It had been my experience that children, up to as old as 16 were intimidated in the confessional. Being more comfortable in the presence of a priest that talked to them and provided something to drink or a bit of candy put them at ease. Being children, they still were quite secretive about their naughtiness, and even more so once they found out that as their confessor, I did not get angry. I merely gave them a few prayers to say, occasionally instructing them to inform their parents (only in the worst cases) and sent them on their way. Most began to realize the sanctity and the confidentiality of the confessional around their 13th or 14th year. Then I would start to hear the real stuff.
Most of my flock that had started confessional this way would move to normal confessional around the ages of 15 or 16. A few who had grown accustomed to my presence preferred to keep confessional with me in my chambers. They were good kids who grew attached to me, and I to them. Tammy was one of them.
Tammy had just turned 19. I had been trying to get her to move to the confessional booths with no success. She came to me after my last Sunday sermon, as was her norm, to confess. I admitted her and after a brief familiar greeting, we began.
“Forgive me, Father for I have sinned…” I waited for her to continue. Her green eyes sparkled at me from behind a curtain of dark red hair.
“I have had impure thoughts about my father.” This was new. Last week it had been Kevin Olsen in her graduating class.
“What kind of impure thoughts? You’re a young lady; this is, to some degree, natural.”
“It’s ok to think about my father like that?” she asked.
“Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. It is natural for young women to look on their fathers as desirable mates and will often choose to marry men with many similar traits. But, tell me about these thoughts.”
“Well father, I saw him working in the yard trimming the bushes. He had his shirt off and was sweating. He was so strong looking. Watching him gave me butterflies in my stomach.”
I paused in thought as she continued. I knew her father and her home. They had no bushes to speak of. A few scraggily trees here and there, but no bushes. Who was she talking about?
She continued, “-and then I imagined him laying on top of me as we kissed. He was touching me, my breasts and my secret place.” I looked at her. She had lowered her head so as not to look me in the eyes directly, but I could see her eyes glancing furtively at me. My cock began to grow. Now, I may be a priest, but I am as subject to temptation and desires as the next man. I hadn’t felt aroused like this in a few years.
I was considering her youthful beauty and the effect her descriptions were having on me, when it hit me. I was her father. Or should I say Father? I had been trimming the rose bushes in the garden yesterday and gotten quite sweaty in the midsummer heat.
She started again after the brief pause to determine whether I had recognized who she was talking about. I hoped I hadn’t given anything away. “His hands were in my blouse and I could feel them on my skin, and my dress was open. He was putting his hand in my panties. Father, I love him so much. I would willingly give myself to him.”
My penis was painfully erect and painfully visible in the front of my pants. My heart was pounding. “My child, and incestuous relationship is not the sin everyone makes it out to be. The bible is replete with instances of it. Adam and Eve. How many daughters did they have? How many sons? Who did her children reproduce with? While this may be against the general teachings of the church, I believe that relations between consenting adults is permissible. You are an adult, so what you and your father do is your business.” I could find myself in a lot of hot water for saying that.
“Oh, Father! Thank you!” she jumped up from where she was sitting and leaned over to hug me. Her hand rested on my cock. I embraced her, and voiced no objection to her minor trespass. I had never had a woman touch me with sexual intent before.
Her hand gently squeezed me. I sucked my breath in; surprised that she would be so bold. Slowly, she drew her head back until her face was just inches from mine. I looked into the bright green eyes set into her lovely face and marveled at the young beauty’s interest in me. I was fifteen years her senior and a priest to boot. If I let her continue, I could be defrocked.