Altered

by

Evelyn R. Baldwin

Copyright © 2012 Evelyn Baldwin

Cover Art © Mayhem Cover Creations

All rights reserved, worldwide.

Special Thanks to:

Lynda and Bel for their edits.

In nomine Patris,

et Filium,

et Spiritus sanctus … [1]

Father Grady has been happy with his life as a servant of God. He's never questioned what else the universe has to offer until a young woman choses his church for her daily prayers. He's instantly captivated by her beauty, but can't convince himself that his feelings are just those of a lonely man, deprived of a woman's intimate touch. Despite never speaking to her, he's convinced that somehow, this woman has left him altered.

Ϯ

Every day she came in and kneeled in the first pew. I couldn’t  help but wonder where, or who, she’d been on her knees in front of when she wasn’t here. It was the same vicious circle: I would think impure thoughts and castigate myself in my office or confessional chamber, then count the minutes until she returned the next day so I could repeat the cycle.

Today was no different. She was in the front pew, her hands folded and resting against her forehead as she prayed for forgiveness. I wondered what she’d done that she needed to come here and pay penance for each day. Was she is a bad girl?  Did she have sinful thoughts?

I couldn’t  help the tainted images from creeping in. It wouldn’t matter how much I berated myself. When it came to her, there was no use in trying to be a man of God. She’s a tree, standing in the Garden of Eden, fruit dripping from her branches. While I know I am forbidden to taste her offerings, the illusory serpent still slithered from her branches, beckoning me to partake.

I still remember what she wore the first day I saw her. The way her lipstick was crisp on her lips, not smudged. She took pride in her appearance, even though her dress was provocative. I must admit, my first thought was she was a prostitute. However, small details told me she was just self-assured—at least I hoped that was the case. Most of the prostitutes I’d seen come through the line at the soup kitchen wore cheap clothing, often tattered and threadbare. I also never saw them in the chapel praying. They were interested in the free food, not the free spiritual guidance.

I’d never seen her before, not in the soup line, the confessional, or in the pews praying. I almost approached her that first day, but her posture suggested she was deep in thought. As a man of abundant faith, I understood the moments shared with Christ, the moments where everything else in the world fades away. It was a moment I wouldn’t want to take from anyone, but that didn’t stop me from watching her from the choir balcony.

Weeks passed this way, her kneeling and praying while I watched from the choir balcony. At first, I catalogued her physical appearance, the clothes she wore each visit, her shoes, makeup. But as the days passed, I began to look past the inconsequential and began to focus on her behavior, analyzing it. Her penitence showed each visit. She was struggling with something, her despondency evident in the way she walked into the sanctuary. Her shoulders were heavy with the burden she carried, but she returned each morning, somehow assured that her time here, along with prayer, would help her find abatement.

After a time, merely watching her was no longer satisfactory. I was thinking of her first thing in the morning, rising early to make sure I didn’t miss her visit, then last thing at night, praying to God he would continue granting me strength to battle her irresistible pull. I began to wonder if the devil had infiltrated our temple, offering me the apple I knew was meant to tempt. My mouth watered for the forbidden fruit so I reverted to my safety net, the only way I knew to gain answers and understanding: prayer.

So when she would genuflect and begin her spirited ritual, I began to do the same. My mind would go to God, searching for his wisdom, seeking answers to unmet questions. But my heart...my heart was never with the Lord during this time. It was still occupied with a woman who I’d become increasingly obsessed with, yet never met.

Ϯ

“Miss?” It had taken me three tries before I was successful in calling out to her. Her startled expression told me I’d been stealthy in my approach.

“Father!” Her eyes indicated she was surprised to see me standing before her, her tone anything but. It was as though her voice was telling me she’d been looking for me for ages.

I folded my hands in front of me,  remembering Seminary and the lessons on appearing non-threatening. “Please, call me Grady.”

She looked like she wanted to argue with my attempt at being casual, but held her tongue.
“I’m Elizabeth.”

Saint Elizabeth: devout and steadfast...

“Are you familiar with Saint Elizabeth...” It was a lame opening on my part, but given my discomfort with the situation, I defaulted to a topic of conversation with which I was most comfortable. “She was the cousin of Mary, you know.”

Her smile was sly as she nodded. “Yes, I have an extensive knowledge of the history of Christianity.” Her gaze turned shy while her cheeks colored, but within a few seconds, her smile turned genuine as she continued with my conversation starter. “She was also the mother of John the Baptist, a miracle since she was deemed barren.” I wasn’t prepared for the effect her voice had on me.

