Edit: 11/18/2014: The awesome Moondustbeam drew a pic to go with this fic! IT IS BEAUTIFUL PLEASE LOOK. But it probably will make more sense after you read the fic. BUT DON'T FORGET: tinypic view . php?pic=2s8lfg3&s=8#.VGre48t0xjo (take out the spaces)
This fic is about extremely religious!America and sodomite!England. Kind of like an AU, but those are the only things different. (I wrote these versions of them in two other fics, but this one is unrelated to those. I just really like writing them like this. Plus it seemed fitting for Christmas, eh?)
I need to include a warning that America says some very un-PC, offensive, and homophobic things. Don't read if you are offended easily. Also I'm going to warn for this being TOTAL CRACK and yes, there is male lactation. There is sexual content but it is mostly for lulz … it's not very sexy.
Written in America's POV.
X
T'was the night before Christmas, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, except for England who showed up drunk and naked at my house.
Yeah, I rhymed 'house' with 'house.' WHAT OF IT?
I was in a hurry. Fixing my tie and making Tony's dinner before I had to leave. I had his bowl (it looks like a dog food bowl but it's an alien bowl) out and was about to dump the dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets I made him into it.
"TONNNNNY!" I yelled up the stairs. "Dinner's rea—"
DING DONG!
That was the doorbell ringing. I wouldn't just yell 'ding dong' out of nowhere, as that means penis and I don't like to talk about penises.
"Oh, I hope it isn't Christmas carolers," I said as I went to open it, still with the nugget pan in my hand. Not that I don't enjoy Christmas music, because I DO! I love how Christian holidays have like a million songs and other religions have almost none. Jews have what, like two? Haha. And that's counting Adam Sandler's song. But anyway. I didn't want it to be Christmas carolers because it's always weird when people come caroling at your house. I mean, you just stand there awkwardly as they all stare at you and sing. It's weird :/
But it wasn't Christmas carolers. It was drunk, naked England, as I have established earlier, and you were probably looking forward to that part because you are a sinful pervert, aren't you? Don't worry, I ain't gonna judge. That's God's job. You can explain to HIM why you lust after countries when you die a sad, lonely death after accidentally choking yourself to get off while reading stories like this in your room or whatever it is you kids do with your Smartphones nowadays.
Anyway, as soon as I opened the door, chicken nuggets went EVERYWHERRRRRE.
"WHAAA!" I yelped, tossing the pan up in shock. That's why chicken nuggets went EVERYWHERRRRE.
England had been looking all smug and smirking and all that, but then when he saw the nugs go everywhere, he looked confused and swayed a little as he leaned against the doorframe. "Wha the … what the hell was that?" he slurred.
"Wh-wh-where are your clothes? !" I asked, as that was a more pressing matter than chicken nuggets. It wasn't a big deal. I'll just pick them up and wipe the dust off. Tony won't know the difference. FIVE SECOND RULE!
"I had six beers tonight," slurred England.
"THAT DOESN'T ANSWER MY QUESTION!"
England had nothing on but one sock and his eyelids were hung at different lengths. He had to lean onto my doorframe for balance because he kept swaying. This was even more awkward than Christmas carolers! If only they were here to tell England don we now our gay apparel. England needed some apparel. And if he wore it it'd definitely be gay, as he is a godless sodomite.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, looking everywhere but at England and his jutting peninsula. "It's Christmas Eve!"
"I was in town for a World Meeting," said England drunkly. "Figured I'd come by … give you your present …"
"What World Meeting? It's Christmas! There ain't no meetings around Christmas!"
"Uh …"
"It's always 'World Meetings,' isn't it? ! You always say you're in town ~COINCIDENTALLY~ for a 'World Meeting' whatever the heck that is, and you need to see me. Can't you think of a better excuse? !"
"Not after six beers."
England was always trying to get into my pants. He's a gay, you see. Well, he claims to like women too, but in my book if you're a dude and you like other dudes, it doesn't matter how many women you've been with too, you're a gay. And my book is the Bible so I know I'm right. Anyway, England has always been especially smitten with me. But he can never have me, as I am STRAIGHT. Thus he constantly tries to RECRUIT me, a hobby of the gays, but he never wins of course as I am totally hetero, you guys. But my rejecting him only makes England want me more. It's a vicious cycle. A gay cycle (note: that is different from a bicycle.) (Bicycles aren't actually bi.) (Though if they were, they'd be gay cycles, and if you're confused, read the beginning of this paragraph again.)
"I came to give you your present," drawled England. "Sorry I didn' wrap it. I unwrapped it."
"That's not how presents work, England. See what alcohol does to your brain? The one who gives the present wraps it, and the one who receives the present unwraps i — OH HEAVENS YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT YOUR BODY, AREN'T YOU?"
England did one of those hiccup burp things where for a second you think you're gonna throw up a little but then you don't. "Yeah."
"EEEWWW!"
I wanted an iPad Mini for Christmas, not another man's naked body! Finland was way off this year.
