Forgive Me Father For I Lust For You

[chanaud]

Closed thread for my Father Damien..

Just when I was about to give up hope, I see him. Him, I mean the lust of my life. He was my first crush. The crush that carried me over the years when I started dating and eventually having sex. His large hands is what I imagine caressing my body. His tongue is what I imagine entering my mouth, and tasting the salt on my skin. His body is what I imagine crushing mine. His face is who I imagine when I reach the height of my ecstasy, may it be alone or with a man. It was him. And it will always be Him.

Him is Father Damien. I was barely 14. Back then I was what most adults called gangly. Tall and skinny, I towered over most boys. They avoided me, making me shy and reserved. I didn’t have too many friends, only two best friends who were just of a social outcast as I was.

Like I said, I was barely 14 and in line to ride the Ferris Wheel. When it was my turn to walk up the plan, the seedy operator stopped me mid stride. “Hey girly, you can’t ride alone. This is a couples only ride.” I informed him politely that I didn’t have a partner and would very much like to ride. He said the line was too long, and I need to find one immediately. A few groans echoed up to me. A bold voice told me I was hurrying up the ride. I was lost as I looked blindly at the line and saw all couples. They were staring at me as if I was a freak show. Why doesn’t she have a friend? What is wrong with her?

Right then, a savior, Father Damien stepped up and said he was with me. Scores of laughter came from the line. A voice who I recognize as Jimmy, our school quarterback yelled out. “Look at that freak. Her only friend is a priest.” I died with embarrassment. I wanted so badly to run as fast as I could until all this was behind me. But I couldn’t leave Father Damien there all by himself. He was a priest for God’s sake!

At first our conversation was slow and careful. Father Damien inquired into the welfare of my family. I answered him respectfully. An awkward silence fell. How does one act to a priest outside of the sanctity of our Church? I had no clue. This was a first for me.

Curiosity caught hold of me. I dared to sneak glances at him and was rewarded with a perfect side view. For the first time in my life, I saw him this close. Immediately his handsomeness struck me. He truly was. His head was full of thick, black curly hair. His blue eyes resembled swimming pools. And his nose was masculine and Romanesque. His lips were full, yet not overwhelming.

He glanced at me and caught me staring. His lips widened into a broad smile showing a perfect row of teeth. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t prevent the blush to creep up my neck and monopolize my face. My eyes darted away immediately. A shiver took hold of me, my body shuddered.

“Are you cold?” He asked, his voice full of concern.

“No…ermm.. just a little..” I answered shyly.

“Good. For a moment, I thought you were embarrassed to be sitting with me.”

“Why would I be embarrassed?” His teasing voice made my head turn to him.

“Oh, only because you’re sitting next a Priest. That is if you haven’t noticed that yet.” He answered, his bright blue eyes looked down at me mockingly.

A chuckle escaped my lips. This isn’t so awkward after all.

“You are? I thought you were black because you were rolling in the tar pit!” The teasing continued.

He chuckled. His smile smoothed his face, and for the first time it dawned on me he was young. Quite young. Possibly in his early 20s young.

He scooted closer. His long lean legs stretched out before him, relaxing his body. His arms flung across the back of the seat, his fingers dangled down barely grazing my bare shoulders. My body froze in place. I could barely breathe. My stomach was turning as if I was on a high speed roller coaster. My veins were racing the Indy 500.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” He moved even closer. His fingers reached out to my chin and lifted it towards him. His blue eyes pierced through mine, searching for something. I felt faint. I could barely breathe. I couldn’t look at him. Not into my eyes, he might read my thoughts. My eyes fell to his lips. They were slightly open, I was able to see the tip of his tongue. My tongue flickered out onto my blushing lips. I wanted so desperately for him to kiss me.

The ride stopped. We were at the very top, but I didn’t even notice it. The noise of the carnival was barely audible. I was transported to a different world, which Father Damien and I were the only inhabitants. Oh God, I want him.

He must have sensed something. His eyes fell on my lips too. His fingers were still holding my chin, forcing me towards me. His face drew closer to mine. I felt his warm breaths on my tingling skin. Closer..closer..

A jolt separated us. Instantly we were on the ground. The ride was over. He mumbled something to me, thanking me for my company. We parted our ways.

We saw each other many times after that. Each moment was awkward. At least it was for me An opportunity never arose for us to be alone again. If it had, something deep inside of me told me something would happen.

I eventually stopped growing. The rest of my classmates caught up to me. I finished my high school with high honors and popularity. I dated a lot and eventually lost my virginity. Father Damien relocated back to his hometown in Ireland. I never stopped thinking about Him.

I came home every summer from college. I still attended Mass like a good Catholic that I was raised to be.

What I didn’t expect is to see him one hot Sunday morning…

 

[ariosto]

.

 

[Miltone]

Father Damien

The summer heat was stifling and smothering, a far step from the mild summers I’ve become used to at home in Ireland. There was a thick humidity that hung in the air and settled upon everything, dampening down the lush trees and shrubs and grass, moistening the skin of every parishioner, making my own clothing cling to my moist skin hidden beneath my heavy vestments. The older ladies had their hankies out, damping down their foreheads, already glistening with perspiration. And it was only 10 o’clock mass. Another hour, another two hours, who knew how steamy it would become?

Then, as I waited in the nave, breathing slowly and deeply, glad that this air in the stuffy stone edifice was just the least bit cooler, I saw her again. It had been what? Five years since I had last looked out over this parish? No, six years since I had been ordered back to my homeland. She had been but a child then, tall and painfully slim, ungainly as is a young colt unsure of its legs, her teeth strung with braces. She had always seemed to be reserved, lingering quietly on the outside of the popular cliques, never quite fitting in. Yet there was something quite different about her, something very special that I could never completely put my hand upon. I remember attempting to lure her out by asking her to help with some parish activities into which she threw her youthful enthusiasm and energy. Toward the end of my last summer here, before being summoned back to my homeland, I could see her begin to emerge, like a fresh rosebud ready to bloom.

I well remembered the child but was unprepared to see the young woman into which she had grown. At the first glance I didn’t identify her, but as I saw the flicker of recognition in her eyes and a slight lifting of her jaw, I knew it was her. And my heart stopped short at the sight of her in a light summer dress, a pale shade of green that perfectly complimented her dark green eyes and the long locks of lush red hair that cascaded down over the pale clear skin of her shoulders.

Oh, she had grown into the first fruits of womanhood, her body rounded out, her features filled in and beautifully completed. And those eyes and those lips were unmistakable. It was Mary Beth Donlan. I closed my eyes hoping that it was just an illusion caused by the heat and my nervousness upon returning to this parish that I had served those years ago. But when my eyes opened again she had taken her seat in the front pew and she was looking straight at me, even as I lurked in the shadows, with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine.

As her lips curled into a nearly indistinguishable smile I was summoned back to that summer years ago as if time had stood still. I could see her kneeling at the altar, her eyes wide open, large and luminous and trained on my every move, her pouty lips parted fully, her moist pink tongue extended. And every time I had brought the wafer down to her, she had leaned forward hungrily, devouring it and any part of me that I didn’t quickly retrieve, and I knew it was not a hunger for religious salvation that she was demonstrating. The trembling of her wetted lips, the close watch of her eyes on my hands, the way each time there was some other kind of touching between us, her hand to mine, my hand to her chin or cheek, sang to me a warning of the taste of forbidden fruit.

Then there was the late afternoon following the parish ice cream social when I had retired to my study to massage my words for the sermon at mass the following day. When I heard a sound at the doorway, I was surprised to see Mary Beth carrying the cash box.

“I thought I’d bring this right to you, Father,” she had said hesitantly.

“You didn’t have to do that, Miss Donlan,” I had said with a smile. “You could have left it with Mrs. Donovan.”

“I know,” she answered, carrying the gray steel box over to my desk and setting it down in front of me. “But I wanted to bring it up here and give it right to you for safekeeping. We did real well.”

“Well, good,” I replied. “I appreciate your perseverance. Thank you.”

She hovered beside me for a moment as I reached for the box to place it down in a desk drawer. In doing so, I had brushed against her thigh and she had rested her hand on my shoulder. When I glanced upward with surprise at her touch, I saw her face grow flushed and her mouth open as if she were intending to say something. As I sat back up in my chair her hand lingered for a moment.

“Is there something else?” I had asked. Her full lips moved but no words escaped her mouth. With her cheeks fully blushed, she had stepped back.

“No, Father. Just thank you.” Then she turned and fled the room quickly. Part of me smiled at her youth and spirit and innocence, but another part of me felt something quite different inside, a deep tingling sensation that surprised and disturbed me greatly, for she was just a child and I was her priest.

So ashamed of my own baited temptation, I never spoke of it to anyone, not even the late and kindly Father Dunleavy, whom I had now come to replace this half-dozen years later. The relief that I had felt upon my reassignment years before was conspicuous, to me at least, and I had believed it to be the full demonstration of the Lord’s power that he should remove me from such a verdant enticement. The intervening years had strengthened me in my faith, in my resolve to serve the Lord’s people. Yet here I stood quivering at the sight of one of God’s loveliest creations, ready to melt from the heat of summer and my own illicit passion.

And now, I couldn’t remember a word of the wise and appreciative returning message that I had penned the night before as I attempted to still my trembling hands. I could foretell my scripture readings and sermon becoming vague ramblings as I could not escape the gaze of this sweet temptation. I breathed deep and reached down to grasp every bit of the strength of faith and belief that dwelled deep inside me, for I would need every morsel should I see her kneeling before me at communion in this her full bloom of femininity. I tried to cast away the lurid thoughts that had settled into my brain and haunted me since those years when I was a brash young priest, fresh from seminary and so full of myself. I was now the hand of God, doing His work at His bidding … and I was shaking like a fool unable to control a base, elementary lust.

The music swelled and reached a glorious crescendo and I walked to the front of the steps that lead to the altar. I would try to draw in the expectant looks of the other parishioners and feed on their uplifting fervor. I would try to ignore the large bright green eyes of Mary Beth Donlan and render her invisible. Somehow I knew that I would fail miserably in both.

 

[chanaud]

Mary Beth Donlan

At first glance he hadn’t changed. He still seemed larger than life as he stood before the altar, arms extended out, waiting for the altar boys to place the cross in its rightful place.

My body went through the automated motions of genuflecting before the pew, and kneeling on the cushioned pad to say a prayer at record speed. I was in a hurry to observe my Father Damien. And memorize every new line he's acquired during his absence.

When I sat back on the wooden pew, I was about to observe him up close. His face had filled out with maturity. His cheekbones no longer sunk in. And he seemed paler. Probably due to the cold weather he had to endure in Ireland. I shuddered at the thought of him being cold. It made me want to wrap my arms around his neck and draw his head to my comforting bosoms. His blue pools swam with something new, possibly fear or pain. I figured he had to endure unsightly situations in Ireland. The poverty from what I’ve heard and read was uncomparable to anything here in the US. They still held the same bright blue of the fateful summer cloud above our ride. A ray of sunlight shone through the painted glass and shone through his eyes providing a hollowed path to what seemed a soulless man.

“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”

“Amen.”

“The Lord be with you.”

Please Lord, give me strength.

“And also with you.”

“As we prepare to celebrate the mystery of Christ's love, let us acknowledge our failures and ask the Lord for pardon and strength.”

Forgive me, God, for I want him.

“Lord, we have sinned against you. Lord, have mercy.”

As a man. A mortal man like how Adam was when he bit into the forbidden fruit provided by his love, Eve.

“Lord show us your mercy and love.”

Will I go to hell for seducing a man of cloth?

“And grant us your salvation.”

Yes, he's worth the prive of eternal hell.

With his arms extended out into a full span, Father Damian stepped forward. He was absolutely beautiful, I thought as my heart thumped loudly at his saintly reverence. With his head raised to the sky, he sang. His deep voice echoed through the congregation and through me, piercing my soul and making me tremble like an autumn leaf holding onto its life on a dead branch. The heat was getting to me. I could barely breathe. And it was humid. Small beads of sweat was forming all over my body. The humidity between my legs made my inner thighs slick. I crossed, and uncrossed my legs. My hands swept the back of my neck and down to my breastbone. Father Damien caught each movement.

“Glory to God in the highest…..”

His voice stopped abruptly. A few coughs echoed from behind me.

“Let us pray.”

My body slid off the wooden seat and down to my knees. My skirt remained behind on the seat providing a tent of fresh air. With my hands folded before me, I bowed in reverence. To everyone in the congregation, I looked like a model saint.

