expansive bed in a darkened hotel room in Victoria Island, being gently plied in turns by a latex clad finger and a warm tongue.

The cuffs on my wrists clinked delightfully every time I moved, and while I couldn’t see a thing because of the blindfold, my body was shamelessly awake to every wave of sensation traveling across my oil slicked body. A full body massage with aromatic oils was how we started, before ‘Daddy’ slapped fancy cuffs on me, flipped me face down on the rubber sheets and went in orally down below. Once in a while he would stop the rim job and smack my behind with his hand or the plastic paddle, then continue with his teasing.

After a while, he stopped and I felt the mattress move slightly as he got off. For a couple of seconds, only the sound of the air-conditioner accompanied the excited beating of my heart, until I heard him snort a couple of times. Daddy only hit the powder when he was ready to ride, so I knew what was coming.

I was ready for him when he pushed a pillow under my pelvis and arranged for me to achieve the right arch. Goosebumps broke out all over me as the heated oil dribbled pleasurably down my ass crack and back. An experienced finger made sure I was properly lubed up, and then came that brief moment of pain mixed with pleasure when he gingerly forced himself inside. Inch by agonizing inch he moved until we were finally pelvis to pelvis.

That was when the real fun began.

Somebody touched my arm, bringing me back to the present with a start. I opened my eyes and saw that it was one of the ushers, going by the lapel on his jacket, although his face wasn’t a familiar one.

“Bible, sir,” he whispered, bending close and offering me a brown leather covered specimen. I never came to church with anything aside from my phone and he must have thought I was in need as everybody else was busy flipping pages.

“Second Samuel, Chapter seven, verse fourteen to fifteen,” he finished with a smile as I accepted his offering.

I nodded my thanks then watched him continue down the aisle, looking left and right for another devotee in similar need. When he was out of sight I sat back and concentrated on the regal figure ‘Daddy’ cut as he rose from his special seat and majestically walked to the pulpit to feed God’s words to his hungry flock.

I smiled to myself because I knew like me, Bishop Fabs couldn’t wait for the service to be over.

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