“Sister Jamie,” Jason said, ‘can I help you?”

She looked around her nervously. “Can I come in for a moment, Brother Jason?”

“Sure,” Jason said, and waved her into the room before closing the door behind her.

The slim young lady, whose breasts were small but pert, sat on the bed. She wore a white dress that accentuated her slim waist and round butt. The hem fell down past her knees, leaving her toned shapely calves on display. She folded her hands in her lap, and looked about her nervously. Her hair was the flapper style, cut short and wavy, worn tight along her head and the sides of her face. She also wore a string of pearls, a modest nod to the current fashion, which usually featured three long pearl necklaces reaching down as far at the stomach.

“I have a problem.” Sister Jamie looked up briefly at Jason, then suddenly averted her eyes and looked down at her hands in her lap.

Jason figured she was going to ask him for money. After all, he was the only person in the rescue mission who had any kind of income, and Jason tried to figure whether or not he should loan her anything, or how to refuse her request for money.

“Lust,” she said in a soft voice, and didn’t look up. “I’m such a sinner.”

“No, no,” Jason reassured her, and lay a hand on hers as he sat beside her on the bed. “We all struggle with lust. It’s only human.”

“You too, Brother Jason?” she asked incredulously, and looked up at him briefly. “I always thought of you as more spiritual.”

“Uh, well, yeah, me too.” Jason gave her hand a squeeze. He was the last person on earth anybody should be calling spiritual. “What, uh, exactly, is your problem?”

“I can’t tell you! It’s so shameful!” She shook her head, and the pearls at her neckline clattered.

He put his arm around her. “Maybe it would help if I start. I often struggle with desires to kiss a woman’s breasts, and suck on her nipples.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” then Jason dropped his voice to speak confidentially. “I also have a desire to use my tongue on a woman’s labia.”

Sister Jamie gulped, and turned red. “I sometimes want to touch a man’s…thing. But that’s fornication, which is such a big sin.”

“Actually, just touching” Jason began, “or licking, or sucking, is not fornication. As long as there’s no penetration, meaning the penis doesn’t go inside you, there’s no fornication.”

She let out a long exhalation, and her shoulders relaxed. “That’s such a relief, Brother Jason. I felt like such a dirty sinner.”

Jason put an arm around her shoulder and gave her a hug. He grabbed her slender hand, noting that she painted her fingernails blue, and placed her hand on the sausage running down the inside of his thigh. She rested her hand on his column of flesh inside his pants for a moment, then began to run her hand up and down its length, as though measuring it.

“It’s so big, and fat,” she said in amazement as she tried to curl her fingers around his heavy penis, which was now a round tube outlined against his slacks as it swelled with blood and pressed against the fabric. She kept running her fingers up and down his column, and focused on the dome at the end of it.

“Would you like to see?” Jason asked, and when she nodded yes, he unfastened his belt, unzipped his pants, then slipped his pants and briefs down his thighs, so that his fat cock lay exposed, running along his inner thigh, and beginning to stir like a python rousing itself.

Her slender fingers now ran along the skin of his cock, sliding up and down it, carefully feeling the blue vein bulging along the top of it, and circling the reddened cap at the end. “It’s so soft, but hard at the same time.”

Jason rose up and reached under the mattress, where he fished out a bottle of coconut oil, which he opened and handed to her. “Go ahead, slather it all over your hands and my tool.”

She followed his instructions, and poured the oil into her palm, and rubbed her hands together so that they glistened. She poured a little bit more oil directly onto his erection, and worked to coat it from his balls all the way up to the mushroom cap at the end. Jason coached her to squeeze and twist her hands as she ran them up the shaft. He moaned with pleasure, and she suddenly stopped.

“No, no, that feels good, keep on doing what you’re doing. That feels great,” Jason told her.

She resumed her ministrations, working her hands up and down his shaft, as Jason gave her tips, on how to concentrate at the spot where the frenulum lay, and how to be firm without squeezing too hard, how to add a little gentle massage of his balls, rolling them around as she jerked his rod. Sister Jamie was soon doing a masterful job, moving up and down his greasy pole, twisting and squeezing, coaxing his shaft to spew its gluey load.

“I’m getting close,” Jason said between clenched teeth, feeling the pleasure build in his shaft, in his balls, in his prostate deep inside him.

“Close?” she asked innocently.

“I’m going to start shooting my cum when I orgasm,” Jason told her, and found his hand slipping between her slim thighs as she slowly stroked his stiffness.

“Are you going to make a mess?”

Jason found himself unable to speak, nearing a point where words were beyond his ability to articulate them.

She reached up and hiked up her skirt, which almost caused Jason to erupt. He drew even closer to the point of no return when she slipped off her panties, rolling them off of her plump thighs and down over her slim calves. His gaze was drawn to the few brown hairs at her muff, as she brought her panties and laid them beneath Jason’s cockhead, before resuming her stroking. The feeling of her soft, silky panties on his thigh, and his slick erection sliding over them, coupled with the sight of her bare thighs and muff caused Jason to moan, and began shooting his thick milk onto her panties.

