A Conversation: a short story

“Oh fuck,” she said, “Oh yes, just like that!”
He was on top of her, saying nothing. He felt good, but he didn’t want to feel too good too fast. 
“Oh yes. Oh. Jesus!”
“What?” he said, his thrusts slowing to a stop.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Why’d you say that?”
“Say what?”
“Jesus.”
“Because your dick was feeling really good, and I was expressing that. You should really  keep going.”
“Okay…” he said without resuming the activity, “But why’d you say that specifically?”
“It’s something that people say! It’s very common! Like ‘Oh yes!’ or ‘Harder!’”
“I just don’t get why you’re thinking of him while we’re fucking.”
“I’m not specifically thinking about the actual, literal Jesus of Nazareth.”
“Then who? Jesus Shuttlesworth?”
“I don’t know who that is!”
“Ray Allen!”
“I don’t care! Just keep fucking me!”
“I just find it a little weird. I mean, let’s say you were on top of me, and you were making me feel really good, and I was like, ‘Oh, Muhammad! Oh, Zoroaster!’ you’d find that a bit weird, wouldn’t you?”
“Wow. Congrats on brutally destroying the mood.”
“I think you did that, bringing up our Lord and Savior.”
“Oh my God…” 
“Oh! And now you’re bringing up our Heavenly Father!”
She left, and they never spoke again.