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But my prevailing theory at the moment was this fucking booth.
I had drifted. One of my flaws, I’ll admit. One I prayed daily to change (when I remembered to).
No. I needed to focus. And not on the way her voice made me suddenly feel much more man than priest.
Well, there goes my mental image. What are you wearing, then?” “A long-sleeved black shirt with a white collar. You know the kind. The kind you see on TV. And jeans.” “Jeans?” “Is that so shocking?” I heard her lean against the side of the booth. “A little. It’s like you’re a real person.” “Only on weekdays, between the hours of nine and five.” “Good. I’m glad they don’t put you in a crisper between Sundays or something.” “They tried that. Too much condensation.” I paused. “And if it helps, I normally wear slacks.”
I need to know that everything will be okay. Didn’t we all? Wasn’t that the unspoken cry of our broken souls?
“I don’t know if everything will be okay. It may not be. You may think you are at the lowest point now and then look up one day and see that it’s gotten so much worse.”
I looked down at my hands, the hands that had pulled my oldest sister from a rope after she hung herself in my parents’ garage.
“You may not ever be able to get out of bed in the morning with that security. That moment of okay may never come. All you can do is try to find a new balance, a new starting point. Find whatever love is left in your life and hold on to it tightly. And one day, things will have gotten less gray, less dull. ...
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I wanted to take her into my arms and kiss away every single tear.
Oh, and I spend a lot of time on The Walking Dead Reddit. Too much time. Last night I stayed up until two a.m. arguing with some neckbeard about whether or not you could kill a zombie with another zombie’s spinal column.
And before I could stop myself, I thought, I want my dick in that mouth. I want that mouth crying my name. I want—
Not the wolf who had woken up this morning grinding his hips into the mattress because he’d had a very intense dream with Poppy and her carnal sins in a starring role.
Her eyelashes made me hard. That was a new benchmark for me, I had to admit.
“I believe in God, Poppy, but I also believe that spirituality isn’t for everybody. You may find what you’re looking for in a profession you’re passionate about, or in travel, or in a family, or in any other number of things. Or you may find that another religion fits you better. I don’t want you to feel pressured to explore the Catholic Church for any reason other than genuine interest or curiosity.”
“And what about an unbelievably hot priest? Is that a sound reason for exploring the Church?”
I do it for my God. I do it for my parish. I do it for my sister.
Logically, I knew there’s nothing I could have done back then, but logic didn’t erase the memory of her pale, bluish lips or the blood vessels that had exploded in her eyes. Of walking into the garage looking for flashlight batteries and instead finding the cold body of my only sister.
“Better me than Mr. Celibacy over here. Tell me, Tyler, you got carpal tunnel in your right hand yet?” I tossed a throw pillow at his head. “You volunteering to come help me out?” Sean dodged the pillow easily. “Name the time, sugar. I bet I could put some of that anointing-of-the-sick oil to good use.” I groaned. “You’re going to hell.” “Tyler!” Dad said. “No telling your brother he’s going to hell.” He still didn’t look up from his phone. “What’s the use of all those lonely nights if you can’t condemn someone once in a while, eh?”
our church had been a huge part of that, first driving Lizzy to kill herself and then turning their backs on us when the story went public.
no one should have to bear those kinds of burdens alone. Especially someone as sexy as Poppy. Stop it.
“Actually, my mom cried when I told her, and my father didn’t speak to me for six months. They didn’t even come to my ordination.”
“She was abused by our parish priest for years. We never knew, never suspected…”
“She killed herself when she was nineteen,” I went on, as if Poppy’s touch had triggered a response to share that couldn’t be stopped. “She left a note, with the names of other children he’d hurt. We were able to stop him, and he was put on trial and sentenced to ten years in prison.”
“The other families in the parish—I don’t know if they didn’t want to believe it or were humiliated that they’d trusted him, but whatever it was, they were furious with us for calling for his arrest, furious with Lizzy for being the victim, for having the gall to leave a note outlining in sick detail what had happened and who else it was happening to. The deacons tried to block her having a Catholic funeral and burial, and even the new priest ignored us. The whole family stopped going to church then—my dad and brothers stopped believing in God altogether. Only my mom still believes, but she
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“I never meant to end up at the club,” she finally said, her voice going low. “I thought maybe I’d find a small nonprofit to work at or maybe I’d do something prosaic, like waiting tables. But I heard from a bartender that there was a club hidden somewhere in the city—private, exclusive, discreet. And they were looking for girls. Girls who looked expensive.”