Let me have him, God. As a man. A mortal man. I will take good care of his doomed soul, and make him feel complete. Like how every man should feel. And when we’re finished, you may have him back. ”

“We ask this through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son,
who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit,
one God for ever and ever.”

Pleeease, let me have him.

“Amen.”

His eyes as hard as they tried couldn’t avoid me. I thought I saw the corners of his lips lift. I sat up with elation and smiled broadly. Then he frowned and turned away quickly. My heart fell at the rejection. A roller coaster was twisting through my body. He avoided me through the first reading, and most of the second.

Oh God, make him look at me.

He did! Immediately, his eyes were upon me piercing my soul again. Only this time his eyes remained until he read my innermost thoughts.

Go ahead and avoid me, Father. I will allow you that while others are around. After all, we don’t want anyone to suspect anything. For they might try to send you away again. And I couldn’t bear it, not that I’ve seen you again. We will be discreet and meet in private like all the great loves in the past. Yes, that will be us. You and I. Together, at last.

 

[Miltone]

Father Damien

The liturgical words dripped from my parched lips in a routine automatic fashion, so well drilled into my brain had they been for my entire lifetime. I had spoken them so many times before. My eyes grazed over the upturned faces of the expectant parishioners. Many were familiar and receptive, yearning for whatever slice of redemption I could bring to salve their guilty consciences. There were some new faces, fresh to my mind, yet still showing the same eager zeal for salvation. I spoke to them, I sang to them, I held my arms upward and prayed for them. And then there was Mary Beth.

Though my eyes swept over the others, making deliberate contact with each, I always returned to her, my glance darting away should she be looking my way, which was each time. She sat and knelt and stood up perfectly in tune with the mass, her soft clear skin glistening, shining like a warm emotional beacon in the sea of good well-meaning Catholics. There was an outward innocence to her appearance, a freshness and holiness that graced the sanctuary. But I could see more. There was a radiant glow flourishing within her. It was echoed in the grown-up way she had arranged her hair, in the light dress she had chosen to wear and the way it formed around her womanly curves and clung to each in this thick humid air.

Was she looking straight at me? Why? Could she see inside me? Could she see the guilt I felt for having engendered such impure thoughts when she was just a child? Did she realize how seeing her again, now in the flaming bloom of ripening womanhood, had brought this long-forgotten desire all back to me with a sudden flush of stirring emotions?

Each time my eyes returned, hers seemed to have opened wider. There was an intensity in her gaze that seemed to burrow into my mind. Surely this was a wicked trick of my imagination, a corrupt figment of my own throbbing guilt, for someone so sweet and innocent could not be party of such immoral and dissolute cravings. Yet each time my glance returned to her, I could feel something growing inside me, like a wanton spirit sweeping through my body.

Thankfully the proscribed order of the mass kept me in line. The Kyrie Eleison, the Gloria, the Collect, and the liturgy of the Word all seemed to help divert my attention from my own errant thoughts and drew me back to the fold of the faithful. Then the Homily gave me a chance to try and break this spell, but I stumbled over remembering the words and had to mop my damp brow.

“I hope you can excuse me this morning,” I spoke slowly, almost as an aside. “For I didn’t know that you had reserved such warm weather, else I would have left my woolen long johns at home in favor of something lighter and much more comfortable.”

There was a smattering of laughter as I looked out onto the sea of faces. And there was Mary Beth, her eyes trained on me, her full lips parted. I could easily see the tip of her tongue dart out and circle those lips, lush and pink and moist. Then they closed and curled into a more pronounced smile, one that etched dimples into both cheeks. Then her mouth opened, forming a perfect letter O.

I could no longer look in her direction. The heated sweat gathering on my skin fueled my discomfort. Reaching down inside I summoned my strength of faith and purpose and carried on, taking solace in the Prayer of the Faithful. Yes, Lord God, I was faithful. I have been a good Catholic boy and I can do this. I can turn away from these lurid thoughts of mine, deny this devilish spirit trying to take hold of me, and fulfill the calling of my order.

The Liturgy of the Eucharist gave me much to occupy my mind and body, moving about with the preparation of the gifts and offering up the prayers. Feeling relieved at my success in carrying out my plan, I sank myself into the rites and called the faithful forward. All was fine as I distributed communion until I came to her. Suddenly Mary Beth stood before me exuding a sultry warmth, her eyes large green sparkling orbs and her mouth opened wide. After placing the wafer on her tongue, her wet lips quickly closed around my trembling fingers just as they had those years before. Surely everyone could see this, I thought, looking about, but then feeling chastened when there wasn’t a single other eye on us. With a sweet smile she turned away and returned toward her pew, the light fabric of her dress clinging tightly to the swaying lush curves of her backside.

Grateful for the remaining faithful patiently waiting for me, I snapped back to my work and finished the distribution. I dispatched my decadent thoughts and lost myself in the joy of the ceremony. The concluding rites flew past and finally I stood proudly at the doorway greeting the parishioners and shaking their hands, thankful for the slightest movement of the outside air. That appreciation was lost when I felt a soft warm hand reach for mine and I turned to see those luscious green eyes looking up at mine.

“Thank you for a wonderful service, Father Damien,” Mary Beth said softly. “You don’t know how very pleased I am to see you return.”

“It’s very nice to be back,” I replied stiffly as I had with a dozen others and would with a dozen more. “I have some very fond memories of my previous stay here.”

“So do I,” she smiled, her eyes melting down my reserve. Her hand felt so small and lightly feminine in mine. Could she feel the dampened nervousness in my hand? Could she sense the quickened beating of my heart? Was she even aware in her sweet innocence of the immoral thoughts coursing through my brain? “I don’t know if you’re aware, Father Damien, but I sit on the fundraising committee for the new school addition.”

“No I hadn’t …”

“Then I’ll see you at the meeting this evening, Father,” she said, our hands touching still, lingering, a steamy warmth permeating the humid air.

There was a contented lilt to her voice that echoed in my ears long after she had let go of my hand and waltzed down the steps to the walk that lead toward the street. The others waiting patiently in line shook my hand and gave me their friendly greetings, but I could only feel the warmth of her hand in mine, I could only see the look in her eye, the flicker of her pink tongue between her parted lips, and the sway of her body and her luxurious red tresses as she walked away. In her pure innocence she could have no idea of this illicit temptation that was throbbing inside me. Nor could I ever let her know of these impure thoughts, which would have to remain mine alone … they must!

 

[chanaud]

Mary Beth Donlan

The heavens above carried me home. I pranced through the house, unaware of the strange queries in my parents’ eyes. Alone in my room, I grabbed the first thing that caught my eye--my pillow and hugged it and kissed it pretending it was my love, Father Damien.

He wants me, I repeated over and over again as I danced around my bedroom. I saw it in his eyes. The way his eyes searched mine, the way his hand held mine followed by the hard swallow in his throat when I mentioned chairing this grand event. He was uncomfortable. Nervous even. He’s going to be ne…mine…MINE!!

Than in the corner of my eye, a wooden cross hung above my bed caught my eye. It was one blessed by the great Bishop John McFarland for my First Communion. A pang of guilt hit me. Or was it fear. Fear of hell. Eternal hell. Quickly, I jumped on my bed and brought the cross down and shoved it far back in a desk drawer. I can’t be minded by that now.

I took careful pains in dressing for the evening. Certainly I didn’t want to look like a woman on a mission. Just a woman. Soft and feminine to his touch. A simple white skirt flared at the hem, topped with a lime green sleeveless blouse buttoned down to the tip of my cleavage offered a hint of what’s more to come was chosen. A pair of open-toed sandals and a thin gold necklace with a tiny cross charm were the perfect accessories for my simple attire.

I planned my early arrival perfectly. Somehow I knew he would be there early and I wanted my face to be the first to greet him. As I waited for him, I rearranged the heavy conference table in the middle of the empty hall. Then I rearranged the folding chairs around the table. As I pushed the last chair in, the door opened. It was him. I knew it before turning my head towards the door.

“Hello, Father Damien.” My soft, sultry voice echoed towards him.

It took a moment to gather his thoughts. How did I know it was him?

“Hello, Mary Beth…” He answered softly.

Did he remember my name or did he have to check? I wondered. It really didn’t matter. The sound of his voice saying my name made my heart leap forward. My breasts were heaving wanting to hear it again. Thank God, my back is still facing him, I thought. Yet how can he not know? The sound of my heartbeat was surely a dead giveaway.

The loud patterned footsteps echoed in the cold hall. It drew closer and louder towards me. Right when he was directly behind me, I turned. We were face to face. So close, so near. I can feel his heartbeat so close to mine.

“Have you made yourself at home yet, Father?” I inquired softly.

“Yes, it’s good to be…home.” The corners of his lips curled upwards. It stopped short of a smile. My eyes flickered back and forth watching intently. I, so, wanted to see how his lips form saying my name. The very tip of my tongue flickered across my lips wanting to taste them…HIM!

A hand reach out and barely touched his black sleeve. “Good. I missed you, Father.”

His eyebrows curled into a knot of worry. Before he had a chance to respond, I chimed in. “When you’re settled, I would like to invite you to my house for dinner.” The hand remained, I stepped closer. “With my parents, of course.” I included with a smile and the barest of a wink.

 

[Miltone]

Father Damien

“That would be … ah … nice … very nice,” I said nervously. “I will look forward to seeing your parents again.”

Mary Beth stood before me, her eyes sweeping back and forth down over my face and chest then back up to focus on my eyes again. What was there about her glance that made me feel so apprehensive? Was it that she was reaching some sort of complete irresistible ripeness that the male animal buried deep inside me could not disregard? Oh, she was so sweet and innocent! I stood trembling as I summoned the strength to deny the base sensations that were coursing through my body.

“You haven’t changed, Father,” she said warmly. “You’re exactly as I remember you.”

“And you … you have grown up, Mary Beth,” I replied unable to think of anything more original. My voice felt tight and cramped as if gripped by a strong pair of hands that were throttling my throat. “I remembered a tall skinny girl with braces and now here … here is … is … is a … um, fully grown … beautiful … young woman.” Her hand was burning my arm through my shirt; her eyes were burrowing into mine. As I endeavored to train my eyes on hers, she smiled and looked down and away modestly. Oh, the sweet artlessness! The divine guilelessness! The purity of heart and mind! And here, here I am consumed with a raw animalistic desire that came straight from the devil! My glance followed hers only to settle on the delicate gold cross that was nestled in the swell of her breasts and riding upon her heaving chest. Her skin was rosy and glistening from the heat of the day.

“Thank you, Father,” she replied and raised her eyes again. They were sparkling emeralds mounted in the blush of her face, her complexion china-smooth and dewy-fresh. Surely she could see the lurid sweat of my nethermost sinful desire. “I didn’t think you would remember me.”

“I never forget a face,” I answered. My voice seemed to be settling down. “Especially one like yours.”

This time her eyes didn’t dart away bashfully but remained on my face, looking me over closely as if she were memorizing my every feature. But it was more than that; her gaze was penetrating me; it was strong and willful and was speaking in a language that I surely didn’t understand. All I could comprehend was this riled feeling stirring deep inside me. Did she feel this way too? How could she? Was her heart beating like mine?

“Yes,” she said. Was that an answer to my questions or simply my imagination reading something into an innocent comment? Her hand slipped lightly off my arm. “So ermm, Father … do you like the way I arranged … the room … for the meeting that is?”

I watched her edge away and turn, the flare of her skirt swishing side to side as she moved. My eyes swept sinfully up and down her figure from the trim supple curves of her bare legs, over the gentle swell of her bottom to the sleek arch of her back and her proud and erect shoulders. Her abundant scarlet curls were held together with a simple gold clasp and cascaded in a single plush waterfall down the middle of her back. Her body was so sleek and shapely, her clothes clinging snuggly to her body, the smooth curves unbroken by a single line as if the fabric had been painted onto her. I brought my hand to my mouth and turned away. Where were these thoughts coming from? After all, I was the good Father and had to banish these thoughts and feelings for her sake … and for my own!

“Um, yes. Very nice.” I forced myself to take notice of the table. She had placed a couple pitchers of ice water on the table and set glasses around. I suddenly felt an urge for cold water and poured myself a glass, the pitcher rattling against the rim of the glass. The chilled water eased down my parched throat. I breathed deeply trying to fill my lungs and draw in the strength to fight off this corrupt temptation.

“You know, Father, there is something … something that I …” Mary Beth said, looking back over her shoulder at me.