"You can do whatever you want," said England. "Top, bottom, gentle, rough, it doesn' matter to me. It's your gift. Do whatever you fancy."
Sooooo I slammed the door on him.
"Oi, don' leave me out here to freeze!" yelled England from the other side.
"Don't you have some gay guy to warm you up with his big gay orgy or whatever it is you gays do? I'm sure that's hot." Wait. "I MEANT HOT LIKE TEMPERATURE WISE NOT HOT LIKE I LIKE IT AUUGGH—"
"Do you even know what an orgy is?"
"SOMETHING GAY!"
"Just lemme in," he said, still all slurred. "… 's not very Christian of you to leave your fellow man out to freeze in the cold, is it?"
GRRR! England got me on that one. This was one of those situations where I had to ask WHAT WOULD JESUS DO? Not another dude, obviously. But I guess he wouldn't let even a sodomite freeze. Only burn. (Genesis 19.) (Yes, that was a reference to Sodom and Gomorrah.) (Biblical BURRRRN!)
So out of the goodness of my hetero heart, I had to let England inside. I promptly wrapped him and his naked indecency, as Jesus would, with a Snuggie, so that I would not have to look at it.
I made him sit down on the couch after I laid down some newspaper. I didn't want his gay butt germs on my couch. Lord only knows where that butt has been! (With other men.)
"Gosh darn it to heck, this is gonna make me late," I said, standing over him. "I was already in a rush … I don't really have time to drop you off at your hotel …"
"I didn' get a hotel," said England. "I only planned on spendin' the night with you."
"Well, joke's on you because you know how I'm spending the night?"
"Losin' your virginity? You can lose it on the couch right now."
"No, England! The only thing you're supposed to lose on the couch is the remote! Like, in between the cushions, I mean. Maybe food or change, too. What the heck, you distracted me! I was gonna say I'm spending the night AT CHURCH!"
"Tha's a weird place to wanna lose your virginity, but hey I'm not picky."
"I'M NOT LOSING MY VIRGINITY AT CHURCH!" I yelled. "I'm going for the Christmas Eve service, GOSH!"
"I'll give you Christmas Eve service, heh heh … urp—" England burped. "Ugh, tasted a little vomit with that one."
"England, you're drunk. Go home."
What was I gonna do? The Christmas Eve church service was gonna start soon, and I needed to hurry up and get there because it's always packed on Christmas Eve. All those only-go-on-Christmas-and-Easter people. You FAIR WEATHER CHRISTIANS. God judges you for only going on the holidays, you know. And so does the rest of the church. Because I hate that it's hard to find a seat during this time of because of YOU PEOPLE. I like at least one seat between me and the next person, OKAY? What was I talking about … oh yeah. But now I wasn't gonna make it in time because of England. I could either leave him in my house alone to do God knows what like sniff my undies or pleasure himself by sticking my shampoo bottle up his butt or whatever gays do, or risk sending him off drunk in a cab into the world, not knowing if he would make it to a hotel safely.
WHAT DO? ?
… Jesus? Why do you never answer that question? :(
NO WAIT. Then I was struck with BRILLIANCE. I needed to go to church, and I have a sinful sodomite in my house who NEEDS church …
"England, you can come WITH me!" I said happily. Then my smile disappeared because I realized I said come. "Oop—"
"To church? Nah, no thanks. If I show up staggerin' and bladdered to church, I don' think God will be too pleased with me."
"Well, no, but I don't think he was too pleased when you did all that gay stuff either," I said. "Like when I was leaving for a World Meeting — oh gosh, now you got me doing it too. Anyway, I was leaving and Tony and Whaley were like 'Hey we made you a video! Watch it on the plane!' and I was like OKEY THANKS! And then you were all weird and like 'Hey I made you a video too. You probably shouldn't watch it on the plane' and I was like :I (Don't ask how I pronounced a poker face. I'll let that be a Christmas mystery.) But then later I DID watch it on the plane and it was a SEXUALLY EXPLICIT VIDEO!"
:O
"I don't remember that," said England.
I hesitated. "Um. Now that I think about it, maybe I am confusing something with a commercial."
"They show someone watchin' a sexually explicit video on a commercial?"
"No … not that part … just the other — GRRR STOP QUESTIONING ME! Besides, even if you haven't done THAT specifically, you've done other gay stuff, of which God didn't like."
"Hey." England was smirking at me, slowly lowering the Snuggie. His chest was now visible. "I really like that suit you have on. It's rare to see you dress nicely. Not that I wouldn't do you in sweats and trainers, but somethin' about that suit really turns me on …"
And then he was rubbing his nipple.
"Hey, knock that off!" I scolded. "I'm dressed up because I'm going to CHURCH! You're supposed to dress up for church because God judges you, even your clothes, and he has a very picky and critical eye for fashion that would put even the most judgmental sixteen year old popular girl in class to shame, and because he wants only the best in heaven, which is a gated community."
