Tasting the Forbidden - A Mayhem Erotica Anthology (7 page)

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

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

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

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

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

Ϯ

“Father Grady?”

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

“Ask me again.”

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

Cue rapid blinking.

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

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

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

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

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

Ϯ

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ϯ

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All rationality I’d gained was now lost.

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

Did I want to stop?

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

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

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

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

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

His answer never came.

Ϯ

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

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

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

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

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

“
Jesus answered them, I assure you, most solemnly I tell you, whoever commits and practices sin is the slave of sin.”
²

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

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

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

Ϯ

Chicken-shit exit: gutless.

Apathetic apology rendered quickly: worthless.

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

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

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

“
And he said to them, ‘I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer.’”
³