The Priest's Virgin Concubine

The condemned ate a hearty meal, he thought, but then he took a bite of chicken, and all thoughts were driven out of his head. Crisp and spicy on the outside, meltingly tender on the inside, and completely delicious. Even his mother, who took an understandable pride in her cooking, would have raised an eyebrow in appreciation.

"Wow," he said, and took another bite. Reluctantly, he put the leg down. "That's the best fried chicken I've ever had in my life," he added. "I have got to get the recipe."

Around him, snickers rose from the happily chewing Murrays. "What?"

"Everyone says that," Megan's husband Dale said. "And no one ever gets it. The Andersons have had their restaurant in town for close on to a hundred years, and their fried chicken is probably the best-kept secret in town. My mother," he said, nodding towards a white-haired lady who was loudly gossiping with a group of her friends at a nearby table, "once made fried chicken every Saturday night for a year, trying to figure it out." He shook his head. "Different spices, different ways to marinade, different flour for the breading. She finally threw up her hands one night, gave up, and took us all out to dinner."

Justin smiled. "It's fantastic. I bet if they wanted, they could branch out and open a bunch of restaurants with chicken this good."

"Probably," Megan said. "But why would they want to? All that would mean is more work and more hassle. Bob Anderson has his restaurant, a good wife, three lovely girls, and his first grandchild on the way." Her fist tapped lightly on the table. "And he's happy. And that's the most important thing."

He nodded. "Those are good reasons."

"Well," Dale said, "we make most of our own fun here in town. We're not big enough for a lot of the big national chains to bother with. And that's the way we like it. When the rest of the world is going to hell, don't be big. Don't be important. Be hard to find."

Justin raised his glass in salute, then applied himself to his meal. "I hope you don't have things like this too often," he said after a while, when his plate was starting to look a bit empty. "I'll blow up like a balloon."

"Not too often," Megan agreed. "Of course, there's always weddings. And first communions. And golden anniversaries. And there's other churches in town, too. They have things like this once or twice a summer. And a stranger is always welcome, as long as they bring a dish to share."

"Goodbye waistline," Justin said wistfully, looking towards his lap in dismay.

"Not if we can help it," Megan said, poking his shoulder.

"I don't suppose there's a gym in town?"

"A gym?" Brittany snickered. "Why should you pay to exercise? There's all sorts of outdoor stuff you can do, Father Justin. Hiking and swimming and canoeing on the river. And we've got miles and miles of bike trails. And there's Shawnee, less than ten miles from here. Horseback riding and camping and all sorts of stuff."

"Riding is fun," the younger sister put in. Sabrina grinned, showing white teeth that looked just a bit sharp. "Have you ever done it bareback, Father Justin? It's a blast!"

He smiled neutrally. "I'm not what you would call outdoorsy," he said.

"But you can have so much fun outside," Sabrina countered. "How can you know that you don't like something if you've never tried it? Think about it. So much going to waste just because you've never had the courage to try?" She leaned forward, and Justin had to fight to keep his eyes from dipping down into her impressive cleavage, clearly visible through the scoop-necked blouse she was wearing.

"Enough, Sabrina," Meg said in a quelling tone. "Your food is getting cold. And Father Justin has enough to think about without you badgering him."

"She's more like a rabbit," Brittany muttered, just loud enough for everyone to hear. Sabrina smirked, but did not rise to the bait.

Justin shook his head, reminded of family squabbles with his own brother and sister. As the conversation flowed over and around him, he had to put off a faint pang of envy. Dale and Megan had what he never would. A marriage, children, and a loving family. The big man, his hair lightly grizzled, leaned back in his seat, a bottle of beer idly hanging from his fingers. He looked calm and relaxed, the slightly harried patriarch of a loving clan.

He sighed, half in regret, and found Megan's wise eyes on him. Her look told him that she had seen more in his face than he meant to show.

"It is hard." The voice of Father Winslow floated out of his memory. The older man looked over the class of young seminarians. "To take the vows of chastity and forever abandon the dream of wife and home and children. But remember. You won't have one child. Or two. You will have hundreds. Thousands. Every boy and girl who passes through the doors of your church will be in your care. To protect and guide." The old man smiled. "An army whose memories will keep you warm on cold winter nights."