"… the hell was that? Are you drunk too?"
"No. Now hurry and get dressed. I'll let you borrow some of my clothes. Please don't have gay thoughts while wearing them."
So I got England some clothes, fed Tony his chicken nuggets, and fed Whaley too. He eats krill and stuff. Did you know whales DON'T eat through the blowhole? That was a lesson I learned very quickly. That's why it took me so long to become friends with him. But live and learn! :)
I was rushing around doing all my last minute things. You know, making sure the doors were locked, making sure I had my wallet and keys, taking my last pee pee trip, that sorta thing. Then I realized I was forgetting something very important!
"I'm forgetting something very important!" I realized. "SANTA!"
"Nnnhuh?" England startled awake on the couch as I rushed into the living room. He hadn't put any clothes on yet.
"I might not get back until late! What if Santa comes while I'm gone?"
"Urrgh … it's like 6:30 …" slurred England.
England always knows the time, even when drunk. Because he has a well-known, well-loved big clock. (I said CLOCK so don't get too excited.)
"So? The service is at seven and lasts an hour, plus add a little extra time to talk to people afterwards and pretend I care about the stupid boring crap in their lives like their kid got an A in basket weaving class at college, plus the drive home, it'll be almost NINE O'CLOCK GOOD LAWD! That's almost my bedtime!"
I know Santa (okay, Finland) is only supposed to come when you're asleep because he knows when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake so I better be good for goodness sake but remember, he's got a LOT of houses to go to. Do the math, and he's gotta start somewhere. The first people he does are gonna get their presents early. Those people might be ME. And what if he comes while I'm gone and I haven't left out milk and cookies? He's gonna be seriously CHEESED OFF.
And if he's cheesed he might not give me an iPad Mini. And I NEED an iPad Mini. There's just soooo many things I need to do that are too big for my iPhone and too small for my iPad. A couple inches makes a big difference! Ask England, I'm sure he knows about inches making a difference, but in a gay way because he's a sodomite.
"OH NOOOOOO!" I shrieked from the kitchen. "It's a travesty!"
"What is?" asked England.
"I'M OUT OF MILK AND COOKIES!"
D:
It was a nightmare! It's Christmas Eve, I'm running late for church, and now I'm out of milk and cookies for Santa! I never should have eaten Captain Crunch Berries for dinner last night. No wait, it was the OOPS ALL BERRIES kind. Yeah, they make a Captain Crunch Berries that's ALL BERRIES! Mmm, yeah. Turns your poop green though. Anyway, I had like three bowls of that stuff last night for dinner, and used up all the milk! As for the cookies, well I did have some. But then I ate them all watching a marathon of old Christmas classics like Rudolph and Santa Claus is Coming to Town and Prancer. Y'all remember Prancer? That was a good movie.
"I hope some place will be open for me to buy some more," I said. "Like a convenience store. They're open Christmas Eve, right? Because they're all run by Muslims and they don't celebrate Christmas. They celebrate Ramada Inn."
"Ohh …" sighed England. "I've had too many beers to listen to your nonsense tonight …"
"Six isn't that many." England is a lightweight. I don't even drink as I am a teetertotter, but I bet even I could handle six beers without being that drunk.
"Six American beers isn't that many," he scoffed. "Six British beers is. Are. Whatever, I've had too many to properly conjugate tonight."
I was worried. I was already late — how was I gonna have time to find a place to buy milk and cookies too? And if I bought them on the way home from church, I risked Santa coming while I was gone and missing him. I needed to figure something out and FAST! The clock was ticking! I tried to do quick do-I-have-time-for-this math in my head.
"Quick, England, what time is it?"
"Hold on, let me check Big Ben." I was in the kitchen so I don't know for sure, but judging from the rustling sound, I'm pretty sure he fondled himself for a moment. "6:34."
"Ohhh, there's no way I'll make it in time! Santa might come while I'm gone and there won't be milk and cookies out!"
"So?"
"SO? ! SO YOU LEAVE OUT CARROTS FOR THE EASTER BUNNY, ALSO CARROTS FOR THE REINDEER, AND MILK AND COOKIES FOR SANTA! DUH!"
Everyone knows that! You GOTTA leave that stuff out. That's how you thank them for their service to our country. SEMPER FI, you guys. SEMPER FI.
"CHRISTMAS IS RUUUUUUINED!" I exclaimed. Then started softly weeping. :'D
"Are … are you cryin'?" I heard England ask from the other room. "Over bloody milk and biscuits?"
"NO OF COURSE NOT!" I yelled back. "I'm crying over milk and cookies because I'm not a dog or Hardee's."
"Don't cry." That voice sounded much closer and I opened my eyes and England was in the kitchen now, without the Snuggie. He wasn't wearing anything but that one sock. It was argyle for all of the many of you wondering. "I can get you milk and cookies."
I sniffled. "You can?" I asked hopefully, not looking at his danger zone.
"Yes."
