Camille, the Camera and the Church

I think I was in the Choir room when it happened.
The smell of burnt incense wafted up towards me
From the Altar

Whispers played in my head, over and over again
What was told to my brother
"Don't play with that, you'll go blind."

Giggles turning over from friends not-so-innocent
What was told to me
"Everyone explores their own bodies, it's normal."

In floods of lightheaded diziness, recalls of torture during moments of stupidity

Camille flashing her camera at me, before entering the Holy Ground of
Betham's Church
A taunt to pictures, pictures... she would reveal to my school, to my family
Blackmailed

Shame filled my cheeks as I set up in the empty room
On the balcony, where the Choir practices
Christ himself hanging down from a wooden cross
Leering
Jeering
At me
Paint peeling from his desecrated form

The tri-pod set up, new batteries in the camera
I positioned it at the right angle and stood back
Taking a deep breath and shivering
Shame again, because of my already evident arousal
Wetness, slightly leaking only because my thighs were quivering

Another deep breath
Stalling is no longer allowed
A lean forward to tap the camera onto On
Exhale.
Begin.

Hips rock from left to right
Tiltilating, end tight
Camera just right
Christ catches it all

Fingers hooked inside your skirt
Tease, short, soft, pull down only slightly
Landing strip peeking, but not quite full scoped
Turn, first, slide the skirt down your legs
Bare your backside to photographic shame
Do not forget to look up at Christ's tormented face
Slower, as you are wondering whether He had his own share of blackmail
Or, a harem?

Black panties, slip down perfectly shaved legs
Legs spread wide, now bend to unhook the panties from your feet
Good girl
Naked from the waist down.
Look at Him. Opposite of what you are.
Bent over again
You slide your fingertips from the insides of your ankles
Up to your knees
Thighs, yes, more
There it is.
Quicksilver passion flowing from your fruit
Only hints of it showing before you turn again
Simultaneously throwing off your shirt

Bare now, except for your God given skin
Your fingers trace up the taut curves of your belly
Blushing like the bride married here yesterday
Higher
Over your breasts, up into your hair
I want more

Down you go, on your knees, arch your back
Show that He didn't die for your sins as gradually
Graciously
Slip your fingers to your slit
Yes, right there.
Moist, hot, hotter than the desert he sent Moses across to the Free Lands

SLAM

Was that the church door opening?
Were you just imagining things? Yes.

More.

On your back now
Eagle spread in imitation of mocking his Holyness
Your fingers play their way across your body
Like the Altar Boy plays the piano during Mass
And with each sweep across your hips
You sink lower
And lower
Like the rock rolled into place to keep Him still.

Simple toying, slut deploying her average taste for being Saved
Liquid love seeps from you
Let's not be coy, darling
Cum seeps from you
As you light fires underneath your Undying Passions
He watches
As if you had lit one of those begotten, and never-dying candles
To p(r)ay for someone

It's time now for Confession
Your cries of plea ( was that His name? )
Echo across the church as you near this Heavenly Climax
You're climbing stair after stair
Desperate fingers working desperately across singes of your slit

As if you expected to see Saint Peter at the Pearly Gates
As if he would let you in

In, yes, in

"AH!"

Your climax echos louder than your whimpering simpers
It bounces off His face erotically
Like the torment brought on was made by a woman
Instead of nails into palms
Vicious tease, that spared him no release
And in that moment you hear hushed voices moving frantically
Yet can't seem to bring yourself to care

Someone is at the doorway balcony
They are saying something to you
High pitched, but convincing
And like Adam you know to resist that Apple

You pick your clothing up
On in a few moments
And straighten your appearance
Nothing to be done about the church floor soaked in your desire

The Camera flashes red
Burning bush reminding decadence
And suddenly stops dead

Camille will certainly have a story to tell.