“Father Damien!” exclaimed Herb Wheeler as he strode into the room followed by his wife Roberta and Mrs. Coates, another of the committee members.

Instantly the room felt cooler and safer and I was able to keep a good distance between Mary Beth and my shaking body. The other committee members soon followed and thankfully we were launched into an intense discussion about the fundraising efforts for the new addition to the church school. The talk flowed from one to the next and back again. But as the meeting wore on I felt my gaze returning to the lovely young woman seated across from me, her pure angelic smile defying my lurid glance upon her firm youthful sumptuous curves.

With a list of action items for each of us that Miss Donlon so dutifully compiled, we found the meeting soon coming to a close. I prayed that Mary Beth would be the first to leave, but alas my satanic heart be damned, she lingered and was the last. I found every reason to forestall the inevitable but when everything was put away and the lights were ready to extinguish, we were standing side by side.

“So, um, Father Damien,” Mary Beth said, her voice clear and sweet and almost angelic. “I’d like to thank you in advance for all the support. In these times, it can be hard to raise the funds that we need to expand the school, but we need it so badly to continue to serve the community as it grows into this new century.”

Her words were lost on me. I knew what they said, but they had little meaning for all I could see was glow of her high rounded cheekbones, the sparkle of her green eyes, the sweet damp curves of her full rounded lips.

“Yes,” I replied, responding to my basic urge of the moment. “If there is anything that I … er, the church can do … to help, please let me know.”

“Thank you, Father, so very much,” she answered. Her face looked up at me sweetly. “Um, can you do something for me?”

“Uh … well … certainly … what?” I asked, drawing in a long deep breath.

“Can you … walk me out to my car?”

“Um, yes. Certainly. I can do that. With pleasure. Well, not with pleasure … exactly but … um, yes. I can do that.”

I could not mistake her delightful giggle at my expense. She knew it! She knew of my rabid nervousness; she could sense my ungainly discomfort; she could feel the raw devious desire that was rising from deep within me. And I felt so ashamed of this burgeoning darkness in my heart.

“Thank you, good Father,” she said as we left the room.

I lead her down the hallway until we reached a rarely used side door.

“Shall we go out this way?” I suggested impulsively.

“This way?”

“Yes. It leads through the garden. Kind of a short cut.” I felt no small relief at finding an easier way to bring this evening to a quicker close.

“I’ve never seen it, Father. Is it pretty?”

“It is lovely on a night like this,” I replied. “We have a sample of almost every plant that’s mentioned in the Old Testament. Acacia, Buckthorn, Cypress, Date Palm. Fir and Fig.”

“How wonderful is that?” Mary Beth laughed as we stepped out into the sultry evening air. She stood for a moment and breathed in the scent of the garden and I immediately regretted my suggestion. “Mmm, smells delicious,” she remarked, her eyes closing as she savored the scent of rare and common flora.

What I had hoped would be a brief excursion on the way to the parking lot became a leisurely tour as Mary Beth asked about each plant, what it was and where it had come from. Fortunately, I was able to deliver most of the answers quickly since I had spent many hours here tending the garden and in prayer. And oh the prayers I made as we wound our way through the garden, begging for deliverance from this luscious temptation.

“What is this?” she asked. “It’s pretty!”

“That is Henna, a shrub that has been in use from the most ancient times in Middle- Eastern and South Asian countries for dyeing the hair and the nails. I’m fond of the small yellow sweet smelling flowers.”

“Oh really?” she remarked. “I didn’t know you were a botanist.”

“I’m not. I’ve just spent a lot of time out here. Tending and praying … praying and tending.”

“From the lushness of this garden I can see that you have done much of both,” she said with a joyful womanly laugh. We were standing near a favorite place of mine, a small garden bench with a lovely view of the ancient Rose of Sharon shrubs. She waved her sweet hand toward the bench. “Can we sit for a moment, Father?”

“Of course,” I replied, reluctantly resisting the urge to be rude and usher her toward the exit immediately.

Mary Beth took a seat and I sat awkwardly beside her. As we sat together beneath the moonlight on the bench in the garden awash with the redolent aromas of the summer flowers, it felt not as if we were a good Catholic girl and the kindly good Father, but a woman and a man with something to share, something perhaps forbidden and unspoken, but something that beat soundly within my breast, making my pulse quicken and my breath grow short.

 

[chanaud]

Mary Beth Donlan

With my legs crossed at the ankles, I sat next to Father Damien. Our bodies were close enough to feel his body heat emitting through his priestly uniform of black shirt, black slacks, and the ever incessant collar reminding me he was married to the church, yet we sat far apart to retain a respectable distance. Silence filled in the night air with the thick humidity and the heady fragranced flowers. We sat like young lovers for a long while, watching the moon rise above us.

After what seemed like an eternity, I couldn’t stand the silence any longer. I dared to sneak a peek at his handsomeness, and found his translucent blue eyes drilling into me. Embarrassed of being caught, he turned quickly, and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. My hand reached out, and touched his arm softly to let him know its ok, I didn’t mind him being next to him, looking at me, and hopefully desiring me.

His arm! How can one keep it so hidden. Never before had I imagined, and boy, have I imagined, that he would be so sculpted, so hard under that ungodly garb he’s forced to wear. I wanted so badly to roam my hand up and down his chest, his bare skin, but it laid frozen, unable to move, and just waited for his reaction. The muscles on his arm answered to my touch, by uttering a throb, sending my heart into overdrive, and my veins racing with desire.

I wanted more, and knew I had to make the first move. For he was a man of virtue, and had a strong commitment to his church. So I sat and wondered how, how do I make him mine? How does one break a Priest from his vows and remind him he’s a man. A desirable man. Please God, show me the way, I prayed silently to the stars above.

“It’s a lovely evening, isn’t it, Father?”

“Y..y..yes.” He managed to answer. Tiny beads of sweat formed a bridge across his forehead. And his arm trembled under my touch.

“Am I making you nervous, Father?”

Instantly, his body turned to me. “No, not at all, my child!”

“Child? Do I look like a child to you?” I asked him jokingly.

“Oh, dear God, not at all!” He answered immediately. Then the realization of his reaction struck him, he blushed uncontrollably.

“I suppose it’s a tad warm tonight. I’m still adjusting to this humidity.” His hand tugged on his collar and pulled it off revealing his bare neck. I caught my breath at the sight. It looked so soft. I wanted so badly to touch him. He set the collar down on the bench between us, dividing us as a man of God and a mortal woman.

I picked it up boldly and set it on the opposite side of me letting him know that not even a collar can keep us apart. Father Damien turned to me, his eyes questioned my intentions. I answered him softly. “You don’t need that now.”

He nodded and swallowed hard knowing full well what I was saying. “Oh, Mary Beth…..” His hands reached out and cupped my jaw. His large blue eyes bore into mine, searching for the right words, but words were lost in him. He was fighting a losing battle.

I remained determined and looked at him boldly. “Father?” I whispered softly. He didn’t answer immediately. I didn’t mind, for he was touching me, holding me, and we were so, so close, I can feel his warm breath fanning my burning skin.

When he did find his voice again, he continued. “Yes?”

“I have a confession to make..”

“Yes, my child. Please state your confession.”

“Forgive me, Father, for I want you…”

A small moan escaped his throat. His eyes closed while swallowing the lump in his throat. I took advantage of the situation, and inched closer. When he opened his eyes again, I was right under him, my face tilting towards him, my lips wet and waiting for his.

“…to kiss me.”

With that, I leaned in slightly and crushed my lips against his. Instinctively, his arms wrapped my back and pulled me to him. Our tongues danced, our bodies melted into one. We kissed long, and hard, and lustfully.

 

[Miltone]

Father Damien

I had been surprised by the way Mary Beth had moved my collar to the other side of her and shifted closer to me. The words of her confession had startled me, excited me, and made me feel lust and shame and desire. I was not alone in these appalling thoughts. But how could she have descended to this? What had I said to introduce the idea to her? What had I done to draw her into such regrettable behavior? Yet as her lips burned their way into mine and the heat of our combined breath washed over our faces I struggled within myself to find the strength to push her away. This was wrong, so, so wrong and yet I was enjoying it, I wanted it, and I needed it!

“Mary Beth … Mary Beth …” I breathed, my voice flowing out deep and husky, thick with a lustful passion that made me feel uncomfortable and yet so very aroused. Her hands were burning their way through my shirt to my shoulders and chest, and my hands … my hands? My hands were moving up and down her back, feeling the warm smooth curves of her body through her blouse and skirt, the taut agile muscles of her back as she pressed herself forward against me. Her lips were plying the damp trembling flesh of my neck with hot wet kisses. “No … stop … we shouldn’t … we can’t … no …”

But she didn’t stop … we didn’t stop … I couldn’t stop. Mary Beth’s fingers found the buttons of my shirt, quickly freeing them and opening up the stiff starched cloth. The cooler damp air flowed over my heated chest and was followed by her hands, touching my tingling skin. As her hot wet lips passed down from my neck to my chest, my eyes closed and my head fell back. A deep moan issued uncontrollably from my mouth. It had been so long since I had felt such carnal pleasure, such heated passion, such pure delight. But as her mouth closed around my taut little man nipple, my eyes snapped open and I could see in the thick sultry air of this verdant little garden, this gorgeous young woman in the first full bloom of womanhood raining her kisses upon my undeserving body.

My hands moved around to grasp at her shoulders, but on their way they passed closely over her supple young body, slowly moving over her firm breasts, the sharp points of her nipples raking my trembling sweaty palms. I could hear her moan at the first brush of my touch, I could feel the vibration of her voice reverberating through my weak flesh.

“Mmm, Father Damien … I want you so much!” she whispered hoarsely then raised her head to face me. “I have dreamed of this for so long … I need you!”

My hands finally reached her bare shoulders, grasping her and trying to hold her away from me.

“No … Mary Beth … we can’t … we shouldn’t … this is so wrong!”

“Does this feel wrong?” she asked then leaned toward me, her full rosy lips pressing against mine again. Her tongue quickly found mine and drew it out in a languid sensual dance that sent shivers rattling down my spine. I could feel my body responding, my long suppressed maleness fully awakened and surging upward. When I tried again to push her away, she grasped my hands and moved them from her shoulders to her breasts, fitting them to her curves as it they were custom made for her. “Does this feel so wrong?”

Her slender fingers quickly plucked open the top buttons of her blouse and then pulled away the thin fabric away from her glistening soft skin. Her breasts were cradled in a skimpy silken bra that was very slight, very sheer. As I went to grasp her shoulders again, Mary Beth reached up to my neck and pulled my head down, drawing my panting mouth toward the lush valley between her breasts.

“Does this feel so terribly wrong, Father?”

The sweet damp perfume of her body filled my senses. She pulled the flimsy fabric of her bra down and away, baring her tender beauty to my hungry mouth. Her hands directed my mouth to the tip of her breast and my lips pressed against her, kissing her, tasting her, suckling her firm young flesh like a hungry child. I heard her moan deeply, in a voice that was full and womanly and lustful.

“Oh, Father Damien! Yesss!” she hissed fervently. “Oh, dear God, yessssssss!”

But as my own hand moved to bare her other breast and suckle the hard point that was waiting for me, I saw the tiny cross dangling on the delicate chain around her neck. With a monstrous groan I seized control of myself and grasped her shoulders, pushing my sinful mouth away from this forbidden treasure. Our eyes locked upon each other’s. I was sure that she could see the awful illicit passion roiling inside me. I could see a sweet womanly innocence in her heavy lidded green eyes. She tilted her head to the side, her lips parted, and she fell forward toward me as if to kiss me, but I held her back against the bench and stood up. It felt a hundred degrees cooler as I moved away from her and the night air fanned my heated throbbing bare chest.

“Mary Beth … you are so young and innocent … I cannot lead you down this path … there is the covenant I have made with God that keeps me from you … being like this …” My words began to stumble as my voice grew heavy with regret. I looked up at the hazy night sky, the stars twinkling dimly, the moon hanging heavy in the humid air. Then I felt her hands on me again, moving up over my dampened shirt to my shoulders, pushing and pulling to turn me around. I tried to close my eyes and summon whatever godly strength was left inside me to resist this ripening flower.

“Being like this is what I have been dreaming of ever since that night on the Ferris wheel,” she whispered. Her blouse was still open and the cross still gleamed in the moonlight between her firm breasts, still surging forth appealingly. Her sweet upturned face was summoning me. And on this humid night in this sacred garden, even the scent of the heavenly flowers seemed to mock my weakness as my arms slipped around her waist and I drew her close. Our lips met in a kiss that was filled with a lust and a desire and a passion that was forbidden, that defiled this heavenly place … and I felt lost in any effort to resist.