"Oh, thank you, England! Thank you so much! I knew deep, deep down, even deeper than your penis-loving prostate, there was a shred of goodness in you somewhere! I'd hug you if I didn't want to get penis on me."
"Heh, you're welcome. I can make them through a spell."
… oh.
I sighed and rolled my eyes. "Oh, don't even bother. I thought you were being serious."
When will England learn? Magic isn't real, except when it's by Jesus or on a school bus. The magic school bus. Good show.
But England's magic was NOT a good show. England's magic was SATANIC. All non-Jesus magic is. Because by trying to do magic, you are implying that you have better powers than Jesus. Jesus doesn't like anyone trying to one-up him. That's just rude. That's why all witchcraft and the occult and Harry Potter are all considered BAD by the church.
"I can do it," said England. "Give me a chance. It's a simple spell … it'll only take a few minutes …"
"No witchcraft in my house! WITCHCRAFT IS BAD! That chick from Bewitched did witchcraft and look what happened to her. They replaced her husband with some completely random guy and put a spell on her so she would never tell the difference. I don't want that to happen with me."
"I'll prove to you I can do it."
"AUUUGH!" I threw up my hands and went to fix my tie.
I went to the bathroom to use the mirror. I was never very good with ties. I'd ask England to do it for me but I don't want to give him an excuse to touch me. He'd make it all awkward and gay.
He always does. Every little chance he gets, he takes. Little things like taking just a little bit too long to pick up that pen he dropped on the floor so I can see his butt, or asking me if his breath stinks so he has a chance to breathe his hot breath on me, or purposely going to the bathroom at the same time as me so he can use the urinal next to me and discretely check out my package. Everyone knows you should put at least one urinal between you and the guy next to you! Just like seats at the church. And you DON'T check out other guys' packages! You either look up, or at what YOU'RE doing. Definitely not to the side. This is GUY CODE. All guys know it, DUH! England just wanted to take a peek. But don't worry, boys and girls. I shielded my wiener with my other hand so he couldn't see.
Eventually he got less and less subtle. Now whenever he gets drunk he's very open about it. He outright asks for sex. And I'm like PSSSH NO.
He always whines like, "But whyyy? It'll feel good, I promise."
And I'm always like, "Because being gay is a sin and makes baby Jesus cry."
And England is like, "It's fun though."
And I'm like, "Of course you think that. You were born a sodomite."
And England's like, "I thought you believed homosexuality was a choice?"
And I'm like, "Uh …"
And England's like, "Just give it a chance."
And I'm like, "I can't have sex with you because I'm STRAIGHT!"
And he's like, "If you're straight how come you've never even once dated a woman?"
And l'm like, "Shut up, England."
It never ends! England never seems to understand that I'm totally one hundred percent hetero. If he was a chick, things might have been a little different. MIGHT. I'd want a proper relationship. Take him courting. I mean HER. Because in this very hypothetical situation England is a woman. Anyway, yeah, I'd take her courting and do WHOLESOME things like share ice cream floats and hold hands walking down the beach and have picnics in the park and there would be nothing gay about that. And I'd go no further than a sweet, chaste kiss on his — HER — mouth because we would save it for our wedding night, like Jesus wants. Mmmyep. That's what I'd do.
But none of that matters because England is a dude soooo yeah.
I gave up on the tie and went back into the kitchen. It was a hot mess.
SMOKE EVERYWHERE! Why didn't my smoke alarms go off? There was so much smoke it was like God was smiting Sodom and Gomorrah right in my kitchen.
"England!" I yelled. "Did you try to bake cookies? ! You are both a liar AND a horrible baker!" I assumed it was the cookies but who knows. England's so bad at cooking it could have been from the milk, LOL.
I grabbed opened a window and started to fan the smoke. When it started to clear, I saw England lying on the floor, facing the wall. He wasn't moving.
"GOOD LAWD!" I exclaimed, rushing over to him. "You're gonna make me even later for church!"
England stirred, and he rolled over toward me, onto his back. And then I jumped back.
"WHOA!" I yelled.
"Nggh …" England groaned. His eyes slowly opened but he didn't see what I saw because he didn't react yet.
You wanna know what I saw? BOOBS
No, no, I am sorry. That was not proper of me to say. He had breasts. Two big — like really big, like D cups at least — breasts on his chest. Everything else seemed the same. He was still very much a dude. I took a quick, VERY QUICK, glance down between his legs just to make sure. Yes, he still had a winky. AND breasts!
I looked away, as it seemed indecent to look at them. "England, what did you do? !"
"Whaddaya mean?" England shakily sat up. When he did, his boobs (sorry, can't help but say that word!) rose up with him, and he noticed them. "The hell? Oh, fuck, I really cocked up this spell, didn't I …"
I threw a hand towel over England's chest. His breasts were so big it barely covered them both :/ "You did what? !"
