The Pearly Gates, Not
by SW MO Hermit
Copyright© 2025 by SW MO Hermit
Flash Story: An old mans journey to and introduction to his eternal life. CAUTION: The religious may find this story objectionable. Read at your own risk.
Caution: This Flash Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Heterosexual Fiction Humor .
Harold woke up staring at the dusty fan hanging above the bed in the dimly lit bedroom. After examining the fan and assessing his body to find which part hurt the most this morning, he rolled onto his side and looked at the clock on the nightstand. It was 8:48. He lay there for a moment before doing a rolling shuffle to get onto his other side, facing the side of the bed where his wife used to sleep. Gently, slowly, he reached out and placed a hand on the empty spot in the king-sized bed. Cold, so cold and empty. Annie had been gone for eight years now, and he still missed her terribly. He still caught himself talking to her or thinking he needed to show or tell her about something he saw. Damn, I miss that woman, he thought.
After lying there for several minutes, Harry threw back the covers and sat on the edge of the bed until he had the energy to stand and shuffle into the en-suite for the three esses of the morning. After finishing in the bathroom, he made another slow shuffle into the main part of his monstrosity of a house, grabbing a cup of coffee as he passed the pot. His son had to come down and program the damn thing every time the power went out, but he sure appreciated not having to wait for coffee when he woke up. He sipped the magic elixir while nuking a breakfast sandwich. After the microwave dinged, he grabbed the sandwich and managed to make it all the way onto the secluded side porch without spilling his coffee or dropping the sandwich. It was starting to look like a better-than-average day!
Harold plopped heavily into the comfy recliner his son dragged out for him and set his breakfast on the table beside his chair. Leaning back, he relaxed as he looked at the flowers and yard between the porch and the tall privacy hedge that surrounded the larger-than-needed yard. At least it was warm enough that he didn’t need to get dressed and could enjoy being outside. He didn’t need that hassle anytime soon. Chuckling, he thought about how horrified his daughter-in-law would be if she knew. Even his son let him know he thought he should wear clothes. His grandsons just asked why he was naked if they caught him this way. Screw ‘em. This was his house, and he could dress any damn way he pleased.
While chewing another bite of the almost flavorless sandwich, Harry remembered the wonderful breakfasts Annie used to make. They usually had sausage, bacon, or ham, and eggs with hash browns, and they were always delicious. He leaned back, gazing over his yard again with sightless eyes, the rest of his tasteless sandwich slipping from his hand into his lap as he stared, unseeing, over the neatly kept yard.
“Honey,” Sara asked. “Have you talked to your dad recently? The boys or I haven’t seen him all week.”
“I haven’t seen him, no, but he sent me a text on Wednesday.”
It’s Saturday. I think you should at least text or call him. I hate to go over there since I never know if he’ll have any clothes on.
Tod finished his breakfast and headed out the door while saying, “I’ll go check on dad, and then we’ll do the shopping.”
Shortly after he dropped his breakfast, Harold found himself standing, no kidding, in front of a walking, talking penis. Without thinking, he almost yelled, “What the fuck?”
“Yeah, yeah,” the prick said. “Enough, already. Those ancient idiots got it wrong, so sue us. Now, unless I miss my guess, you’re Harold Peters and you’re here for your eternal assignment.”
Before Harold could answer, the prick wilted (there was no other way to put it) and started flipping pages in a large book on the podium before him. Harold watched in awe as the handless, fingerless dick smoothly flipped through pages until it stopped, and the dickhead moved back and forth, occasionally making a hum or other sound.
While he was waiting for he knew not what, Harold observed his surroundings. There were three doors behind the prick, who was still ignoring him. The one to his right had an erupting volcano on it. The center one had a desert oasis pictured, and the left one ... WTF! The left door was four gorgeous women on their backs, knees up and spread with gaping open pussies.
At that time, Harold saw the prick stand hard and proud again, bending just the head or crown toward him. The lips on the piss hole moved, and the prick said, “My, you’ve led an interesting life, haven’t you? You certainly took Lord God’s instruction to go forth and multiply to heart. Other than the adultery clause and eight others, you’ve mostly obeyed his commandments. Ok, you have been kind to others more than most folks. Your sins have been mild compared to most. I’m feeling generous today. You may pass.”
Uh, okay. What are you getting at?
“The Girly Gates, you twit. Choose one and enter the gates of heaven.”
Harold glared at the talking prick before he started to shuffle toward the spread girls. He muttered, “Fucking prick,” while walking toward the heavenly gates to paradise.
“I heard that, Harold. Thank you. Every chance I get.”
Harold stopped in front of the spread gates. “What now?” he asked.
Peter said, “Isn’t it obvious? Choose a gate and enter. You know, slip in, do your thing, just fucking get with it.”
Harold felt his member rising and stiffening as he approached the gates. Huh, that was new. Come to think of it, his journey toward the women hadn’t been his recent shuffle either. He felt surprisingly spry. One of the girls seemed to pull him toward her. He leaned and began to insert himself into the pussy when, all at once, it snatched him up. There was a heavenly feeling, darkness, then he emerged into glorious light, fresh air, greenery, and a perfect, sunny, warm spring day. He stood, watching birds, other small animals, and insects flit about. The air smelled divine.
With nothing better to do, Harold started walking away from his point of arrival on a dirt path. The farther he went, the less visible the path became until he found himself walking through a forest of what seemed like old, first-growth trees.
He occasionally passed by other people. Some were dressed like pictures he’d seen of early Native Americans, while others wore various period costumes. None appeared to want interaction or even returned his wave or greeting. Occasionally, he saw a building—some were log cabins, others made of stone or brick, or had wood frames. The sizes varied. Harold wandered for several days, sleeping alone on the ground at night until he found a small clearing near a stream that called to him. It felt perfect: peaceful and homey. He sat beside a house that was just the right size and wondered who owned it. Whoever it was, they were the luckiest person around. The yard and garden couldn’t have been better if he’d done them himself.
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