I think that there should be a subforum where we can write Christian stories. I want to be a writer when I am older, and the Bible has effected my whole life, so I wrote a story about a couple of the characters. I hope you guys like it. I want to write Bible Stories for children when I am older. My story takes place in Jesus’s cell, the night before his execution.

Pilate locked the cell door behind him and pocketed the key. “Whatever point you meant to make, you’ve made it,” he began. “Let me pardon you now. There’s no need for this.”
Jesus watched him pace around the little cell. “No. I’m going to die tomorrow, it’s decided. And what does it matter to you? I’ve told you your conscience can remain clear.”
“Oh, yes – it’s that easy.” Pilate moved faster, feeling more and more hostile towards Jesus… but more and more determined to save his life. “I’d forgotten that’s how justice works: don’t execute an innocent man – unless he asks you to.”
“I’m sorry this is difficult for you.”
Again, again with the non-answers! “You do realize that all you had to do was call yourself king today, one time, and I could have put you to death without a moment’s compunction?” Pilate snarled. “If you wanted so badly to die, why wouldn’t you? Surely I gave you enough chances!”
Jesus sighed. “Come sit.” He waited as if he were perfectly certain that Pilate would sit, and sure enough, immediately after telling himself not to Pilate did. “My kingdom is not of this world,” Jesus said quietly, “But I am a king.” He reached out and unfastened the governor’s cloak, pushing it off his shoulders so that it pooled bright purple all around them. He pulled himself up to sit cross-legged on the bed and waited for his visitor to kneel up there as well. Once they were facing each other squarely, he said: “God is my father and I hold his law above the law of Caesar. Is that what you need to hear - does it help?”
“Do you think it helps?! Jesus…” he beseeched, dropping his voice til it could barely be heard. “Don’t make me a murderer. I can still save you.”
“The crowds would riot.”
“I’ll handle them. It’s been a while since I turned soldiers loose on a mob; Caesar will understand.”
Jesus shook his head. “No – it’s God’s will. There is nothing you can do to help me.”
“There must be something.”
“No. Well,” Jesus amended, “You could ask someone to feed me. I think the guards forgot.” Then, as if finally registering that Pilate’s distress was genuine, he suggested: “You could keep me company a while? Pray with me?”
He seemed serious. “You can pray. I’d prefer to do something useful.” Pilate looked him up and down and made a face. “Turn around – I’ll clean out your cuts at least; they’re full of gravel and that can’t be comfortable.”
He reached for the water that had been left by the bedside, dipped a corner of his cape in it, and set about wiping Jesus’s lash marks. It hurt, to judge by the squirming, but Jesus said thankyou and seemed to mean it.
Pilate liked feeling productive. When he had taken care of the wounds he moved on to the dirt at Jesus’s neck, scrubbing in small forceful circles that could almost be called massage.
Jesus groaned and arched into it. “Thank you. Your touch is very pleasurable.”
Pilate blinked. “Only you, you holy fool, could say such a thing without sounding lecherous,” he muttered after a moment. A strange thought struck him. “You’re actually chaste, aren’t you.”
“Mmm – that’s good. Yes,” Jesus answered, rolling his neck lazily. “I am.”
Pilate could hardly believe it. A handsome (until the mob had got hold of him, anyway) young man who… “Always? Why on earth – and how?”
A soft sigh. “God hasn’t seen fit to interest me in it.”
Pilate almost argued with him. Not interested? A simple neck rub had him moaning like a whore! He swept Jesus’s hair out of the way, meaning to get at the tops of his shoulders, and Jesus gave a powerful shudder.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. When you-...”
Pilate brushed over the nape of his neck again, basking in the feeling of being right. “This?”
“Yes.” Jesus sounded only surprised – not happy or upset or even embarrassed, when he admitted: “Pilate, I think you’ve… interested me.”
“Is that so.”
“I feel something. Different. Yes.” He considered. “Maybe it could mean… a better understanding of the people I’m dying for,” he mused aloud. “I mean I’m just like any other man… almost, but yet not. I hardly understand what drives people sometimes, I’ve never known this pleasure they all think is so important… this kind of love… Perhaps God wants me to experience it, that closeness with someone, or else why would he prepare me for it?”