England didn't hold the towel and it fell into his lap. I bet he did that on purpose … "I was tryin' to make a spell for milk and cookies — honest. I was really tryin'. But since I have had six beers …"
"What are you saying? That you were so drunk you messed up the spell and somehow accidentally gave yourself two full, firm, perky D-cups?"
"… why did you describe them like that …"
"Because I don't believe you! Who could make such a mistake? !"
"I told you I had six beers."
"I don't care how drunk you are! No one could mess up THAT bad! You did this … ON PURPOSE!"
DUN DUN DUN
(Drama.)
"I swear, I didn't," said England. "It was an honest mistake. Though now that I think about it, it wasn't too bad of an idea, seeing as how you keep staring at them."
"WHAT? !" I snapped. "I-I-I am not staring at them. I tried to cover them up like a good Christian."
"Wait a minute, you don't even believe in magic. How can you accuse me of fucking up the spell on purpose if you don't even believe spells work?"
:/
That was quite a quandary.
"Well … obviously …" I started, thinking very hard. "Um … well … SATAN … must have had something to do with this. Y-yeah. SATAN. Satan is very real, and he can do magic too, but it is BAD magic, like making breasts on a dude. Thanks a lot for inviting Satan into my kitchen, England!"
England pointed to his face. "My eyes are up here, America," he said, smirking.
"I-I wasn't looking, GOSH!"
"It's okay. You can look. I don't mind."
"N-no, I refuse," I said, looking all around the kitchen, everywhere except England's chest.
"Hell, you can even touch them," he said.
"EEEW, NO!"
England was giving me that look. That come hither, come do me look. All seductive, a smirk, lowered eyelids (okay, one was a little lower than the other, as he was still pretty drunk.) He inhaled deeply on purpose, making his breasts slowly rise up and then fall again, and I only saw it out of the corner of my eye, I swear!
"Fine," he said finally. "I guess I'll have to do it then."
I was confused. "Huh? Do what?" I looked and England was cupping one of his breasts with his hand. It was so big it didn't fit in his hand. "Oh-ohhh," I said shakily.
"Like what you see?" England teased. He gave his breast a squeeze. "Your face looks a little red. Could be embarrassment, I suppose. Or from the smoke inhalation. But I'd like to think you are enjoying this." He squeezed harder. And something went squirting out.
Yes, from his nipple!
"Jiminy Christmas!" I exclaimed. "What was that? !"
"Uh …" England looked just as shocked as me.
We both looked down at the liquid on the floor. It was white. But it wasn't … you know. C to the u to the m.
It was thinner and didn't smell as bad. Not that I know what that sinful stuff smells like, as I have neither had sex with other men nor pleasured myself as those are both terrible sins, but ya know. I've heard it smells less than pleasant, especially if you have a poor diet, like with lots of junk food. But I wouldn't know.
"Oh my God, it's milk," said England, quite surprised. "I gave myself not only tits but lactating ones."
"You better not crap cookies."
"I see now how I made this mistake." England seemed to be really pondering this. "The spells for these two things are very similar, and since I have had six beers, I couldn't remember it properly."
"Well, reverse the spell!"
Pondering England was suddenly gone and replaced with drunk, pervert England again. "Oh no. Not yet. Not now that I see what effect it has on you."
"It has no effect!"
England suddenly stood up and took a step closer to me. He was right in front of me. "I think it does. I think I may be witnessing you being … turned on. I've always wondered what that looked like." He cupped his breasts again, one in each hand. "I'd love for you to touch them," he said, SEXUALLY. "And squeeze them." As he said that, he gave them a little squeeze, and milk dribbled out of each of them, trickling down his skin.
"Th-that's disgusting," I said, taking a step back. "Guys aren't turned on by breast milk. I know you don't know what straight guys like because you're a gay, but we think it's gross."
"Touch them."
"What! No way."
"I want you to touch them and tell me what you think."
"I-I'm gonna be late for church …" I needed church. Pretty bad.
England did a little hop in place. Just to make them bounce. Why did I watch them bounce? ! "It'll just take a second."
The milk had stopped flowing, but his breasts were still a little wet from where it had trickled down but not yet completely dried.
England caught me staring. "Lick it off."
"NOOOOO!"
And then I ran out of the room because then I REALLY needed church.
X
I was late. Really late. By the time I managed to convince England to put away his boobs and get dressed, the service had already started. We hopped out of the car and raced toward the door, hoping there were some seats left.
… or at least I did. England was taking his sweet time.
"Hurry up!" I yelled back at him.
England walked with a hand on his back. "I'm coming, I'm coming, Christ," he said, taking the Lord's name in vain. "I'm not used to this extra weight. It's a bit hard on my back."
I'd made England wear layers. A tank top, a regular shirt, a sweater, and then a coat over that. Like a big puffy coat. I couldn't risk good, church-going folk seeing a dude with a bodacious rack. What the … did I just refer to England's chest as a 'bodacious rack'? MY GOSH. What has become of me? Forgive me, Jesus :(
England was starting to sober up, thank the LAWD, but he wasn't completely there. He did a lot of whining in the car. Stupid crap like 'I don't wanna go to church' and 'Slow down, you're driving too fast' and 'I wish you'd reach up under this shitty snowman sweater and squeeze my leaking tit.' That sorta stuff.