Eventually the crowd began to thin, couples shaking hands and gathering up their children as they headed towards the parking lot, and Justin realized, with a groan, that as the person who actually lived here, it would be his job to help clean up. Under the gimlet eyes of the older women, everything was broken down and packed neatly away. Everyone was encouraged to take home as many leftovers as they could, but he wasn't surprised at all to discover that a generous portion had been set aside for him.

Well, I guess I won't need to be cooking again anytime soon.

After stowing the food away in his fridge, he went back outside. The sun had long since set, and a sliver of new moon was hanging low in the western sky. The tent was coming down with an efficiency that was actually really impressive, when you took the time to think about it. One group of teenagers took down the aluminum poles, while another folded up the tent itself. Off to one side, a cluster of men stood ready to pitch in and give advice if it was needed.

"My parents like you," said a quiet voice at his elbow. A dark shadow was leaning against the doorway, her face quietly pensive. A stir of air made her curling hair ripple.

"Brittany." He trusted that he hadn't jumped and squeaked like a little girl.

She smiled mysteriously at him and tilted her head up to the night sky. The breeze was balmy, and stars were spangled across the night sky as if God Himself had thrown a handful of diamond dust across a black velvet cloth.

"I love it here," she said quietly. "Some of my friends can't wait to leave. College. Marriage. Someplace bigger. Not me. This is home. I've been in bigger cities. St. Louis. Memphis. Even New York, once, when we were on vacation. I hated it. It was noisy and crowded and smelly and it made my teeth itch and I couldn't wait to get back home. To Fertile Valley."

Justin didn't know what to say, so he just made an encouraging noise.

"I hope you stay, too, Father Justin," she said quietly. Her hand found his arm, and she squeezed it briefly. "We need all the good men around here we can."

While he was trying to figure out how to respond, a small figure ran up and put her hands on her hips. "Brittany!" she said crossly. "Mom says to get your butt over to the car! We're leaving!"

"Thank you, Kenna," he said.

The young girl's eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. "Father Justin!" she squeaked. "I'm sorry. I didn't see you."

"Oh, go on home," he waved. "I'll see you at mass tomorrow."

"See? What did I tell you, Kenna," he heard Brittany say as they disappeared into the gloom. "Father Justin's nice."

"But what if he tells Mom?"

"He won't.

"He can keep a secret."

*****

Over the next few weeks Brittany found herself growing quietly, silently obsessed with Father Justin.

He was going to be the one. She knew it, as surely as she knew the way from her bedroom to the bathroom in the dark. Everything about him, from his kind, crooked smile, to the way his dark brown hair fell across his forehead, enchanted her. She found herself scheduling so many extra choir practice sessions in the hope of being able to talk to him that the rest of the girls began to grumble. And when she left the house to go to the park or library or to hang out with friends, her eyes were always alert for a glimpse of the handsome young priest.

Luckily for her, though not for her peace of mind, Father Justin had begun to weave himself into the fabric of town. She often saw him as he went about his duties -- visiting people who were sick and needed someone to talk to, hanging out at Miller's Diner with a cup of coffee as he chatted with the old retired farmers who made the diner their unofficial social club, or simply walking around the streets of Fertile Valley, becoming familiar with his parishioners and the things that made each family unique.

She wished that they would have the chance to be alone together again, but Brittany knew in her heart that it would be a bad idea. She still couldn't believe what had happened that first afternoon in his office, where she had told him about her dreams and played with her tits until the biggest climax of her life exploded deep in the depths of her hot, drippy pussy. And from the look of him, Father Justin couldn't believe it either. His face had been almost...frightened. And when they met the next evening at the cookout, he had always kept an eye on her, as if she were some wild animal, like a bobcat or a coyote, that couldn't quite be trusted and might bite.

Father Justin. Father Justin. Father Justin. His name was like a drumbeat in her chest, making her jittery and nervous. She couldn't even talk about him with anyone. Sabrina would just laugh and run off to screw her boyfriend again, smirking happily that she had what her older sister didn't. Her mother was busy trying to keep five children out of trouble during summer vacation. And Brittany knew that Haley was angling to be the one the sexy young priest chose at midsummer. Every time that she thought of her FBFF, a green spike of jealousy tore through her.

