I had just got married to a Priest. Hold on, LGBTQ and A fans, I'm a guy and she was a woman. A female priest in a major protestant church. It was her first marriage and my second. I never thought I would marry clergy, but Betty was a very special person. I had explored my sexual boundaries after my divorce, and was ready to settle down and focus my life with one person, and Betty seemed to be the one. Despite her intelligence, compassion and skills as a counselor, as soon as the cassock came off, she was a demanding lover who gave as good as she got. I said my vows, settled in for a lifetime of love and hoped for the best.
What I got was a lifetime of sexual adventure I never could have expected.
Betty was a good preacher, and she was often asked to fill in for other clergy who got sick or needed vacations. Usually it was a day trip thing, Betty would drive out in the morning and come back at night. But on one weekend the church that she needed to help was a couple of hundred miles away. They had a small rectory, which was where the regular priest lived, and we could both stay there if she came to conduct a service. We jumped at the offer, as we loved to travel together, and I always enjoyed her preaching.
The Church was in a small town about a hundred and fifty miles outside the city. It had about 20,000 people, and unlike a lot of other small towns it had survived the last thirty years for the better. Granted, it had done so by buying into the classic Americana/Antique Sampler Mall and Cozy Kitchen model that you could find all over the Mid West: small town America, as it never was.
We arrived Saturday afternoon, to settle and be rested for tomorrow morning. I could swear that we had arrived at the set for Mayberry RFD. Ok, I'm being snarky, but that comes with the territory of living a lifetime as a professional smart ass. But you know what? All the people were friendly, and the town was clean and easy to get around, parking was free, and the peach pie I had at the diner could simply not be beat. after a couple of hours, my snark had melted away. What the hell was I being all 'judgy' about? I got over myself and settled in to enjoy a nice day with my wife.
We went to the church and met Edith VanDeGirth, the head of the Vestry committee. Betty had warned me that Heads of Vestry Committees were traditionally very serious people who took their duties to extreme levels of diligence. In other words, they were old Bitches who did things the way they wanted to and fuck you if you didn't like it. Miss VanDerGirth was no exception. She was about 65 years old, dressed like everyone's third grade teacher, had snow white hair coiffured like Betty White, sensible shoes, and a prim and forceful way of talking. Miss VanDerGirth seemed to take my wife in stride. I had wondered if the small towns would balk at supporting female priests, but Miss VanDerGirth was respectful and business like as she led my wife through the Church, showing her where all the stuff was that Betty needed to do her Priestly duties. I tagged along behind them, listening passively and enjoying the peaceful demeanor of the 130 year old wooden church. I actually wasn't very religious, but I still enjoyed the sense of continuity and commitment that any old church represented, even if I didn't share the faith.
Miss VanDerGirth and Betty had finished their tour and we were all near the back door, ready to leave.
"So, everything seems in order. Like I said, Mr. Thompson and Mrs Radicek are experienced acolytes, they will serve you will."
"I'm sure there will be no problems. Thank you so much for your help." Betty beamed broadly at her in one of her more genuine smiles. Betty could play the political game well, and I had come to recognize her fake smiles and her real ones. Betty was a slender woman, about 5'9 who was pretty, but not gorgeous. She had an amazingly expressive face, however, and she could transform a room with her smile. Outside that, I would describe her as a tall Velma from Scooby Doo, with smaller tits.
Just before we were about to leave, VanDerGirth stopped us.
"Oh, Pastor Smith, we do need to see your marriage license." The request sounded weird to me, but Betty responded right away as if it was the most natural question in the world. "Oh, of course! Here it is." For some reason, Betty had our license in her purse. VanDerGirth looked it over seriously and handed it back. "Well." She had a strange expression her face. The only comparison I could make would to the look a chef has standing before a table of raw food.
"It will be so nice to use the services of the Vestry to it's full capacity again." Miss VanDerGirth said.
The two women shared an odd secret look, and laughed a bit. Instantly I was suspicious. This wasn't my first rodeo, and woman don't toss around that kind of energy for nothing. But I also knew confronting together was dumb, so I'd just have to let it go.
"Now, Mr. Smith, do tell me about yourself." Suddenly VanDerGirth turned her attention on me and took my arm. We started walking and conversing, and she plied me for as much information about my past as she politely could. She did it with that old school charm they used to teach in finishing schools before WWII. I had read about such people in novels, but never experienced one face to face. I was utterly disarmed and charmed. We walked out in the small garden and into the rectory behind the church which was a lovely two story bungalow and was furnished tastefully but spare, with a Frank Lloyd Wright sensibility.
Before I knew it an hour had passed. I somehow wound up telling her some pretty intimate stuff, which she invited and processed like it was nothing. When she left, my wife asked me what I thought of Miss VanDerGirth.