When I got to the church, the peoples at the front informed me that I was too late. They were full! D:
"Nooo, please, I have to go to church!" I pleaded. "Can't I just stand in the back? Please? !"
"It's 7:45," said the good church man usher.
"7:47," corrected England, nonchalantly adjusting himself.
"Yeah — and the service is over at eight," said the church guy. "There's not much point now. It's almost over."
"B-but …!" I started, getting panicky. "It's Christmas Eve! I HAVE to go to church! If I don't I'll be a really crappy Christian! Even fair weather Christians go on Christmas Eve! A REAL one definitely has to go!"
"I know. But I'm sorry," said the guy, shrugging. "But you're too late."
"What if you come at nine?" said another guy, also an usher. "We're having a live nativity scene then."
"REALLY? !"
Let me fill in for all you HEATHENS who might not know what a live nativity scene is. It's when real peoples, like you and me but probably not you, you heathen, dress up as all our favorite characters from the greatest story ever told — the story of how Jesus was born. There's Mary and Joseph and the three Wise Men and a bunch of animals and the guy who runs the inn who wouldn't make room for the Mother of God, that jerk. You think Holiday Inn would have pulled that crap? Oh no. Anyway, they all dress up and act it out and people can come and watch and it's cool.
"No, I don't think we're gonna be able to do it tonight," said first church guy.
"Why not?" asked the other.
"Both our Joseph and one of the wise men called out sick," he replied. "They both have pneumonia from standing out in the cold all the other nights we did this."
"NOOOO!" I shouted.
"That, and for some reason, the mother of our baby Jesus decided she didn't want him to be outside in the cold for hours either!"
"That selfish harlot," I scoffed.
"Yeah, I don't see how we can do the scene without three members of the cast," agreed first church guy.
"No, wait!" I said suddenly. "What if we do it?" I motioned to me and England. England looked annoyed when I did that. "We can be Joseph and the wise guy!"
"You two?" They seemed to be thinking about it.
"Yeah! I mean, it's mostly just standing around anyway. We can do it! We can stand around!"
"But what about the baby Jesus?" asked the usher.
"Hmmm." Now that was a bit tougher. Neither me nor England was a baby nor had a baby. And we didn't know anyone who had a baby. At least not well enough to be like 'Hey, can we borrow your baby and let it be out in a cold December night in a pile of hay for a couple hours? Kaythanks.'
"We could use a doll," suggested one of the ushers.
"I don't know …" said the other.
"No way! That's lame!" I said. "Using a fake Jesus? That's like saying Jesus is fake! And if he's fake who makes the sun go up in the morning and down at night? And the tides come in and go out? Science? PSHHH PLEASE. It's Jesus."
"By God he's right!" said one of the ushers.
"God …" said England. But I don't think he was praying because he rolled his eyes like he was annoyed.
"We can't use a doll!" I said. "It's called a LIVE nativity scene! How can we call it that if we use a doll for the most important character? I mean, if you use a doll, you might as well call it a puppet show! And while I do love puppet shows with all my heart and soul, they are not the reason for the season."
"You're right," they agreed. "But where will we find a baby at this hour?"
"Don't you worry, my good church man. I promise to you that I will find a spare baby, and the show will go on!" I vowed.
"But where will you find one?"
"I'm not sure yet, but I'll figure it out. God will find a way."
They both nodded solemnly and England sighed, annoyed.
X
"There's gotta be a baby around here somewhere," I said as I drove. "We have an hour. We can do this."
England padded his coat like he was looking for something in it. But I knew he didn't have a baby in there so I didn't care. "You're an idiot."
"Wanting to be a part of church and save the live nativity scene on Christmas Eve is not stupid. OOH! We should go to a hospital. There's always babies in hospitals, right?"
"You can't take a newborn, Christ. Do you even listen to yourself before you talk?" England took out a lighter and a box of cigarettes.
"You get meaner when you get sober, Engl — HEY NO SMOKING IN MY CAR!" I yelled at him. "I hate smoking! Put away your cancer sticks, SMOKER!"
England flicked on the lighter and held up a cigarette to it. "No."
"What do you mean NO? ! It's MY car! Smoking is disgusting! I hate the smell and it makes my eyes water!"
"Well, I'm almost sober now and realizing how shitty of a night this is. So you either drive somewhere to get some more liquor, or you let me smoke. Or fuck me. Any one of those three things to take the edge off."
"NOOOOOO!" I whined. "All three of those things are SINS! And GROSS! Especially the buttsex one. But ESPECIALLY the smoking!"
England took a drag. "Quit whinging."
"NOOOOOOOOO! Put it OOOOOOUUUUT!"