Pilate couldn’t help getting nasty. “Perhaps. Perhaps it’s your God’s plan. Or… perhaps you’re simply a normal, healthy young man whose body is screaming for life as you plot to kill it.”
As always, though, it was impossible to get a rise out of Jesus. “Perhaps,” he agreed mildly. “But either way… you’ve already affected me, and you weren’t even trying. Would you keep going?”
Somehow Pilate had not seen that coming. “What?”
“I don’t mean to disturb you,” Jesus assured. “I tell you I’m sure it’s all right… but listen to your own heart. If you don’t feel you can touch me without sin, then of course…”
Sin? That was a laugh. Between them, Pilate and his wife had probably bedded his entire cabinet and most of his staff. The better question was, did he want to? It was true that he’d been feeling protective and almost tender towards this poor idiot for some reason, but was that enough?
Well, it was more than he’d felt for Herod’s niece last winter. And this time he wasn’t even drunk.
“Very well,” he said after a quick glance towards the locked door. After all, why not? It would be quick and easy, and maybe it would somehow take the edge off his guilt. Not to mention what a terrible shame it was for anyone to die without ever having experienced this particular facet of life… “If you want to know about pleasure I suppose I could show you. Lie back.”
Jesus complied, propping himself up on his elbows so as to be able to see what was going on. He was, after all, curious.
Pilate rolled his eyes and sat him up against the headboard, kneeling on the bed between his legs. He hiked the remains of Jesus’s robe up over his hips, removed the ratty undergarments he wore beneath, and then bent to get to work.
It turned out that beard or not Jesus was no different than any other virgin. At the very first brush of lips, he went still. When he was fully enveloped he squeaked and clutched at the bedding. Pilate glanced up and arched his eyebrows.
“Yes – it’s good,” Jesus gasped in answer. “It feels… oh…”
Pilate nodded and returned his attention to what he was doing. He curled his fingers around the shaft, stroking lightly while he licked and sucked.
He drew it out, speeding and then slowing again, listening to Jesus melt beneath him.
Eventually he nudged Jesus’s inner thigh but when the poor virgin didn’t get the message he laughed and sat up. “Open your legs a little,” he said, pumping with his hand the while. “That’s right.”
Jesus groaned deep in his throat when the sucking started again, squirmed when his balls were fondled and arched hard off the bed when teasing fingers found the sensitive spot behind them.
Pilate sped up as the moans grew more frantic and the whimpering more articulate. “Yes – yes please, please it’s good, ah just like- I don’t…”
He might have made a bitter remark to himself about having finally found a way of getting words out of the Silent King, but just then Jesus cried out and he had more important things to think about, like swallowing the enormous gush of semen that suddenly filled his mouth.
When the yelping had tapered off and he was sure Jesus was through, Pilate sat up. He wiped his mouth. “There,” he said with satisfaction. “That is how ordinary people amuse themselves, instead of stirring up riots and playing God for a lot of paupers.”
But Jesus didn’t seem to be listening to him. “Truly wonderful,” he murmured, still breathless. “It is. I wish I could have… but it would’ve been yet one more thing to sway me from your plan, wouldn’t it. I guess it’s best that you kept this temptation from me until now. It’s a strong one.”
Pilate could hardly believe his ears. “Are you talking to your God?”
“Hmm?” Jesus turned to look at him. “Yes. I always thank him for the joys he puts in my life. And that was… it…”
“Quite a joy?” Pilate supplied when Jesus failed to find words. “Well. I’m glad I could give it to you.”
“I am too. Will you come lie next to me?” Jesus asked. “A friendly touch would be deeply appreciated.”
“Er… all right.” Usually at this stage in a boy’s education, Pilate would be preparing to [wash my mouth][wash my mouth][wash my mouth][wash my mouth] him senseless... and his body seemed all ready for just such an activity. He told himself sternly to calm down. Not today. He stretched out beside Jesus and let himself be gathered up against the madman’s chest in a way that was… odd, given that this was not his wife or his mother. But comfortable.
After a bit Pilate felt himself relaxing, but then Jesus broke the silence. “Did you enjoy it? I know you were glad to please me,” he clarified, “But I mean did you enjoy it… the way I did? Because your heart is pounding almost as hard as mine. And your cheeks are warm.”
