Sweet Jesus: Confessional

Father Jesus was having one of the best Sunday's of his career as a newly minted pastor. The previous week, he had given his first sermon. The church picked him specifically because of his background. Growing up in a small town in Texas, Jesus De Santos was not the most ignorant young man living in South Miami, Florida, but he was close to it. The college he attended, St. Lucinda de Nuestra Maria, was only an hour's drive from his parents place. With a lot of the same people hanging out, and him being an exception off in a four year university, it was hard for him to get a perspective on not only himself, but the world at large.

Friendly and affable, he was frequently doing things for others, being called, "A nice boy," despite his size, nearly five ten. At twenty-two, when he left college, it seemed that half of the professor's, both men and women, sighed at the departure. His square jaw looked chiseled straight out of a comic book. Along with his smooth, tan skin, the term, "Pretty boy," was bandied about as often as, "Doesn't know his arse from a hole in the ground." Trusting to a fault, Jesus joined the ministry because of a combination of faith in the general good natured spirit of people as well as his satisfaction in making others feel good.

Unfortunately, that also meant despite his good looks, he never had a chance in his entire life to know what it was like to be with a woman. Despite the hormones raging inside, he seldom relieved himself, believing it was a sin. This resulted in him frequently getting too overzealous, excited at both the bible and giving sermons. Partly, he was trying to convince himself that his lustful desires were wrong. So when the occasional woman grew brazen enough to attempt to flirt with him, he sometimes picked up on it, but always said no. The one girlfriend he had in college for three years frequently made him so frustrated he used ice, but, she eventually broke up with him because she just, "Couldn't wait until marriage."

Jesus surveyed the pews, the second time he was giving a sermon in front of his new parish. The opportunity was rare, for somebody only a year out of college, to lead a flock of believers each and every Sunday. The crowd was larger this week, though it seemed to his confused eyes that the group was about seventy percent women. Oddly, the number of men from the previous week had stayed the same. When he spoke, he pushed those thoughts aside and concentrated on his message. The ending was near and he loudly declaimed, in a smooth baritone, the relevant verse.

"That if you believe in your heart, and confess with your mouth, that Jesus is lord, you will be saved." The line always brought a mist to Jesus's eyes, for in his difficult days, it was that line which made his faith even stronger, while at the same time, gave him hope that his lustful desires and thoughts would not prevent his ascension to heaven. Looking around the room and seeing the women, and men, nodding and chanting back amen gave him a thrill like nothing else. Each and every person in the room was special to him, and he was determined to do all he could to get to know them, to help, to advise and assist. The lord needs me here, Jesus thought, nodding to himself and chanting back, amen.

"Thank you, everyone," he said. "I sincerely appreciate you coming here to worship with me, and I hope you all have a blessed Sunday." The smooth, southern Texas accent in his words made his sincerity shine though. "If you would like to chat with me, I'll be available all day, here or in my office." Truth was, even though he had an office, he rarely spent time there. Since arriving three weeks before, he'd bee focused on unpacking into the small apartment in the back of the church. That and doing handyman's work around the building, improving the paint, fixing up some lights and replacing the computer equipment.

Smiling, he shook hands with the first man who approached, "Mr. Marcello," he said, smiling. The portly man was Cuban, nearly fifty and the owner of a small taqueria in the neighborhood.

"Good sermon," Marcello said, his accent thick, the r being pronounced in a Spanish accent. "Thank you for everything you've done," he said.

"Yes, thank you," Maria said, Marcello's wife. They were diminutive but dressed well, each slightly overweight. Jesus had learned only last week that their thirtieth wedding anniversary was approaching soon.

"My pleasure, as always," Jesus said. "If you need anything, my door is always open." Looking around the room and smiling wider, he said, "I can only guess the turn out is your doing," he said. "Marcello, Father John said that we never have a full house here." He looked the older man in the eye, tilting his head down. Gripping Marcello's hand in both of his, he said, "I can't thank you enough for helping to spread the word."

"It's not my doing," Marcello replied, smiling warmly up at the younger man. "I think you need to see it from the community's perspective," he said. "Father John wasn't relatable to us," he said. "You are." Marcello shook his head, taking his hand back and looking at the younger man's left hand. "Do you have a girlfriend?"