"You are really — oh, fuck!" Suddenly England gasped and the cigarette flew right out of his mouth! Haha, I win.
My eyes kept moving between the road in front of me and him in the passenger seat. He looked very shocked. "What's wrong with you?" I asked.
England winced and grabbed his chest. "Shit …"
"Don't worry, England!" I said. "I was already on the way to the hospital! Hang in there!"
"No, no, I'm fine," said England. And then he smirked. "Just took me by surprise, is all."
"Huh? What did?"
"It's a curious thing." England was getting weird. I kept my eyes on the road so it wasn't too awkward. "Did you know that when a mother hears her baby's cry, her milk automatically lets down? It flows on its own. A miracle of the human body, really. It reacts so swiftly to the baby's need."
No, I didn't know that :I
*THE MOAR I KNOW* (though I didn't want to.)
"In fact, this reaction is so strong," continued England in a serious creeper way. "That any noise resembling a baby's cry makes their milk flow."
Crap …
"And that includes your incessant WHINING."
D:
"Are you saying my whining about you smoking made you make milk all over yourself? !"
"Yes," replied England, who looked way too happy about this. "Keep it up and it's going to reach your tacky snowman sweater."
"NOOOOO I LOVE THAT SWEATER!"
England shuddered. "Yeah, that did it. I felt more come out."
"UH OH SPHAGETTIOOOOOOS WHAT DID I DOOOOOO? !"
"And there's some more."
D:
England shivered. "It's warm when it comes out but chills quickly." He took another drag of a new cigarette. "I should take off these layers so I don't get these clothes wet."
"DON'T STRIP IN MY CAAAAAAR!"
"Thanks for another trickle. Wow, you don't learn very fast, do you?"
I pulled over on the side of the road. I put the car in park but still stared straight ahead.
"Oh good, you stopped the car," said England, unzipping the coat. "Now you can help lick up all this milk."
I still stared dead ahead, eyes wide.
England pulled the snowman sweater over his head. "I think they've gotten even bigger. It seems they swell a little bit when you whine. They're swollen with milk."
I still said nothing.
England took off the shirt under that. Nothing was left except the tank top, which was wet and since it was white, you could see pretty much everything. It was stretched to the max because his breasts were so big and his nips were hard. "Suck them, America," England said in a husky, sexful voice. "Suck the milk out of me."
And then I quickly opened the door and jumped out of the car.
Okay, fell. I meant to jump but I was in a hurry and yeah.
"OOF!" I yelped, hitting the ground.
"Come on, America." England leaned over his seat so he could see me on the ground. "Why won't you just fool around with me just once?"
I quickly jumped up and dusted off my suit. "I told you! Jesus wouldn't like it! I'm a dude, you're a dude, and I'm a STRAIGHT HETERO!"
I accidentally started to say that sentence in the tune of that old Goodburger bit. Does anyone remember that? With Kenan and Kel from All That? 'I'm a dude, he's a dude, she's a dude, we're all dudes, HEY!" Y'all remember that, right? … no? Just me? Okay …
"But it's Christmas Eve." I think England is the first person to ever say that line while rubbing one of their nipples seductively. At least, I sure hope so. "Christmas Eve, America."
Dear Lord. Do people usually have sex on Christmas? Like … is that a thing? GOOD GOLLY GOSH! If it is, you people should be ashamed of yourselves! This is the day of our dear savior's birth who came to Earth by divine miracle to eventually die for our sins and you're using that day to FORNICATE WITH YOUR GENITALS? Shame on you! At least wait until Boxing Day. I mean, that's not even a real holiday. That's why I don't celebrate it. Kwanzaa too.
"NO MEANS NO!" I yelled. "I chose to be straight, okay? Because that's what Jesus likes. It's Adam and Eve not Adam and STEVE! Can you imagine what like would be like if it was Adam and Steve? No, you can't, because Steve Jobs hadn't been born yet."
"But my tits aren't male," said England. "They're like a woman's. If you like them, you're still straight, aren't you?"
:I
Mind=blown.
But not really in a good way. It just made me ... even more confused.
"But they're on a dude's body!" I said. "If I have sex with you, I'd still be gay, no matter how nice your rack is."
"Is it pretty nice, isn't it?"
"Y—LOOK WE DON'T HAVE TIME FOR THIS."
The church was counting on me for the Christmas Eve service to go on, and England's over here trying to distract me with his VOLUPTUOUS BREASTS. Ain't nobody got time for that!
"Just feel them," said England. "I bet you'd like it."
"I bet you'd like it."
"We don't have to do full anal if you don't want to. Just some touching and fooling around — that'd be good enough for me. I can still get off on that."
"UGGGGHHH!" I exclaimed. "I don't wanna hear anymore gay talk! Don't you know Jesus is listening? It's almost his birthday. He doesn't wanna hear about ANAL on his b-day." (The b in b-day doesn't stand for BUTTSEX, you guys.) "Just because you like getting things like dildos and prostate massagers for YOUR birthday doesn't mean Jesus does. Did the three wise guys bring baby Jesus gay stuff like that for Christmas? No, they didn't. They brought gold and myrrh and frankincense, whatever the heck those last two a—WHAT THE PSALMS!"