"Good God, Brittany," her mother said one hot, humid Saturday afternoon, when she came into the kitchen for the third time in twenty minutes. "Can't you settle?" She looked up from the bowl of cookie dough. "Find something to do. Or I'll find something for you to do."

"I'm bored," she replied, though she hated the whining tone in her voice.

Megan Murray spooned a dollop of dough onto a greased cookie sheet, expertly batting aside her daughter's hand as she tried to steal a taste. "Brittany, you are a high-school graduate. You have lots of friends, a driver's license, and an entire summer ahead of you. I am not going to watch you mope around the house for the next three months. Or even the next two weeks." She smiled, her tone taking some of the sting out of the words. "I know what you want, dearest. But there is no guarantee that you will get it."

"So what should I do?" she whispered.

"Get to know him a little better." Almost absently, she spooned out more cookie dough. "But not alone. Why don't you and your friends invite him out to do something?"

Brittany blinked. There was really only one thing she wanted to do with Father Justin. Or to Father Justin. Even seeing him at Sunday Mass made her squirm with sexy arousal. She hoped that no one at church realized how she was undressing him with her eyes as he said the homily. "Like what?"

"I don't know," Megan said impatiently. "You're a smart girl. Figure something out."

"Morning," her older brother Doug said, wandering into the kitchen. "Hi, Mom. Hi, Squirt."

"It's afternoon," Brittany said crossly.

"It's also Saturday," he replied, pulling a bottle of orange juice out of the fridge. "And I've spent a week underneath Jack Schmidt's combine, making sure it will be ready for harvest in September. I think I deserve to sleep late for once."

She made a face at him, which he ignored. "Hey, Mom. Do you know where the keys to Grandma's place are? I was thinking about going fishing today."

Fishing? Brittany's lips curved. Perfect! "Doug, can I come?"

He didn't even look at her. "No."

"Please? Come on, Doug. I'm so bored." She waited a second, then played her hole card. "And we can invite Haley, too. And Father Justin."

Her brother wasn't an idiot, no matter how hard he tried. "Father Justin?" He traded a look with their mother, who was sliding the cookie sheet into the oven. "It's like that, huh?"

She took a deep breath and nodded. "If you let me come with you, I'll help you out with Haley."

"Haley?" As if on a swivel, Doug's head wrenched around. Brittany had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. Her brother had been pursuing her best friend, in his own clumsy, slightly shambolic way, since he was a junior in high school and Brittany and Haley were freshmen. "She's coming?"

She grinned evilly. "Not if I'm not. Looks like the foot's on the other hand now, doesn't it?"

Her mother choked a laugh, while Doug just rolled his eyes. "Fine. You can come. But only if Haley does."

"And Father Justin, too."

Her brother sighed, making a sigh like a leaky balloon. "Right. Of course Father Justin too."

She clapped happily and turned to dash upstairs. "Brittany?"

"Yeah, Mom?"

Brittany didn't even think it was possible for a woman to glare with separate eyes. But somehow she managed to focus on her and Doug at the same time. "You know how important it is for you to keep your pants on, right? Both of you. The time isn't right."

"A lot she knows," she muttered to Doug as she left the room.

"I'm not even going to wear pants."

Thirty minutes later, she and Haley were at the church. Instead of going to the front door, they went around to the side and knocked on the door of the rectory.

Brittany bounced nervously on her toes. "Do you think he's home?"

"How should I know?" her friend answered irritably. "It's not like I have him under surveillance. Though I would like to," she added under her breath.

"I'm sorry." She knew, better than anyone, how having the new priest took a situation that was barely tolerable and cranked it up to something which was almost unbearable. "Me, too."

"You know," Haley said conversationally as they waited. "If he chooses you instead of me I'll probably have to kill you. But only a little bit."

Brittany nodded solemnly. "That sounds fair. Especially since-" She cut her reply short as footsteps sounded inside.

The door opened, and Father Justin appeared. "Oh. Hello, girls." His face bore that combination of good humor and nervousness that Brittany found almost irresistible. "How can I help you?"

"Hi, Father Justin," Haley said perkily. Brittany seethed. Her friend seemed to be capable of accounting for eighty-three percent of the world's supply of perk. "Me and Brittany are going to go out fishing at Brittany's grandma's place, and we thought you might like to come with us!"