"No," Jesus said, shaking his head sadly. "I did, but, we didn't see eye to eye on somethings," he said, frowning slightly. "Not all pastors marry," he said.

"Many do," Marcello said, taking his wife's hand and turning. "I have a niece you should meet," he said. "We'll have you for dinner on Wednesday." When he turned to walk away and saw Father Jesus open his mouth, Maria smiled and Marcello held up his free hand. "No excuses, padre," he said. "Dinner, you need a home cooked meal."

"Thank you," Jesus said, "I'll look forward to dinner then."

Other members of the congregation came and went, with each conversation making Jesus feel more at home and comfortable. Marcello was right and the attendance was nothing to do with the kind business owner. Surprised at how fortunate he had been with the sermon, Jesus started to hum to himself when the crowd dwindled. In the end, the last of the congregation left and he started to put away the coffee pots and water jugs. The cleaning took almost an hour, sweeping, emptying, washing, drying and putting away all the various containers, plastic cups and trash. By the time he was finished, the church hardwood floors sparkled.

Smiling, Jesus turned around and scanned the plain, dark hardwood walls. The smell of the oak benches, lining the floor, and the small raised dais at the end. The pew was solid wood, stained in a light color, with the raised dais covered in a simple, thin gray carpet. Above was a stained glass window, depicting the mother of Jesus with her baby. The sight filled him with peace and when looking at that image, he wondered, would a family ever be his? Frowning, a bit sad over the breakup with his girlfriend, he pushed the thought away and focused on the present. That afternoon, he was going to write notes on his sermon from the day, what worked, what could be improved, and add to his growing database of notes on the congregation.

Determined to succeed in building up the church to it's former glory in that neighborhood, he could tell from that morning's attendance things were off to a great start. While wandering in between the wooden pews, clad in his simple white button up shirt and blue jeans, he idly touched the backs of each bench as he walked. Thinking about that stained glass window gave him pause and he wondered, not for the hundredth time since their breakup last month, if he should call or write to Julia.

"Excuse me father," a rich, feminine voice said.

Thoughts interrupted, Jesus turned around and nearly tripped over his own feet. Putting one foot almost on top of the other, he nearly lost his balance. "Hi," he said. "Call me Jesus, please," he said, extending a hand. Wobbling a bit, he breathed deeper, the white linen shirt molding to his sculpted pecs. Despite the rock solid physique, he was ignorant of the impact it had on women.

"I'm Olivia," she said, extending a hand. Standing almost his height was a woman who put any stray thoughts about Julia firmly out of his mind. She was tall, almost five ten with her heels, stacked in ways he dreamed about. Cascades of dark hair flowed around her shoulders, ringlets dangling freely. The tanned expanse of her décolletage was exposed by a tight fitting red t-shirt with a V-neck collar. Dark eyes wide, Jesus could not help looking down to her trim waist, the tight, white skirt she wore barely covering the firm, round curve of her hips. Tanned legs went on for miles, capped with lacy, white heels. The stiletto backs were thin, white lines that propped up her heel four inches off the floor.

"Ahem," Olivia said, smiling. Her cheeks showed dimples and Jesus looked up, his eyes growing wide when he realized what he had been doing.

Blushing red, the color changing his tanned cheeks towards a darker hue, Jesus cleared his throat and found his voice. "How can I help?"

"I'm here for confession," Olivia said, her long, slim fingers twining together as she wrung her hands. Over her left shoulder was a small purse, the white leather fabric matching her shorts and shoes. She gestured with one manicured hand, "Where's the booth?"

"Sorry," Jesus said, feeling disappointed, "This is a non denominational church," he said. "Confession is a Catholic church idea, not a Christian one," he said, baritone growing more confidence. On familiar, safe ground, he continued, "We can chat in my office," he said, gesturing with his left hand. "It's right this way, and private."