A moment of silence. “Don’t worry – I certainly won’t be asking you to do anything about it.”
“Wise of you,” Jesus laughed. “I wouldn’t have the slightest idea how.” More time passed, during which Pilate tried and failed to ignore Jesus’s lazy, contemplative tickling up and down his spine. “I have one more thing to ask of you. If you would rather not I understand, but I might as well suggest it… after all, your heart is still pounding.”
Terribly embarrassed that his inexplicable, perverse arousal was so obvious, Pilate just shrugged. What on earth could he want now? A kiss, surely. That would be strange, but-…
“Until tonight,” Jesus began, “Not only had I never been pleasured by another person, but no other person has ever taken his or her pleasure of me. You seem… interested by my touch.” He craned his neck to make eye contact, and didn’t seem to be mocking. “Would you like to be my first? First and only, really.”
Pilate blinked. “I-… You don’t mean-?”
“You would know better than me what I mean,” Jesus said. He shifted a little so that he could brush a hand over the front of Pilate’s (tented) clothes. “To the best of my knowledge it involves introducing-”
“All right, all right – I understand.” Pilate shrugged free, sure that Jesus was teasing him but then not sure when he saw that the eyes were clear and serene as always. He suddenly thought it was not at all unbelievable that this man had amassed a following ready to kill or die for him at a word. There was just something… “Is that really what you want?” he asked. He managed not to say the rest: because I will obey you, whatever you say, but he knew Jesus knew it anyway.
“Yes.” Jesus’s cheeks were flushed and his eyes dilated, and Pilate was sure he looked just as agitated himself.
“But that’s bizarre – you don’t even know me!”
“Do you know all the people you’ve been to bed with?” Jesus countered at once. “Besides, I do know you. You can be hard, but you’ve been fair to me and even kind, tonight.” While he talked, he was inventing ever more effective means of physical persuasion... Pilate found the soft pinching of his earlobe to be particularly maddening. “And, much as I wish you peace, I’m afraid you will have a hard time forgetting me after I’ve died. You might as well have something better to think about than the cross.”

At the mention of the cross, Pilate shuddered and slapped his hand away. “So now you want to debate rationally with me?”
Jesus persisted, stroking his face until the anger lines smoothed out. “No… I want you to show me how it is that people celebrate love and caring, how they… enjoy what God has given them…” He skimmed down Pilate’s chest and stopped his hand casually at the waist. “But if you’d rather debate…”
Pilate rolled over onto him abruptly. “You’re unbelievable,” he snarled against Jesus’s mouth.
“Believe,” Jesus answered, smiling. He was obviously having fun, all of this new and exciting, obviously thrilled to be held beneath somebody in this way for the very first time.
And, lying on top of him, Pilate realized that his desire to slap some sense into the man had done nothing at all to reduce his other desire. He ground down hard, and bit back a swear word at how good it felt.
Jesus’s breathing had gone ragged and he was grabbing for anything he could reach – neck, shoulders, back… lower… “Please? I want to feel… everything. Show me. Please.”
Pilate realized his reservations were melting away, and in fact couldn’t even remember what they had been. He moved his hips again. “I’m not of a mind to coddle you,” he said. “If this is what you want, I will take you with no mercy, do you understand?”
“Yes.” Jesus’s hands came up and traced over his mouth. He pulled him close...
So Pilate kissed him hard on the lips, biting. “Your first time – it will be painful,” he rasped. “Is that all right?”
That didn’t seem to bother Jesus at all. “I’m in your hands.”
Pilate gave himself over to savagery for one more moment, pressing his hunger against Jesus’s poor oversensitized parts and pinning both wrists to the bed above his head.
Then he ordered himself to be calm. He moved off to the side, setting Jesus at liberty and smoothing his hair from his face.
Jesus watched him. “What are you doing?” he asked thickly when Pilate started to lick his own fingers. After what that tongue had just done for him, the image was making him dizzy.
“Preparing the way a little; you’ll thank me for this. Open your legs.”