While I was explaining the greatest story ever told (Jesus baby's first Christmas!), England took off his shirt! The last one all the way! So then I got another look at his huge, wet, sopping breasts.
"JESUS JOSEPH AND MARY AND OTHER WHORE MARY!" I exclaimed, blocking my eyes with my hand. "Don't just whip them things out like that!"
"Like that tiny wet shirt left much to the imagination." England pinched one of his nipples, wincing slightly. A little milk dribbled out. "Now you can lick it up."
I slammed the door shut. Then I fell to my knees.
"OH LAWD!" I began praying. "Save England's soul! He desperately needs your holy and divine wisdom and guidance and cock-blocking abilities! He needs your help to see the STRAIGHT way! Show him that being straight isn't that bad! We may not have Lady Gaga concerts or get the joy of antiquing, but we can get married in a real God-fearing church like good folks, and we never lose at games like Smear the Queer, and we don't have to worry about liking Twilight, and all kinds of other perks! Like getting into heaven, probably should have said that first. ANYWAY! Like Count Chocula cereal, England has messed with the occult and is now covered in milk. Please dry him with the towel of your great divine love and cure him of his incredible gayness, so that I may find a baby, and save Christmas, AMEN. Oh and P.S. tell your son HAPPY BIRTHDAY for me! AMEN for real."
I opened my eyes but didn't move. "… England?" I called very cautiously.
England rolled down my window. He was sitting in the driver's seat now. "What?"
"Are you still gay?"
England blew out a long line of cigarette smoke. "I told you I'm not gay."
"OH MY GOD DID GOD ACTUALLY ANSWER MY PRAYERS FOR ONCE? !" :'D
"I'm pansexual." Another drag of the cigarette. "We've had this discussion before."
"You're attracted to PANS? UGHH! I knew you were kinky to a sinfully DEVIANT level but JEEZ! What other kitchenware gets you hot and bothered? Remind me to keep you away from my toaster. I put toast in those slots and I don't want anything else in there …"
"That's not what pansexual means—"
"DEAR GOD!" I wasn't using God's name in vain so please stop fretting, boys and girls. I was praying again. "It didn't work! Not only is he still gay but now he has unnatural urges for kitchenware! Now I can never make Texas Toast without looking at the pan and thinking about two gay dudes sticking their penises in each other at the same time. Don't tell me that's physically impossible. That's what scientists said about a virgin getting pregnant and that didn't stop you, did it, God? BUT PLEASE! You've got to do something! Or gee golly heck, I'll do it! JUST GIVE ME A SIGN! ANYTHING!"
And then a divine miracle happened! A car drove by us. With its high beams on. Now normally that cheeses me off because it hurts my eyes and if I'm driving I do it right back to them like HA! An eye for an eye, you meanie. But this time it was okey because it illuminated something right down the road I hadn't seen.
A CHURCH.
:D
No, wait …
A CATHOLIC CHURCH
D:
Ugh, Catholics. I'm not a fan. They think they're so much better than us Protestants just because they got like Saints and Popes and junk. But GUESS WHAT. That ain't even in the Bible! You can't just MAKE UP STUFF FROM THE BIBLE! You can't just add stuff! Then it's just like Bible fanfiction! They should do what us Protestants do instead, and just pick and choose what parts of the Bible we like.
No, wait …
IT WAS A NUNNERY
Full of NUNS!
"England …" I started, staring off at the nun place. "I … I think God is saying you should give up your life of debauchery and ding-a-ling taking, and become a nun." It seemed strange, but if you think about it, it kinda makes sense. Nuns don't have sex or marry. It's called being Celebrex. If England was a nun, he'd have to stop doing gay things, because nuns don't get none. That's why they're called nuns.
"Hell no," said England. "How do you even know that's what God meant? I bet he meant for you to be a nun."
"ME? !" I scoffed. "I'm already a virgin! What more does God want from me? !"
"Hmm, you're right. Disregard that coincidence and get back in the car." A pause. "I'm sorry, I misspoke. I mean to say get in the back of the car. There's more room."
"There's no such thing as coincidences! God is trying to tell me something. BUT WHAT?"
"I bet he's trying to say if you don't hurry up and lose your virginity you will end up like a nun."
England didn't know what he was talking about. He doesn't have a personal relationship with God like I do. Us Christians call it that, but don't worry, it's strictly platonic. I really don't think God was trying to tell me I would end up like a nun. But even if I did, that's better than ending up gay. Nuns can fly. I've never seen a gay do that.
"Come on, England," I said, opening up the car door.
England moved back into the passenger seat. "Where are we going now?"
"To the nunnery. I have to figure this out."
"Damnit, that means I have to put my shirt back on."
"Probably."
X
To be continued!