I was a ringer for a small volunteer church choir. Basically, i was there to help keep the old folks in tune, on the beat, and fill out the sound of the bass section.
It wasn't my favorite job, but the singers and choir director were all lovely people, and the pay was pretty good for the amount of work it demanded. The worst part for me was singing so early on Sunday mornings. I already felt my social life stifled by an atypical work schedule, and there was no way I could go out Saturday nights to drink with friends if I had to sing early the next morning. But I was making it work well enough.
The choir was all 65+ and being in my early 20's made me stick out like a sore thumb. Or a green thumb, maybe. I didn't mind it. Old people were relaxing to be around and I was always the cool guy in the room, even if I wasn't all that cool outside of the church.
A few months after I started singing, a new member joined. Michelle was thin, blonde, very pretty, and a surprising addition to the choir. I guessed she was in her late 20's or early 30's. I think she had a young child, a toddler maybe. She gave off "young mom" vibes and dressed the part. She was suburban conservative and always looked neat, not flashy. I think she used to sing in high school or college and missed it, joining the choir to get her musical fix in an otherwise pretty ordinary middle-class life.
Michelle sang soprano and had a quiet but very clear tone. It was easy to hear her amongst the warbling vibratos of the senior altos and sopranos.
I tried to be subtle, but it was hard to keep my eyes off her in rehearsal. I didn't care what was going on with anyone else, but when Michelle giggled at my occasional jokes, I was a happy guy.
Sopranos and basses sat on opposite ends of the room from one another, so I never got to talk to her much.
Sunday mornings, singers would file in around 15 minutes before service to don our robes and warm up our voices. It was pretty informal with most members having done the same routine for years, decades even.
In the sanctuary, we'd sit on the hard pews behind the pastor and wait patiently for our cues. Sometimes it came from the organ, sometimes piano, sometimes prayer. I just followed along, only taking charge when the next hymn began. I was not a seasoned church-goer.
The temperature of the sanctuary, the stillness of the air, the contemplative, conservative, and slow nature of the proceedings always made me so tired. I struggled to keep my eyes open some mornings, my body convincing itself that I was still in bed. In my comfort, ease, and boredom, my body and mind would inevitably wander. An idle brain is the devil's playground, some say. And my mind certainly wandered where it should not.
I'd look out into the congregation where cute girls and beautiful women were few and far between. Sometimes college girls would come to church while on break. Sometimes young moms and their bland husbands would sit there, praying more for their kids to behave than to Jesus. I wondered if they ever glanced up during a prayer, would see me singing, and think I was cute.
Under the heavy, hot robes, I'd start to get hard, my arousal heightened by how taboo it was. I should absolutely not be getting hard in a church on a singing job.
But I couldn't help it. I worried that if we had to stand for a hymn I might be caught, but the robes were big enough and my self-control just strong enough to keep me safe. This happened a lot.
A few months after Michelle joined, the choir director decided to change our seating arrangement during services to see if the blend would change.
"Sopranos and basses in the center, altos and tenors on the right and the left, please." He said.
We filed up to the sanctuary, the olds gossiping quietly, me trying to wake up, Michelle a few heads behind me holding her music binder.
We got to the sanctuary and I found a seat almost right in the middle. This seat was nice and obstructed by the organ so if my eyes fluttered open and shut, probably no one would see. The choir shuffled in, slightly more confused on where to go than adults should be.
On my left sat Michelle. Thank god, I thought.
"Hey, Michelle." I said quietly as she sat down.
"Hi, Noah!" She said with a smile.
The service began and I was slightly more awake, listening for the new blend of the choir and happy to hear Michelle's warm voice in my ear.
We sat back down after the first hymn and I leaned over to whisper, "You sound great. Glad I can actually hear you well today."
She laughed quietly, "Thanks, you too."
One thing I loved about Michelle is that she seemed to have a good sense of humor and was a little goofier than her exterior would betray. I got the sense she was enjoying being around someone closer to her age.
We were seated for a while in close quarters, the rest of the choir to our left and right, smooshing up in. At first, I made a half-hearted effort to keep our legs from touching, but as we sat there, I got the feeling she didn't care much, and I relaxed, letting my lanky body push against her frame ever so slightly. It almost felt like she was leaning on me slightly. Probably not though.
I looked down at her left hand which was resting on her closed music binder. her fourth finger had the indent of a ring, but no ring. I thought about the implications and explanations.
As we sat there, bodies lightly pressed together, her light perfume or shampoo hovering near me, I started to feel myself grow hard.
I was nervous, but confident the robe would keep me discreet. I adjusted myself quickly as we stood up for the next hymn.
"Amen", we all sang to conclude. And I was still hard.
Michelle touched my arm before we sat down and leaned towards my ear.
"I'm gonna scoot by. Bathroom."
And before I could move, she brushed past me, her ass pressing right into my hard on as she slid by me.
Jesus Christ I was mortified. She didn't react at all, just kept moving as she left through a side door. There was no way she could have missed it. I was certain she just wouldn't come back at all after that. She'd just leave for the morning and call it a day. Maybe she'd claim she was sick and when I saw her in rehearsal next week she'd just never make eye contact and pretend it never happened. Maybe she'd tell the choir director and I'd get fired. That was my future.
I found it hard to concentrate for the next few minutes, trying to listen to the service to distract myself. But my internal monologue was far too busy for that to work.
After an agonizing 3 minutes, Michelle reentered the sanctuary and quietly 'excuse me'd herself back to her seat.
I looked up at her as she was passing, afraid to make eye contact, but needing to know her reaction.
She met my eyes and a slight smirk crossed her face. She looked like she had a secret. She scooted by me and sat down, our bodies pressing into each other once again.
