August, 2000

A devout young man confesses the darkest secrets of his depraved sex life. Rated X for explicit descriptions of sexual acts in a religious setting.

(Dust Jacket)

Bless Me Father

Jim Bowers had longed to serve God since his early childhood. Over the past 22 months he has lived with his friend and mentor, Dr. Curtis Selchrist, at the remote San Paulo Monastery in Northern New Mexico. With his help Jim has attained the pinnacle of insightful meditative prayer.

Recently Jim has found that he can no longer enter this meditative state of bliss without being overwhelmed by images of sexual depravity. He is powerless to resist these sexual fantasies that seem so real. So real, in fact, that Jim is no longer certain where reality ends and fantasy begins.

Jim is convinced that such impure thoughts could only have been dredged from the mental landscape of a sinner unworthy of the priesthood. Selchrist persuades Jim to perform one last act for him: Confess everything to an anonymous priest at the San Xavier de Sierra mission.

Jim spills a tale of lustful and immoral sexual fantasies. His confession, guided by a mysterious priest known only as Pete, awakens Jim to his real role in the priesthood. A role so shrouded in secrecy that only the Supplicant Brothers, members of a quiet monastery in northern New Mexico, know the full extent of it.

About Dawna Tompson

Dawna is a relative newcomer to Transgendered Fiction. Her previous novellas, "Opening Doors" and "Breathing," explored the emotional impact of gender transformation. "Bless Me Father" is her third Science Fantasy novella.

 

Bless Me Father              by: Dawna Tompson                ddawna_52@yahoo.com

 

Chapter I

"Bless me Father, for I have sinned, it's been one week since my last confession." Jim recited the line again to himself. He had been rehearsing this familiar opening off and on for most of his trip. Now he knelt inside the confessional trying again to visualize where and how he would proceed after that. He licked his dry lips and looked above his head at the small crucifix.

Normally, he could take comfort in gazing at Christ on the cross but it made him uneasy today. He glanced at the red paint depicting the wound to Christ's chest. He thought about his own wound deep inside of him.

The heavy dark green curtains were parted just enough to allow a rose colored shaft of light to penetrate his surroundings. The light spilled through the six stained glass windows along the south side of the solid stone church, a small shaft barely squeezing between the curtains of the confessional. It allowed barely enough light to see but provided too much warmth for the small booth. He turned away and examined the rest of his confessional box. It seemed to be an imitation of his own emotional world; tiny and barren. Jim wished a light like that peeking between the curtains could illuminate his own soul. Even a slender beam like that entering the confessional might be enough to allow him to find his way.

He had little enough to look at; a kneeler, a crucifix, plain wooden walls, and a screen. The screen was built of two layers. The side he faced had a stylized imprint of Christ achieved, Jim supposed, by some artist drilling small holes through the flimsy plywood. The inner screen seemed to be composed of identical small holes perforating the entire slat. By darting his head back and forth he was able to make out the figure of the priest on the other side. In a moment he knew the inner screen would slide open and he would have to begin.

He thought again about leaving. He actually started to get up but then remembered his promise to Dr. Selchrist. Dr. Curtis Selchrist had been his teacher, his mentor, and his closest friend. He was his advisor, priest and, until today, his confessor. He had taken Jim under his wing ever since he had been asked to leave the after his Novitiate at St Augustine's. It seemed so long ago. It didn't matter now, for after this last deed, he would be free of the priesthood.

Jim had not wanted confide his reasons for leaving the priesthood to Selchrist. Selchrist had instead urged him to take confession with another priest. He suggested that he go to the mission at San Xavier de Sierra in the southern part of the state. "Just make the trip to this church, it will make all the difference to you." He pleaded. But he had refused to elaborate on why he thought a trip to a small mission church in the Sacramento Mountains, over 250 miles from their isolated monastery, would help him to change his mind.

"Why had Selchrist had been so adamant about this trip?" Jim wondered. He seemed so certain it would clear his path back toward the priesthood. He had even loaned him his car and asked him to take a few days to think about this impending decision. "Poor man." Thought Jim, "He's taking my decision hard. Perhaps he's still in denial. He has invested so much in me that he can't let go. He doesn't know what a sinner I am, how unworthy I am to become a priest."

Jim once thought he had been worthy of the priesthood. Indeed, it had been a major theme in his entire life of twenty-three years. He had received the calling early. His earliest memory was of kneeling before a crucifix at the side of his bed reciting his prayers with his mother, "Our Father. . . ." Before he was six he had fashioned a surplus from an old robe and had filled an old glass goblet with crackers so that he could distribute communion to his sister.

What followed would be a litany of religious activities leading up to the ultimate: entry into a seminary. He had been at various times, an altar boy, a choir member, youth tutor, summer camp counselor, reader, and sub-deacon. At each stage he had tried his best to remain a pure and worthy servant of the Lord. Of course there had been the setback at St Augustine's. But Selchrist had appeared from seemly nowhere to revive his spirits and take him under his wing.

