Older preacher/younger non-believer
He's the only reason I go to church.
He's the preacher, the main man. Eric is around sixty, the kindest man you'll ever meet.
I'm not concerned with his kindness, really. I'm more focused on his body and what can come out of it.
His height is average, but he's a big guy. A massive belly strains against the fabric of his button-up shirt, unfortunately with an undershirt. I can't see his ass while he's giving the sermon, but I know it's just the same, two globes pushing against khaki material.
His hair is white and neat, his jaw clean shaven, rare green eyes behind square glasses.
It started a few months ago. I knew it was wrong, but I used to sneak into ice cream socials held by churches to get free food.
I'd met Eric and some other people, finding them very nice compared to things I've heard about Christians.
Eric didn't drive me insane upon first glance. I liked the belly and the butt, he was so nice and positive and smiley, but that was it.
I overheard him talking to an old couple with his wife. He gestured to the food on his plate with his fork, chuckling. "Only bad thing about socials is the food gives me gas for about two days."
I was sitting about a yard away, but my ears caught the statement and locked it into memory. Farts were one of my favorite things. The smells and sounds, the jokes and manliness and attitude of it.
Eric's wife groaned. "I suppose I'll be sleeping in the other room."
Oh, that made it even better. Her statement meant his farts smelled bad. Not only that, but it also implied that he wasn't afraid to let loose, at least at home.
After the service, I waited for the restroom to clear out before going in. There was only one stall and one urinal. I had to shit, so I took the stall. I started, everything coming out just fine. I was folding toilet paper to wipe my ass when someone walked in.
As they stepped up to the urinal, I recognized the pants and shoes.
I imagined him exposing the soft bottom part of his belly, holding it up so he could get his dick out.
I froze, listening close as he began to pee a heavy, strong stream.
A fart came out, bigger than I expected. It made a noise between a jackhammer and a foghorn, deep and powerful, echoing off the walls and floor for five seconds.
He didn't say anything, only released a long, satisfied sigh, though he had to know someone was in here.
Eric parted from the urinal, washed his hands, and left. I wanted to come out of the stall to see if there was a smell, but more than that, I wanted to relieve the pulsating boner his epic blast had caused.
And I did it right there, in the restroom of a church.
Now we're at his house. Everyone from the church is here for a big Easter dinner held by Eric and his wife. She was so lucky, having been in the presence of his farts for who knows how many years.
Their house is big enough to fit our entire congregation. I've never been in his home before, and I'm silently freaking out a little.
I ask where the bathroom is and go in. It's clean, knick knacks on a small wall shelf. I smile at a statuette of a funny little man bent over beside a ceramic car, his ass hanging out of his jeans. A sign posted beside the man says "free gas". Another indicator of Eric's farting prowess.
I open the closet, where sits the clothes hamper. It's crazy, but I start digging through it, pulling out a pair of white underwear that would only fit Eric's big ass. I press the seat of them to my nose.
Sweat, the spicy scent of warm balls, and old farts with a meaty, shitty quality. I sniff every trace of it out of the underwear, rubbing the hardness in my crotch over my pants.
Someone knocks. I jump, throw the underwear into the hamper, and shut the closet.
I tuck my erection under my waistband and open the door.
It's Eric, the preacher whose underwear I'd just sniffed the hell out of.
"See you found the bathroom." He's always smiling. His top few buttons are undone, showing his undershirt and the start of white hair on his chest. I wish he would untuck his shirts and at least let the belly peek out. "Everything come out okay?"
"Yes. Thank you." I laugh. Time for some encouragement. My eyes wander back to the "free gas" statuette, and I point to it. "I like that thing. It's funny."
His face lights up with surprise and amusement. "My wife got that for me. It's fitting, if you know what I mean. I actually came here to fart. Tried to go outside, but there's people there, too."
"Let it rip," I try, hoping he will.
He grins, eyes sparkling behind his glasses. He pushes the door shut and extends an index finger to me. "Pull my finger."
I can't believe he's doing this. I smile, close one hand around the finger, and pull.
The resulting fart makes me jump, super loud and deep and powerful like the one from the church restroom. The main difference is, this time I can smell it. It smells like more farts than one, the thickest, grossest blend of spoiled meat in summer and soft shit.
The fart stops after around 5 seconds, also like the church restroom one.
I'm laughing. "Wow, Preacher Eric. That was a good one."
"It was, wasn't it?" Eric laughs, too, making no effort to break up the smell or apologize. Hot. "Just, uh, keep this to yourself. Farts are the funniest thing in the world, but not everyone would like that from their preacher."
"Hey, you're always free to rip around me." I pat him on the shoulder. I want to rip his shirt off, tear off his pants, and bury my face in that deliciously smelly fat ass. This little promise will have to suffice for now.
"Thanks." He pats my shoulder back, his hot laugh sounding again. "I'll keep that in mind."
He leaves the bathroom. His fart lingers, and I take deep breaths of it.
