1.
I hate golf! There I said it. But with a smile and a gracious thank you, I now find myself standing outside on God's green grass, under God's blue sky trying to hit a tiny ball as far as possible. 'Fit in with your flock. Let them know you are a man of god, but also a man of the people.' These wise words came from Father Drake as I stepped out of seminary school after five years at the young age of twenty five, almost thirty five years ago. Wise words that had now put me here on a golf course with one of my 'flock' and they say Satan has the wicked humour.
"Oh, too bad father," James says with a tiny smirk on his face, "cut that one a little too far to the left." He shrugs and moves himself into position to hit the ball off his tee.
As one of God's messengers I find myself biting my tongue more often than I really should in front of this man. 'God give me strength' I think to myself and find myself smiling at my situation in no time at all, Jesus would have hated golf, I did not need five years of studying to know that. I shouldn't really complain though as the man four feet from me wiggles his hips preposterously, a club gripped delicately in his hands, if only he held his wife that way, perhaps I would not be in my current position. With his back to me, I move my own hips preposterously as the elastic of his wife's knickers dig into my waist and thigh. I wonder how a priest could get himself in such a situation and all I can do is blame it on meeting Kate only a few weeks before...
My first sermon had gone well, the nerves held off long enough for me to get through all the psalms for that Sunday and even through some of the hymns, the ones I didn't mime to due to my shaky voice that is. The sky was a dull grey, rain had threatened to fall all day and as my congregation began to walk sombrely out of the church I greeted them all with a cheery smile and a handshake. Names came thick and fast, many I still do not remember. James introduced himself with a firm handshake and a big smile, his wife came next. I smile and try and hold her eyes but I am weak and as with others that stepped before her I glance down fleetingly taking in her shape, a cream blouse top few buttons undone a trace of cleavage, I swallow hard forcing my eyes back, "A pleasure to meet you too Kate," I say, she holds my hand gently, fingers warm on my sweaty palm her eyes dart sideways watching her husband walking off talking to another man, then her eyes come back to me and she leans in, I try not to but I inhale her perfume.
"Father, may I ask you something?" Kate's voice is quiet with a soft lilt. I nod and she continues, "It has been a while since my last confession. Father Brentford left almost two weeks ago and you have been so busy this week moving in," her eyes stay locked on mine, there is passion in this woman, even a priest of sixty years of age can feel it, Kate is a woman of God but also a sinner I cannot but help feel pity for her...but also something else.
"My child, my door is always open, day or night," I find myself perplexed at that, 'day or night'? Who gives confession at night? "You only need to ask."
That night I consult the good book, I have not been plagued by such thoughts in such a long time, thoughts that would shame any priest my age or younger. I had spent the remainder of Sunday with Kate on my mind, at first I simply prayed for her, such anguish in the eyes but also that fiery passion that could not be hidden. I felt that perhaps Kate was tormented by weakness of the soul. But those thoughts were not the ones that drove me to my old Bible. My shameful thoughts made me grab the good Book, weakness of the soul affects us all, even I. I found myself daydreaming as one does on any lazy day, but my dreams were shameful. Kate unbound and naked, her hands and fingers exploring her hot naked flesh, dipping into regions a priest my age should have no concern with, yet I found myself aroused. I was ashamed of such a reaction but powerless to stop myself. I sat myself in my study, behind locked door my trousers open and my cock exposed.
The swollen, veiny mass pulsed and throbbed with a heat I had spent long years suppressing, yet one touch of a woman, one lingering glance had undone my contrition. I found myself gripping my cock in one hand, eyes closed as Kate spread naked in my head, one hand parting her wet labia and urging me forward, her eyes hungry for my rampant cock. I shuddered within mere seconds and felt my testicles spasm for the first time in years. I let out a strangled cry as my hot shame erupted forth splattering my desk with thick streams. The release was like nothing I had felt before, my body was on fire and my fist gripped my cock tightly pumping slowly, forcing as much of my seed from me as possible.
My trousers caught the next load, landing warm and almost white against the black of my trousers, how long I stayed like that I do not know, but when I finally uncurled my now very sticky fingers I had covered the desk, most of my left leg and my right hand in a heavy, sticky mess. I shuddered with shame or release I still do not know and quickly began to clean up with the tissues that sat on my desk, the air around me felt hot and fetid, a tangy strange smell in the air and I wondered if this was the heat and smell that father Halide talked about when he told us the stories of the terrible brothels he had visited in South America as he tried to get those poor women to repent and be clean.
By Wednesday afternoon my lapse had all but been forgotten in the daylight, the evenings I spent kneeling in the church, before the Alter my atonement I felt was not to be as quickly received. On this afternoon I was busy cleaning up after the local Women's institute had visited for their weekly get together. They were a good bunch of ladies, well-mannered and well versed in the Good Book, well almost, a slight slip up here and there and one meaning completely lost on them, better than most ladies groups I had chatted to before though. "Excuse me," The voice came from the church door, I stood up and turned a smile coming easily to my face. I held the smile with great strength as Kate walked meekly down the aisle towards me. "Afternoon Father." She said politely.
"Why hello Kate," as we shook hands I closed both my hands around her soft hand. "What brings you to church on a sunny day like this?" There was no passion in her eyes this afternoon and I almost had myself grasping at the idea that I had mistakenly seen such passion on Sunday.
Kate looked around apprehensively, "My husband is off playing golf as usual," the last part coming out in a sigh. "You said your door was open day or night."
I let go of her hand, "You seek a confessional my child." Kate stifled a giggle and I found myself laughing as well at the term, what tension I felt was quickly ebbing away, washing away on a tide of easy laughter. "You will have to excuse this old priest I sometimes lapse into my old phrases."
I once knew a priest who had terrible claustrophobia he would, in the terms of today's youth, freak out, in the confessional box, he insisted on his side being left open much to his own congregations dismay. I on the other hand find it a comfort. The outside world cannot intrude, the darkness is soothing on the eyes and the mind allowing easy thought. The darkness also provides that much needed anonymity for many sinners. Though it was Kate, I would act the dutiful priest and allow her the anonymity that many crave for.