It all seemed like such a waste now. It was over. He knew it. God knew it. But Selchrist needed some time to accept it. Maybe he had been unfair to his mentor. After all, Jim had refused to tell him what had motivated him to abort his quest for the priesthood. He was sure Selchrist felt betrayed. They had shared so much, but the reasons for his decision was something he could not share with him. He would not confess his sins to him. Not now, not ever. He would have to trust his confession to the anonymity of an unknown priest in a distant church, just like any other member of the Catholic faith.

He had met Dr. Selchrist shortly after his troubles at St. Augustine had climaxed. Curtis had showed up at the campus one day when Jim was reeling from yet another failed class. Dean Ritter had called him to his office for a counseling session. As he walked in his eyes were pulled toward the striking stranger standing next to the dean. He was tall, slender, with short gray hair and a closely cropped goatee that made it difficult to be certain if it was severely trimmed or just beginning to grow from stubble. His gray eyes matched his hair. Jim was immediately impressed.

Jim remembered how he had gazed upon him. Their eyes met in a blaze of intensity. They each shared this external manifestation of their inner illumination. An inner light that none of the other students in this seminary had. Indeed, a light shared by few of the men answering God's call.

Curtis' voice was kind and he felt at ease in the dean's office, something quite remarkable for Jim, who had been in the dean's office more often than most of his fellow students. At no previous time had his visits with the dean ever felt as comforting.

"Dr. Selchrist," the dean offered, " has been kind enough to consider a special program for you Mr. Bowers, one that may fit your needs and develop you better than we can do here at St Augustine's."

Jim knew instantly that he would accept whatever was being offered. For one, he needed to rid himself of St. Augustine's. It was clear that he would never be able to achieve the priesthood if he had to endure any more of the rigorous classes at the school. But the more important reason was the man who stood before him. Jim sensed a deep connection to him; a connection based on a shared knowledge of spirituality. "Here was a man" Jim thought, " who knew what devotion to God and was all about."

Jim knew this instinctively. Selchrist would be his guide to get him back on track for a life of service to God. He eagerly agreed to the dean's suggestion that he withdraw from St. Augustine's and allow Dr. Selchrist to take him to New Mexico. In a matter of hours he had collected up his personal belongings and threw them into the back seat of Selchrist's old Honda. They began the long car trip westward only minutes after he had completed his official withdrawal from the university. With his academic problems behind him he could pursue a life of devotion, guided, he was certain, by the tall, gray-haired man who sat beside him.

One of his fondest memories of those early days together was of the two of them sitting in a roadside rest stop in Missouri just after daybreak. Sitting together on a picnic table the two had drawn themselves together in a meditative bliss. As Jim opened his eyes at the end of his prayer the sun broke through the heavy cloud cover and a single shaft of sunlight bathed the two men in a golden pool of light. The shaft was barely bigger than the picnic table, yet it surrounded and illuminated them perfectly. Jim had taken it as a sign from God that he had made the right choice.

For nearly two years Selchrist had guided him along the road to mastering devotion to God. Jim had always enjoyed prayer, especially the inward quiet of an intimate conversation with God. But Selchrist had shown him how much further prayer could be taken. Recently, the two had spent hours together each day in deep meditative breathing exercises, the development of specific mental images, and special techniques to clear his mind of worldly debris so that he could feel at one in God's universe. Jim's connection to God, the universe, and his knowledge of his place in it had been greatly strengthened. It was Curtis Selchrist that he had to thank for it.

A few month's ago his prayerful meditations had suddenly changed. They had become a trip into the pit of his twisted sexual desires. Impure thoughts intruded on his conversations with God. Thoughts that were so impure that he could not share them with his mentor and friend. Thoughts that were all the worse because of the enjoyment he felt from them.

Yet once he had returned from these twisted devotions he was consumed with guilt. These worldly pleasures had no business within the mental walls of a man devoted to the adoration of God. A man who was worthy of God should not, indeed could not, take pleasure in such decadent thoughts.

He had fought this work of the devil. He had prayed for a release from these impurities. He meditated on controlling his sexual urges, reminding himself of the need for celibacy, for purity. He prayed for deliverance. Yet even as he prayed the images had thrust themselves in waves of sexual pleasure over him, invading his body, his mind, and his soul.

Yet Selchrist continued to urge him toward higher planes of meditation, oblivious to the images that coursed through Jim's mental landscape. These years of learning had been meant to develop devotion to God, not lurid sexual pleasures. Yet that is what had become of his prayers. He had fallen into the hands of the devil. He had worked hard to achieve great mental control and intense powers of concentration, yet it had been stolen by the devil. Stolen in the most impossibly twisted way. He no longer had a connection to God. He had inadvertently built a single-minded connection to a world of lust and depravity that he could not escape. And it was a world that he enjoyed. It brought him intense pleasure. A pleasure he did not deserve, a pleasure he was certain would lead him directly to hell.

