An Impossible Dream

"I will see both of you on Sunday, won't I?" He, Father O'Brien, asked, the emphasis being on 'will'.

"Yes, we wouldn't miss it for the world." Sonia answered for the both of us.

Sunday, how do I describe Sunday? It began with breakfast. Sonia stayed overnight with me and let me tell you, it was the most fantastic night of my life. Somewhere in there, in amongst the whispered expressions of my feelings toward her, and her reciprocal emotions, I might have asked her to marry me. It is said that actions speak louder than words, somewhere between my cock entering her pussy and her shuddering orgasm some time later, I got the message that she had accepted. "Does that answer your question?"

"In the best way possible. I love you, from the very moment I was introduced to you I knew that I loved you."

"I beat you to the punch by at least thirty seconds. I watched you and Bryce walking through the newsroom and knew even then that we were being thrown together for a reason that had nothing to do with work. I had heard a couple of Journos talking about this whiz-kid from a regional rag coming to work for us, and how good you were, but even that didn't prepare me for meeting you in the flesh. I was hooked."

We consummated our new and improved status for some time before exhaustion took over and we fell asleep with me still inside her pussy. We woke with me still inside her, this time mouth, as she woke me. "Good morning my darling fiancé." She put him back in.

"And good morning to you my love." I changed position so that I could lick her pussy that was redolent of last night's festivities.

Some time later, lured by the aroma of bacon and eggs and toast and freshly brewed coffee, we slipped into our clothes and headed for the kitchen.

"Look at the two of you, you both look like the cat that ate the canary."

"Mum, Dad, we have an announcement to make. We are engaged, we are going to get married."

Mum reached us first, grabbing us both in her embrace, she kissed Sonia and me in turn. "Congratulations, this calls for a celebration! We are taking the two of you to lunch after church, aren't we Peter?"

Dad arrived on the scene half a second after Mum and joined in the group hug. "You bet." He kissed Sonia, and shook my hand, the left one but who cares. "I'll have to pay a visit to the ATM on the way, I don't have anywhere near an appropriate amount of money for this occasion."

Sonia looked great. For someone who never went to church she was dressed perfectly, a navy blue dress that floated around her beautiful body, kissing it in places that enhanced her figure, dark stockings and heels high enough to emphasise the perfection of her legs. In keeping with the Catholic tradition of head covering, she wore one of those 'fascinators', those little bits of millinery frippery, most often seen at horse race meetings like the Melbourne Cup.

We sat with Mum and Dad a couple of rows from the front of the church, uttering the appropriate responses required in the liturgy of the church, genuflecting at the right time, and listening in anticipation to Father O'Brien's homily.

At the end of the service, just before the Benediction to dismiss the congregation, he held up his hand. "My friends, this will be my last time with you. I have tendered my resignation from the Priesthood, effective immediately. My reason for doing this is that I have for some time been torn in two directions. On the one hand it was to my life as a Priest and my duty to the church. On the other hand it was my life as a man, a man who was experiencing the same sort of emotions and feelings as every other man, the need to be accepted by another on a more personal level that the Priesthood allowed. I was in love with a woman, I am in love with a woman. That love has transcended my love for my life as a Priest. The woman concerned has been very understanding for a long time, too long a time. I have decided to put her out of her misery by asking her to marry me. She has accepted. Beryl Thornleigh has consented to be my wife as soon as my resignation has been accepted by the church. As of next Friday I will no longer be a Priest and Beryl will be Mrs Beryl O'Brien. Monday week I start looking for a job. Can we now have the Benediction."

The celebratory table was expanded to include Gerry and Beryl. It was the happiest of meals, and I have to admit that there were probably a few too many bottles of expensive champagne drunk in the progress of the meal, so much so that we had to get one of those services where they send a car and two drivers to drive us and Dad's car home.

Sonia and I were still a tad seedy when we got to work. We had no sooner sat down at our desks when we were summoned to Byron's office. We were surprised to see a similarly seedy Gerry seated there. "James, Sonia, I have spent the weekend going through your story, and let's say that I am impressed with the work that you have done. We are going to publish, and it's going international. We have a new member of our team, Gerry here has agreed to come on board as our new Religion Analyst. His first job will be to analyse the evidence given at the Royal Commission, as well as the people giving that evidence, looking for evidence of evasion and downright lying by those giving evidence. He will do this in complete anonymity, using a nom de plume and observing the proceedings by way of video coverage."

"You're a dark horse, aren't you? Not a word during the celebrations yesterday."

"Celebrations, what celebrations, and why wasn't I invited?"

"It was a spur of the moment thing, to celebrate Gerry's resignation from the church and his going to marry Beryl."

"Not forgetting your own impending nuptials". Gerry tossed into the conversation.

"What? Has everyone gone totally bonkers here?' You two have known each other for what, twenty seconds, and now you're getting married, are you completely stupid?"

"No, we make a good team in more ways than one, even you have to admit that."

"True, I'll grant you that. My next bit of news is almost anti-climactic in comparison. After I read your report, I felt it necessary to speak with Roland Broadstock in person."

"You mean the Big Kahuna Roland Broadstock?" I asked.

"The very same. I emailed him the report, and he rang me at some ungodly hour this morning. You two, should you accept, are to pack your bags and move to London, you are being offered a job on his flagship paper there. Well, what do I tell him?"

"We accept." We said in unison.

It took a week to tidy up our lives here, and pack. I got to meet Sonia's parents, Berndt and Freida who accepted me despite me taking their only child from their midst and carting her off to the other side of the world.

It seemed as if every member of Gerry's congregation was at the wedding of the year, and I couldn't have been happier for the both of them. By comparison, Sonia and my wedding was a quiet affair, just a few family members and a couple of friends, and Byron who insisted on an invite and gave as impressive set of matching luggage for our honeymoon/move to London.

Like I said at the beginning, she was Ariadne d'Arbanville, and I was smitten, smitten by her style, but not her as a person. She was an impossible dream, and I knew that. I had a reason not to be smitten by her as a person, because I was totally and utterly smitten by the woman who was my possible dream, in the person of my partner and wife, Sonia.