Olivia hesitated, chewing her lower lip. Her full lips were red and glistening, from lip gloss or lipstick, Jesus could not tell. She had wide, dark eyes with long lashes. A heart shaped face made him recall to mind Julia. The comparison only made him uncomfortable, as Olivia was far more attractive to him. Her shape was suggestive, the outfit she had on only accentuated what spectacular flesh must be hidden underneath. Determined to stay focused and professional, Jesus tried to think of other things than her appearance. The heat in the church was one, which in the afternoon, didn't go away. His armpits started to grow damp from his curiosity and the humid warmth.

"Trust me," Jesus said, when he looked back and saw Olivia standing rooted, chewing her lower lip. "I always respect the privacy of people who need help."

"Okay," Olivia said, crossing her arms beneath her chest. She looked skeptical and Jesus gave her a larger smile, showing his dimples. Normally, people started to relax with his small town charm but Olivia still seemed agitated. "Lead the way," she said, flipping one hand. The red nail polish on her manicured fingertips seemed freshly done. Jesus could smell her perfume, floral, spicy and intriguing, when he started to breath through his nose.

Surprised and slightly aroused, Jesus turned and tried to push the scent out of his mind when he started to walk towards the back wall. On the side, a large oak door had a silver knob, which lead into his office and beyond, into the small one bedroom apartment. There was a separate entrance for the apartment in the back of the building, but normally on Sundays, Jesus never went out from his domicile, instead preferring to exit through the church front doors proper. Opening the door, he felt his confidence increasing once he took in the dimmer light of the office. Stacked with religious texts, biblical references and more, the office was his haven within the building.

There, he did his research, pouring over historical texts, learning everything there was about the early church and biblical history. Side by side with that was a collection of fiction that would rival the cannon of any public high school or university. Lining a shelf was the classics of modern business, "Blink," next to, "The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People," along with some more obscure texts, such as, "Einstein's Dreams." The office was his haven in between meetings, supporting people and providing general counseling services. The office was where he composed his thoughts, made plans and prayed for the future of his faith as well as his own growing personal concerns. The breakup with Julia had almost cracked the foundation of his faith, of his life. She was nearly everything he dreamed of in a partner, a soul mate. But when her lustful, sinful nature revealed itself, he had shunned her out of reflex.

Walking inside the office, he focused on that decision, knowing that the biblical foundation of his faith was solid. Eventually, once he had the current mission in hand, he would try to meet a woman who truly put Christ first, as he did in his own life. The large wooden desk was strewn with books, right now, he was in between a book on the history of innovation and a guidebook to the highs and lows of Miami. The few weeks he'd been able to stroll the neighborhood were interesting but he craved more. But, without a car, he was for the moment, stuck in his office, studying and learning. In that, the environment reminded him of the best college, so it was not a big sacrifice to focus on his most urgent priorities. The heat bothered him with the door closed for privacy, but he reminded himself that the curtailing of the AC unit had been an important step.

Striding to the back of the desk, he ignored the books and glanced briefly at his Powerbook Mac computer. The screensaver showed the machine was on, but idle, and he gestured to the plush leather chair opposite his before taking his own seat. Olivia stood for a moment, staring at the walls, the sheer number of books, dark brows furrowed. Steepling his fingers, Jesus was glad that the desk hid his growing arousal. Despite the refuge and sanctity of the place, being able to hide the visual sign of his sinful, stray thoughts gave him confidence. Knowing that Olivia could not see his erection beneath the desk, he shifted in his seat. Jesus almost groaned, enjoying the brief, depraved sensation of his jeans rubbing his engorged member.

"Do you read much?" He asked finally, when she stood there, tapping one heeled foot, content to scan the massive selection of titles lining the shelves. "I'm trying to learn more about Miami," he said, gesturing to the book on his desk. "But, that's not why we're here today," he said, shaking his head. Heart starting to beat faster, his baritone stayed smooth, despite his growing interest in Olivia's incredible body. The heat in the office only intensified his interest, with his armpits starting to sweat.

"Sometimes," she said, looking through the titles and finding very little of interest. "The Catholic church calls this a rectory," she said, smiling. The twist of her lips and arch of a single, manicured brow made the phrase seem unholy, "Is that your church's tradition as well?" Her lightly tanned skin started to show a slight sheen of sweat on her brow, which Jesus noticed, and licked his lips.