 

[chanaud]

Mary Beth Donlan

The way he held me tightly, the way he kissed me slowly, sensually, and lustfully, I knew. I knew lust was winning the raging battle in his soul.
Yet I didn’t want to scare him off again. Despite my hands wanting to wander the inside of his shirt, and feel his soft, scorching hot skin, I held back and waited for the signs of when my Damien was beyond self-control to resist me.

The angels above sung glorious hymns while our tongues danced in tune. The tempo rose higher and higher as the our passion increased into a feverish state. Soon we weren’t kissing slowly. Damien’s hands roamed along my back, feeling every ridge in my backbone until he found the soft curve of my derriere. A deep guttural moan flew from my throat and into his mouth. He shivered against me and I took the opportunity to press my aching body against his, letting him know my body is ready and ripe. He answered with a husky moan of his own and rewarded me with a squeeze.

I felt it. He was hard as a rock. The thought of him hard like that sent me to an oblivion of pure lust. I wanted to feel him, soft and hard all at the same time. I wanted to take him into my mouth and suck him until he screamed out for mercy as every last dewy drop fell down my throat. Then I wanted to throw him down on the bricks, and make mad, passionate love with him until we collapsed of sheer exhaustion. Then I wanted to do it all over again and again and again…

“Take me, Father. Take me now. Make me the woman that I deserve to be.” I told him, my voice husky with desire.

Upon those words, Father Damien stiffened and pulled away from me. Again I tried to reach up at him, but he continued to hold me at a stiff arm’s way. He shook his head slowly, and the glow in his eyes sharpened.

“I can’t, Mary Beth. I can’t make you a woman.”

“What do you mean, Father? You’re a man and…”

“No!” He shouted back to realization. “I’m not a man. At least a normal man you so richly deserve. You see….”

Instantly his voice changed. Gone was the voice of a man hungry for my body to be replaced by a priest serving a sermon to a congregation. I trembled at the thoughts and the words to follow. The tears fogged my vision, but I refuse to release them.

“… Mary Beth. I made a vow seven years ago. No, it was longer than that. Ever since I was ten, I knew I wanted to dedicate my life serving God. And along with that vow is a commitment to celibacy..”

“Damien..” I stepped forward.”

He stepped back and his face recoiled as if I was the devil himself. I couldn’t handle the rejection, the look of shame on his face. I turned and ran, tripping over a brick yet still managed to keep pace all the way to my car.

The drive home was a blinding one. When I pulled into the long, narrow driveway, I honestly didn’t know how I got there. The look on Damien’s face, the way his face looked, contorted with disgust and shame played over and over again until I felt the need to repel that scenario. Somehow I found the car door handle and pushed the door open with all my might. Then I leaned forward and vomited until there was nothing left in me. When finished I closed the door and just sat there. I didn’t want to chance my parents seeing me, especially in my condition. Somehow I willed enough energy in me to crawl into the tiny backseat and lie down until darkness smothered me.

 

[Miltone]

Father Damien

I watched as Mary Beth hurried from the garden, stumbling in her haste. “Oh, Lord!” I whispered. “Please forgive her that the blush of her youth should bring her to such thoughts and deeds!” I felt relief at her departure and great shame at nearly allowing such a unforgivable act to occur. Above the evening chirrs of the crickets I heard the sound of her car pull away, gravel scattering, tires chirping. And then she was gone and I was alone in the garden in the humid night air.

With my pulse still racing madly out of control, I took up my collar in my shaking hands, pulled my shirt together and went back into the church. My footsteps took me into the sanctuary and up to the altar where I fell to my knees and began to weep and pray; weep from shame and disgust, and pray for forgiveness.

“Dear Lord, in all your greatness, please forgive me! Take the hands of this sinner and lead him again toward the path of righteousness! Give me the strength to resist the devil’s temptations!”

As my hands trembled and my tears began to subside another feeling swept over me. Here I was praying to save my own sorry soul when it was the innocent one who needed help and deserved forgiveness.

“And God Almighty, please watch over Mary Beth Donlon. Forgive her transgressions and keep her safe and well this night! Take her under your wing and guide her toward the man who can fulfill her every desire!”

My breath became normal. The shaking of my hands ceased. My eyes flickered open for a moment. The glow of the moonlight filtered in through the stained glass windows shedding a gentle light on my prostrate form. The peace and calm of this holy place soothed my tortured soul. My eyes closed again as I bent to finish my prayer.

“All this I ask in the name of Jesus Christ, your son and my Savior! Amen!”

As I rose to my feet and took a deep breath, it felt as if a great weight had been lifted from me. The regrettable events of the past hour were forgotten and I crossed through the hallways to the rectory and up to my rooms. I tried to read for a while but felt weary from the day’s events and decided to make ready for bed.

But as I began to remove my shirt, I was suddenly seized by the memory of Mary Beth. Here she had touched me, I thought as my hand passed over my chest. Here she had kissed me. As the rest of my clothes fell to the floor and I stood naked before God, my eyes glanced at the mirror and caught a glimpse. For the first time, I looked at my naked physique, noting the roundness of my muscular chest and arms, my narrow waist and firm buttocks, and the pulsing of my thighs and legs as I moved. My skin was flushed and damp, my nipples stiff and hard, and my cock thick and aroused.

For some reason, my hand fell downward touching my manhood and feeling it spring to life. Upon feeling a wondrous pleasurable sensation, my eyes closed and for many moments it seemed, I was captured by the thought of Mary Beth’s hand upon me, her mouth drawing me inside, and the feel of her heavenly body on mine, her warm wet womanhood consuming my lust-ridden body. Dear God! My eyes flashed open and I saw myself stroking my long thick cock and the sight sent a dense feeling of shame sweeping over me.

But as I threw myself on the bed and lay away from the glare of the mirror, I couldn’t take my hand away and continued to stroke myself.

“Forgive me, dear Lord,” I whispered desperately. “Please let this one shameful act release the devil’s passion from me once and for all … let me then continue along the path toward righteousness!”

And with a few more hard and fast strokes of my hand, I felt my seed surge upward and erupt violently, spewing up high and then falling onto my hips and thighs and belly. Thick hot creamy cum drizzled onto my trembling hand and skin like frosting on a fresh Danish roll. And when my breath was recovered, I went to the bath and washed myself, the hot water and soap feeling like a baptism of sorts, promising a new and chaste life.

But when I returned to my bed and fell quickly into a deep slumber, I could not escape the images, the dreams, as Mary Beth came to me in my sleep, her clothing melting away, her lips and her hands and her body exploring me wildly and passionately. And I rose up in my bed, a thick cold sweat breaking over my naked body. “No! No! No! NO!”

 

[chanaud]

The sun had barely cracked the horizon when my legs stretched out of habit to only meet something hard and foreign. My eyes popped open and stared blankly at the strange surroundings, waiting for my memory to catch up. When it did, it came crashing down, including the vile taste in my mouth. With a moan, I sat up to a mirror image through the rearview mirror.

Shocked and disgust stared back at me. I barely recognized myself. I wondered -- Is this what Father Damien saw last night? Is this the reason why he rejected me so? Even after kissing me? Ohhh…the kiss! The memory of his kiss came crashing down like a hangover, bringing the same raw tingles I felt last night. Instantly my lips started pulsating with life. They were swollen and red, needing relief. My tongue flickered over them, trying to soothe its dryness, only failing to do so.

Daylight have seized the day. I knew my parents would be awake soon, and I didn’t want them to see me in this condition. Unerringly and stealthily, I managed to enter into the house and into the sanctity of my room unnoticed. Immediately I went into the bathroom and turned on the hot tap to start my shower.

As hard as I tried to avoid it, I couldn’t help stopping in front of the mirror. My breasts, so supple and ripe were staring at me. It’s soft pink tips knew none of the trauma that was boiling through my mind. Half hard, they looked so pert and fresh, waiting for new adventures. My hands reached up, my fingers grazed its very tip. Instantly the rush of tingles coursed through me, reeling me back against the cold tile walls. I shuddered. Not from the cold, but from the sensations that were taking hold of me. Through the steamy fog clouding over my head, I imagined my hands were Father Damien’s. I squeezed my breasts, My forefingers and thumbs rolled and tugged at my nipples, stretching the aureoles, creating instant hard nubs. I imagined Father Damien was staring at me, having his way with my breasts. The gasps and moans echoing in the tiled room were the combination of our love and lust. My hands slid down following the soft curves, and over my abdomen, and fell betwixt my thighs. Warm, slick wetness greeted me instantly. Like a ripe rosebud, it opened instantly when it felt the love of a caretaker. Like a woman possessed, my finger found its way into my pussy, and started to pump madly. Not much longer, two fingers were needed. With my back against the wall, and my hips thrusting out, I watched myself, my fingers, his fingers, his eyes bringing me to new heights…..

The rejection, the embarrassment kept me away from my friends or anyone who had called to seek my companionship. I sought the solitude and the safety net of my home. Several church members called with progressive news of our campaign. I sat and stared at the phone and never once answered for it wasn’t the voice I hungered for.

Days passed. Then a week. I skipped Mass and our weekly meeting. Nor did I call. Again my fellow campaigners called with growing concerns. It was unlike me to be so silent, so invisible. A few more days passed, the phone calls increased with fervor. Still I didn’t answer. I wanted him...

 

[Miltone]

Father Damien

The sanctuary is hot, steaming hot … the parishioners fanning themselves endlessly … and in the front row, Mary Beth, sits, her light dress nearly transparent in the sultry humid air … yet she is as cool and calm as could ever be … her back straight, her firm breasts unencumbered with a bra of any kind, thrust out proudly, rosy nipples visible through the sheer material of her dress … and her smile, half of an angel and half of the devil, meant just for me … her tongue randomly orbiting her full parted lips … I lead the congregation in prayer, raising my arms toward heaven, lifting my eyes upward to the grace of God … only to lower them down and see her, her body shifting, her legs uncrossing, her skirt rising high enough to reveal what lay in the moist darkness up between them … I’m sweating profusely beneath my vestments … having worn the least amount of clothing on such a hot day, I feel the male animal in me rise up … I look around at the faces of the parishioners and they all look up with good Catholic grace, all except for one … can they not see my sweat? can they not detect my shameful arousal? … the heat is too much for me to withstand and I rip the robes from my body … she rises and comes forward, unmindful of the others, lifting her light summer dress over her head … we come together, our arms intertwining and our bodies interlocking … her hand stroking my erect manhood … her lips burning into mine … Father Damien, I want you … I need you, Father Damien … take me, I am yours, Father …

And so my restless nights now come to an end with me sitting upright, drenched in a deep sweat, out of breath like a madman fleeing from the moon. And thus, it was with no small relief that I did not see or hear from Mary Beth Donlon over the next several days. It was bad enough that my dreams were haunted each night by her image, the taste of her mouth and the feel of her lush body crushed against mine so real … too real for my vows to survive were this to continue.

But as the ensuing weekend came and went and Mary Beth missed the fundraiser committee meeting, I grew concerned. The other committee members had spoken only briefly with her. Her seeming disappearance became a topic at our Sunday evening meeting.

“Well, I for one think that it is imperative that Miss Donlon be at next week’s meeting,” proclaimed Herb Wheeler. “Father, could you get in touch with her? She seems to be closest to you.”

“What? Close to me?” I shot back quickly, then felt chagrinned when the others were taken by surprise with my outburst. “Um, no, we are just old friends.”

“Well I for one was against giving her such important responsibilities,” chimed in the elderly Mrs. Coates. “Young people are so unreliable these days!”

“So Father?” said Herb, after giving the old dowager a nasty glance. “Can you check with her for us?”

“Sure … yes … I will,” I said and then instantly regretted my words. But as I prayed later that evening I came to feel that perhaps this was all in my head, that somehow I had scrambled things up in my mind and was only confusing myself. I had nothing to be afraid of. My vows were intact, my will to serve my God was strong and unflinching, and my strength of character was deep and unsullied. Every man of the cloth comes to know temptation in some form or other, and this was perhaps only a test by my Lord God.

When I took my nightly run, feeling the sweat run freely from my pores, I began to feel a renewed strength flow through my body. And in the comfort of my rooms, as I stripped naked for the shower, it was a different man I saw in the mirror, the muscular physique and physical trappings of a man certainly, but with the heart and mind of a priest, truly a man of God. The ensuing night of sleep was calm and without the tormenting sexual images of the past week. I had met the temptation and defeated it soundly!