While there was nothing provocative about the discussion, she somehow  managed to stir something in me. “She was also the patron saint of expectant mothers,” I added, realizing this was becoming blindingly ridiculous. I’d been attempting to talk to this woman for several weeks, and why we were talking about biblical women was beyond me. I was wishing I’d thought about a better opening to transition our discourse to a more suitable and amiable topic.

Unfortunately, my haste to shift to a more carefree topic left me with, “Can I ask what brings you to Saint Peter’s?”

If this were baseball, I’d be on strike two and looking to bunt. I guess it’s better to have a swing and a miss, than no attempts at all. Somehow, that rationale didn’t make me feel any better about our stilted exchange.

I hadn’t needed to worry, though. She’d turned back toward the sanctuary and was lost in petition once more. I stood by awkwardly, wondering what I could possibly say that wouldn’t indicate I was a creepy clergyman begging for the company of a woman, regardless of the truth it held. Fear settled in my chest at the prospect of walking away, leaving her without further interaction. I did the only thing that seemed to lend any decorum to the situation; I sat down and silently began my own invocation.

Ϯ

“Father Grady?”

Her voice startled me since we’d silently prayed together for the last ten days. I hadn’t expected her to address me after our first interaction where I’d mimicked an adolescent boy, talking to a girl for the first time. I’m sure I looked like a crazy owl as I stared at her.

“Ask me again.”

My grimace gave away my confusion. “Your pick-up line.”

Cue rapid blinking.

“Sorry. Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I’ve delivered an inappropriate joke that was apparently not very funny.”

“What?” It was the best I could come up with given my confused state. She rose from the kneeler and settled back onto the pew.

“Last we spoke…” She paused, making sure I recalled our moment the week prior. “You asked what brought me to Saint Peter’s. I wasn’t ready to answer you then, but I am now, so I want you to ask me again.” She waited several seconds for me to respond to her request before continuing. “Come on, you know how it goes. You say, ‘You come here often?’ and I say, ‘I’ve never done this before.’ Then I imagine we’d fade to black.”

“Who—what?” I looked around the church to see if I was being featured on a hidden camera show.

“Let’s start over with this. I’m apparently fundamentally awful at introductions. Hi, I’m Elizabeth, and I’m a former Nun.”

Ϯ

The last four days, Elizabeth had come to the sanctuary at her regular time. I was always there, in her usual pew, waiting. She would pray with me, completing a rosary, and then we’d retire to my office. Our chats lasted most of the afternoon, and it was only to prepare for evening mass that I was able to tear myself away.

“I liked the idea of giving my life to those less fortunate and participating in a vocation where dedicating yourself to others was a shared belief. I’d worked through my temporary vows, and I thought I’d truly found a community where I belonged—both spiritually and emotionally—with the Lord.”

During our time, she’d told me her inspiring story. She’d told me of her decision to enter into the Sisterhood after an auto accident in high school left her unable to carry children. She was from a large Orthodox family where prolific procreation was expected. Rather than disappoint her parents and siblings, unable to fulfill her duties as a wife and mother, she announced she would dedicate her existence to God.

“So why leave? It sounds as though you were content.” I admit I was perplexed as to why she’d given up five years of devotion and left the order.

“Our lives are about total devotion to God. The longer I dedicated myself, the more I realized I wasn’t able to commit myself completely. Despite my companionship and camaraderie with my sisters, the loneliness was still overwhelming.” I could see the pain she beared while making her decision.

“My heart was divided. I couldn’t give myself over completely to Christ while constantly wondering what I was missing ...” I knew what she meant when she trailed off. She wanted to know what it was like to be with a man, to know the companionship of another, and what the intimate touch of a lover, felt like. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t wondered the exact same thing. I’d presided over enough nuptials to see true love and devotion. While I never begrudged the happiness of the couples I’d married or counseled, I did have a constant need to know what I was missing; a need for another.

“Gosh, it feels like I’ve been doing all the talking. It’s your turn. Tell me how you came to be Father Grady.”

