Impact 08: of Confession

For some reason the gothic stone pile brought to mind Claire's fascist dandy, but also my father. The stone church seemed to stand over me, with its fists clenched; it seemed to glare down at me with furious blue eyes. I felt the tears rising, the shortness of breath, and forced it all back down.

'I will not cry in fucking Midtown,' I commanded of myself. I turned south, showed the cathedral my back.

Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death, Amen.

I felt my anger wane as I made my way home, the litany of my penance drowned out my thoughts, dampened my emotions. I found myself reflecting on my reaction to St. Pat's. Like its map of the city, my mind was bringing together disconnected parts, making strange connections. But instead of city streets and subway lines, anger and shame seemed to be the networks I was mapping.

'And love,' I thought, picturing Father Mike's gentle eyes, Claire's beautiful smile.

I arrived at my apartment door, footsore and exhausted. It was still early but after my sleepless night and all the walking around and all the fucking tears. I kicked off my shoes and flopped down on my bed.

I thought again of Claire's confusion.

"Let me taste you," she had begged, "let me please you the way you please me."

I had felt so dead inside, so certain I couldn't cum for her, I never had for Danny, never once. And the one time I had thought someone else might...

'Disaster,' I remembered.

"Everyone gets scared," Father Mike had told me. I thought of how angry I got at St Pat's, at my father. My thoughts were such a jumble. I was so sure I had ruined everything. The tears came again. I was feverish, sobbing

Thou amongst women...

I woke up to a booming explosion. It was dark. I was disoriented, heart pounding in my chest, then lightning flashed, rendering the room in harsh blacks and whites. Almost instantly thunder boomed again, so loud it set off car alarms. I didn't know where I was. I'd moved around so much in the last year and a half, but that wasn't the problem, I was confused because I had been looking for the familiar lines of Claire's bedroom, her giant windows. Everything looked alien and strange until I realized I was in my own bedroom. My heart began to calm.

I looked at my phone, just the voicemail. No texts.

Besides the thunder - which was moving away, but still close - the noise from the street was relatively quiet, no rain, no trucks. Sunday evenings in my neighborhood were always dead. But I could hear someone yelling down the block.

I buried my face in my pillow and inhaled deeply, hoping to smell Claire's hair.

...with thee.

I was alone. I reached across to her side of the bed, smoothed the bedding with my hand.

My stomach was making noises. I saw the clock. It was only half past seven. I stood and undressed, my clothes were clinging. The room was humid and stuffy. I remembered sweating in my sleep, being fitful and too hot.

I padded to the fridge in my panties. Stood there in its light and cool and tried to remember the last thing I ate... Claire had made Wes strawberry crepes for breakfast, but I hadn't been hungry; last night. I searched for something to eat. There in the fridge was the last of the massaman. Claire had put it away.

...full of grace.

There was a half eaten box of white rice. "It tastes like confetti when it's cold," Claire had joked, trying to get me to eat faster. I dropped them both in a pan, watched the two blocks of food begin to lose their shape as the stovetop heated up, finally I could break them up and spread them and mix them over the flame.

"I'd go vegetarian for you," she had told me. I hadn't seen her eat meat since. The curry was tasteless, just spicy, but I told myself that I needed to eat, that I couldn't go down that road.

'Never again,' I thought as I forced myself to swallow again and again, like I was doing penance.

...for us sinners now.

And like my meal, I forced myself to the bathroom to shower.

'Care for thy self,' I thought, as I dropped my panties to the floor. I reached down, felt the stubble on my mons. I picked up the soap and began to lather.

"One cannot take care of one's self," I recited as I looked at myself in the mirror, "without a relationship to another person."

I touched my freshly shaved pussy, recalling Claire's pleasure when I showed her. I pictured her in bed. Her body, languid and spent, twisting to look at me. Her eyes liquid and soft, asking if she could touch it. I was fingering myself.

...of thy womb.

I wondered what Claire was doing. I imagined her in her bed right now, touching herself. The image was so vivid, as if I were next to her, as if our two beds, separated by half a city, were one bed. That we were together now.

...is with thee.

In my mind my fingers were touching her, the fingers in me were hers. I thought of myself kneeling over Claire's face, her lips dangerously close to mine, watching me while I masturbate, dripping onto her lips, of her putting out her tongue, of lowering myself onto her open mouth.

"Mother of God!", I cried out.

*For those of you rereading these stories this is for you: on 5/25/22 I uploaded my final edit version of this story for moderation. This chapter is about twenty-four hundred words longer than the original. I really hope I made it sexier - but mostly I spent my time trying to go deeper with Sarah, which I find very sexy.