"Bless me Father, for I have sinned."
"Stop it, this isn’t funny anymore."
"Come on. Loosen up, where’s your sense of humor?"
"Someone might find us in here."
"So? What are they going to do? Arrest us for sitting in a confessional?"
"No. It’s just, it’s not something to mess around with, that’s all."
"Oh right. If we do, we might go to hell."
The air in the confessional was musty and dry. I could just make out his face through the fancy lattice work between us. I was new to this whole experience, while he had spent four years in this place, thinking he wanted to be a priest. It didn’t work out that way, obviously. He had probably spent a lot of time in this tiny space, telling the priest all about his swearing, impure thoughts, and the like. Now we were back, a long overdue trip down memory lane. And I couldn’t help feeling naughty.
There was something in me that had always compelled me to do the wrong thing...My desperate urge to say "bomb" on an airplane, my theft of neighbors' newspapers just to throw them away, telling him that I wasn’t wearing panties in church that morning. Things like that. The sly mention of my lack of an undergarment had him squirming in his seat, his jaw set tightly. Despite his surroundings, he was thinking about my bare pussy underneath my skirt. I knew he was. He was thinking about how, later, in the hotel, we was going to spread me open and lick my wet lips before fucking me senseless all night.
What would the Lord think? I mean, he could see me, right? He could tell what I was doing. Or so I’ve been told.
He managed to get through the service, and now that the place had cleared out, we could have a lot more fun. I could hear him moving next to me, trying to get comfortable on the creaky wooden seat. I let my legs fall open, my skirt bunch up a little. I was hot and so blasphemously wet under that prim, black skirt. I had gone conservative for the occasion, but somehow managed to forget to slip on that black thong I packed specifically for the day. Thou shalt wear underwear wasn’t a commandment, was it?
"Anyway, like I said, I have sinned."
He didn’t respond, so I went on.
"I’ve been having some very bad thoughts. About my boyfriend. You see, father, I want to have sex with him. But, I know it’s wrong to have sex before marriage. Very, very wrong. Right?"
He hesitated before playing along with me, probably just to get me to stop.
"Yes, it is. Very wrong."
"But, every night, before I go to sleep, I have these thoughts."
"What kind of thoughts?"
He was getting into a little, despite himself. I slid my hand up my thigh, teasing my fingertips against my skin. Through the screen, I heard the faint sound of his breath, his palms rubbing across the fabric of his suit pants.
"Naughty thoughts. Things I want to do to him, and that I want him to do to me."
"Can you be more specific?"
"Well, there is one thing that I think about the most."
"What’s that?"
"I think about sucking his cock, really deep into my throat. Over and over and over again. And, I think about letting him come in my mouth. I want to feel him come down the back of my throat."
There was silence on the other side of the wall. I reached up, tickling the tops of my thighs, teasing myself with the slightest touch.
"But, is oral sex still wrong? Or is it only intercourse?"
I knew he wouldn’t answer me; I didn’t care what the real answer was. I let my fingers creep up over my pussy, my lips full and swollen with blood.
"But, there’s more, Father. Much more. After I suck him off, I let him play with my pussy, put his fingers inside me. I let him put his tongue on me, and lick me until I feel like I’ll go crazy."
"We have to stop this, someone might come back."
"If you’re not going to stay in character, this isn’t going to work."
He didn’t say another word. Bless his little heart. Part of him was still that altar boy who had spent his youth at this church, in this box. Part of him would always relish the traditions, even if he didn’t practice the church’s tenants anymore. I could smell my sex filling the tiny little room. I wondered if he could smell it too. I let a finger move between my puffy lips, my clit straining to get some attention. Touching myself, I heard him clear his throat in the next compartment.
"But, Father, the real truth is, we have had sex already. A lot. I let him fuck me on the second date. So, I guess there really isn’t any point in trying to be good now. Is there?"
"I guess not."
He sounded so wonderfully uncomfortable. My clit was slippery under my finger, the tease making my pussy achy and needy. I was about to ask for my penance when we both heard footsteps coming towards us. He exited first, confronting the priest who had taught him so many years ago. I straightened myself out, lowered my skirt, and came out from behind the curtain, just as he was explaining how I had always wanted to see the inside of a confessional. The priest gave us a smile, and admonished us for goofing off with a sacrament of the holy Catholic church.
I nodded solemnly and he apologized profusely. We shook hands, and I took no small joy in knowing my pussy juicy was now on the priest’s hand. He dragged me out to the car, so we could make our way to the hotel.
"I told you. God, that was embarrassing."
"I didn't get to ask what my penance is for having such dirty thoughts."
"Oh, well. I think I can remember what the punishment is for behavior like that."
We drove down the tree-lined street and his hand settled between my legs. I was so glad he hadn’t become a priest. It would have been such a tragic waste.
Originally published November 2008