Impact 08: of Confession

I remember how alarmed my mother had been, not because I was a mess and smelled like sick, not because he might have done something to me, but because she was afraid I might have done something to offend him.

"What did you DO Sarah Beth?!" she had demanded. "What HAVE you done?"

She had been so afraid he was breaking up with me, and so then... so was I.

"Danny just remembered he had left his homework in the locker room," I had lied, telling her, "He wanted to get it before the janitor locked up."

But she knew I'd been crying. I couldn't hide that. He hadn't called me all that week, and refused to acknowledge me in the halls at school. The gossip had been vicious. Then at church that Sunday, he acted like nothing had happened; asked my parents if he could take me out for breakfast. My mom had been ecstatic. My father, oblivious to any drama, had told us to have fun.

Dad had liked Danny so much. "He's a man's man," he always said.

Father Mike was looking up at the crucifix, lost in his own thoughts. He looked almost angry, but when he turned to look at me his expression softened, and he just looked sad, as sad as I felt. For a long time neither of us said anything.

I thought about how I'd sucked Danny off in the front seat of his car. 11AM on Sunday, parked behind the Pancake House in my church dress. I had sucked him hard thinking of how Katherine had joked about sucking a golf ball through a garden hose. I had pushed his cock deeper and deeper thinking how she had looked at me dismissively as she bragged about taking a cock in her throat. I'd pressed my face into his lap, taking his cock into my throat imagining it was her hands in my hair. I had gotten turned on imagining her kissing him, moaning into his mouth while I sucked him off. The idea of her being there with us, her fingers holding my hair, was so powerful I'd begun to squirm and moan until he came in my mouth. "Cocksucker," I'd imagined her whispering as I swallowed every last drop, because that's what Katherine told him she would do.

"You like doing that," he'd told me with a satisfied smile. He was looking at me differently than he ever had before, like I was a whore.

And he was right, I had whored myself, I knew that in my bones. But he thought I was his whore. I let him think what he wanted, but I knew the truth. I knew I didn't have to worry about my mother's anger, the gossip and drama of a break up. That was the price of my dignity.

I'd never thought about it before, but then and there was the moment I'd decided to leave Buffalo as soon as I could, to never go back. There, next to a dumpster, with a stomach full of Danny's semen.

"The early church turned its back on the Roman world entirely," Father Mike said, breaking the long silence, oblivious to my internal turmoil, or maybe struggling with his own. His gaze was far away, as if he were looking through the veil of our world to the harsh light of the ancient world he was describing. "The first Christians were apocalyptic. As far as they were concerned the world was ending."

What I was doing with Claire was apocalyptic.I was turning my back on my whole world. I had needed Danny as protection - from my parents, from other boys, from the gossips at school and at church. Licking Claire's pussy didn't protect me from anyone or endear me to anyone, it wasn't what was expected of me. It was the most selfish and destructive thing I'd ever done. If my parents found out it would destroy my world. They would disown me. But still all I wanted was to be Claire's whore. I wanted it more than I had ever wanted anything for myself. I wanted it enough that I'd happily risked destroying my whole world.

I thought of how happy I'd been to put my lips to her neck, I'd been so excited I thought I might scream. So excited at the idea of making her cum with my mouth that my whole body had vibrated with the need. I knew she wasn't just asking me to suck her neck. She wanted me to suck her cunt, and I did it.

She had begun to protest as I moved down, saying I didn't have to, but I did have to. And when I started kissing her belly she had begun to moan. And then, when I began to lick and suck, she pushed me down. I had felt triumphant in that moment. And again when I made her cum, when she had called my name.

I thought again of licking her from behind. She had held herself stiff, even as I pushed my tongue into her cheeks of ass and began to lick her asshole. The first time I'd gone down on her and licked her cunt, I'd wondered what it made me, of what she would think of me; cunt licker. But last night as I pressed my tongue against her asshole, in that moment, I didn't care what it made me, or how she would think of me. My only fear was that she would push me away, reject me. My whole body had responded with a rush of relief as she began to arch her back and move her hips, whispering in French to fuck her ass. No part of me had been afraid to become her ass licker.

"The end was nigh!" Father Mike called out with a laugh and a finger stabbed at the sky. I looked at him in alarm - 'Did he know?' - but he had just seen that my mind had drifted, and was calling me back. Still, his smile was knowing and playful.