It was in the early afternoon, following a morning of hospital rounds, when I called upon the Donlon household. I stood on the large porch that surrounded the front of their house and tapped the doorknocker soundly once and then again when there was no answer. A smart little sport coupe was parked in the drive. Her car no doubt. I turned back to the door and reached for the doorknocker when suddenly the door opened.

“Oh, Father Damien … it’s you,” Mary Beth said, her voice sounding quite surprised, a quality that was matched by her facial expression. She was dressed in a silken white robe and pulled it tightly around her body. “I wasn’t expecting you, Father.”

“I’m sorry to come by unannounced like this,” I said, slowly and calmly. “But I wanted to check on you and see if you are feeling well enough to continue your work on the fundraiser.”

“Me? Well enough?” she replied, still obviously surprised by my appearance and my inquiry. “Of course I am and I want to continue … I’m just … well, it’s been a difficult week for me …”

“Of course,” I nodded. “Me too.”

We stood awkwardly for a moment or two, she with her arms tucked and folded around her waist and me feeling the afternoon warmth bearing down on my neck. She didn’t look ill in the least, in fact she appeared to be quite healthy, her complexion warm and glowing. And her initial look of surprise was melting into a lovely look of friendship.

“Oh, dear Father,” Mary Beth exclaimed. “I shouldn’t leave you standing outside on a hot day like this. Would you care to come in?”

“Sure. That would be nice,” I replied, thankful to escape the heat for the air-conditioning inside if only for just a few minutes.

She held the door for me and I stepped inside. “Please make yourself comfortable Father,” she said waving me toward the couch. “Can I get you something to drink? We have most everything. Since I was sunbathing, I mixed up a pitcher of margaritas if you’d like …”

I decided to sit on a rather inviting large armchair. Mary Beth paused a few steps in front of me waiting for my answer. It was when I looked up at her that I noticed her robe was cut from a very sleek silk material and ended partway down her thigh. It was obvious that she had little on underneath.

“Um, no, thank you … but I think ice water would be fine,” I finally answered. She smiled and turned toward the kitchen, quickly returning with a tall glass of ice water and a margarita. When she leaned forward slightly to hand me the water, her robe fell open just a bit, revealing a brief fleeting glimpse of her firm young breasts. I sipped the ice water and took a deep breath. I am a man of the cloth and I can resist this, I told myself. She is the innocent here, and I must protect her.

“I feel I owe you an apology for not letting you know that I couldn’t make the meeting last night,” Mary Beth said as she took a seat on the couch. She reclined gracefully, crossing her long shapely legs and stretching them out on the supple leather couch.

“We were very concerned since this is a crucial time,” I said. “We are getting to crunch time so to speak and the committee needs your ideas and enthusiasm.”

“I know, and I am very sorry about that,” she replied, arranging the robe over her lap and cinching up the tie. “I promise to be better about that.”

As we began to discuss what had transpired at the meeting, any awkwardness that had existed seemed to disappear. Mary Beth laughed at my small attempts at humor and I found myself looking at her in an entirely different light as she opened up to me. She was a beautiful young woman, with a fresh friendly quality that I must, in my shameful humanity, have mistaken for something sexual and forbidden.

While I relaxed and leaned back in the armchair, casually uncrossing then crossing my legs, I did notice her eyes sweeping up along my legs until they reached my face. There was a warmth and acceptance in her glance that made me feel actually a bit foolish for thinking the worst. We finished our little talk and our drinks and it felt like time for me to go.

“Well, if we are finished here, I should be getting back to the rectory,” I said feeling satisfied as I stood up.

Mary Beth swung her legs down from the couch and looked up at me innocently enough. She leaned forward and stood up, her robe parting slightly, displaying more of her supple body, rouged just a bit from exposure to the sun.

“Thank you for stopping by, Father,” she said softly, her voice low and husky. “I appreciate your concern … I really do.” She reached out and placed her hand on mine.

“Well, a good shepherd always keeps a close watch on his flock,” I said before realizing how silly that must sound to lively young woman like this. “Enjoy your afternoon!”

“I will, Father,” she smiled.

“And make sure that you protect yourself,” I added. “That sun is awfully nasty out there. Wouldn’t want to see you get a bad burn.”

“Well, Father, then perhaps you could help me with something?” she asked, her green eyes wide and innocent.

“Yes, my child, anything,” I said.

“Perhaps you could apply some sunblock to my backside,” she said. “I can’t reach it all by myself.”

“Um, well sure,” I answered. What could be the harm in that? I could apply some cream or lotion or whatever it was and be off.

“Teriffic!” she exclaimed and then took my hand to lead me out to their sun deck. Their back yard was large and private with a huge deck and a good-sized swimming pool. She stopped beside a lounge chair on which a beach towel was spread and lowered the chair back so that it was almost entirely flat. Then she untied her robe and, slipping it from her shoulders, she quickly laid down and stretched her body out. It was then that I realized that she was wearing only the smallest of swimsuit bottoms, the kind with only a bare little t-strap to frame her gorgeous firm buttocks. “Father?” she said, picking up and waving a spray bottle of lotion at me. The way she had propped herself up, I could clearly see the full rounded curvature of her breast. But her sweet and innocent smile was disarming. When I took the bottle from her, she began to tie up her hair.

“Yes … of course … sunblock … right,” I remarked, my words shaky and halting. I sat hesitantly beside her where she had left me room and I sprayed her back and shoulders. “How’s that?”

“Well, first thing, you missed some spots … my butt and my legs,” she said, looking back over her shoulder. “Aaannnnd you have to rub it in if it’s going to do me any good and last.”

“Ah … right … yes … I knew that,” I said and sprayed further down her back, the sweet firm curves of her butt and her long shapely legs. “Actually I don’t know the first thing about this,” I laughed.

“I didn’t think so, Father,” she said. “Now rub … please?”

“Yes,” I agreed and, setting down the bottle, my hands fell upon her shoulders and began to rub the greasy spray into her soft silky skin.

“Mmm, Father,” she said as my hands moved down the valley of her spine. “Are you sure you’ve never done this?” she asked, then gave out a deep moaning sigh.

“Never,” I said. But as my hands moved lower, flirting with the boundary of her suit bottom, I began to feel a tingling in my hands, a warm sensation that spread up through my arms and the rest of my body. Her body felt so pliant in my hands, her soft flesh surrendering to my large firm hands. When my fingers slipped over the gusset of her suit, Mary Beth parted her legs. My palms and fingers cupped themselves to fit the curve of her ass and legs and moved slowly up and down her backside. My fingers shook as they rubbed the spray into the tender smooth skin of her inner thighs, my fingers flirting with the warm humid valley of her sex. My hands were trembling as I touched her glistening warm body. My pulse began to race; I began to feel dampness encircle my collar; and my body felt aroused again … terribly! “I have to go,” I blurted out.

“But don’t you want to stay for another glass of ice water?” she asked.

“No … I … I … I need to get back … now!”

Without more than a hurried goodbye, I rushed back through the house and out to my car. I sat behind the wheel for a moment before starting the engine. I am a man of the cloth, a holy Father, a good and strong Priest … I can defy this temptation … I can defy it! I repeated the words over and again as the engine roared to life and I shot away from the curb. I can defy this temptation! I must!

 

[chanaud]

He wants me! I knew it, I knew it! I just needed proof, and he showed it first by showing up, calling for me, pretending to inquire into my welfare. And secondly, his hands …his trembling fingers sought my most tender, humid spots even daring to brush against my pussy. I felt his uneasiness, his lust…and of course, I felt his internal rage to control himself and almost giving into the temptation. And the way he ran from me…as if I was the devil himself. And yes, he wants me. I just have to be there at his weakest moment. Because from the little bits of temptation he’s allowed himself to give, he will be worth it. We belong together. I knew it, I just had to convince him of it!

Now that he came for me, the next move is mine. I’m going to have him or die trying….

The next plan was already set in motion. I called my father and he agreed to all of my plans. Only I never mentioned the motive. He just thought he was contributing towards a charitable cause. What he didn’t know was after his sizeable donation from his corporation, Father Damien was going to be forever grateful -- body and soul.

What I had to do was invite him over to the quiet formal dinner at the expense of my parents. I mailed out the invitations to the select few, mostly friends of my parents, but left one aside. It didn’t need a stamp. It’s about to be mailed personally -- by me.

Donning just a simple light blue skirt, and white pinafore blouse, and tanned sandals and my hair pulled back into one single ponytail made me look cool and calm on this scorching summer day.

I knocked on the rectory’s door. The housemaid answered, she seemed hesitant to interrupt Father Damien. But the sweet smile on my face and a wave of the invitation in the air seemed innocent, so she allowed me into the waiting room. It was my first visit in the sacred rectory. Somehow, I knew the private quarters, his room was upstairs. I tried to listen for noise, but the room was too padded. It took a long while, yet I sat on a high wing back chair waiting patiently. I had all the time, even the rest of my life for him.

When the door swung open, I didn’t rise. I just sat there with my left leg swung over my knee and smiled sweetly.

“Hello, Father. Are you surprised to see me?”

 

[Miltone]

Father Damien

“Me? Surprised, no,” I said, nervously, the crack in my voice belying my false denial. “Well … actually I am a bit surprised. What brings you here on such a lovely day?”

“I’ve put together a little fundraising dinner this coming weekend and I thought it only appropriate that you be there,” Mary Beth said cheerfully, handing me a linen envelope, her warm fingers brushing mine lightly, sending an electric tingle up my arm. I noticed that certain musical quality to her voice again as she told me the details; a dinner with a blind auction of some artwork donated by a local corporation with some very financially influential members of the church and community in attendance.

There was more, but it was lost on me as I could only gaze at her face and was taken by her fresh beauty. Without a speck of make-up she was lovely. The clear smooth skin now growing tan from the summer sun, the sparkling green eyes that danced atop her beautifully sculpted cheeks, and her lips, full and deepest pink—I had to shake myself free of this! She was simply displaying her dedication and hard work on behalf of the church school and I was letting my darker animalistic side take over.

“So you’ll be there a little ahead of time?” she asked as I forced my mind back to the reality of the situation.

“Me? On time? Why, yes, of course I can be there ... anytime you want me,” I replied.

She grinned and the corners of her mouth curved up in an engaging way, plumping up her cheeks, indenting her dimples and showing off her pretty smile.

“Oh, I want you,” she said pausing, “As early as you can make it.”

“Yes, yes … I will,” I stammered.

“I’m sure that you wouldn’t mind saying a few words about our project,” she suggested.

“Of course, certainly,” I agreed.

“I knew you would,” she said looking past me and walking into my study. “Mmm, so this is your office?”

“My study, yes,” I said turning and following her into the room. She strode confidently around the room, running a hand over some of volumes lining the bookcases, taking a closer look at the sacred artwork I had on display, and then moving around to the large leather chair I had inherited from Father Dunleavy behind the desk. “This is where I do my best work.”

“I’ll bet you do,” she answered, sitting in the chair and spinning it around so that she was facing me.

“Writing sermons and letters and directing the affairs of the church,” I added.

“I can just feel your presence here, Father,” she said, closing her eyes as she ran her hands along the arms of the chair. Her skirt had risen up her tanned thighs as she sat knees together. She took a deep breath and held her shoulders back forcing her firm young breasts against the white cotton of her blouse. The fabric was just the least bit sheer and her tanned body glowed beneath—was it my lurid mind or was she not wearing a bra underneath? I shuddered at the thought. My God! Have I sunk this low that I would notice such things in a perfectly innocent young woman? I turned away toward the bronze bust of St. Augustine set on the table beside my favorite reading chair.

“This is late 19th Century, done by Spineous, a cloistered monk in Serbia,” I said. “Probably the most valuable piece of artwork on display.”

Feeling the heat of my emotions begin to cool, I turned back toward the desk. Mary Beth was still seated in the chair, swiveling slightly from side to side, her legs opened just a bit, her lithe body swaying gently, seductively, her mouth still curled with that enigmatic smile. Maybe she can sense my feelings … maybe those feelings produce a reaction in her that I see as something that it is not! I needed to turn away, I needed a cold drink of water, I needed a breath of fresh air, I needed something, somehow, someway to relieve this heated feeling welling up from deep inside me. I needed to be alone, away from this evil temptation.

“I appreciate your bringing this invitation by and all your hard work, Miss Donlon. Is there anything else I can do for you before you leave?”

