Sins of the Father

Did you understand it? Did you understand why it was expected of you? Should you respect this.... this being, this entity who demanded utter control of its subject's lives? Surely there was nothing to fear? Surely if there was something there, it would have struck you down by now? After all, hadn't you spurned every instruction in that silly book in something of a debauched and rebellious lifestyle? Hadn't you acted out in defiance of your ancestry and culture that, as some point or another, held this hocus pocus dear? It made little sense that you were drawn to this little church as you were only passing through; perhaps it was the architecture, the humble stance it took, almost crooked on the street corner. So you caved; after all, were these places not supposed to be peaceful and serene? Maybe you needed that just now. Maybe you needed a break from the hum drum and the grind of everyday life and maybe a church wasn't such a bad escape.

The stone ascents to the huge, oak doors subtly indicated a heightening in the air; a turn in the universe's plan that you still remained blissfully unaware of. Was it just for you? Or perhaps someone else? You would find out soon enough and when you would look back on it, it would seem more bizarre while nothing seemed out of the ordinary just now. To your unadjusted eyes, the cavernous expanse of benches and pews looked gloomy and dreary at best but when they did eventually become accustomed to the low lights of several flickering candles, you began to pick out colours and images on the walls; the dark being a barrier to the hidden details of the church. The clicks of your heels rang out with each sauntering step; a greeting from one lifestyle to another as your head casually swivelled from side to side to observe the iconography and paintings that the Catholic faith held in such high regard.

The reek of incense hit you, assaulting your nose; sickly sweet after the fumes of cars and general progress from the outside world, it might have been welcome if it were not so overpowering. The polished benches and the pews were empty; as you laid one foot in front of the other and alternated your gaze from left to right, expecting to see someone splayed low in prayer but when you reached the top, you had not crossed another living soul: saint or sinner. Immaculate stained-glass windows above the altar caught your eye; you watched as the sun glistened behind them, almost bringing them to life and casting multi-coloured recreations down onto the burgundy carpet. Most impressive was the massive rectangular slab of white marble; home to several candle holders, a chalice, a bible, a large ornate cross and sandwiched between two stunning bunches of white lilies. An apt choice, you thought, seeing as the emphasis on innocence, celibacy and abstinence throughout the ethos was prevalent.

How long had it been since you'd set foot in a church? Years, definitely, but how many? You couldn't even begin to put a number on it. Still, you indulged in a placid sniff of the lilies before pacing to the front of the altar to take in the colossal reconstruction of the crucifixion just below the stained-glass windows; like a tourist would stare in wonder at the Mona Lisa. It was so.... graphic. Arms spread, helpless. Hands and feet, bleeding profusely. Eyes closed and head bent in sorrow; you couldn't decide if it was poignant or unnecessary. So engrossed were you in this profession of faith, the very backbone of an entire religion, you scarcely noticed the rustling off to your right but the source had noticed you. You stared still, unaware that your solitude had been broken, though it might not have been such a bad thing.

"Hello." He woke you successfully from your trance with a single, friendly word. Immediately, your heart began to pound with the sudden fear of ejection. This wasn't a tourist attraction, after all; it was a place of worship, 'God's' house. Would he smell the non-believer in you and insist you leave? However, when you finally did grace him with a glance, he appeared to be smiling as he went about lighting more candles. He would cast you a welcoming grimace in between each match to wick though he seemed to be overly cautious about coming across as too friendly with no intention of escorting you from the premises. Head to toe in black as expected with the white strip across his throat; the usual priest's attire though it was inhabited by a young man; early to mid-thirties. Most striking about him, however, was the crop of flame-like strands atop his head that contrasted beautifully with the monochrome of his outfit; finished off with remarkably pale skin and sapphire blue eyes.

