She poked her head in the door and looked at me with wide eyes before saying, "Brother Smith?"
"Come in, Sister Peterson," I said, standing up. I swept out my arm, welcoming her into the room.
She sidled in and closed the door, then she quietly jiggled the handle. Most of them did that, just to make sure it was locked.
She was dressed as they all are when they first step through my door, in a white, fluffy robe. I had one on too. Though of age, she was quite small of frame, and she stood awkwardly, as if she was hyperaware of her body and could feel the exact location of every limb. She was breathing quickly, and her cheeks were a little flushed. She watched me with a mixture of nervousness and excitement.
As always, I had to make the first move, which doesn't bother me at all. This job is worth doing well. So much of this girl's future happiness was riding on it.
To carry the anointing out, we had to enter a trusting space. Most people think that can only happen through words. They would say that I should speak soothingly to her, tell her not to be nervous, tell her we could take all the time she needed. But in my years in this calling, I have found that the eyes can create more connection in five minutes than words can in a year.
"Please, sit," I said, smiling. She moved to one of the pair of comfortable white chairs I have in my room. The robes tend to hide body contours, but I could tell from her face, her calves, and the athletic way she moved that she was one of those aerodynamic girls with subtle, graceful curves.
As she sat, one corner of her robe fell to the side, exposing her knee. She reached for it instinctively, but then stopped. After a moment of reflection, she put her hand in her lap and looked up me, leaving her knee exposed.
The two chairs were situated quite close together, facing each other. I sat down. "Please get comfortable," I said. She sank back into her cushion, and I sank into my own.
The art of falling into another's eyes is one I've been practicing for years. Most of us don't look into anyone's eyes for more than a second at a time. Various threads of our minds and souls get tangled up with the other person's. Those threads reach back into our deepest selves: sometimes to our beautiful parts, sometimes to our darker parts. Having those parts of us observed by another is so intimate, so vulnerable, that we instinctively pull back. Most of the time this is a good idea. Day-to-day life is complicated enough without our secret loves and fears being drawn suddenly to the surface.
However, we were in the anointing room now.
Years of practice have made it almost easy for me to fall deeply into the eyes of even a stranger. I'll admit that it is especially easy to fall into the eyes of a beautiful young woman. And that is who was sitting before me. I could feel my stomach relax as I looked into her eyes and opened my soul a little.
Like the others, she was startled to begin with. She jerked backward, grabbed the arms of the chair, and glanced away. But she was only startled, not frightened. Seeing the first layers of someone's soul takes some getting used to.
I smiled awkwardly, acknowledging how strange this was. It gave her the reassurance to sit back again and look into my eyes. I took a deep breath as if to say, "Let's take this slowly."
More relaxed now, she instinctively opened herself just a little and I saw the bright, happy, adventurous girl she was. So full of the energy of youth. I let her see into me a little: the extra years and experience I had, what they had formed of me.
But then I had to take the next step. The initiate rarely does it herself. So, I shifted from my confidence and experience to the fear lying just beneath it. Yes. I've been an anointer for years, but every encounter is a new one, and every soul is precious. I had failed before, and those failures still haunt me. They are so painful that I would like to erase them, except that they humble me and make me better at my calling.
I let her see into that fear. The revelation made her mouth and eyes open a little wider, and her own fear suddenly rose to the surface. She was tender of years, tender of body, and she was about to take a big step. It would involve things she didn't understand yet, taking her to the highest and lowest places life offers. Tears started streaming down her face and she sucked in great gulps of air as she started crying. I reached toward her, and she jumped up, throwing herself into my arms and curling her small body up into my lap, heaving with sobs as I held her. This always happens, and it always breaks my heart. But it is often the first time they truly face their fears about the near future. And letting this fear express itself through the body is an essential part of the ordinance. It cleans them out. It opens them up. It makes them brave.
She cried for half an hour, but finally settled down and tottered back to her chair. She looked up at me apologetically. But I looked back at her as a mirror, allowing her to see this new level of herself. The level one finds when one goes through fear and comes out the other side. Her eyes cleared immediately. She sat up straighter. I could see a new part of her mind turning on.
And I was ready. I opened my soul completely, and she responded instantly. It was like beams of pure light suddenly connected us. We both saw our souls: that our mortal lives were but tiny twigs on the great tree of our existence, that we had access to all the power and knowledge we had gained through the eons. We were both as tiny as atoms and as giant as galaxies. I watched as this new knowledge washed over her, as she started absorbing it, as she began realizing its implications, as she connected with her soul.
This might surprise you, but it did not surprise me. She stood up, not taking her eyes from mine, and put one hand on the belt of her robe. She slowly pulled it loose and let the robe fall open. She grasped the lapels and pulled the robe off her slender body then threw it to the side.
She stood before me as a goddess would stand. Her back straight, her shoulders back, her muscles relaxed and firm. I reached up and touched her at the hollow of her throat and then slowly slid my finger down her chest, between her pert breasts, over her flat stomach, and down to her vulva. As my finger slid down, she closed her eyes, smiled, and raised her arms toward the ceiling.
When I took my finger away, she began dancing around the room. I watched the roundness of her long thighs, the curve of her narrow hips, the bounce of her little breasts. And my body reacted. I stood up and removed my robe, tossing it on top of hers.
I stood there watching her dance until she noticed me. She showed not a hint of embarrassment, but immense curiosity. She walked over to me and gazed at my erect penis. As she gazed, her breath came more quickly. Her body was telling her that something was happening, though she did not quite know what. But she was still expanded, newly attached to her soul, so she looked confidently up into my eyes. "What's next?" they asked.
I gestured toward an extra-wide massage table near the corner of the room. It was large enough to hold two people comfortably. The walls surrounding it were mirrors. She walked over to it.
"Lay face down on it, if you would," I said.
As she climbed onto the table, I took a moment to appreciate her buttocks and vaginal lips. She was a beautiful girl. Anointing her would be a great pleasure. She looked up at me with a glint of mischief in her eyes. "Just so you know," she said, "I'd like to know a little more about that," and she pointed at my hardon.
"All will be made known in time," I said, smiling. "Get comfortable."
As she did so, I dipped my fingers in the bowl of massage oil resting on the stand next to the table.