"Worldly things," He started more earnestly, "power, wealth, sex - the flesh itself - were shunned. Pious men dressed in burial shrouds, pious women dressed as widows. All sexual unions, of any kind, were shunned. The pious imagination was entirely focused on the promised kingdom, not the violent militarized Roman empire they were born into."

I thought of the empire I was born into, of watching Miley Cyrus sticking out her tongue on an awards show with my mother, remembering her shock and disapproval. I thought of every derogatory thing I'd ever heard my father say: pansies, fags, homos... dykes. I thought of Danny and his friends sneering and laughing about carpet munchers and muff divers, lezzies.

But none of those slurs touched their ultimate contempt for "cock suckers".

"It wasn't until the tenth century, a thousand years after the death of Christ that the church made concessions to the realities of the flesh, and even then it wasn't in the church, it was a half-measure. Married couples presented themselves outside the church to be blessed, the way a farmer might bring his animals to be blessed."

I thought of how I had serviced Danny for all those years. Sucking him off again and again. How even after I went to college and could finally get birth control, I couldn't tell him. So he'd insisted on the rhythm method, pulling out for me to suck him off. I told myself I liked doing it. Even that last day, in that shitty little apartment in Hoboken, the day he moved out. I'd wept as I'd sucked him off, begging him to stay.

I had wept telling Kwasi how Danny and I had broken up, how upset my parents were. Kwasi was looking down at me, his dark face serious.

"You used him," Kwasi had told me flatly.

"I did everything he wanted," I'd sputtered.

"You used him to keep the rest of us at bay," he told me. "As long as you were with Danny you couldn't be touched."

Kwasi's words had stung. He'd apologized, but we hadn't spoken for weeks - even though, in my heart of hearts, I'd known he was right.

'Had I ever loved Danny?' I wondered.

I thought of how badly I had wanted Claire practically from the first moment we met. I had never felt that way about Danny. I had been so happy to finally suck at her breasts, her nipples long and hard against my tongue. All I had wanted to do was suck them. I can't remember enjoying sex before Claire. I had loved to suck her nipples, loved to lick her cunt, loved to lick her ass, loved just waking up with our bodies tangled.

"A thousand years later," Father Mike continued, "the pious imagination is still struggling to reconcile itself with love and sex, the church, still resists acknowledging and sanctifying carnal love within her walls. It's for you and your friend to lead us Sarah Beth, to show us the way."

I thought of watching an ad showing same sex couples kissing, my father's disgust. "This shit!"

I made the mistake of asking him why and got snapped at. Those furious blue eyes, his wet lip. "Because it's a SIN!"

"What about sin?" I asked Father Mike. Wanting to tell him I ate her pussy, I licked her cunt and asshole, but "sin" was all I could bring myself to say. My eyes hurt. I'd cried so much they felt raw and dry, but the tears kept coming.

"We all sin. Life is sin," he said quietly. "But if you love your friend," he said pointedly, squeezing my hand and staring into my eyes "then continue to love her," his voice was thick with emotion as he said this. "God is love, Sarah. Not the idea of love. God is your love, God is your friend's love."

I thought of the way she had cried, "Oh Sarah!" As I pressed my tongue into her for the first time.

"Christ commanded us to love one another - ἀλλήλων which means 'mutually, reciprocally...'

I recalled the feeling of Claire's cum spraying my face that first time, the shock of it. I'd never even imagined cumming that hard. I had coughed and sputtered, fluttered my eyes to clear my lashes. Wondered at how mild and weak my little mewing orgasms were compared to the Sturm und Drang of hers.

She had screamed into her pillow as she came. I remember seeing her shoulders shaking. I had been afraid she was crying, that she regretted what we'd done, until I heard her laughing - high and girlish and so full of joy.

She had pulled me up the bed, her body slick with sweat and brought my mouth to hers, kissed me as she pushed me over, rolling me onto my back. Straddling me she had cleaned my face with her kisses, licked her cum off my cheeks, pushed her tongue into my mouth, drinking from me. I should have been so happy, we should have been so happy together. But then she had begun to move down the bed and I'd frozen as she had tried to put her knees between mine, worse, I'd felt myself go cold.