"Hello." Why be rude? You wanted to stay in the sanctity of this beautiful place a little longer, why provoke the person that could end it? Still lighting candles, one after the other, he kept that soft grimace and would occasionally lift his gaze to you in between holding match to wick. Both of you seemingly uncommitted to conversation, you resumed your curious saunter and heightened your eyes to the rafters where several long, strong beams would croak and creak on a windy day under the strain of their only task- keeping the church standing tall. He watched you still during his menial task, a boredom breaker if he was to be truthful; numbers had declined and while he was obliged to keep the church open, he found it pointless and lonely when no one crossed its threshold. Until now.

"We need a bit of repair work done." He broke the silence a few minutes old when he noticed your fascination with the roof and the beams; there was a melody in the accent that you hadn't copped from a mere 'hello'. Bringing yourself back to earth and your attention to the somewhat shy priest, it was only polite to look when he spoke. "Some of the beams are not as strong as they should be, simple wear and tear." He continued, still adding more light to the church, if only a little at a time and casting you the occasional peek from his stance by the altar. "But.... Numbers are not what they used to be, collection plates barely enough to pay the electricity, hence all the candles." The little huff of laughter suggested the joke, so you joined in with you own titter as well though the disappointment and the (dare you think it) failure etched into those handsome features didn't register until after. Perhaps humour and friendliness were a stab at coping; it hadn't escaped you that this place was abandoned. "So repairs will have to wait for a miracle."

"I'll be honest, it's been some time since I was in a church." You confessed with another admiring scan around the huge space. "I mean, I was born and raised Catholic, I just.... Life got in the way, somewhere or another."

"You're not alone in that respect." He replied with a note of understanding and familiarity; as if he heard it every day as he stowed his matches away in his trouser pocket. "Unfortunately, with progress, things sometimes get left behind. I know the scandals of the last few decades have been detrimental, but I think people forget that we're not all like that. Naturally, that doesn't change what happened nor should it; a lot of lives were irreparably damaged but that is not what the church stands for."

"Of course not." You agreed with a swell of pity when he turned to face you fully and though there were several feet between you, the topic clearly didn't sit well with him so you opted to change it. "What about mass? Surely those numbers are somewhat.... Respectable?"

"Not from where I stand." He nodded to the altar before disembarking the steps to the complaining of old, black shoes that you guessed had probably been smart and stylish when they were new. "Numbers seem to get worse every week and while I'm worried about getting the roof fixed, my superiors are worried about keeping the church open. But it doesn't hurt to be optimistic, does it?" Finally even with you, you could see him up close for the breath-taking creature he was - and that feeling appeared to be mutual. You couldn't see it then but when you'd look back, you'd realize the temptation was there, plain as day scattered across his face like the abundance sun-kissed freckles. For a bare few seconds, you stared at each other though the other didn't seem to notice; as if time had stopped for one but not the other.

"You said.... It had been some time since you were in a church." A summation from freshly wetted lips that you nodded to with mild encouragement; he seemed kind and pure, why not make his day a little better? "Is there anything you'd like to know? A tour, perhaps?" Your benign shrug and unfazed grin left you open to suggestion. "Alright then." The good-natured grimace split a little further to match yours and taking it as a challenge. "Come on, let's try a confession." So you followed to where he led; a worn but clean looking confessional box of the deepest mahogany. The door nearest was opened and held for you; even the priesthood not damaging his manners, maybe advancing them before the snap behind you sealed you inside. You had never suffered from claustrophobia but now you felt a tightening in your chest and a sort of expectancy in that tiny cubicle; you felt heavy, indulgent and ready.

"Can you hear me?" The familiar voice brought you from your dark musings and back to your exploration; this little humouring of a trapped man.

"I can hear you."

"Do you know what to say?"

"I... I'm afraid I don't remember. I think the last time I had a confession was my confirmation and I won't even tell you how long ago that was!" The soft thrilling of a laugh came from the mesh before you where the side of his face had just materialized.

"That's alright." He responded with humour still resounding in that beautiful twang. "I do have to ask but just say you don't remember. Repeat after me: Bless me, Father, for I have sinned...."

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned...."

"I cannot remember how long it has been since my last confession...."

"I cannot remember how long it has been since my last confession....."