Ϯ

As our time together continued, I told Elizabeth—or Beth, as she’d asked me to call her—about my journey to becoming a disciple of God. I explained that I hadn’t grown up in a spiritual household, nor was my family connected with a particular religious affiliation.  But after taking a religious history course my sophomore year of college, I felt something was missing. I watched my peers interact with one another, engaging in the typical college behavior of sex, drugs, and alcohol.  Everywhere I looked, there was chaos and violence, the daily news a reminder of the constant turmoil of life.  I began researching the church and decided I needed a place to start. I chose a weekend retreat at Benedictine Seminary where I realized, for the first time, I found peace in an otherwise frenzied world full of gluttony and debauchery.

At first, I relished the time alone and the solitude the seminary provided, but as I furthered my education, I realized that the church was deep-rooted in culture and tradition. While not all of the church’s history was above board, there was a fundamental sense of community and commitment.

I won’t lie and say there weren’t some misgivings about certain vows I was expected to take, but at that time in my life, the pros far outweighed the cons.  It was a legitimate concern for anyone who took a vow of chastity and one the church took extraordinarily serious, too. 

We’d managed to stay on a righteous path thus far, and it was several weeks into our time together that Beth finally breached the topic of sex. I was torn on whether I should discuss the subject because a part of me could find comfort in talking with another who was familiar with the notion of giving one’s self over to Christ with an undivided heart. However, another part of me wanted to avoid the subject of sex as even the slightest errant thought led to a mental inundation of fantasies featuring the woman whose company I’d been keeping.

“When tempted, no one should say, “God is tempting me.” For God cannot be tempted by evil, nor does he tempt anyone; but each person is tempted when they are dragged away by their own evil desire and enticed.  Then, after desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin; and sin, when it is full-grown, gives birth to death.” James 1:13-15

“Were you worried about never having sex again?” I couldn’t help that a simple three-letter word was able to set me on fire so easily.  I’d always been able to control my carnal urges, but I was slipping, and slipping fast. There were a number of times I’d considered touching myself in the shower after a meeting with Beth, but thus far I’d resisted.

“Grady?” Beth’s utterance of my name brought me back to the topic at hand. I was almost ready to continue, to address her question, when she reached out and touched me.

All rationality I’d gained was now lost.

“I’m sorry. You’ll have to excuse me.”  I left a woman baffled, sitting in my office, wondering what she’d done to send me scurrying like a pack of cockroaches when the lights come on. I didn’t even concern myself with the fact that I left the rectory open before darting up the stairs and straight to the shower stall. I couldn’t rid myself of my black vestments quick enough, my cassock threatening to strangle me. Stripped and bared, both body and soul, I stepped into the cold water. As the pellets of water hit my skin, I startled—questioning, for the first time—whether my devotion was worth it. I was supposed to behave with judiciousness toward persons whose company could, and would, compromise my duty to observe restraint or give rise to scandal.

Did I want to stop?

Did I want to refuse myself the pleasure of my own touch?

Did I want to deny myself more tempting thoughts of Beth?

My body acted before my mind could process. I was rubbing myself, the chill of the water doing little to deter me. I turned my back to the spray, mimicking the way I was turning my back on God.  I continued to stroke my hard cock, dirty words and thoughts from my youth returning to the forefront of my mind. I pictured her dark hair and red lips, the way she crossed and uncrossed her legs… the way her skirt would ride up, giving me what would’ve ordinarily be considered a chaste peek at her thigh. All the time I’d spent denying my baser urges was lost. Years of denial wasted, washing down the drain as I spilled my seed against the tile, another sin committed.

My shower had done nothing to cleanse me as I exited the bathroom, my thoughts still on Beth.  I found her irresistible in both body and spirit, but I struggled to believe in a God who forbade me to have companionship and the love of another. There had to be a happy medium, and my heart was split in two, unable to give to Beth or God, wholeheartedly.

That night, I did as I’d done all my adult life when I was lost.  I spent several hours on my knees seeking answers from my savior, asking him to answer my prayers…

His answer never came.

Ϯ

My pleas went well into the early morning hours, searching for an indication of what to do. However, as dim gray peeked through my window, the only conclusions I’d come to was I wouldn’t be able to deny myself. There was a pain deep in my chest as I considered what I’d have to do and what I’d have to give up.

So it was with trepidation that I sat in our pew the next day. I wasn’t on my knees this time. I wasn’t begging or pleading, seeking forgiveness. My mind was made up, and my plan resolute. I would talk to Elizabeth and tell her my decision. I would see the pain my words caused, my betrayal plain.