"I can't!" I told her, dragging her back. "I can't again," I'd lied. "I'm not like you."

Her face was still flushed and her skin was moist with the heat of her orgasm, she had looked so confused, had begun to protest.

"I want to try," she'd laughed, her eyes wide with desire. "Even if..."

But I had pulled her up and she'd relented.

"I just need to sleep," I'd lied, closing my eyes, and squeezing her tight until I felt her breathing slow and her muscles relax.

Father Mike sat with me while I wept, my hands in his. After handing me a tissue he touched my chin, lifting my face so I could see his smile.

"I wasn't..." I tried to tell Father Mike, my words stalled by my sobs. "I couldn't... let her reciprocate, she wanted to, but..."

Laying there in the dark with Claire I had thought of Danny, of his contempt, and disdain, of Darci and Kwasi, her chilled unease.

"I told her I couldn't," I confessed. The big priest looks concerned but confused.

I couldn't bring myself to explain, I wasn't sure I even knew why.

"Ma petite pute," she had whispered the next morning, her voice raspy and sore from screaming my name as she came. "Ma belle bijou, I'm going to lick that bald little pussy, I'm going to make you cum, I'm going to-"

"I can't," I'd begged, "I can't again. I need... I can't."

She had looked so disappointed. The fire and the commands had all disappeared and she'd just held me, whispering and cooing until I fell back to sleep in her arms.

I ached inside thinking of how happy I'd been to kneel and suck Claire off in the shower. Without even knowing, I'd badly bruised my knees. But when she had tried to kneel in front of me I'd gone cold again, covered myself, pulled her back onto her feet, and again told her I couldn't.

"But I want to taste you Sarah!" she'd said, her voice lusty and seductive, imploring me. "I want to give you what you give me-"

"I know, I know... I can't. I'm not like you. I can't."

For a brief moment she had looked so hurt and confused, but then waved it away. I'd wanted to explain that I wasn't like her with pleasure, that it was hard for me, that I wish I was like her. But instead I'd watched clouds of frustration and hurt cross her face - and then disappear.

"Fine," she'd laughed, stepping out of the tub.. "But you will let me blowout your hair!"

My face burned with the shame of the memory. How paralyzed I'd felt as she'd tried to go down on me in the bed, how entirely turned off and afraid I'd been watching her drop to her knees in the shower... and she had known.

"You need to do it yourself," she had sighed as I crawled up from between her legs the night of the loft party. Her face had been flush and damp with perspiration. My face had been wet with her cum. I'd fingered myself to orgasm as she came in my mouth a second time. "Maybe sometime you will let me do it for you?"

She had been smiling, and her voice had been so gentle, but I'd felt ashamed. Maybe she'd known because she had held me and told me how very good I was, how beautiful, how lucky she was to have found me.

She stroked my hair as I started to doze, whispering "Car, vois-tu, chaque jour je t'aime davantage, aujourd'hui plus qu'hier et bien moins que demain."

Sleep had bested me before I could ask her what it meant.

"What's wrong with me?" I asked Father Mike, his features no more than a blur behind a veil of tears.

"Oh Sarah, everyone gets scared," Mike whispered.

I cried until my head hurt, I cried until I couldn't catch my breath, until I was hiccuping and gasping. And then I cried until I was afraid I would throw up. When I'd finally stopped crying I was bent double in the pew, my head hanging over my knees, Father Mike's hand on my back, stroking me. After a very long time like that, he offered, "God forgives you Sarah."

I sat up and looked at him, my nose running, my cheeks hot and wet with tears. I thought of my mother who I had abandoned, of how I'd whored myself to Danny to make my escape, how I'd rejected Claire, how I'd hurt her.

"How do I forgive myself?" I asked.

"Yeah, that's always the trick," Father Mike admitted with a wan smile. "I could give you twenty Hail Mary's, if it will make you feel better."

This made me laugh. I sat up. My face must have been beet red. I was a snotty mess, but the crying jag was over. Father Mike waited while I cleaned myself up.

"That cry sounded like it was a long time coming," Father Mike told me after I'd regained my calm and was able to smile at him. "Maybe years in the making?"

"I think so," I admitted. I felt wrung out, but also released, like I'd purged something poisonous.