“Don’t stop,” Jason grunted as she stroked and squeezed, wringing out his glutinous load, which formed a viscous puddle of jism on her white panties.

She kept stroking him, and he found himself rising up off the bed as the pleasure became deliriously unbearable. Still, he spurted onto her panties, and her delicate hands kept working his tool, drawing out every last drop of spunk, until he shouted and flopped back onto the bed.

Like a master, she kept manipulating his oily shaft, but lightened her touch, so that it twitched and spat out the last bits of semen.

“Do you feel better now, Brother Jason?” she asked. She brought her soaked panties up to her face to study them, before setting them onto the bed beside her.

“Yes, much better,’ he sighed, and felt as though he were ready to sleep for the entire winter.

“You know, I don’t feel dirty or anything,” she confessed.

“That’s because you’ve done nothing wrong, and you’re helping someone else feel better,” Jason told her.

“You’re leaking,” she said, and ran her thumb over the clear liquid oozing from Jason’s slit.

He jumped from the tickling sensation, and rolled over, dropping onto the floor so that his head lay between Sister Jamie’s slender thighs. “Now it’s your turn.”

* * *

“I’m really proud of you for paying off your credit card debt,” Jason’s grandfather announced, biting into his burrito. He and his grandson were at Taco Bell as a mini celebration.

“Want my tortillas?” Jason asked. “I’m on a high-fat, low carb diet, and the meat, sour cream, and guacamole are perfect for the diet—it’s just that the tortillas are killers.”

His grandfather laughed, then reached over and stabbed several of Jason’s tortillas and slung them onto his plate. “Yeah, that’s the way it works, isn’t? The best-tasting stuff is always the worst for you. I think if you take something deadly, like cyanide, it’s got to be the most delicious-tasting thing you’ve ever had.”

“And the last,” Jason added.

“But it would probably be worth it. If I ever got something terminal, had a few months to live, I’d cook something full of arsenic, strychnine, and cyanide, and savor every bite.” His grandpa laughed as he squirted some hot sauce onto his burrito.

Jason scooped up some of his “taco” which he was eating with a plastic spoon. “I’ve got a former student, she works at Lucinda’s, her family’s Mexican store in Garnet. She tends to be on the heavy side. She told me she can only have two tortillas with dinner, otherwise she puts on weight.”

“You’re like all of the men in the family,” his grandfather told him. “Your great-grandpa was skinny as a rail in high school, but put on weight and became a diabetic. Take care of yourself now, ‘cause you don’t want to get to where you’re too old and too sick to work out.”

“The game is helping me on that score,” Jason said as he poured another hot sauce packet over his taco bowl. “It’s such a motivator. I’m up to twenty-five minutes jumping rope non-stop. I’m doing push-ups and crunches all day, and I’m lifting weights at the school gym. I don’t know why I was paying a gym membership when I can work out at the school for free.”

“It’s not buying stuff that’s the problem. People think minimalism means doing without, living like a monk with only a robe and a toothbrush, and using baking soda for toothpaste. The key is just to get rid of the constant stream of non-stop purchases, buying crap you don’t need and don’t even really want. People get hooked on that little high that comes from buying something, but that happiness never lasts.” Grandpa looked at his spork. “You know, I’m tired of eating with cheap utensils, drinking out of chipped glasses, and eating off of cracked plastic plates. I’m glad I have nice silverware in solid metal, a crystal drinking glass, and a nice plate. I only need two of each, in case I have company. Until I threw it all out, I had seventeen or twenty-three of each, all of it shitty and mis-matched.”

Jason got up and refilled his water, then returned to their booth.

“They screw you on the sodas,” his grandpa informed him. “Like the movie theaters, that’s their real profit margin, in the sodas. It’s just sugar, artificial flavoring and coloring, and water with gas in it. It costs them next to nothing, and the markup is crazy.”

“Frankly, I’m proud of myself for paying off my credit card,” Jason confessed. “It’s such a relief to have that off of my shoulders. Less than two thousand dollars, and it was a struggle to pay it off. I thought, what about those people who are tens of thousands of dollars in debt?”

“When I was in high school, no band was bigger than KISS, and it wasn’t until many years later that I realized the bass player and founder of the band, Gene Simmons, was a financial genius. Here’s what he had to say about credit cards.” At this point Jason’s grandfather reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a notebook, then flipped through the pages. “Credit cards are, by and large, for suckers. Pay for your purchases in cash. If you don’t have the cash, here’s a big hint: Don’t buy it.”

“I always assumed that every rock star was a drug-using moron, but one of the guys in Queen has a degree in astronomy, for example.”

“True, and Gene Simmons has been sober his whole life, as has Ted Nugent, despite his wild-man reputation.” Then his grandpa changed the topic. “Speaking of thousands of dollars in debt, we’ll work on your student loan debt next. Here’s the paper work for loan forgiveness. Have your principal sign it, then mail it in. Once we get that paid off, you’re almost home free.”

Jason went to the restroom and washed his hands before returning to the booth and picking up the folder. “You know, it’s almost as rewarding to pay off debt in real life as it is in The Midas Game.”