Jesus the athlete moved with her easily. He aroused her with his long burrowing tongue. He pulled her hair aside and drew her clit into his mouth. “It’s too much.” She squirmed away from the intensity. He rolled it on his tongue till he felt it rise. Margery’s moan was low and fluty, faint and continuous; the folds of her cunt slid against each other and her pinched nipples made her hips tip forwards. She rejoiced in the absence of fear. He opened his pores to let sweat pass through; a trickle rolled down his chest and dropped onto her belly. A low vibration commenced as her body generated pleasure. He watched her womb roil the surface of her stomach and he lapped up his accomplishments.

Margery’s senses were entirely awake in lush satisfaction, a subtle fire in the darkness of a sleeping world though daylight fell plainly in their room. Her hands roamed across his skin; he pulled back; she was groaning; her foaming juice equaled a lucent sweetness. Pleasure burned through all expression allowing a different truth to appear, their faces bare as china dolls. Every second they thought, This could be it; he did not make a sound except one note as a deep quaver swept through his ass and balls and traveled the length of his cock. They held absolutely still at the first spurt. The strongest pleasure that can exist occurred in Jesus’s cock: ecstasy was not parsed out in spasms; for all time sperm spills steadily down the shaft.

Satisfied desire set her in a world where satisfied desire was the only possibility. Being with Jesus was like breathing underwater or flying: the granting of a childhood wish for ease in a different medium. She lay facing him, her red hair fanned out behind. Arms and legs draped over each other, lips touched in ardent peace. Margery adjusted so they breathed together. Inside the moment she held him forever, at rest and in continuous flight.

Around the rustic bed stood angels in court dress, their faces aware as lightning. Their baggy sleeves were drawn at the wrist and they echoed Margery and Jesus, passing around the jubilant life. Her body smelled like his. She thought that confirmed an undecaying union. She heard neighbors’ shutters bang, the rap of unripe figs dropping on the garden flags, and she watched the light soften into long afternoon while Jesus slept. Wings surrounded them. She felt unbelievably lucky.

The first cool breeze, Jesus said, “The more men want you, the better I dress you.” He promised Margery a white cotton mantle and veil. She drew close and sought eye contact; he had a persistent cough she wanted to nurse. He was moved by her devotion but also bewildered and hemmed in. He said with a cough, “I don’t have a cough.” Then, “Except when I’m with you.” He cocked his pointed face as though viewing her from afar.