Cockblocked by Jesus

Based on real life events

This book is based on real life events as recorded in one of my high school diaries. I’ve made sure not to use anyone’s real name without consent, and even then only first names or nicknames. I’ve kept names where I could as a thank you to people who made an impact on my adolescence. That being said, while I’ve done what I could to remain true to the events in the diary and to portray people as in my honest opinion they behaved at that time, this should not be taken as an exact record of events. I’ve made up conversations or gone from memory if it wasn’t recorded in the diary. There are instances where I’ve exaggerated where it would make a scene more interesting and in some sections, though my diary described events, it often didn’t say who else was present. On those occasions I’ve just inserted the people who were most frequently mentioned in my diary at the time (even if it was clearly not them).

For my son, Talon

We are all too easily forgotten. I hope this makes you smile long after I’m gone and when that day comes, remember the only thing I ever wanted of you is that you be yourself.

Live a life without compromise.

Love,

Dad

13 October 2021: Father son time

‘What’s up son?’

Talon moped at the kitchen table, the holographic display of his homework shimmering untouched in front of him. He waited a moment in sullen silence before finally answering.

‘I like a girl.’

My head whipped around from the fridge where I’d been grabbing a beer, ‘Thank the sweet baby Jesus, it’s about time! I was beginning to think you might be gay.’

‘Dad… ’ the word came out in a long unhappy whine.

I stepped away from the fridge and twisted the lid off my beer, taking a long swig as I sat down at the kitchen table next to my son Tal, ‘No seriously, the doctors told us you were a girl at first and I spent a couple of months calling you Harmony when you were still inside your mother. I’ve often wondered if it would have some sort of impact on you down the track, like maybe it had struck home and you’d grow up knitting pink sweaters and singing show tunes. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, gay I mean. But if you start singing show tunes you are no longer my son.’

Tal made a face like I’d killed his cat. I smiled at my own little joke anyway before continuing, ‘Oh c’mon. How can this possibly be a bad thing? Having feelings for anyone is awesome. Besides, you’re a hundred times better looking than me… does this girl know?’

‘That you think I’m good looking?’ he asked in confusion.

‘That you’re into her,’ I responded blandly.

‘Oh,’ he slumped again, ‘I don’t know how to talk to her. I can’t even figure out how to make her notice me.’

I did my best to mask my disappointment and pain. My one strength in life was talking on my feet. The skill had made me friends and even allowed me to grow a business. My father had been the same, but the skill seemed to have skipped a generation with Tal. He was naturally athletic and creative, which was a constant source of pride for me, but there were a lot of places where he was shy and unwilling to take chances. I found it hard to witness when that part of him surfaced, because I wanted him to succeed in all the places that I hadn’t.

‘Talking is easy, it’s everything else that’s hard,’ I said matter-of-factly. ‘But it’s only the first step if you want to get the girl.’

Talon looked up at me with piercing blue eyes under a mop of sandy blonde hair, his interest piqued, ‘Did you have a hard time talking to girls when you were my age?’

I laughed—it was a short-sharp-bark, ‘Talking? No. Knowing when to shut up? Maybe…’ I breathed out a long sigh as I reflected on what my life had been like at Tal’s age. ‘No, my problem was different,’ I said with a swig of my beer. Four letters flashed through my mind—WWJD. I pushed those letters back down into my mind’s emotional warehouse of boxed issues that I tried not to deal with.

Tal sat up fully, clearly wanting to know more, ‘Like what?’

I paused and took a long moment to scrutinise Talon. He was fourteen going on fifteen, and much taller than I’d been at his age. Looking at him you could tell that he was trapped in that awkward stage between boy and man.

Ever since he could talk, I had done everything I could to be one hundred percent honest with him, to make sure that no matter what, he knew he could always rely on his Dad to give it to him straight. It was a quality that had gotten me into trouble many times with both his mother and stepmother, as they felt I had a tendency to tell him too much, too soon. But I loved telling him my past misadventures, and he loved hearing them. Mostly.

I leaned forward conspiratorially, ‘You really want to hear this? I mean, am I talking to a man, or a boy here?’

A small smile spread across Tal’s face. He was already aware that whatever I would say next would be something he probably wasn’t supposed to hear.

I returned the smile, ‘Okay, but don’t tell your mothers.’

19 September 1993: Becky Blowjobs

‘I was wondering if you’d like me to suck your dick?’

The deck of cards I’d been carefully thumbing through flipped out of my hands across the table and into my lap, the half-played game of solitaire crumbling under the onslaught of red and black on white. I looked at the chaos spread on the flat surface of Becky’s dining room table, a million thoughts crashing into each other in a haphazard parody of those same playing cards.

My name is Daniel Kroker. I’ve just turned fifteen, and while my girlfriend and I had been dating a month, I had no plan for this scenario…

Okay that’s not quite right. I had a plan, I always had a plan. I just hadn’t factored this into the plan. While all of my schemes involved convincing a girl that the sexual deviancy I wanted her to perform was in fact her idea, I had never considered a scenario where it might actually be her idea.