"Very good. Confess me your sins, my child." You opened your mouth but then.... You stalled. What counted as a sin these days?

"Uhh...."

"Is something wrong?"

"Well.... I mean..... What would you consider to be a sin?" The deep inhale of breath from the other side was indicative of generous patience. The composure and tolerance in his answer were astounding and already, you had gotten an insight into what made him want to become a priest; the perseverance and gentility to deal with people despite their constant wrongdoing. Well.... Perceived wrongdoing.

"I.... Suppose.... Do you drink?"

"I do."

"Alright, that's one. Do you swear?"

"Sometimes."

"Sometimes is still a sin. Do you eat meat on a Friday?"

"I had a burger yesterday." A sudden hush fell over the confessional and your initial thought was that he was letting you stew in shame; not so easy. But there was something else in that clawing atmosphere, like the sense that he wasn't finished. Eventually, it came delivered in an almost hollow tone as if terrified of the answer but trying emphatically not to show it.

"Do you have certain thoughts? Lustful thoughts and urges?" Then you realized he wasn't trying to punish you; he was trying to muster courage, to create a suitable gap in the conversation.

"I do." You replied, low and purposeful; your vision trained on the side of his face through the fraying mesh. "Quite recently, in fact." Very recently. You weren't sure what you expected him to say to that; if he would brush it aside and press on or if he would call a sudden halt to everything and excuse himself. To your elated surprise, neither of those things happened; not really. Instead, the murmur, almost like a prayer, came from beyond the mesh once more.

"I think we all have urges...." The silence fell again; weighty, suffocating and imposing. He didn't flinch or break away from his haunted haze when the click of your booth opening cracked the air or the snap as it shut. Interestingly, he barely moved when the door of his side opened and shut again. His portion was just as restricted as yours but the need for space was irrelevant with your body so close to his. The first experimental peck to his lips yielded nothing; just rigidity. The second; relaxation. The third; hunger. With a strength it didn't seem like he had, your thighs were seized and you were hurled up to straddle his waist; your knees being caressed by the worn, scarlet velvet of his seat. More comfortable now, his responses came from the overhaul in his demeanour; the kisses became open mouthed and aggressive but a beast long since chained had been awoken and unleashed.

There were still undercurrents of his previous, shy self though they seemed to be becoming drowned by the influx of vice as one minute ticked over into another. There were also two other elements to blame for any (minimal) hesitancy as his lips fought with yours and the excitement climbed: Time and vows, one stemmed from the other. It had no doubt been some time since he last indulged in another person, if he ever had at all and therefore, that hiatus had come from his devotion to his God; his vows of celibacy to love and serve his Creator only, never another. Vows in the backseat and time being made up for, the redhead swallowed as you sank to your knees as he did before the altar. He didn't stop you; in fact the only hindrance he made on your mission to undo his trousers was the fumbling attempt he made at untucking his shirt.

Below the black slacks, the grey-once-white underpants with an unloved organ lay waiting, straining for attention. A simple brush of your finger over the still clothed length provoked a shudder and once again, pity raised its head but something else riled inside you; the intention to rid him of this awful dry-spell dictated by his lifestyle. Rocking back on your heels, he watched with the impending fear of embarrassment; as if you'd changed your mind and he was exposed as an unworthy servant who could not keep to the most basic of his commands. That fear turned to intrigue though as he watched with bated breath as you shimmied your own underwear down from below your skirt. The slick on the sopping crotch would serve its own purpose but for now, your task amounted to peeling down the greyish material (that you suspected was too small for him) to release the monster lurking beneath, standing tall and already weeping pre-cum from the mere prospect of contact alone.

Two different fluids from two different bodies intertwined as your own 'homemade' lubricant twisted and mixed with the small drools of precum in the sodden material that had encased the engorged veins of his shaft. Slowly and careful not to overload him, your cloth-lined fist pumped him to an innocent gulp and yet another swallow as he shifted in his seat; a benign fidget to prevent himself from becoming overwhelmed too rapidly. The two of you shared a stare as your fist continued to both alleviate and build pressure, depending on which way your hand was moving and in those eyes, you found a lost teenager who had made a decision too quickly. A trembling, ivory hand rested on your cheek and cradled it oh so affectionately while his jaw fell ajar with awe and every effort from biting his lip to digging his nails into his palm was taken to preserve himself.