“Are you all right?” Beth asked as she stopped at the pew entrance. I was surprised she’d come back after my hasty departure the day before.  I’d wondered whether she took my retreat as a personal insult, but she’d come back. Perhaps this goodbye was best for both of us.

“Please sit,” I offered, motioning beside me. There was no need to sugarcoat what I was about to say, so I decided to dive right in.

“I can’t see you any longer.” It was a simple statement, and I didn’t want it misinterpreted. Her head bobbed forward, a subtle nod of acquiescence.

“Jesus answered them, I assure you, most solemnly I tell you, whoever commits and practices sin is the slave of sin.” John 8:34

I’d expected more fight. Several moments passed as I watched her profile, unsure of the best way to proceed. I didn’t know how to properly break up with someone I wasn’t really dating?

“It wasn’t my plan,” she said quietly. “When I came here, I was lost. I didn’t know what I was looking for. I thought some time with God would help me find the right path. After leaving my sisters, I was alone in the world, and for the first time in my adult life, I didn’t have the solution.”  I’d given her my undivided attention, but she never made eye contact and was still staring at her lap as she continued.

“I didn’t know what or who I was looking for. I thought maybe I’d lost my connection with God, but after these past weeks with you, I realize I wasn’t lost at all. God led me here so I could see what was missing from my life, and you were here all along. God brought me to you, Grady.”

Ϯ

Chicken-shit exit: gutless. 

Apathetic apology rendered quickly: worthless.

Priest running away from a young, sexy—yet available—woman, nearly tripping over himself: priceless.

I felt as though I was being suffocated, the collar I’d worn the last several years constricting. The pages in front of me provided no ease. I’d mistakenly thought that throwing myself back into work would lessen my burden, but as I read the tissue-thin pages before me, preparing for Sunday’s homily, I only felt contempt.

I needed to stop running from Elizabeth, but she brought up feelings I’d long forgotten or suppressed. This morning I was so sure of my path and my course for dealing with my emotions. I was so close, ready to send her away and remove my greatest temptation, but she bested me. She’d said words that crawled deep inside me, laying down roots that tethered to my soul. She felt as though I was a gift from God; a sign that she wasn’t meant to live a life of celibacy and sacrifice. I looked at the words in front of me.

“And he said to them, ‘I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer.’” Luke 22:15

Could it be that God had sent me the same gift? Could this truly be what my Lord and Savior wanted for me—a life where I would know the touch and love of another?  I’d been waiting for him to answer, to give me the strength to act according to the oath I’d taken, but perhaps I hadn’t gauged the signs, or lack thereof, correctly. 

“Therefore, my friends, I want you to know that through Jesus the forgiveness of sins is proclaimed to you. Through him everyone who believes is set free from every sin…” Acts 13:38

I only hoped the apostle, Paul, was right.

Ϯ

“Would you have dinner with me? I would like to take you to a proper restaurant, but I don’t wish to feed the rumor mill. Will the rectory be satisfactory?”

I owed her at least that much. She’d been extraordinarily patient with me and my penchant for stage left exits. I’d contacted her early this morning, eager to give my apologies and ask her to join me in my evening meal.

“I understand, Grady. Does this mean we will have time to discuss… our situation?” Her pause indicated she was unsure of where I was with my feelings toward her. She had laid her cards on the table, and it was time I showed her what was in my hand as well.

“Yes, I look forward to talking with you. Is six o’clock satisfactory?”

“Yes. I’m looking forward to it.”

“As am I. Until then.”

Ϯ

She arrived at my door promptly at six. She was in a summer dress, falling just above the knee. Her cardigan sweater didn’t hide the cotton straps tied at her shoulders. My thoughts immediately went to the quick actions that would release the garment from her body.

Two tugs and she would be bared to me. I imagined her in delicate lace, white and pure with her legs ending in heels matching the pink flush that appeared as she stood before me, reluctant.

“Please, come in. Forgive my pause, but you look simply radiant.” She leaned forward and grabbed my hand. She pulled me closer, her body molding to mine as we embraced. Our bodies connected and her arms wrapped around my neck. As her head rested on my shoulder, she inhaled deeply, taking me in. My arms went to her waist, then to her back. I’d experienced rapture in my lifetime in my connection with God, but nothing compared to what I was feeling holding Beth. Her scent was euphoric, and the feel of her body pressed to me was bliss. I never wanted to leave this moment.