"Um." The priest looked back and forth between them. Resembling, Brittany thought as she stifled a wicked giggle, a hunted animal. But not sure which one of the two women was the greatest danger. "I probably shouldn't." A sickly smile crossed his face. "I mean, you're young ladies. And I'm the priest."

"Oh, don't worry about that," Brittany said breezily. "My brother Doug is here. So he can protect you from our horrible feminine wiles."

"Do you have wiles?" Haley asked.

"Oh, totes," she grinned as Father Justin blinked in confusion. "I've got the best wiles. No one has better wiles than me."

"You big liar. If you've got the best wiles, then why is your brother always drooling after me?"

"Because he's my brother. Ew! And he's dumb." She looked up to Father Justin, who had been watching their little piece of street theater with a bemused look. "Please come with us, Father. Or else I'll have to watch Haley bat her eyes at my big dumbo brother all afternoon."

"Well," he said reluctantly, as if the words were being dragged out of him. "I guess. Do you need me to bring anything?"

"Nope," Haley said. "We've got fishing poles and bait and towels and snacks and stuff to drink and suntan lotion and everything. Though you probably want to change your clothes," she said uncertainly, taking in his neatly-pressed slacks and polo shirt.

Justin smiled, and Brittany melted. "Give me five minutes."

Barely ten minutes later, they were on their way out of town. Doug drove, with Father Justin in the passenger seat, and Haley and Brittany sat together in the back. In the trunk, the fishing poles and other gear set up a jangling, discordant tune. South on Highway 143, and then, at an old auto-body shop, Doug swung right onto a gravel road. White dust rose up behind them in a rooster-tail as he navigated the bumpy track for a mile or more. Trees shaded the narrow road, and then they emerged into sunlight once more.

The car stopped. Doug handed a key over his shoulder. "Open the gate, will you, Britt?"

"Your legs aren't broke." But she took the key nonetheless and undid the padlock that held the gate across the driveway. She pulled out the heavy, rattling metal chain, swung the gate open, and waved the car through, then reversed the process.

"Wow." Father Justin climbed out of the car. "This is nice." He looked around at the small, neat white house, the well-tended yard, and the old barn where her grandfather had kept a few head of hogs and cattle out of habit before he passed away. "It reminds me of home."

"Yeah," she answered. "This is Grandma and Grandpa Keenan's old place. My mother's parents. They bought it after Grandpa retired and let my Uncle Walter take over the farm."

"Oh. Should we go up to the house and say hello?"

She smiled sadly. "No. Grandpa died about three years ago. His heart. Grandma moved in with my Aunt Bea in town." Her lips pressed together angrily. "There's already some people sniffing around, trying to get their hands on this place. Hah. I hope Mom and Uncle Wally and Aunt Bea and Grandma tell them to go screw themselves. This is our land."

"Come on, Britt. Let's go." Her brother already had the trunk open and was pulling out the poles. Britney joined him in getting the gear out, and after a second, Father Justin did as well. In just a few minutes, they were all trooping down the slope towards the lower pond. It was hot, with temperature well on its way to ninety degrees, and insects buzzed in the grass and flew up in startled clouds as they made their way to the wooden dock that her grandfather had built years ago.

"Choose your poison, Father," Doug said as he opened up the cooler. "What bait do you want?"

The older man looked mildly amused. "I don't know. What are we fishing for?"

"There's catfish here. Yellow-belly and channel cat. Largemouth bass, too, and crappie, though we're trying to get rid of those. Too bony," he explained. "And there's always some bluegill along the shore, too," he added, pointing around the large pond. "Especially under the trees, where it's nice and cool."

Justin selected a long pole with a cork handle and examined it. "Well, it's been a while." He smiled with startling suddenness, and Brittany's breath caught. "But I've got a hankering for some channel cat. Pass me that chicken liver, will you?"

Brittany watched as he hung the smelly, nasty mess on a tri-pointed hook. Pole in his left hand, he cocked it over his right shoulder. Then, with a slinging motion, he cast his line far out into the middle of the pond. The red and yellow bobber bounced once, then steadied.

A veteran of many trips out to her FBFF's grandparent's place, Haley chose to fish with worms, and sent her line out towards a patch of shade at the east side of the pond with a practiced flick of her wrist. Perhaps a little intimidated by Father Justin's casual skill, Doug opted for catfish as well, and slung his bait into the deep waters on the west side.