“As a matter of fact,” she sighed. In a slow languid movement, Mary Beth got up from the chair and sauntered around to where I stood beside the Spineous bronze, standing just a breath away. “There is something you can do for me.”

She looked up at me with her lush green eyes glinting and her lips parted. She was standing so close to me that as I lowered my eyes to avoid her deep gaze, I could see right down the vee of her blouse where the rounded valley of her breasts lie. I immediately closed my eyes and cast my thoughts heavenward. Oh, dear God! Help me now, your weak and beguiled servant! Help me in this time of need! Give me a sign, a signal! Let me know which path to take!

 

[chanaud]

My eyes casted down to my toes in an embarrassing silence. I had Father Damien hanging onto my every word, waiting with nervous energy, but I wanted to play it just right. I had learn my lesson already – directness makes him run away, quickly. And that was the last thing I wanted to experience again. He is going to come to me, to want me – and it will all be his idea.

“Uhmm… “ I started, my big brown eyes looking up at him shyly. “This is really embarrassing…”

His guarded shield was gone instantly and his priestly duties emerged. “Mary Beth, is everything alright with you?” Oh God, he was playing right into my devilish plot. A long finger lifted my chin, forcing me to stare into his beautiful, soulful green eyes. “You know you can tell me anything, Mary Beth..” He said, his eyes swimming with concern.

“Yes, Father. Oh, this is embarrassing… I hate asking for favors, especially one like this.” I cried out.

“You should never be embarrassed with me, Mary Beth. I’m here for you. As your priest.” Immediately he bit his tongue. He was already regretting his offer.

“Anything, Father?” I asked with a nervous laugh. Oh, he was so handsome, and he didn’t even know it!

“Yes, I’m your priest. You can confide in me about anything. Is everything, ok? Are you in any trouble?”

“Oh no, Father! I’ve been a good girl. Uhmm.. My request is this… you see… my parents are leaving on a two week cruise the morning after the fundraiser, and I’ve been wondering…since I’m going to be alone in that big house, would you stop by and check on me… especially at night? So it won’t be so scary for me?”

For once in his life, Father Damien couldn’t find the proper words. It wasn’t right for him to be visiting a young lady, alone at night, is it? But how could he turn away a simple request and by one of his parishioners, someone who is in need? And how would he feel if something actually did happen to her? A young girl alone at night was an easy target, especially in a monstrous house like her parents’.

 

[Miltone]

Father Damien

“Well … um … I … uh … sure, yes,” I stammered as I thought through her request. I had asked for a signal from God and had now received it, but not the sort of sign I was expecting. Surely in her innocence Mary Beth could have no idea what was flying through my mind at this moment. This will strengthen me, Lord? This will make me a more devoted servant? I could only pray that it would. I had to take this challenge from the Lord and turn it into a strength. I will become a better priest because of this, I will. I will do it. I cleared my throat that suddenly felt parched and dry.

“You will?” she asked hopefully, a lovely smile warming her face.

“I can look in on you from time to time while they are gone. I often call on the Bass family who live not far from you. She has a terrible disabling disease and I try to comfort them in such a time of need.” I couldn’t direct my gaze away from her. She looked up at me with what had to be concern for the Bass’s in her eyes.

”I’m so glad that you will do this for me,” she said. “I didn’t know of anyone else that I could trust with such a request.”

“I don’t mind,” I said gently. “I don’t mind at all.”

“Oh, thank you, Father!” she squealed and rose up on her tiptoes, her arms flying around my shoulders to hug me. I could feel her breasts crush against my chest and the scent of her perfume filled my nostrils. “You are such a good man! It will be so nice to have you around.” She let go of me and moved toward the door, then stopped and turned back to me. “So I’ll see you Friday night then?”

“Yes, of course,” I replied, still feeling warm under the collar.

“Sevenish?” she asked, raising a finger to her parted lips and nibbling on the brightly painted nail.

“I will be there early,” I replied.

“Oh, goody! I hope you will!” she said and then turned and was gone, sway of her womanly rounded hips lingering on my mind.

My heart was beating like a heavy drum and sweat was pouring down my forehead. I had a couple days to prepare myself. With prayer and faith I would see this through. With guidance from Jesus Christ I would surmount the temptation that pulled at my priestly soul, threatening to rend my honor asunder. I prayed that the week would pass uneventfully.

On Thursday evening after I had finished up my duties at the church, I went to my rooms at the rectory and changed into my running shorts and t-shirt. Often times I found a good hard run helpful to clear my mind and enhance focus on my duties. My run had become a favorite habit and with the hot summer I normally waited until the evening before heading out.

On this night, it wasn’t until I was out in the neighborhood that I realized how hot it was even though the sun was setting. After nearly the first mile, I stopped along a pathway in the public park to drink from the water bottle that I carried in a pouch tied around my waist. The cool water felt refreshing and I squirted some onto my face and felt the cooling rivulets run down over my neck and chest. I recapped the bottle, stored it in the pouch, and was just about to set off again when a voice came from behind me. A woman’s voice. A familiar voice.

“Father? Father Damien? Is that you?”

I turned in direction of the voice. From the shadows along the path behind me came a woman's figure, dressed in skimpy white shorts and top, jogging slowly toward me.

“Father Damien! What a surprise! I didn’t know you were a runner.”

My heart skipped a beat as the figure neared, the ebbing sunlight illuminating the woman curves and the large bright smile.

"Mary Beth? Is that you?"

 

[chanaud]

“Yes! I saw you back at the fountain and had to run hard to catch up to you…” The words barely made it out. I was panting hard and my heart was ringing in my ears. “So this is how you keep in good shape..”

Father Damien blushed hard from the compliment. His translucent eyes glanced down and rose quickly to something, something over my shoulders. I knew there wasn’t anything behind me. The muscle throbbing in his jaw confirmed it.

“How far are you going?” I continued. His white shirt was dark in certain areas and sticking to his chest. Under the dark, wet areas were bulges. Bulges that confirmed what I had felt during that one night, in the garden. My eyes roamed down below his shorts to his long, lean legs covered by short curly dark hairs. I wanted so desperately to run my hands down, to run my legs against his, to entwine…

“I usually just follow the lake and back.” He commented, his eyes trying so hard to not stray below my neck.

“That’s a good mile from here. Care if I join you?”

“Think you can keep up?” He teased back. It felt good to be in his good gracious again. His eyes twinkled green emeralds in the sunlight.

“Keep up! I’ll tell you what… the last one back has to treat the winner to lemonade.” I pointed back to the lemonade stand near the fountain.

“That’s not fair… at least to you?”

My head along with my ponytail tilted sideways. “Oh?”

“Yes. I’ve lettered in cross country and placed first at state..” And with that he sprinted forward, surprising me and forcing me to chase after him in full speed

 

[Miltone]

Father Damien

For several yards, I ran as fast as I could, but realized that the heat would catch up with me before Mary Beth would, so I let up and began to pace myself. I tried not to look back, but as I heard her footsteps draw closer, I glanced back over my shoulder. Her complexion was flushed and her clear smooth skin was glistening with perspiration; her eyes were sparkling and her full lips were curled into a determined smile. Within a few yards she was side by side with me.

“Told you … I could … keep up,” she said as we ran together, our footfalls fairly even.

“But we aren’t … even a fourth of the way … around the lake yet,” I said, trying not to exhaust my breath.

In the next moments our arms brushed together and I could feel the heat from her body as we continued along the path around the lake. When I glanced her way again, I could see with the heat and humidity and exercise that her skimpy little shorts and top were beginning to stick to her body, the thin fabric becoming nearly transparent where it contacted her hot damp tanned skin. From the jounce of her breasts with each stride, it seemed obvious that she was wearing a sports bra of some sort, but the sight of her bouncing firm young curves was enough to send a sparking sensation through my body and I had to avert my eyes back toward the path. She was a game runner and began to pull ahead of me as we neared halfway. Her pony tail swayed side to side with her every step.

“Remember,” I called out. “Pace yourself.”

She gave a quick little grin over her shoulder at me and seemed to pick up the pace even more. That was when I noticed how her shorts were clinging to her ass, her golden tanned curves highlighted by the outline of her thong clearly visible through the damp material. When I felt my heated body respond to the lure of her appearance, I stepped up my pace to pull along side her to keep such tempting sights to a minimum.

“So … you still got … some gas … in the tank?” Mary Beth said, looking over to me. Her cheeks were flushed and her breath was coming quickly. Her gaze began to lower and that’s when I realized that what was true of her running attire was also true of mine. I could feel my t-shirt and shorts sticking to every part of my physique. The look in her eyes told me that she liked what she was seeing. It aroused me to think that such a lovely young girl would be looking at me in such a forbidden way, yet it was so wrong, so very wrong.

“Yes … plenty,” I said, looking straight ahead. “Nearing … the home stretch now … you ready … to buy … that lemonade?”

“Uhn-uhh,” she called over to me and started to speed up. “Drinks … are on you!”

Suddenly, Mary Beth shot ahead of me and I struggled to catch up with her. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, my blood coursing through my super-heated body, and my lungs gasping for every possible bite of breath. Just as we rounded the final curve and the path straightened toward the lemonade stand near the fountain, I managed to come within a few steps of her hard charging form.

But as I started to close near, I saw her stumble and lose her stride. And just as I passed her, she began to pull up and called out in pain. I slowed to a stop and looked back. Sitting on the grass beside the path, Mary Beth grabbed at her ankle and was rubbing it. I hurried over to her and knelt by her feet.

“What happened?” I asked as she fumbled at her shoe. My hands instinctively went to her leg, running my fingers up and down her calve looking for any possible injury.

“I dunno,” she winced. “Musta stepped on a stone or something. Ouch! My ankle … musta twisted it.”

I helped her pull off her shoe and sock and ran my hand over her hot damp foot and ankle. My fingers glided partway up her leg and back.

“Doesn’t feel like any broken bones,” I commented.

“Oh, but it hurts,” she moaned softly. “Real bad.”

I looked up at her and could detect the look of pain in her eyes. She was leaning back, her back arched upward, her chest heaving for breath, her skimpy top pulled snug against her breasts, and her legs were parted enough so that I could see how her shorts were pulled tight against the folds of her young womanhood. She winced again as my hands rubbed up and down her foot and leg.

“Maybe we should get you to a doctor?” I suggested.

“I don’t know, Father,” she said softly. “Could you just rub it for me? My ankle?” I held her leg up and began to rub my palm firmly over her ankle. When my hand massaged the outside of her ankle she moaned in relief. “Oh, yes … right there … yes!” she called out, tossing her head back and arching her back even higher. “Oh, god yes! Just like that, Father!”

 

[chanaud]

“Oh God, that feels soo good!” My face as well as my body was in pure ecstasy. His hands were as strong and powerful as I’ve imagined. If only he would rise up my leg higher…higher…

Through my delightful reverie, I had forgotten about my pain. His hand had stopped and he wore the most incredulous look on his face. I knew I had gone too far. Smiling sheepishly, I extended my hand out in peace offering.

“Father, your hand is the work of a miracle.” I cooed. “Why don’t you help me up and bear witness to the miracle before the Lord!”

Father Damien knew exactly what I had just pulled. And it wasn’t my ankle. He smirked and offered a firm grip until I was back on my stable feet. Before I was facing him fully, I turned from him and bolted into a full sprint. Laughing maniacally at my own zaniness, I looked back at the stunned look on his handsome face. It didn’t take long for him to realize he was duped again by my trickery, he grinned and came chasing after me.

“You’ll pay for this!” He yelled after me. I screamed in delight and the promise of his threats and stepped up my pace, running faster and harder than I’ve ever had before.

Father Damien was true to his words. He was indeed an experienced and fast sprinter. Soon, I felt his footsteps closing in on me. His panting was bearing down my neck, pulling me back magnetically until we were stride by stride. I tried to step up, but the heat of the afternoon combined with the excitement of his closeness overwhelmed me, allowing him to forge ahead.

He won by more than a few steps. His body was doubled over and panting hard. When I caught up to him, I didn’t stop. Instead, I pushed him until he was emerged in the pool surrounded by the cool fountain.

People stopped to watch us and shake their heads, smiling at our playful youthfulness. They never suspected that he was a servant to God, and I was a heathen lusting after the man of cloth.