"It's ok to be scared Sarah, everyone gets scared. The danger is when we let our fears rule us and shape us. You don't seem like a fearful person, but I think you have been living with some profound fears for a very long time, maybe years."

I would have been seven or eight years old, but I could still remember the look on my mothers face when she told me about my father's stroke.

"He's going to be ok," she'd told me, but I could tell she was lying. Nothing had been ok after that. I stood up, and Father Mike stood up with me. I took a deep breath and gave him my bravest smile.

"I was so afraid of being stuck in Buffalo," I confessed. "That I would become my mother."

"That's a very old fear Sarah," Father Mike conceded, making a pained, if sympathetic face - for me or my mother I'm not sure. "Amelia has had a hard life-"

"I don't-" I rushed to explain, not even sure how to explain it, what I'd say. "It's not that I don't love her, I do. I want to make her happy, more than anything I want her to be happy."

I was crying again, but not like before. I wasn't hysterical any longer. The tears were just running from my eyes. No sobs.

"I've always wanted her to be happy," I told him, wiping my cheek with the back of my hand. "She's so fucking sad Mike."

Father Mike looked at me, his eyes were warm and soft and he nodded.

"She wanted, so bad, for me to come back and marry Danny. I led her on... for years," I admitted, thinking of how hard I worked to keep Danny from breaking up with me, how hard I worked to keep her hope alive and him at bay. How much I'd hated living with him, and how relieved I'd been when he was finally gone. "I abandoned her."

"You haven't abandoned your mother Sarah," he told me. "We talk about you a lot. She's very proud of you, of what you've achieved, but also of who you are. Your mother admires you."

I think I would have laughed in anyone else's face, but this was THE Father Mike. I kinda had to believe him.

"I don't know what to say."

"You don't need to say anything. Think. Think about your feelings, about your friend..."

"Claire."

"About Claire's feelings - and please come back Sarah, I want to see you again," he told me, handing me his card, showing me a number scrawled on the back. "That's my cell, feel free to call anytime - day or night. I mean it. I know what a lonely place New York can be, but you're not alone, I promise."

My chest and head felt feverishly hot, I started to step back, but instead I leaned forward and embraced Father Mike. He hugged me back, holding me tight in those giant arms. He smelled like Old Spice and cabbage. I felt safe.

He whispered that it will get better. It felt good to hear that, to be hugged, but I left St. Joseph's in as much of a daze as I entered it. I started to walk west, I wished I could say that I thought about my mother, but all I thought about was Claire. I began my penance.

Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee.

I walked crosstown to the Bowery, found myself standing on the corner, checked for texts, not knowing what to do. I realized my mind was trying to map a route to Claire's apartment, but couldn't sort the way; which train to take.

'Can't get there from here,' I thought. I imagined Claire greeting me coolly at her door. Waiting for me to explain myself. What would I say? I felt sick from crying. My head throbbed. I turned down Bowery and headed to Spring Street. I looked up and saw The New Museum, the expanded mesh facade Claire had said reminded her of a trash can "... but in a good way!"

Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

I checked my phone for messages before I went down the hole. There were none. I decided to take the Six train uptown. The wind of an arriving train blew my hair as I started down the stairs. I got through the turnstile and rushed to catch and squeezed through the doors just as they closed. The car was relatively full, but there were plenty of seats. I settled in on a bench, arms crossed, and waited for my stop.

Playing over and over in my mind was my strange meeting with Father Mike, his kind words, so unexpected - mutually, reciprocally...

A few minutes later, lost in thought, I saw the doors closing and jerked to my feet realizing I had missed my stop. I sat back down, feeling self conscious of the looks I'd gotten, but much more alert to my surroundings and appearance.

'I probably look half dead,' I thought. 'I feel dead.'

I got off at 51st and found my way to the exit. Feeling drained as I climbed the steps. Once above ground I took a moment to orient myself and started walking crosstown, kicking myself for the blocks I'd added to my trip. I checked my phone. There were no texts, but I had a voicemail. I couldn't deal with my mother at that moment. I stuck my phone in my pocket and headed west.

It was only as I saw the backside of the cathedral that I realized my detour had taken me straight to St Patrick's. I stood there, staring across Madison Ave and felt a bloom of boiling rage.