User:Erastus/The Pastor
{{#ifeq: User |User| The Pastor | The Pastor}}[[Title::{{#ifeq: User |User| The Pastor | The Pastor}}| ]]
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{{#ifeq: {{#ifeq: User |User| Erastus Centaur | Erastus Centaur}} | |
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Author: [[User:{{#ifeq: User |User| Erastus | Erastus}}|{{#ifeq: User |User| Erastus | Erastus}}]] [[Author::{{#ifeq: User |User| Erastus | Erastus}}| ]]
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{{#ifeq: {{#ifeq: User |User| Erastus | Erastus}} | |
Author: {{#ifeq: User |User| Erastus Centaur | Erastus Centaur}} |
Author: [[User:{{#ifeq: User |User| Erastus | Erastus}}|{{#ifeq: User |User| Erastus Centaur | Erastus Centaur}}]] [[Author::{{#ifeq: User |User| Erastus Centaur | Erastus Centaur}}| ]]
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{{#ifeq: {{#ifeq: User |User| Erastus Centaur | Erastus Centaur}} | |
{{#ifeq: {{#ifeq: User |User| Erastus | Erastus}} | | Authors: ' |
Authors: [[User:{{#ifeq: User |User| Erastus | Erastus}}|{{#ifeq: User |User| Erastus | Erastus}}]]
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{{#ifeq: {{#ifeq: User |User| Erastus | Erastus}} | |
Authors: {{#ifeq: User |User| Erastus Centaur | Erastus Centaur}} |
Author: [[User:{{#ifeq: User |User| Erastus | Erastus}}|{{#ifeq: User |User| Erastus Centaur | Erastus Centaur}}]]
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}} {{#if:| — see [[:Category:{{{category}}}|other works by this author]]}}
Warning: adult situations
"You must be pure before the Lord!" Pastor Danforth Symms was
hitting his stride as he brought his sermon to a close. "You must
not let any abomination hide within you! God will bring all such
vileness to the light of day! He will not let evil go unpunished!"
An intense itching began in the center of his back, in that spot
that is hard to reach in good circumstances and impossible to
relieve when wearing vestments and standing in front of the choir.
"He sees into your heart and knows when you defy him!" The itching
spread across his back. "He will cast you into the Abyss!" The
itching spread around to his abdomen. "He will brand you so your sin
is declared to everyone!" The itching spread up his chest and down
to his elbows. "Just look around you! SCABS is the mark of
condemnation from God!" The itching spread through his groin and
down his legs all the way to his toes ending with a hot pain under
each toenail.
It was too much! He quickly decided that he had made his point and stepped out of the pulpit. So the message today was a bit short. The hymn started and he fled to the vestry. By this time the itching and pain had faded though he still felt uncomfortable.
Pastor Symms appeared in time for the benediction and took up his post at the outer doors of the sanctuary to greet the parisoners on their way out. Some of them thanked him for his fine message. Some were glad to see him back in charge after the flu that had put him into the hospital two weeks before.
Pastor Symms said goodbye to the last of his flock and retreated to the vestry. He took off his vestments and stored them carefully. He sat heavily into a chair to rest. Within a few moments, he felt better. He reached down and pulled up his sagging socks. As he did so, his hand brushed his leg, which seemed to brush back. He glanced down and pulled up his pantleg. It appeared his leg was covered with fur.
No. Couldn't be. Not to him.
Yep. There it was. His leg was covered in short, thick, chocolate fur, which come to think of it, was probably the same shade as the hair on his head. He pulled up the other pantleg. More fur. He was starting to feel a bit of panic now.
He stood up and glanced out the vestry door. No one around. He closed the door to avoid surprises. He unbuttoned his sleeve and pulled it up. His forearm still showed pink skin. That was a relief.
He unzipped his pants and pulled them off. Both legs were covered with fur, the fur disappearing into his socks and under his shorts. He felt a hollowness in his gut. He sat down and pulled off a shoe and sock. All but the sole of his foot was covered with fur and each toe ended in a small claw. The foot appeared to remain human shaped. He pulled off the other shoe and sock. The other foot matched the first one. The pain in his gut increased.