The fountain sprayed water over us and encouraged our playfulness. After a long period of drenching water and playful threats, I finally tackled him. With a thump, he fell hard on his back. But he didn’t feel any pain. I sat astride his legs. All playfulness seized and the moment grew serious . Silently we gazed into each other’s eyes. He was so beautiful, I couldn’t help myself. Father Damien knew the inevitable, and accepted it as open as his faith.

Our tongues mingled slowly and playfully, and soon fell into a synchronized dance. The heat of our passion grew, while the water continued to spray over us. My drenched body pressed onto his hard chest, pining him and forcing him to feel my nipples sharpening with each increasing moment. Wrapping his arms around my back, he moaned. My body vibrated of lust and want, pressed into his.

The sounds of laughter over us separated us. Reluctantly, we broke apart and found small tots standing over us and laughing with hands pressed to their mouths. We smiled secretly and I helped Father Damien up. Then we walked slowly out of the fountain.

“I guess I owe you a lemonade, Father.” I spoke softly and shyly.

 

[Miltone]

Father Damien

“Yes, you do,” I replied, my voice shaking from the temptation I felt pounding against my faith. If I were dressed in my collar and coat this would not have happened, I would not have let myself get put in this position. But dressed only for my run, I appeared to be only a man, not a priest. And on this hot afternoon, in the heat of the moment, we had come together. I felt ashamed and sinful, but I also felt good … desired … loved … how could that be?

Now we stood at the lemonade stand, dripping wet, our clothes clinging to our overheated bodies like a second transparent skin, revealing every nuance and curve that lie beneath. As the breeze picked up off the lake and danced across her body, the dark outline of her taut nipples was plain to see, as was the cleft of her sex. And from the way that she was looking at me, her pretty young eyes tracing over my body, it was obvious that it would take more than a chill glass of lemonade to cool us down.

I watched as Mary Beth stood at the counter and placed her order. While the operator started up his Osterizer to squeeze the lemons, she held her hands up and squeezed her ponytail, trying to dry it. Even without a scrap of makeup and still dripping wet, she was appealingly beautiful. From the shape of her supple body to the sparkle in her eyes and the snap of her wit, I could feel the man inside me being drawn to her, lusting after her. Try as I would to suppress those feelings, I couldn’t help but feel an attraction to her in the pit of my stomach, a deep sexual attraction that made my maleness rise up indefensibly. It was wrong and I knew it, but it was obvious from the look in her eyes that she could see it too. When our lemonades were ready she brought them over and suggested that we have a seat in the shade nearby.

“I’m so glad we ran into each other, Father,” she said, lounging on the shady knoll beside me. “We always see each other when it’s all official, but here together like this, it feels like were are just regular people.”

“But we are not regular people,” I said, sitting with my knees up and my arms crossed over them. “Even without a collar, I am still a priest and you are one of my flock.”

“But Father,” she said, reaching her warm hand over to touch my arm. “I can see the way you look at me, I can feel the way you touch me, and when you kissed me …”

“That was wrong, Mary Beth,” I insisted, but the touch of her hand remained strong.

“Was it?” she said, her emerald green eyes sparkling. “Isn’t it wrong to keep a part of you sealed up inside?”

“But I have my vows, they are sacred,” I said. “I have dedicated my life to God. That is the path I have taken.”

“But aren’t there little detours along the way?” she said taking my hand into hers. “Little way stations along that road.”

“The path is straight and true.”

She smiled and let go of my hand, her eyes never leaving mine. There was something in her look that I couldn’t escape.

“I should be getting back,” she said. “Will you walk me home, Father?”

“Of course,” I said, getting up. She remained sitting on the ground, looking up at me. Then she held her hand up and I took it, pulling her to her feet. She tottered and fell against me. I could feel the warm press of her breasts against my chest and her breath wash against my neck and face.

The path to her house didn’t take long. At first we were silent, but we began to speak of the heat and humidity, both noticing that we were both still wet from our run and our impromptu dip in the fountain, our clothes refusing to dry in the damp air. As she mounted the steps to her house, she sighed.

“I can’t wait to get inside and get out of these wet things,” she remarked. As I hesitated on the walk, she turned back to me. “Won’t you see me in, Father?”

I climbed the steps and followed her inside. She sauntered through the foyer and straight down the hall toward the laundry room. In a quick and easy motion, she pulled her wet top off and stepped out of her shorts. When she turned to face me, she looked me straight in the eye and peeled off her sports bra and skimpy little thong, tossing them into the dryer. She boldly stepped toward me.

“Don’t you want to dry your things off too, Father?” she asked innocently despite her complete nakedness. “It won’t take long to dry them.”

“Um, I should … uh, be going … yes, I’m leaving,” I stammered. She approached me and pulled at my wet t-shirt.

“Here let me help you,” she said in a soft low sultry voice.

“No,” I said, taking hold of her hands. “I can’t … I shouldn’t …” I pushed her away and she stepped back. Standing there so nakedly beautiful, I could feel her presence stirring the male passion inside me, I could feel my manhood twitch and come alive like it never had before. Now I could understand what I had heard in confessionals many times about weakness and succumbing to temptation. I had always been able to defeat it before, but doubt was clouding my mind. “I need to go,” I said, and turned and walked swiftly to the front door. As I heard the screen door shut behind me, I paused on the porch.

“Father? Are you all right?” I heard her voice calling to me.

I turned and saw her standing just inside the front door, still naked and more beautiful than ever. I pulled open the door and stepped inside. Taking her into my arms, I crushed her body against mine. My lips sought out hers with a wild passion I had never felt or displayed. She responded smoothly and warmly. Her lips parted and our tongues interwove in playful glee. My hands moved over her warm naked body, cupping the firm cheeks of her ass, gliding up along her back, and then shifting around to cradle her breasts. She moaned when my hand reached down past her belly to the smooth bare valley of her young sex.

“Oh, Father! Yes!” she cried out as she pressed herself into my hand, offering herself to my heathen nature.

I knew not where the strength came from, but I suddenly managed to take a stumbling step back from her. Feeling the wicked passion burning brightly inside me, I took one last look at her and turned and walked—no, ran away. I could hear her calling out after me, “Father?! Father?! Father?!” I ran all the way back to the rectory and it wasn’t until I stood beneath a showerhead was spewing a torrent of cold water that I felt the flames begin to subside. Is this so wrong, dear Lord God Almighty? Is this so wrong to feel this way? And as I looked down at my member, still engorged with the heated blood of passion, I felt a need and a want that I could not satisfy on my own. Dear Lord, why must this be so wrong? And why do I want it so much?

 

[chanaud]

A thread that needs to be continued. Thank you, Miltone for being so patient with me.

Father Damien running away from me should have discouraged me. Instead all I felt was an inner peace that came from deep within my soul. It was a new sensation, one I’ve never experience before. Everything seemed sharper and more defined. Including my Father Damien. He was a torn man. It was clear today. But his dedication can’t last forever. Despite what he thinks, he’s not immortal. He was still a man. God had created him as one. God wants him to live like one.

The web to Father Damien will have to be sewn slowly and methodically. Father Damien was too smart and dedicated to his work to be torn down so easily. I backed into the house slowly and started plotted.

I spent the next few weeks living like a recluse, leaving only to run a few necessary errands. I changed my whole schedule so I didn’t have to run into Father. My parents were so involved with their lives that they barely noticed me. It allowed me freedom to weave my plan. The nights were tough. They were constantly filled with images of my Father Damien. It’s when he was strong and controlled. He came to me willfully. Crushing his body to mine and took me with such force that I would wake middream with intense orgasms. I would lay awake the rest of the night with the sheets coiled against my body as if it was him.

The time had come. My father finally came through. A delicate note was sent in a plain irish linen envelope. Simple and to the point. The letter stated exactly what needed to be said…..

 

[Miltone]

Father Damien

On the evening that I had run away from Mary Beth Donlon’s house, I had prayed for forgiveness. I stood beneath the chill torrent of cold water hoping that it would freeze the hedonistic lust I felt for this sweet angel of the faith. Yet for all my heavenly beliefs and heartfelt prayers, my inherent maleness would not—could not—release the aching, yearning earthly desire that dwelled in my loins. I reached down to my rampant member, taking hold of the shaft, feeling the veins throbbing and pulsing with life. I slowly stroked myself and the resulting sensation overwhelmed me.

I thought of Mary Beth, her tall trim womanly body and the sensual glint of longing in her eyes. Every detail of her physical beauty flashed before me, the softness of her lips, the softness of her neck and shoulder, the pert curvature of her breasts, the taut erectness of her nipples, the fluted tuck of her waist and the flair of her hips, the smooth tight folds of her sex, the long shapely legs that led from here to there and back toward heaven. I stroked myself thinking of these things and more, the wiggle of her laugh, the soft husky caress of her voice, the sweet scent that always seemed to precede her into the room. I stroked myself more firmly and felt the heightened peak of arousal grow near and I gladly released my earthy sinful lust in a surging eruption.

As my arousal faded in the cascade of cold water, so did my sense of lust and sin. The thought occurred to me as if God had answered my plea for help: Perhaps this is the solution to my dilemma. I can think of this innocent temptress in the privacy of my quarters and purge all of my sinful urges so that each day I could go out in public, free to pursue my sworn vow of faithful service to God and mankind. And it seemed to work, although for the next week I lived with a slender fear that I might see Mary Beth Donlon. It followed my every move, knifing into me each time I heard a footstep or a voice that might have been hers. At the first mass on Sunday I paced back and forth about the altar lightly and tentatively so deep was my apprehension that the first face I would look up to see hers. But it was not. She was nowhere to be seen. Nor did I see her for the next several weeks.

I fell into a safe comfortable routine. During the day, I pursued my parish duties with a renewed vigor, tending to my faithful parishioners, visiting the sick and homebound, burying the dead, baptizing the newborn, taking confessions, serving Mass, meeting successfully with members of the Archdiocese on matters of the Church. But at night, in the privacy of my chambers, I would think of my sole source of sinful longing. I imagined in every detail what would have happened had I let my lust prevail that night in the garden, that afternoon beside the pool, that evening at her home. Each time those delicate and indelicate thoughts would bring me to a triumphant conclusion that left me trembling and sweaty and heavy in breath. That I found Mary Beth a lively and attractive young woman was not in question. Her smoldering beauty and lively character were gifts from God. But I had taken a heavenly vow of faith and celibacy and could not succumb to my selfish urges of earthly desire for her. Before only my eyes and those of God I would commit this most forgivable of sins and the sacred life of an innocent would be spared. During this time I sent many prayers of thanks to the Lord God Almighty for the peace of mind this arrangement had brought and I’m sure that my parishioners enjoyed the resultant energy of my renewed faith and servitude.

Then on a beautiful summer afternoon as I was returning from a visit to St. Mary’s Hospital, Sister Margaret called and asked if I could pick up a few things from the grocery for the meal she was preparing for a visiting Cardinal that evening. It was a short list and I was just a few blocks from the local supermarket. Package of dinner rolls, pasta salad, steak sauce, Guilden’s mustard, and Romaine lettuce. How difficult could that be? A few of my flock were surprised to see me in such unfamiliar surroundings, wheeling a cart up and down the aisles, but my explanation and a quick joke seemed to elicit a friendly laugh.

Then upon turning down the frozen foods aisle I saw her, Mary Beth. She was dressed in a pair of short white shorts and a lime green tank top and was standing in front of the ice cream case, hands on hips, as if deciding on which flavor would tickle her fancy. Then she reached out to open the door and pulled out a half-gallon container, dropping it into her cart. I froze in my tracks. The chill of the air blowing from the freezer had penetrated her lightweight attire, puckering her fine little nipples into sharp points on her pert breasts. Then she turned her back to me and proceeded down the aisle, the firm curves of her ass beautifully defined by the tight white short shorts. Her body was wonderfully tanned and lean and my body responded instantly, a fierce ardor welling up inside me that brought a sweat to my face and neck, an uncontrollable shake to my hands, and a most conspicuous erection between my legs. I felt weak and aroused, lustful and ashamed.

Seized with a sudden fear, I turned quickly and moved in the opposite direction, tempted to abandon my cart in the frozen foods aisle and bolt from the store. Perhaps she hadn’t seen me and I could flee before she spotted me. Then I paused. What was there to be afraid of? She was only a lovely, attractive, sexy young woman and I was her Priest, nothing more. I chided myself for thinking in such ridiculous circles. As luck would have it, Mary Beth headed straight to the checkout while I still had a couple of items to locate. By the time I was ready to check out, Mary Beth had already completed her transaction and was strolling toward the exit, her firm young breasts unsupported by a bra, bounding saucily, her hips swaying appetizingly, her ponytail dangling tauntingly. What was there about her that caused me to react so? There were many pretty young women in my parish, some of whom dressed much more provocatively than she did. Was it her confession of lust for me or simply my own long dormant prurient nature that produced this reaction? I could feel my erection throb and grow as it snaked noticeably down the leg of my boxers. Fortunately my jacket would conceal my shameful physical response.