"No," Jesus said, barely able to meet her eyes. When she was scanning the shelf, his gaze had started to fixate on the tight, white skirt she wore. Wondering if her tan was complete or only on the parts of her body exposed to the sun, he'd started to wander off in his own mind. Coming back to present, he stared into her dark brown eyes and forced himself to respond intelligently. "This is my office," he said, smiling slightly. "We don't have a rectory here," he said.

Olivia turned and faced him, her body square to his. Shoulder's tossed back, she fiddled with her purse and licked her lips. "Pity," she said, running a hand through her luxurious locks. "I guess this will have to do," she said, giving him a tight, brief smile. "This is all confidential, right?" The bright sheen of her face in the hot, humid office brought to mind far too many ideas for Jesus, and he could not help but stare for a moment at her heart shaped face.

"Of course," he said, lifting his hands from his lap and spreading them wide. "I hold the secrets and confessions of my flock sacred, and do not judge, for that is the job of one who is perfect, and I am not." He smiled wider, setting his hands down on the table and grabbing a pen. "I'm here to listen and provide guidance, based on scripture," he said, "For the bible provides an answer to all of our questions." After giving the brief speech, which he had shared dozens of times, he added a mental prayer, lord, forgive me for my depraved thoughts.

Smirking, Olivia paused with her hands on the back of the black office chair. She wheeled it back, then twisted the seat to sit. Sitting down, she immediately put her feet down and kicked, causing the top of the chair to spin. "Whee," she said, spinning around several revolutions before halting. "Awesome chairs," she said, "I have to use a pole to do that at work."

"Excuse me?" Jesus asked, totally lost and staring at her while she spun. The youthful, vibrant enthusiasm was fascinating, even though she was clearly a few years his senior. She smirked and kicked her feet against the floor again, spinning the chair around faster. Leaning her head back, she appeared lost in the moment, enjoying the gravity and sensation of whirling round. When she spun, her legs started to spread wider. The tanned, smooth lengths parted and Jesus tried not to stare in between. The white mini skirt rucked up slightly and his breath quickened, thinking he could just see her panty clad center.

"A pole," she said, knowing what caught his attention, "I use a pole to spin around at work." She spoke while the chair revolved and Jesus was having a terrible time focusing. None of the parishioners who chatted with him so far had been so scantily clad. Or attractive, he thought, trying to ignore the slow swelling of his manhood. "I'm a stripper," she said, still spinning.

"A stripper," Jesus repeated, swallowing hard, trying to work some moisture back into his mouth. None of his friends had gotten married yet, so he had never had the opportunity to see a stripper in person. Even if invited, he would have declined on morale grounds, but watching Olivia, he started to wonder if he was wrong. Some friends had been to strip clubs in college, but with his girlfriend and school, Jesus was always too uptight to even think about going.

Now, watching the busty, gorgeous woman in front of him spin around on his office chair, telling him that she became even more scantily clad in front of strangers, his mind reeled. Praying inside his own head, he thought to himself, dear lord, grant me your strength to do the right thing. Aloud, he exhaled slow then lifted his glance to the woman's forehead, fixating on her slowing form as the chair finally stopped spinning.

"God loves us all, remember it's okay to hate the sin, but, we must always remember to love the sinner, as we love anybody else." The words came out by rote, even as he tried to focus his attention away from her hourglass shaped body.

Stomping on the floor, Olivia halted the chair and stared into his brown eyes, her chest heaving slightly. On her tanned cleavage, there was a light sheen of sweat, making her brown skin glow in the fluorescent office light. The red, tight cotton shirt she wore seemed to fit closer to her bust. Chest heaving, he saw a few small beads of sweat form around her chest from the rising temperature. Gulping, he wished desperately that the church could afford air conditioning. But, doing the right thing meant turning it off when he took over, a decision he now regretted. A July afternoon in a closed space, and the need for privacy, meant that he was starting to sweat more. Licking his lips, he forgot for a moment everything else in his head other than her sweet, sweaty chest. Lips dry, he remembered his manners.

"Water!" He said, slapping his hand on the desk. "Would you like some water?"