So now here we are. Game time.

I struggled to think of something to say, a meaningful response to what ultimately should be every teenage boy’s dream come true. But I was stuck, nothing came out my mouth; my dick was slowly getting hard under the table, hogging all the resources required for rational thought. I willed my penis to relinquish the blood it had requisitioned from my brain without success. Part of me wailed in indecision.

See, I’m a Christian in a family of seriously devout Christians, and every action that may end in any form of fun is largely put on hold until I can ask myself ‘WWJD’ (What Would Jesus Do?). WWJD has neither helped with my popularity, my will to live, or my ongoing attempts at initiating a sex life, but has successfully been ingrained into every moral decision I make, including this one.

Becky continued to wash dishes, her eyes firmly glued to the plate as she wiped a sponge over it. Her little sister was having a bath in the next room, her parents were out. I couldn’t tell if this was anywhere near as awkward for her as it was for me. I still hadn’t said anything. I could feel my heart beating.

Should I say yes? How long is her sister going to be in the bath? What if her parents come home? How would it even work? How did this come up during the dishes?

I had never been a participant in a blowjob, hell I’d never even seen sex outside of movies on the TV, and I don’t mean porn. But hey… I masturbated—a lot, so theoretically I had a small amount of experience on the mechanics of this situation. I realised that some people might argue that masturbation fell outside of the WWJD mantra, but in my opinion Jesus probably masturbated constantly, or at least that’s what I told myself. I mean he hung out with prostitutes and everything so surely he had to be doing something to keep himself in check. I didn’t know any other Christians that agreed with me on this topic but nor did I trot my particular philosophical position out for debate at church either; besides, masturbation was the only thing stopping me from killing myself and almost everyone else I knew. And even then, when I masturbated, I would shame-spiral horribly afterwards and pray for forgiveness. I prayed a lot.

Focus Dan.

Okay, it was time to cover the logistics of this scenario. If I said yes, what were the chances I could cum before her parents returned and her sister finished her bath? Masturbation could take a while. I had to lie constantly to my parents about why I’d been in the bathroom so long. I prayed for forgiveness for that too.

My brain took a moment to gauge the status of my penis. My dick by now was a separate living entity, empowered by the promise of anything remotely sexual—it had will, influence and an evil form of subtle reasoning to make sure it got what it wanted. My brain and penis conferred at the speed of thought and the official readings came back. My brain assured me that judging by how hard my cock was throbbing right now, if a girl actually put my penis in any part of her body I could successfully orgasm in a measurement of time so fast that it hadn’t been identified by science yet.

Timing, would not be an issue in this instance.

But WW—

Before I could even finish the thought, my dick reached out with its newfound powers and smothered the question like a bed-ridden cripple being suffocated with a soft pillow over their face. I felt an Obi-Wan like moment pass from my penis to my brain:

‘This is not the thought you are looking for…’

My heart and penis throbbed in time now—they were one. My brain was not far behind, but still had enough of a foothold to throw up a roadblock. It occurred to me, that there may still be one more logistical issue I needed to overcome.

Though I was by no means an expert on the topic, I was fairly certain that my penis might be considered enormous in standard white people penis circles. I had come to this conclusion for two reasons.

A) For the last few years I had been getting changed with the other guys for swim class, so I had seen a lot of other dicks.

Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t like I went out of my way to see cock, but my penis had become the subject of conversation among other people in the change rooms. It started out innocent, no dick measuring comparisons at all. I was the first guy to get pubes in my primary school which is what started the class interest in my penis. Everyone wanted to see what starting pubes looked like so they knew what they had to look forward to. I have always been missing whatever part of the brain is supposed to make you shy, and gladly allowed everyone to crowd around and compare notes. This went on for some time, kind of a week-by-week comparison, which I was fine with until some of the lads told some of the girls. Possibly all of the girls.

I didn’t realise that my penis had moved from ‘locker room anomaly’ to ‘general topic of classroom conversation’ until Faith, or ‘the scrag-faced bitch’ as I called her, asked if she could see my dick during lunch break. She even offered me the standard ‘I’ll show you mine, If you show me yours’ deal, but even back then the WWJD was a clear mindset. In my mind, Jesus was not going to be down with showing his penis to girls, even if they asked politely and offered a fair trade. Besides, I hated Faith. I was definitely not showing my member for the first time to a girl I hated.

Which brought us to…

B) My Dad loved to talk about my dick. It’s possible that my Dad was even more proud of my dick than I am.

My Dad frequently lamented how embarrassed he was by his penis. I had seen it, at a guess it was six inches even though circumcised. I had explained that this is average but no matter what I told him, he always felt it fell short of the mark. He constantly talked about the burden of struggling through life with a small penis and how he spent my mother’s entire pregnancy praying to God that I would be hung like a donkey. He had five sons, I’m the youngest, and he said that the day I was born was the proudest of his life. When I was born, his first view of me, was me facedown, arse in the air towards him. And he knew what sex I was without the nurse turning me over because of the size of the member hanging down.

His heart had filled with pride when he saw the look on the nurse’s face. At last, he had a