Despite his warnings of a moment ago Pilate was gentle, because of how powerfully Jesus reacted to even the slightest stretch, the slowest twisting, the most careful thrust in and out. Jesus clutched at him every time his body was breached, pleading incoherently (although probably not in pain, since he kept spreading his knees even wider apart and raising his hips in invitation).
Finally Pilate deemed him ready, and started opening his own clothes. Jesus was watching with avid interest as he spat into his hand and slicked himself up.
He lifted Jesus’s legs high. “This will hurt,” he warned, and started to force entry. “No – don’t resist me.”
“All right.” Jesus’s voice was tight with pain, but nevertheless he closed his eyes, let his breath out long and slow, and relaxed his spasming muscles.
Unprepared for this sudden and thorough obedience, Pilate pitched forward and nearly landed on top of him. He was now fully encased in tight twitching virgin, and could only gasp.
“Ah-…” Jesus’s eyes were wide, his mouth hanging open as he tried to adjust to the invasion. When it looked like he was breathing again, Pilate eased partway out and back in.
“Oh,” Jesus breathed at that. “Oh it’s…” He ran his hands over his partner’s back as the movement built up to bona fide thrusting, slow and careful.
“Better? Easier now?”
Jesus nodded. “Pilate, take me,” he whispered after a bit. “Really take me, work your will on me – I want to feel… ah yes-”
Pilate was surprised a moment, until he remembered exactly who he was dealing with. Selflessly giving and giving of himself for someone else’s benefit… this was meekness to an extreme, and right up Jesus’s alley. No wonder he looked almost rapturous as his partner picked up speed. He was being split wider than could possibly be comfortable for a first time, ravaged deep and hard, and yet repeated Yes yes do it whenever he could find the breath for it.
Pilate wasn’t usually a very vocal lover, but this was incredible and he suddenly wished for a way to show his appreciation. He leaned down, so that Jesus could hear the raw mess that had been made of his breathing, and laid a hand softly against his cheek.
Obviously getting the message, Jesus turned to nuzzle into the touch without ever breaking eye contact. After a moment, he peeled Pilate’s hand off to kiss it, then reached up to caress his jaw in a similar manner. He was being rocked so roughly now that his touch had lost a little bit of its gentleness. “Yes,” he whispered, “I love it. Like that. I want to feel you… finding pleasure… in me.”
Pilate was only too happy to oblige. He drove again and again into the clenching heat…
Until he noticed blood on the bedding. Of course – whip cuts. He stopped suddenly and pulled out (though it almost killed him). “You shouldn’t be lying on your back,” he pointed out, breathless. “It’s a mess.”
“I know but don’t stop,” Jesus panted back. “I’ll turn over.”
But watching his face had been terribly intense so far, and Pilate didn’t think he cared to replace it with a view of the poor man’s bloody lash marks. “Come here,” he suggested instead, sitting back on his heels.
Jesus straddled his lap, facing him, and after a bit of fumbling got himself aligned. He closed his eyes and bit his lip hard as he started to work his way down…
Pilate couldn’t be patient, though, and eventually jerked his hips, spearing deep into Jesus’s guts and pulling him down until he was seated fully.
Jesus cried out, then threw his arms around his partner’s neck and hyperventilated into his shoulder.
Pilate rubbed the back of his neck – one of the few spots the whip hadn’t touched – and purred shhh. Once a little time had passed, he pried Jesus loose and held him at arm’s length. “Continue.”
Probably counting himself lucky that he hadn’t been made to get down on all fours or bend over something, Jesus didn’t object to the tone. He just began to raise and lower himself, slowly.
Pilate thought that nothing had ever gripped him this tightly in his life… that Jesus was going to kill him if he kept it up… and that he would die happy. His hands scrabbled over the chiseled (though horribly bruised) abdomen, up over the chest and found shoulders. He hung on for dear life, breathing Jesus Jesus oh Jesus over and over again.
Without breaking rhythm, Jesus leaned forward to kiss him on the forehead. “It’s good?”
Pilate nodded furiously, giving up on speech. He spat again into his palm, meaning to reach underneath Jesus and wet things up again, but Jesus caught his hand. He held it almost reverently for a moment, before bending his head to spit into it himself.
Something was obviously wrong with Pilate today; he perceived that as one of the most erotic moments of his entire life.
