It's Sunday morning, and I'm in church. I smell the fresh cut grass in the air and enjoy that colorful hats and jackets that have come out with the warm weather. I take my seat in the pew, And I see you, carrying the Gospel behind a boy carrying a cross. You could be mistaken for a short man under those four layers of robes and with your hair pulled back. But I see you. I see the long elegant neck, and how it strains against the collar around it. I see your wide blue eyes. I think you're only wearing a bit of powder on your face, without mascara or lipstick. That doesn't hide your sensuous mouth from me.
You stand in front of the altar and greet us. You are here for the day to substitute for the normal rector. I'm transfixed by you, you wound me to the heart. Your high, girlish voice thrills me as you narrate the various exchanges you've had during the week. You reference your husband, a smiling man in the second row. I see how you move as you take the elements back-and-forth. I can picture how your body sweats under those robes and longs to be touched. I want you. I want to know you, completely. I will have you, no matter what it takes.
And then it's six months later. I've come to see you preach at your new parish 200 miles from my home. You see me in the congregation during the homily and lose your train of thought; you have to look down at your notes and pause for a minute before you begin again. I can see you looking for your husband in the Congregation, and I know he's not there. And that's when I know I have you. I know that you'll be mine tonight. Because I know that you've thought of me as much as I've thought of you.
You're having dinner alone at a the only restaurant in town, absently reading your phone. I come to your table and greet you, and you put down your phone; your smile and your joy warms me through to the core. You invite me to sit down. You tell me about your separation from your husband. You tell me about the new church and what a strain it is. You tell me about how anxious you get about politics, and how you wish that you could just really do the work of the church, instead of worrying about the details. I sympathize with you. And then we're walking in the night, and you draw close to me and take my hand. You deliver a brief, small kiss to my lips as I turn my head, and take my breath away.
I bring you to my room, and we sip our drinks and laugh. First you let down your hair, letting your glorious hair spread out behind you. You don't break eye contact to take off your glasses and your collar, putting them on the table. You unbutton your dress shirt, revealing your practical, ivory bra and the silky, alabaster skin I knew you'd have. You stand up and drop your simple trousers, revealing the lithe, graceful body I've seen in my dreams.
And I'm lifting you, kissing you, squeezing the back of your neck. We're on the bed in a moment, and you crawl on top of me, bringing down my pants and shorts, and taking me into your mouth. That mouth, so soft and warm. Your tongue is unbelievable, your hands so fluent.
I have your bra off and I'm stroking the tops of your breasts. I pinch your nipples and you shudder. Finally I sit up and bring you to me. We kiss, pulling your panties down, and bringing you onto my lap. You squeeze my neck as I fuck you, and scratch my back. I'm rising up and you're grinding down, back-and-forth and back-and-forth. And we both come at once.
We're exhausted and covered in sweat but we don't break our mouths' contact; we want to breathe each other's hot air. I finger your wet cunt, bringing you to the edge of orgasm with my hands. My cock rises again, and I turn you over, and take you from behind. I run my hands along your thin chest and squeeze your neck so gently. You torque your hips back into me. God, where did a priest learn to fuck like this?
We both come again and lay on the bed, quickly drifting to sleep. When I wake in in the morning you're gone; there's only a note saying that you had fun and thanks for visiting. I smell your perfume, and decide that I'll be back in town next week for your service.
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