“It’s just as I thought it would be.”  Had her lips not been so close to my ear, I wouldn’t have heard her. She had imagined this—us—just as I had. Our connection was undeniable, and for the first time in years, I forgot who and what I was. The absence of my standard black was replaced—at least for tonight—by that of a man with no obligations, no vows to hinder his desires. Her lip cautiously touched my ear, seeking permission, asking if I wanted her touch. Little did she know that after tonight, I would no longer want it, I would need it. 

“Yes,” I whispered into her hair. We had only gotten to the foyer of the house, but already I was on fire with lust and longing. Her mouth melted the path of skin from my ear to my own lips, stopping at the corner. She’d taken the lead thus far and needed me to make the moment complete. I had to take this step to make the forbidden a reality.

Our kiss was feverish as our hands roamed, seeking out depths hidden beneath clothing and skin. “Supper,” I mumbled, trying to quell the fire we’d set. We broke apart after several moments, looking for regret in the other’s eyes. As Beth gazed into mine, she saw no remorse, only the question of when we could do that again. Her face revealed the same, but we retired to the kitchen table anyway, understanding the need to take our time. There was an unspoken understanding that this night would end the way we’d both dreamed of since the first day we met.

Ϯ

“Would you like more wine?” I asked her, hoping to keep our easy conversation going.

“Are you hoping to get me drunk in order to seduce me?” It was a playful question with no malice in her tone.

“My seduction has backfired tremendously if you caught on to my game this early.”

“On the contrary, your seduction has been very successful,” she said as she shed her sweater, draping it on the back of her chair. I was now able to see the bare skin of her chest and shoulders, the shadow where her clavicle dipped on either side of her neck. She dipped her finger in her wine and drew a line along the top of her dress hem, just above her cleavage.

“I think you’re the one who needs more wine.” She’d wet her finger heavily in the red liquid and a drop was now running down her chest, ready to escape my tongue. But there was no escape. I crossed to her side of the table quickly and pulled her from her chair. It screeched on the floor with the haste that I removed its occupant, landing with a loud smack as it hit the floor. My tongue was determined not to lose the wine I’d been offered as I quickly lapped at the drip, then lower, not wanting to miss even the tiniest drop.

As I continued to lick her skin, I had an urge to rip her clothing from her body and throw her forcefully onto the table, the remnants of dinner be damned. I pulled the top of her dress down to expose her breast. I tasted and tugged. I lavished her with small kisses and nips. She moaned when I pulled her nipple into my mouth, my teeth capturing and flicking. Her hands went to my waist and then palmed the front of my jeans, but her caresses only spurred me further. My gentle attentions escalated into rough tugs and bites. 

“Please don’t stop.”

Never.

My head was dizzy with her flavor still lingering in my mouth. She dropped to her knees—the same knees I once wondered for whom they’d been in front of—now knowing there hadn’t been an offering before me. Her hands hastily unbuttoned my pants, tugging them down. Her hand reached inside my boxers and pulled me out, her eyes looking up to see if I agreed with her silent proposal. I reached down with my hand and swept her hair back, then palmed the back of her head and pulled her mouth toward me. I was already erect with thoughts of our impending tryst as inspiration. Her hand reached forward and her thumb brushed over my tip. The sensation caused me to jerk at the spark that jolted through me.

She descended upon me with veracity, taking me in her mouth with force. My mind swam, and the devil inside me reared up offering his forked tongue. The words that spilled forth were vile, and ignited me like never before. I couldn’t believe how much I wanted to say them.

Her teeth grazed my skin as her tongue massaged me… my cock. She pulled back, pressing her lips around me. The pressure she created left me spineless, like jelly in her capable hands. I could only lean back against the kitchen table, bracing myself for the pleasure Beth was bringing me. Her assault continued, lavishing me with her capable hands and warm, moist mouth. It was happening too quickly and I needed to focus on something else for a moment.

“Did you… oh… know that the spilling of… God… of man’s seed… holy… isn’t a sin… mmm… it’s… shit!” My religious diatribe did nothing to deter the pleasure coursing through my body as I came in her mouth. The guilt was building inside me at the thought of Beth’s innocence lost.

“Waste not, want not,” she replied with a smile, tucking me back into my pants. “I want to do that again.”

I wanted to let her.

Ϯ

“What are we doing?  Please don’t tell me you plan on praying.” I turned and looked at her as I pulled her up the aisle of the church. I was counting the pews as we passed, a final countdown to my demise, reaching my ultimate sin.