He pulled off his shorts. If his gut had felt like it was sinking, it now felt like it had fallen through the basement. Not only did the fur extend up under his shirt, but it looked like his manhood had disappeared. Closer inspection showed he did have balls - though now quite fur covered - and he now had a sheath that kept his manhood firmly in place.
Just to be sure, he reached behind himself. One good thing in this mess - he had no tail. Even without a tail, he didn't like the feel of all that fur.
Since the fur extended upward, he removed his shirt, carefully undoing the clerical collar. The fur extended up to just short of his collarbone, then continued over his shoulders and down his arms to just short of his elbows. He reached around to his back and felt fur there as well. He wanted to weep.
He checked his hands. The same pink skin as before. He checked his head in the mirror he used to comb his hair. Pink human ears, pink human nose, no fangs in his mouth.
Final result: Pastor Danforth Symms, SCABS victim! No!
Here was a man that had dedicated his life to getting rid of those that God had marked only to find he had been marked as well. It was enough to crush a man's soul.
He heard a knock at the door. "Honey, are you still in there?"
His wife, Muriel! "Just a minute dear. I just stopped a moment to catch my breath."
He quickly got dressed. As he did so, he realized that all of his SCABS manifestations could be hidden by his clothes. It was going to stay hidden too! Perhaps he could shave it off.
He opened the door and stepped out. His wife's reaction was almost immediate. "You don't look so good. Are you feeling OK?"
"No," he said, "I'm not. I think I may have a relapse of the flu."
"Goodness, gracious!" she said. "Perhaps we should take you to the hospital right now."
"It's not that bad," he said. "Let's just go home. Would you drive?"
"Sure," she said. He got into the passenger side and leaned his head back.
His reply to his wife may have been mild, but his thoughts carried an edge to them. His flu had actually been Martian Flu! His doctors had kept that from him! He didn't particularly want to go back to someone that would lie. Besides, he didn't want any doctor poking around into the SCABS manifestations of Pastor Danforth Symms. No chance of publicity for him!
Once at home, Danforth went straight to the bedroom and shut the door. Muriel knocked on the door ten minutes later holding a tray with his lunch. On hearing him grunt, she pushed the door open to find him lying on the bed, but still fully clothed.
"Wouldn't you be more comfortable with your clothes off and under the blankets?" she said.
Yeah, he would. Slacks over fur meant the fur was all being pulled in the wrong directions. "I'm fine," he said. "Just set it down and please leave me alone."
She gave him a strange look, but set the tray down and left.
Danforth slipped into the bathroom, pulled off his shirt, and grabbed his shaver. That was going to take forever! Surely Muriel would wonder why the shaver was running so long. He set it down.
Danforth appeared in the kitchen an hour later with the lunch tray and a suitcase. He said, "I need some time alone to recuperate. I talked to Sam Kelly about borrowing his cabin for a couple of weeks. I may not stay the whole time. I also called Janice at the church about getting someone to preach for me the next couple of weeks." He saw she was about to protest. "Don't worry, I'll be fine. Two weeks with nothing to worry about should work wonders." He handed her the tray and walked out to the car, hoping his tiny lie was sufficient.
Muriel saw the expression on his face and knew there was no use in saying anything, even though what she heard didn't quite have the ring of truth. She might as well start planning on two weeks alone.
Throughout the drive, Danforth tried not to think about his problem. He didn't get far in that attempt. Once at the cabin, he made a sandwich for his supper.
He took the shaver into the bathroom and stripped, ready to shave it all off, no matter how long it took. He surveyed the situation and set the shaver down. It wasn't going to work. As part of his recent physical, he had done a heart stress test on a treadmill to check for heart problems that ran in the family. He had passed the test with flying colors but they had shaved his chest in patches so the electrodes could be attached. He had hated the way the stubble had gotten pulled around by his clothing for three weeks after the test. He decided dealing with fur beneath his clothing would be simple compared to dealing with fur stubble for the rest of his life.
One more thought settled the shaving matter for good. Muriel had enjoyed running her fingers through his chest hair. She would notice if it was shaved off. Even if he did shave it, Muriel would notice the claws on his toes and would definitely notice the sheath. The thought of shaving the sheath made him cringe.