After a moment or so, you tucked the drying garment into the hand of the curious priest before pulling yourself as close to him as his seat would allow. Kneeling, your worship was not for God; rather, it was for the swollen cock he had gifted his preacher but forbidden him to use. Venerating kisses were peppered along those milky thighs and a dulcet whimper greeted your lips when they made their way to the tip where another lasting, revering kiss was planted. You licked away another bead of pre-cum but it seemed to seep constantly, as if overflowing from lack of release over a long period of time. One more glance upwards for permission and a last chance to save himself from a lifetime of Catholic guilt if he proceeded but you were given a longing nod that told you he would gladly endure it. Complying, you lowered your head where your tongue began its cleansing strokes of the tip; cleaning away the endless pearls as they bubbled to the surface and pressing it into the hole where they spilled from, tinkering it and smearing it.

The controlled breaths from above felt and sounded too unnatural; as if he was unsure if he was supposed to like it or enjoy it, as if he was restraining himself. A reassuring stroke to the knee and a considerate squeeze to the hand at his side provided the desired soothing reaction as the tension seemed to evaporate. When he was at ease, your scope widened; as did your mouth. The soft stammering of a gasp melted around your ears as your mouth dipped to engulf the top of the shaft and one hand dropped to ever so gently cup his testicles; the flexing of your fingers that rubbed them together prompted a faint whine as if a dream had come true and a fantasy had been realized. Gradually, your mouth descended; taking more and more of him and letting him test your gag reflex which, for the most part, held firm. He tasted clean, like fresh soap. He obviously took great joy in his appearance and his hygiene, even if his clothes were old and worn and being bathed was for no one but himself.

You allowed a small tug of a smile from your busy lips as one quivering hand gathered up your hair and considerately held it back from your face when your movements became more determined and tenacious. You could feel him crawling towards the back of your throat; it seemed to be instinctive to maximize the pleasure in his body that had not been consulted on the commitment of celibacy his mind had made but you allowed him to push his limits as your pushed yours. Your newly exposed cheek registered a tapping; a very slight force directly to your cheekbone. Your efforts never faltered as your eyes flickered to the side to see your harmless attacker only to be faced with the tiny wooden cross on a set of rosary beads. With the set gripped tight in such a way that would leave indents on his fingers and whiten his knuckles; your eyes heightened to find his head tipped back, eyes closed and lips moving in silent prayer as you worked. Naturally, your smile morphed into a wicked smirk when you twigged that this was because of you.

He didn't allow himself release or forgiveness. After a few moments of pressing into the warm, moist cave of your mouth at increasing speed and force; his eyes opened, fresh and alight with craving desire and you were the only one in sight who could provide deliverance to this poor lost soul. Tired of fucking your face, he needed something else; something else to help him understand all that had been kept from him. Lifting your face from his length with a steadier hand, he revelled in the little strip of pre-cum and saliva that joined his tip and your mouth still. Inhales and exhales stable but hefty; the white collar impeding his recovery was now nothing more than a decoration, not a promise.

"Come to me." The almost stifled words burdened with yearning did not go unheeded. He guided you into your previous position in his lap where you could feel him prodding where he wished to be. Lifting your skirt at the back and giving a few teasing gyrates, your tumid labia graced his tip as if to get the juices flowing but you were both more than ready. Slowly, your weight sank and that first full envelope; taking him all the way to the base elicited the first (of many) strangled moans and the clamping shut of those beautiful eyes in an attempt to cope with this new sensation. The sounds of wanton soon flowed freely and automatically when he recognized that he was too far gone to save himself and so gave himself over willingly; whether or not he would be prey to guilt after he fell prey to his forgotten sexuality was something only he could know.