After Beth had gone down on me in the kitchen, we’d moved to the living room, continuing to pleasure each other. While I hadn’t reciprocated with my mouth, I’d felt her inside—her wetness—soaking my fingers as I stroked her to the end. She came with her mouth open, a quiet cry escaping her lips. 

I wanted to bring her that feeling every day, to see her erupt just from my touch. I could now see that my love for God was nothing compared to the love I’d developed for this woman. But the demon was inside me—the serpent no longer a temptation—for now I was the proverbial snake. I’d had dreams about the sordid things I wanted to tempt her with, say to her… do to her.

I’m going to hell anyway, so why not...

“Not here,” I’d told her on the sofa, grabbing my keys from the hook by the door and taking her next door to the church. I pulled her along, not because she was unwilling, but because she wanted me to take the lead. She needed me to be her savior, her rescuer.

After entering through the side door and rushing up the aisle, we stopped at the chancel where I began to explain. “I want to take you before God on the altar. I want him to know what his sacrifice was for when he died on that cross.” I pointed toward the apery of Christ’s suffering hanging on the wall above us. She licked her lips, her eyes darting down my chest. “I want him to see what I do to you, to see the pleasure I bring as you come. I want you to look at his face—the blood, tears, and thorns—reminding you he died so that I could have you… ravish you. I want to taste your pussy, have my cock surrounded by you, buried in you, and I want to do it all on this altar, this table of offering. I want you naked and screaming while I claim you, and when I’m done, you’ll know who you belong to, that I will be the one to answer when you cry out for God.

“Me… only me.”

She turned to look at the nearly clear preparation table before her. Only the cream-colored altar cloth remained, the chalice and ciborium tucked safely in the tabernacle. Her approach was reverent, her hands cautiously reaching and then smoothing over the Maltese cross embroidered on the center of the linen. With delicate ease, she gathered and folded the cloth, then placed it on the center Sanctuary chair. She turned slowly, her eyes cast to the floor as she approached me once again. Her hands slid up my clothed chest, her eyes following until both reached my face. “I’m ready.”

I was wild, wanting to take her inside of me, to make us one in body, mind, and soul.  My lips, then teeth, sought her skin. I tasted all of her exposed flesh, basking in in her scent and flavor. I lifted her, her weight seemingly nothing, and placed her—like a reverent object—on the altar. She lay back, a feast before me, while her hands slid down her chest to her stomach. Slowly, she inched her sweater up, exposing the tight skin of her belly, then further to expose the round bottoms of her breasts, still bare after our earlier exploration. “Touch me,” was her plea. Her voice was ripe with pain, my hands the salve she was seeking.

“Blessed are you, Lord, God of all creation. Through your goodness, I have this woman in offer, which earth has given and divine hands have made. It will become for me the fruit of life.” She moaned as my hands drew her panties down her legs.

“Blessed be God forever,” was her strangled reply. My tongue sought the tender white flesh of her thigh, trailing up to the pink skin of her pussy. Her lips were clean with a small patch of hair on her pubis, a reminder that she was a woman. I took her into my mouth, sucking and lapping at her sacred vessel. Her cries were soft, but imploring. Her hips rocked and thrust to my face, attempting to quench my thirst as her essence warmed my mouth. My hand grabbed for her breast, only to feel her fingers already there, teasing and pinching her nipple. Our fingers twined, and I joined her in their delicious torture. Her voice cracked, her subtle moans and whimpers now uninhibited sobs. There were no coherent words, just needy sounds as she wordlessly begged for more.

Her hands then clutched her spread thighs, and I mimicked her move, pushing her open further, exposing her fully. Her pussy was quivering, trembling from my greedy drinking. My mind wanted to see her explode again, her mouth wide open while her body went rigid with her pleasure, but I was aching, my cock hard and impatient.

I swiftly pulled her from the table to her feet. I kissed her mouth, enjoying that I could share my experience with her, share her gift, letting her know what she tasted like. Then I turned her so that she could see the empty audience. There was no congregation before her, only deserted pews that would be filled with parishioners at a later time. “They won’t know the worship that has taken place, the true sacrifice I’ve made or the sanctity, which I’ve broken here tonight. Only you will know how deep my love for you is. Only you will know what I am giving up, and what I am thanking God for.”