After a few confusing moments at the toilet, Danforth went to bed.
The next morning, he couldn't bear to wear much other than his shorts and even those weren't comfortable. He opened his Bible and kneeled to pray.
God! Why have you so branded me with your mark of condemnation? Why? I have followed you my entire life. I have followed all your laws. I turned my life over to your church. I have been faithful to my wife. I have been a servant to the flock you have given me. I have avoided all dens of iniquity. What few minor sins I have committed, I have readily confessed and have worked to make amends. I have done all that you and your church has required of me. So why have I been marked as one under your wrath? Why do you cast me into the abyss and turn your back on me? Please name my sin! Please name it so I may confess the blot on my soul and be washed clean!
There was no response to his hours of praying on Monday. There was none on Tuesday to his hours of praying and Bible reading. None on Wednesday, either. It wasn't until Thursday that Danforth felt a whisper in his mind.
You didn't sin, whispered the voice. There is no sin to confess. I did not brand you, nor did I cast you into the abyss and turn from you. I am still with you. I am only giving you a new task, that of fighting for the justice of my children with SCABS. You will soon learn how much my children need justice.
But they're nothing but animals! shouted Danforth. They have lost their humanity! They threaten to pull the rest of humanity down with them! We need to be protected from them!
Danforth quivered in anger at God for not understanding the depths of the problem. How could God not see!
The voice whispered again. Be careful about who is we and who is they. Do you not have more fur than is normal for a human? Have you lost your own humanity? Has your soul been taken from you? Since you can still pray and that I am speaking to you means your soul, bruised as it is, is still intact. Your humanity is still within you. All that live with SCABS are still my children, even you. They are still human, no matter their form. They still have souls. They do not carry my curse. I have not abandoned them.
Danforth felt like his purpose in life had been knocked out from under him.
The voice continued. I won't explain my purposes because you won't understand them. Just understand that those with SCABS are not evil. They simply are. There is evil to battle against, however. That is the evil that declares that my children have no place in my family of believers. That is the evil who decides for me which of my children deserves my compassion. That evil has taken ahold of you too long. I have banished it from you. I ask that you help me banish it from my flock.
It wasn't until Tuesday of the second week that Danforth realized he was progressing through the steps of grief.
There was denial of the voice, of what it said, that it was from God and not a demon.
There was anger at what the voice had done to him, what the consequences would do to him, and what the voice was asking him to do.
There was despair at the way of life he would be leaving behind.
Finally, by the second Friday, there was a calm acceptance. Despite the jolt and the coming difficulties, he could go on, and even prosper in a new life.
That didn't mean he wanted to hurry into that new life, especially with such a nice cabin available for his use for a few more days. One doesn't idly throw away little pleasures. He stayed until Wednesday, two and a half weeks since he arrived.
Once back home, he gave his wife a long hug, fearing it might be his last. After a moment, she sensed all was not right. "What's wrong?" she said.
He started to unbutton his shirt as he spoke, "The flu a month ago that put me into the hospital was Martian flu." He pulled the shirt open enough to reveal his furry chest.
Her reaction was all quiet venom. "After all that preaching about a pure life and God marks you as impure! I don't need to know what vile thing you tried to hide, though my guess is adultery. You only compound your punishment by heaping hypocrisy upon it!" As she stormed off, she added, "I'm off to see a divorce lawyer."
"Wait! We've had it all wrong! SCABS does not mean God has marked us!"
She barely let him finish. She turned to face him. "An now you compound it even more by claiming your sin is not a sin at all! I didn't think you of all people would sink so low!" She left. He wasn't surprised at all.
On his arrival at the church the next Sunday - with fur carefully hidden - he was greeted warmly with comments about hoping he was feeling better. He assured everyone that he was. He said Muriel was visiting her sister, which was likely true.
Danforth preached a sermon on compassion. It had considerably less fire than his last sermon and a lot more empathy. It was only close to the end that he slipped in a single sentence indicating that compassion should extend to those living with SCABS. That single sentence was enough.
After shaking the hands of his flock, with very few words about what a great sermon it was, the chairman of the administrative board approached, along with many of the board members. "Come with us." He said, and led the way into the vestry.