I loved that I made them hard.”
“The sad thing was that I was actually starved for sex while I was turning down all these offers. I’m sure you know the feeling, Father, like the slightest breeze is enough to send you over the edge, like your skin itself is combustible.” God, did I know that feeling. I was feeling it right now. I offered her a weak smile, which she returned. “I was so combustible, Father Bell. I would get wet watching the men stroking themselves through their custom-tailored trousers. In the private rooms, I’d pull my thong to the side and let them watch as I brought myself off. They liked that; they liked it
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had been bad enough listening to her talk about working at that club, but then when she’d described touching herself, coaxing her pussy into orgasm, and I had imagined myself as one of those hungry businessmen watching it, offering everything in my wallet just to see that glistening cunt pulse with pleasure. I bet I could see it now if I wanted. I could stand her against the wall and yank down those shorts, kick her legs open so that she would be exposed to me…
That was a lie. The only meeting that was about to happen was between my hand and my dick. But probably not good form to tell a hopeful convert that.
couldn’t even wait until I was sure she was out of the church. As soon as Poppy left, I got up and locked the door, taking the time only to move over to my desk so I could brace one hand on the surface as I fumbled with my belt.
I wanted to kiss that part of her wrist, press my lips against her pulse point, right before I tied a rope around
(In lots of different positions. On every surface in my house.)
“How did it feel?” “How did it feel? It felt amazing. Like he was claiming me from the inside out, and when he came inside of me, it felt like he was marking me as his property, and it was his climax that made me orgasm again. I can’t help it—a guy coming is the hottest fucking thing, especially when I can feel it inside of me…” My head fell back against the wood of the booth with an audible thud. “I meant,” I said in a strangled voice, “how did it feel emotionally?”
kneeling as if he were praying to her cunt, kneeling with his face buried in her ass.
“But I won’t lie. It makes me hard as fuck knowing that I was the first man to taste you.”
“Are you telling me,” I asked, “that you were masturbating
Millie was approximately one hundred and thirty years old,
She’d clucked her tongue at my age and my appearance (her nickname for me was “Father What-a-Waste”)
“I’ve always said that you were too young and too handsome to lock your life away. ‘Trouble will come of it,’ I said. ‘Mark my words.’ And nobody marked my words.”
“I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do, I do not do, but what I hate I do…for I have the desire to do what is right, but I cannot carry it out. What a wretched man I am.”
Moses got a burning bush, and I get the air-conditioning,
Please help her find guidance and peace. Please help her heal from her past. And please please please help us behave.
Even Jesus had said those words. Not that they had worked out so well for him… Why was God so willing to leave bad cups all over the place?
I cared about her as a person, as a soul, and I wanted to fuck her, and that was the recipe for something much worse than carnal sin. It was a recipe for falling in love.
“I want to be a good person, but more than that, I want to be a good woman. Is there no way to be both completely woman and completely good?” Shit. This conversation had gone from taxes to the darkest corners of Catholic theology. “Of course, there is, Poppy, to the extent that anyone can be completely good,” I said. “Forget the Eve and the apple stuff right now. See yourself as I see you—an openly loved daughter of God.” “I guess I don’t feel so loved.” “Look at me.” She did. “You are loved,” I said firmly. “Smart, attractive woman that you are—every part of you, good and bad, is loved. And
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I came back to myself and for a terrible moment, I warred between two impulses: shutting her out into the rain or shoving her to her knees and making her swallow my cock.
I would be honest about my struggle and hope that she would understand. Even if she hated me for it. Because I deserved her hatred.
“I shouldn’t put you over my lap and spank your ass for being a brazen little slut and coming here without a bra,” I growled in her ear. “I shouldn’t twist ropes around your wrists and ankles until your cunt is exposed and then screw you until you can’t walk anymore. I shouldn’t flip you over and fuck your ass until your eyes water. I shouldn’t drive you down to the strip club and fuck you in the back room, so that you’ll forget all about Sterling and the only name you’ll remember to say is mine.” I lightly bit her nipple again. “Or God’s.”
I liked being dressed when I fucked, I always had; there was no bigger turn-on than having a naked woman climbing all over you, purring at your feet and squealing in your lap, all while you were fully dressed. (And yes, I recognize that’s also fucked up in terms of feminism and all that. I’m sorry.)
My little lamb wanted it rough, and what do you know, I wanted to give it to her that way.