Jesus rose up off him for a moment so that he could lubricate them better, and then settled back down with a sigh of relief. “Do you need to stop?” Pilate asked, prepared to scream if he said yes.
“No!” Jesus assured breathlessly. “No, not yet.”
“Good, good because-” He degenerated into a low guttural groan and started thrusting up again, faster and faster while Jesus tried to keep time with him. He was close, closer and closer, and just when-
“My legs,” Jesus gasped. “I can’t-”
He was cramping; Pilate could actually see the muscles trembling with an effort that was simply beyond them, but he couldn’t couldn’t couldn’t stop now.
“Please, please Jesus don’t please,” he begged shamelessly, continuing to pound up from below.
With a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob Jesus rode it for another few seconds to let him climax.
They rested for a bit and then separated, both moaning. Pilate was rubbed completely raw and he doubted Jesus had fared any better. They sprawled out next to each other without a word. Jesus pet his hair.
When Pilate eventually recovered enough to take note of his surroundings, the first thing he realized was that Jesus was again… interested. “Gods you’re young.” He sighed and asked, “Do you want… something? Again?”
Jesus smiled a little shyly. “Would you?”
After the delicious orgasm he’d had a few minutes ago it was the least he could do. “Gladly. Lie- no, don’t lie back, you’ll be more comfortable sitting up. Here.” He urged Jesus to the edge of the bed and knelt on the floor in front of him. One more glance towards the door – if someone walked in on this he would never hear the end of it – and then he started.
Jesus’s shape and taste were by now familiar, and Pilate experienced a short powerful chill at the thought that as of tomorrow this shape and taste would be dead and gone, and nobody would ever know it again.
As though sensing his disquiet, Jesus reached out to stroke his hair, his neck. He tensed and grabbed when sucked harder, which Pilate liked even better than the bewildered passivity of last time.
He looked for ways of driving his partner wilder, and soon discovered that from this position he could swallow it all the way down if he wanted to. This made Jesus groan and grip his hair in a manner which, although not painful, made him feel less like a teacher bestowing a gift on an appreciative young ingénue, and more like somebody’s cheap back-alley prostitute.
Odd, wasn’t it, that he didn’t mind.
He followed the pace Jesus’s hand was dictating… a fast, choppy pace that made it tough to recognize this creature as the self-styled king of humility and peace who spent his days preaching in the sun.
He did his best to keep up and his best to take Jesus in deep, but eventually it was just too demanding and Pilate gagged. He tried to pull back…
But Jesus followed him, rising to his feet with one hand still clamped to the back of Pilate’s head. For having no experience at all he moved his hips quite well, driving down Pilate’s throat far enough to choke his air off, again and again, and again.
Pilate’s hands went up instinctively, to push away, but at the last second he changed his mind. Yes, this was uncomfortable… but it was also strangely exciting, to have provoked Jesus into losing control, to feel such animal vitality from him.
And, given that Jesus had just been subjected to a sodomy rigorous enough to leave his thighs streaked with red, he was probably entitled. Pilate held on to his hips and prepared to take the rest without a fight.
It didn’t last much longer. Feeling his partner submit to him, welcome him even, seemed to push Jesus straight over the edge. He kept his grip on the hair for leverage and ground in hard, gasping something whose only intelligible word was me as he came deep down Pilate’s throat.
When he was finally released and allowed to breathe again, Pilate stayed on the floor coughing for a moment. The gagging had made his eyes run, and he wiped them before looking up. “Did you enjoy that?” Jesus could only stare. “I shall take that look as a yes.”
Predictably, Jesus’s mild nature reasserted itself after a bit. “I apologize for treating you so roughly…”
“Please,” Pilate dismissed. “You didn’t distress me in the slightest.” This was not strictly true and Jesus probably knew it, but they let the matter drop. They just curled up on the bed near each other until Jesus fell asleep.
It was almost dawn when Pilate dressed and slipped out. Locking the door behind him.

Might I recommend Greek Mythology for you then?

Thats brilliant haha.
I read the whole thing wondering at which point the people on the christian forums stopped reading.
I wonder if they would have read it all, enraptured by the blasphemy of it, or stopped in disgust at the first paragraph?

or masterbated to it?

Only if they used a crucifix.