Once the door was closed, the chairman said, "I got a strange call from Muriel during the service. She only said that if your sermon had lost its fire, I should ask you to take your shirt off. I listened to her because I trust her even though the request is bizarre. Your sermon was the wimpiest I have ever heard. Strip."
Danforth only needed to get four buttons undone before the chairman said, "You're fired. Please move out of the parish house by the end of the week." Again, Danforth wasn't surprised. He had already started to pack.
Danforth wrote a letter to the city newspaper declaring that he was no longer waging an anti-SCABS campaign and that he was apologizing for his attacks on SCABS. He ended the letter with some of the same biblical references from his last sermon. It appeared in the paper a week later. A week after that were several responses. Some were from his former congregation essentially flaming him for being a traitor. The others thanked him for his apology, but doubted his sincerity in light of his previous sermons and writings.
He got a job at his denomination's publishing company. Though his own congregation was quite firm in their beliefs, the denomination as a whole was quite vocal as it battled over the issue. An upcoming church conference seemed destined to discuss that and nothing else. A job working with the faction that worked to treat SCABS survivors as humans and full members of the church seemed an ideal way to pay for his previous treatment of them.
Along with the job came a new apartment in a new town. Danforth decided that though he sympathized with the plight of SCABS, he didn't particularly want to be seen as one. He didn't relish the possible beating that SCABS victims frequently encountered. As uncomfortable as it was, he didn't venture out of his apartment without wearing a long-sleeve shirt, long pants, and high top shoes - even in hot weather.
It was amazing how long he could be a SCABS victim while at home and be a normal human in public. His viewpoint changed, but that was all. He didn't even dare go into a SCABS bar. He may work with SCABS issues, but he didn't want to be identified as being one. He maintained a double life.
He was assigned the task of editing a book by a woman named Rose. The book wasn't much to engage him - the title was "Loyalty and Opposition: Speaking Out Against Religious Persecution of those with SCABS" - but Rose was. She was quite the change from his ex-wife, having all the joy of life that Muriel lacked.
As much as his self-protection thoughts shouted that he shouldn't, he took Rose to dinner -- several times. It was also against that mental shouting that he realized he was falling in love with her. And he dreaded the outcome. Rejection by her would mean a lot more than rejection by the church and by Muriel.
"As much as I love you and admire you," she said one evening over dinner, "you are about the most uptight person I've had to deal with." He squirmed in his clothes. "I'm gonna have to do something about that." She winked.
"Why is it," he said, "women feel they need to reform the men around them? Why can't they just enjoy their men?"
She stroked his cheek. "We don't always. In your case, something is making you uptight and that amount of stress can damage your health. I actually do like you the way you are. I don't want illness to take you from me too soon. Lets start by going somewhere not in the public eye. You might relax a bit more there."
Actually, in the public eye is where he wanted to stay. Less chance of revealing himself. He said, "I want to be clear that I do not approve of sex outside of marriage."
"I understand and completely agree," she said. "But you do need to relax. Your living room or mine?"
As any male living alone knows, such a male is reluctant to take a female into his apartment without advance notice so that he has a chance to do some cleaning. "Let's go to your place," he said. He paid the bill and followed her car with his.
Once settled into chairs in her apartment, she tried again, a bit indirectly. "Danforth, within our denomination nothing brings out tempers faster than the SCABS issue. I'm sure, given your current job, I'm only stating the obvious. I'm also sure on which side of the SCABS debate you stand, or you wouldn't be in that job. Danforth, I am a person with SCABS." His eyebrows went up. "I won't think less of you if that is what makes you uptight. Unless you murdered someone, our church doesn't think there is anything worse than SCABS, and I'm inclined to think the church would forgive the murderer."
This was cutting just a little bit too close to his shell. He mumbled an apology, which he knew she wouldn't believe, and as politely as he could, fled.
Rose didn't give up so easily. She brought his favorite cookies the next day and set them on his desk. Danforth felt trapped. He couldn't gracefully flee from his own desk. He took a cookie so he wouldn't have to speak for a while.
Rose said, "I'm still concerned about you. My place for dinner. Six o'clock." He glared at her as he chewed.