“Father? Father? Are you all right?”

I realized that the woman in front of me had already checked through and the cashier was prompting me to move forward.

“Oh, yes,” I said hurrying forward hastily. “Just lost in thought.”

“Always pondering the great thoughts of the faithful, eh Father,” the girl replied with a cheerful smile.

“Yes, great thoughts indeed,” I replied, feeling my flush with embarrassment.

Every movement as I checked the groceries through and wheeled the cart out to my vehicle seemed to rub at my erection, worsening my condition. By the time I was seated behind the steering wheel, my manhood was at complete erectness and I could not purge the image of Mary Beth and her incredible effect on me. Shaking and sweaty and incapable of rational thought I sped back toward the rectory, my breath short and my heart beating like a air hammer. This is crazy! Ridiculous! Why should I respond this way? How could she do this to me? What was this all about?

Then the thought drew clear in me. This was not merely a temptation of the Lord, designed to test my resolve. I had already been tested and proven my faith. He moves in most mysterious ways and perhaps now he was sending me a signal. There was only one thing left to do.

By the time I reached the rectory, my throbbing erection had subsided enough that Sister Margaret suspected nothing. I handed the groceries off to her and deflected her profuse thanks.

“You were so kind and helpful, Father Damien,” she cooed.

“It’s nothing, Sister.”

“Dinner will be at eight, Father. And remember, Cardinal Dearborn doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“Given the size of his waistline, that is common knowledge,” I chuckled.

I went to my study, took out some notepaper and began to write. The words flowed out seamlessly from me without pause. When I was finished I folded the brief little note and slipped it into the envelope without a second reading, for I knew each word well.

Dear Mary Beth,

It has been many years since we first met and the good Lord knows how long you have harbored feelings for me, or I for you. Thoughts of you have filled my idle moments and my nights incessantly. There is no denying that we both know now that there is only one thing left for us to do. Please meet me in the confessional on Thursday evening at 7:30. I will be expecting you.

Father D

After addressing the envelope and dropping it into the outgoing mail, I returned to my chamber, pulled out my stiff greedy manhood, and masturbated unashamedly. Visions of Mary Beth Donlon swirled in my incandescent thoughts; she leaning forward mouth open, tongue extended, expectantly awaiting communion, the scent of her perfume, the touch of her hand on my arm as we greeted each other following Mass, the warmth of her supple body, the sound of her laugh rippling through the sanctuary, the sight of her writhing on my bed, naked and pleading for urgent relief; these all were enough to cause me to erupt spectacularly and savagely all over my desk. Without a qualm of guilt, I dutifully cleaned up, washed my hands, and went down to dinner with the Cardinal.

 

[chanaud]

Cardinal Martin was indeed large and round. He lived a rich life and deservedly so. For he earned his good life through the hard way. He spent most of his youth in the poorest of conditions deep in the heart of Kenya, caring for the lepers. He would still have been there if he hadn’t come down with a bad case of malaria. Somehow on his deathbed, the news traveled all the way to Rome. Upon first note, Pope John Paul himself directed an order to remove Father Martin out of those conditions and into Rome where he was to be appointed Cardinal and was granted the richest territory… the coveted United State of America. His sad tale was a great sales pitch for the rich Americans who were constantly looking for a tax cut. His health flourished and so did the church funds. The Vatican was very pleased with their choice. Very, very pleased.

The good Cardinal’s visit to St. Patrick’s Church was not a routine visit. It had an average sized congregation, but its gross surpassed its expectations. It could do better, but potentially not much. Between St. Patrick’s and the competing Episcopalian Church, not far from St. Patrick’s, they pretty much monopolized the area. His reason was a different matter. The thick notebook on his oversized Louis V mahogany desk captured his attention. Who would have thought, he wondered as he turned each page. Who would have thought that his young niece, his youngest brother’s little girl, Mary Beth would turn into a sharp businesswoman. Thank goodness, her talents weren’t wasted on a young man, who would have wasted her sharp mind on babies and country clubs.

He picked up the ivory phone and pushed a button, “Sister Margaret Ann..”

“Yes, Cardinal Matin; how can I assist you..” a low voice answered back.

“Please get my niece, Mary Beth on the phone..”

“Right away, sir.”

Cardinal Martin sat back in deep thought. He had the thick file in his hands. His niece had masterminded a flawless plan to increase the funds into threefolds. But why does she want to waste her time and her talents on the church? He knew how the young are. They are busy with each other and their social status, especially the young girls. Perhaps Mary Beth has interest in joining the church. She was always an odd one.

“Hello?” A sweet voice echoed through the phone.

“Mary Beth, my sweet little girl!” His voice boomed with exuberance. Who cares if she’s odd. She smart and most of all, she’s his niece.

 

[Miltone]

Father Damien

“Cardinal Martin. It’s so nice to see you,” I said, shaking his hand and then bowing down to kiss the ornate ring that his plump hand presented. “We are honored to receive you at this most humble parish.”

The Cardinal laughed. “That’s one thing that I have always admired about you, Father Damien, your sense of humor. The Archdiocese sees St. Patrick’s as anything but humble.”

I smiled in accepting his complement but something in the lively bright eyes set deeply into his face told me that there was more to his comment than floated on the surface. We went through the cherished protocols and settled into dinner. The sumptuous meal and lively conversation flowed nicely with the wine I had picked up on the way home. But then just the simple remembrance of my shopping excursion ushered the image of Mary Beth Donlon immediately to the front of my mind, the proud set of her bare shoulders, the sway of her firm buttocks, the delightfully alluring jounce of her pert and unsupported breasts…

“… you are firm, are you not, Father Damien? Father Damien?” asked Cardinal Martin.

“Firm? Me?” My hips rocked uncontrollably as I squirmed in my chair. A potentially embarrassing erection chaffed stiffly against the fabric of my shorts. How long had I been daydreaming?

“Yes, firm in your commitment to see your church grow and prosper.”

“Why, yes, positively. My commitment is as firm… as it is hard… and um, fast. Steadfast. Yes.” My mind was scrambling to catch up with the conversation, as my body’s persistent arousal demonstrated no signs of ebbing as my manhood throbbed harshly. “Ever since my first appointment here many years ago, I have believed in this parish… and in the faithful people who make it up and contribute to its life and vitality. My commitment, especially in these trying times remains full and strong.”

“I know and that is one of the reasons for having this dinner, and may I add that your Sister Margaret has out done herself. The roasted lamb was worthy of a king.”

The portly Cardinal dabbed his linen napkin at his chin as he reached for his glass of wine, emptying it. I poured him another.

“You see, Father Damien,” the rotund Cardinal went on, “it has come to my attention that there is a certain parishioner who possesses a keen interest in the prosperity of St. Patrick’s.”

Immediately, my mind thought of several who may have drawn the attention of Cardinal Martin. Hugh Wheeler and Elvina Coates came to mind first and foremost, Wheeler because of his demonstrated faith and wealth and Mrs. Coates because of her deep devotion and endless volunteerism. There were others as well. I poured the last of the wine into my goblet and took a sip, letting the dark dry Cabernet refresh my palate and warm my tongue.

“I’m sure that you’re aware of the efforts of one Mary Beth Donlon,” Cardinal Martin announced.

I exhaled and nearly spit out my wine.

“She… she is a, uh… fine young woman,” I sputtered.

The Cardinal remained relaxed, smiling, leaning back in the chair comfortably, his elbows resting on the velveteen-upholstered arms. “She is indeed. And quite unusual in her approach to the Church.”

Did he know something? What had he heard? And from whom? Had someone recognized us together in some sort of inappropriate situation? There had been a few and one would be too many. The warm dampness of perspiration was gathering about my neck, thankfully slackening my arousal.

“She is not like the other young women of her age,” the Cardinal continued, “all caught up in chasing after eligible young men, ensnaring them into a personal relationship, sex, marriage, babies, comfortable houses in the suburbs. No, she is after something very special.”

“I… I… I’m not sure what you mean, Cardinal,” I muttered. “She is a very special young woman to be sure. Her work on our Spring Fundraiser was exceptional as borne out by its huge success.”

Cardinal Martin’s smile broadened. “I see that you know your parishioners very well,” he chuckled. “I have something very special in mind, a way that Miss Donlon can support the Church that transcends the restrictions of the cloth. I have spoken with her recently and she has some wonderful ideas on how to treble our revenue, something very important to us given our competition and all of the controversies and upheaval of recent years.”

“So what exactly are you proposing?” I asked, my voice thin and tentative. My pulse was thundering, my heart racing, my body warm and trembling in anticipation of his answer.

“I propose that you meet with Miss Donlon. Soon. Frequently. As often as you can. I encourage you to cultivate a close relationship with her. Spend time with her, work with her, and listen to her ideas. Her business plan for maximizing the potential of this parish is sound and vital to the survival of the very Archdiocese.” The Cardinal then leaned forward avidly, bringing his elbows to rest on the stiff linen tablecloth. His voice fell deep and ominous. “It almost goes without saying that Rome will be following closely and will be most interested in what results. The impact on your career with the Church could be life changing.”

“I understand.” As I cast my eyes down at the table before me, I could see her image flash before me, her smile, her luminous eyes, her firm young desirable body. Was this another test being set upon me by the Lord through this man, his holy agent? Certainly I could meet with Mary Beth, work with her to further the work of the Church, but how could I possibly restrain the virile maleness inside me that craved her desperately? Or was there some way that I could reconcile my base instincts with my altruistic faith in the Church? I would need to find that balance and quickly. I cleared my throat and looked up at the Cardinal. “As a strange coincidence, I had arranged to meet with her about… um, some other matter on Thursday.”

“Wonderful!” Cardinal Martin pronounced. “I suggest that you work closely with Miss Donlon. She will be a great help to the church and to you. Besides, it would mean a great deal to me personally if you would successfully follow through on this.”

“Personal? How so?” I asked, watching as the portly Cardinal leaned back in his chair. He savored his last sip of wine then looked across the table directly at me.

“Personal in the sense, that Miss Donlon just so happens to be my niece.”

My jaw dropped, my eyes popped wide open, my hand smacked gently against the table. I recovered; with my hand I smoothed out a wrinkle in the tablecloth, I narrowed my eyes, I lifted my jaw and attempted a smile.

“Isn’t that a coincidence!” I exclaimed softly in a measured tone of voice. Was this some sort of heavenly joke? It was bad enough for a priest to be lusting after a woman, but for her to be a close relative of his Cardinal?

The Cardinal seemed nonplussed by my reaction and my statement. The conversation moved quckly on to other church and personal matters. Later, when I escorted him out to his vehicle, he paused by the doorway and put his arm around my shoulders.

“For obvious reasons, I never had a son of my own,” he chuckled, “but I have come to view fine young priests such as yourself as if you were my own children. To see you and my niece triumph in your roles of serving God and the Church brings me great personal joy.”

“I will not let you down, your holiness.”

“Good. Work closely with her, my son. Take advantage of her many talents and abilities.”

With a firm handshake, he was off with his driver into the sultry night air. Sister Margaret had seen to it that the dining room and kitchen were spotless. I thanked her again profusely for her efforts and entered the sanctuary. I knelt at the altar and prayed; I prayed for my parish; I prayed for the Church; I prayed for Cardinal Martin; I prayed for Mary Beth Donlon; I prayed for myself. Standing up I looked around the dimly lit cavernous room, the statuary glowing with life, the stained glass window sparkling softly courtesy of the streetlights outside, all evidence of the love and sacrifice of Jesus and Mary. Then I retired to my chambers.

The visage greeting me as I gazed into the mirror told a great tale. On the outside were all the accoutrements of faith and virtue; a young, handsome, pious priest dressed in a well-pressed suit with a perfectly starched collar. But the glint in his eye betrayed all those outer trappings, for inside lived a man, virile and sinfully desirous. And that desire was soon revealed as I undressed. With the holy vestments of my suit of clothes removed was revealed the trim, hard, muscled body of a man, his raging manhood proudly erect. As my eyes closed and I stroked my rampant throbbing member, the words of Cardinal Martin echoed in my head, “Work closely with her, my son… take advantage of her many talents and abilities…”