I undressed her the rest of the way, her sweater thrown to the altar before us, her panties and skirt carelessly tossed to the floor. I removed my own clothing, in between soft kisses to her shoulders, back, and buttocks. Once all barriers were removed, I covered her body with mine. My hands sought her breasts  again, caressing her nipples until hard. My cock nestled in her ass, seeking her warmth and wetness, only sated once it found home. “Deliver us, Lord, from every evil, and grant us peace in our day. In your mercy keep us free from sin, and protect us from all anxiety as we wait in joyful hope for the coming of our Savior...” I whispered the words in her ear as I thrust into her for the first time.  I couldn’t help but moan, “Jesus Christ.”

She let out a contented sigh as I began to pull out, and then push back in again. She clasped her hands behind my head, creating an arch in her back, but pulling my cock into her fully. I could feel myself hit her hilt. I wanted to thrust faster and harder, to hit her deep inside over and over again. “Yes,” she growled as I punctuated her snarl with a powerful thrust. My enthusiastic pace quickened, lifting her toes off the ground as I drove into her. She brought a hand down, grasping mine at her hip, and then guided me to the front of her pussy. Our fingers linked, massaging the plump flesh of her swollen lips slick with moisture, flowing free.  I hugged her closer, not wanting an inch of space between us. My eyes closed as I imagined my lips around her nipples, tonguing them like hard pieces of sugary candy. My mouth watered thinking about their taste, texture, and her needy cries.    

“Uh…oh, yes… I’m… I’m…” Her voice rose with each syllable. And then she clinched around me. Her pussy gripped me, its pulsing breaths constricting and releasing my cock. The rhyme sent me over, already tenuous with my need to come. The blackness overtook my vision, and there was a momentary lapse in reality. I couldn’t think, move, breathe—my body in lockdown as unequivocal pleasure shot through me. There weren’t enough words known to man that could describe how I felt at that moment…

I had been altered.

Ϯ

Despite having been sated a number of times in the last several hours, my mind continued to race as we lay together in bed. After our tryst in the church, we adjourned to Beth’s home to continue our devotions. We were lost in the intimacy, whispering words of devotion and promise, unable to deny our connection. “I will move heaven and earth to be with you,” I’d told her after our third session of lovemaking, meaning it more than any vow I’d made before.

I lay on the soft mattress in her bungalow, perfect in our simplicity with blankets bunched around us, creating a cocoon. Beth was asleep, her naked body pinned to mine. With each breath she took, I thanked God for her existence, an existence I wanted to be a part of. In order for our life together to begin, though, I had to conclude another part of mine. It wouldn’t be as simple as sawing off a limb and leaving it behind. It would be painful to confess to my mentors what had transpired. I would have to confess my sins and the desecration of the chapel. I would have to admit to my flock—my parish—that I was no longer a man of upstanding character qualified to lead them; that I, too, was a sinner, no better than the man who cast the first stone. But for her, I would do it. I would spend the rest of my days begging forgiveness and repenting. One day, I would be worthy of her love and devotion.

Ϯ

“Sacrifice is defined as ‘the offering of some material possession to a deity, as in propitiation or homage, the surrender or destruction of something prized or desirable for the sake of something  considered as having a higher or more pressing claim, or loss.’ We often see sacrifice as tangible only by those who acknowledge and embrace, to the fullest, selflessness, nobility, and divinity. For example, Christ carrying the cross, enduring and absorbing so much pain to save us, and while costly, it was done with extraordinary… sacrifice.  But to say that all sacrifice must be born of suffering is a disservice to all of God’s creatures; for we could—and should—live every day with the smallest amount sacrifice. A quarter in the offering basket, clothing donations to the local shelter, making room for one more on a crowded bus... these are all sacrificial acts. While they are not grand in gesture, they are enough to alter someone’s life.

“I stand before you today, about to make a sacrifice. While I will not be carrying a cross, or leaving a quarter in the offering basket, I will be sacrificing you, my family. It is with a heavy heart that I stand before you today, as it is my last day as a man of God.”

Ϯ

Sicut erat in principio,

nunc et semper,

mundo sine consummationem, [2]

                                                                        Amen.  

“A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another; as I have loved you, that you also love one another. By this all will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another.”

John 13:34-35

[1] In nomine Patris, et Filium, et Spiritus sanctus = In the Name of the Father, and Son, and the Holy Spirit.

[2] Sicut erat in principio, nunc et semper, mundo sine consummationem  = As it was in the beginning, now and always, world without end.