He went. Not just for the promise of avoiding single male food, but he did understand the wisdom of what she said, even if he didn't like the way she barged in on his comfortable life.
The meal was delicious and Rose carefully steered the conversation around the "problem", but still managed to learn a lot of his past life.
It wasn't until they settled in the living room that Rose brought up the subject. "I said yesterday that I live with SCABS. Looking at me you wouldn't know it. It is not something I intend to show a guy until I am married. Even so, I find a women's locker room to be a dangerous place."
She paused for a moment. "From the way you disappeared yesterday, I would guess that you also deal with SCABS. If so, it is a case that can be hidden.
"Danforth, please don't fear me. I know you have created defense mechanisms for yourself. I have done the same. Be assured that I will not betray you. But I can tell that you suffer and in a great need of a friend. Please let me be that friend."
Almost near tears, Danforth undid the buttons on his shirt, then pulled it open to reveal the short chocolate fur beneath.
Rose was beside him in an instant, holding him in a soothing embrace. He clung to her as the feeling of loss over his cracked protective shell surged through him, followed shortly be a feeling of relief. He didn't have to face life alone anymore.
"I happen to like fur," she said.
They were married six months later.
As the wedding night approached, Danforth wondered what his bride would only show her husband about her case of SCABS. He didn't pry and the only hint she gave out was that she was a woman waiting calmly to be joined to her man. He had nothing to fear. Beyond that, he realized he didn't particularly care what she had hidden.
They had evaded the chasing guests, checked into the hotel, had a chance to settle into their room, and took a long moment for a kiss. Danforth realized his bride hadn't seen much more of him than he had of her. He drew the blinds and began to undress. It wasn't yet a passionate tugging at clothes. It was more methodical than that. His wife needed to see the details along the way.
The easy part was the tux jacket, the shoes, the tie, the cummerbund. He removed his shirt and let her hand trace the boundary of the fur at his collarbone, across the back, and around the elbows. She pushed her fingers through the fur on his chest to feel its softness and how well it would lie in one direction. Next were the socks. She felt the carefully clipped claws on his toes and saw how the fur stopped at the sole of his foot. The slacks came off to show the short fur completely covered his legs. Finally, the shorts. She marveled how tidy he looked, but within a few moments, it peeked above its sheath.
She started with the easy stuff as well - hair clips, earrings, necklace, shoes. The elaborate gown came off next, revealing an ordinary body -- one that appeared unaffected by SCABS -- though quite beautiful. It wasn't until the pantyhose came off that Danforth saw what SCABS had done. The patch of pubic hair was much larger than he had seen on Muriel (his only other point of comparison) even extending onto her thighs.
"That's it? That's the only change?" he said.
She smiled. "I'm a virgin, remember?"
He hadn't explored his own for that matter. The only thing that really reminded him of his manhood since his change had been the occasional wet dream. He had been carefully avoiding confronting how much he had changed.
A few minutes later he was surprised to feel himself expand with each thrust. The fit seemed tighter and the friction increased. He had never felt this intense with Muriel. He experienced a sudden strong tightening during a thrust and felt himself burst within her. Once he subsided, he collapsed against her for a few moments and felt her relax against him. They both rested to catch their breath. Each exclaimed their delight.
It was only then that he found he could not withdraw. He nearly panicked, but decided to enjoy it, at least for a while. He simply held her.
It was about 20 minutes later that he felt the tightening relax allowing him to withdraw. It was only then that she spoke.
"I consulted a doctor after the onset of SCABS. He thought that I had a touch of dog or wolf. He said that it was possible that I would clamp onto a man at climax. We also talked about the matching male anatomy. It seems that since you couldn't withdraw at all, your changes must also be be based on wolf or dog and that you have a knot. That would mean you have dog fur. It is too short and fine for wolf. That means we are made for each other."
The next morning it didn't take Danforth very long to find out what a knot was.
They settled into a rewarding life. The bigots were still out there. So were those that would twist the scriptures to fit a narrow personal agenda. By day, Danforth and Rose worked to battle that, now even making public appearances in addition to wielding a pen. By night, they were quite literally locked in each other's embrace.