He had to quit. He could not stop the images or the pleasure he enjoyed from them. But he would not allow himself to betray God. He was a lost cause, a reprobate, swallowed by his own sexual appetites. He was not worthy to be a priest.

The hardest part had been telling him. He knew it had hurt the old priest deeply. After all, Jim had been a special case for him. He had personally tutored him in the art of prayer and meditation at the quiet monastery hidden deep in the forests of northern New Mexico. He had saved Jim's dream of becoming a priest. He had come close. In another five months he was to lie on his face before the Bishop and take his final vows. But in the end, even the venerable Selchrist had failed.

Selchrist suggested, no insisted, that Jim travel to San Xavier to take the 'Sacrament of Penance.' He had used the older term for the ritual, not the more accepted term 'Reconciliation.'

"It will be in the strictest privacy at a church you have never been to. Perhaps there you will be able to come to terms with whatever has driven you to this wrong choice." He had been specific, "Enter the northeast confessional at San Xavier de Sierra at 3:00 p.m." Why he needed to be here at that specific time was something he could not guess. Selchrist could be a difficult character to understand. Jim had briefly considered that the old man would actually try to make his way into the confessional, but he dismissed this as outrageous. Curtis would never break his confidence in this manner.

The trip had been easy, driving down the two-lane state route from the northern mountains to this small church in the foothills of the Sacramento Mountains. At sunup he had breezed through the sleepy village of Abuqui. By eight o'clock he had passed through the rush hour traffic in Santa Fe. He sped across the smooth desert plains in only a few hours, racing southward in the old Honda. Jim's resolve to lead a secular life seemed to become more solid as the miles widened between himself and San Paulo.

For the past twenty-two months he had lived at San Paulo high in the pine studded mountains of New Mexico. The isolation of the monastery suited Jim's desire for a contemplative life perfectly. It was built to be apart from the busy secular world and it succeeded superbly. As far as Jim could tell, the place had not changed much in the century since it had first been erected.

The monastery was poised off of a narrow county road splitting two national forests. The abbey consisted of a large main building of adobe and several farm buildings and barns. The main building had two floors. On the first floor was a large library filled with religious tomes. There were also a surprising number of esoteric works from Gnostics like Hymenaeus, Philetus and Alexander, works on alchemy by St. Germain, Zosimos of Panopolis, and Ignatius Loyola. There were many volumes related to the ancient works of the Quaballah as well, large leather bound tomes of ancient parchment. At the opposite end of a long hallway was a small chapel where the monks took turns saying daily Mass. The remainder of the main floor contained a dining hall, a 'great' room, which the monks used as a common living room, and a small modern kitchen at the back of the building.

The edifice was a strange mixture of old and new. For the most part Jim considered the place as being essentially unchanged from its nineteenth century roots. Only the kitchen had running water. The main building had electric lighting, although many of the monks still used candles to illuminate their rooms at night. A separate bathhouse was located about fifty yards behind the kitchen. An old barn contained a few cars, including Selchrist's Honda and an old John Deere tractor that was used to plow the small bean field that the monks cultivated. This field was the only visible source of income the monks had. They lived simply and needed little.

Still, there were contradictions. The library was equipped with three modern office computers. Each was hooked via a high-speed digital network to an Internet service provider in Santa Fe. The kitchen was filled with modern commercial quality appliances. The great room sported a modern sound system capable of rattling the fixtures when booming out a St. Seines organ overture.

The top floors contained living quarters for the monks and their visitors. Jim thought there were about fifteen 'cells.' One man rooms with a bed, a small wooden desk, and a basin. An old barn and several smaller buildings surrounded the main building. The entire complex was set a half-mile back from the road and hidden behind a mixture of pine and aspen trees. The rare traveler on the narrow county road would likely be unaware of the complex. Indeed, few of the local residents even knew of it.

He lived with Dr. Selchrist and seven other monks of the Supplicant Order. This was an order devoted to quiet meditation and prayer. The only others Jim had seen during his time there were a few visiting priests who somehow had found their way to the hidden abode buildings.

 

Jim had followed the State Route southward then turned east onto the U.S. highway just north of Alamogordo. As he climbed into the rugged Sacramento Mountains the vegetation grew thicker, the dry New Mexico air grew cooler.

For most of the day he had been relieved that he would be finally getting this over with. He had left before dawn with his spirits nearly as dark as the scudding winter clouds of the high desert sky. By mid-morning, his spirits had risen as high as the hot sun entering the windshield of the Honda.

It would be over by the end of the day, and then he would be free. At least free of the need to guard his thoughts. Free to think whatever came into his head, free from the horror of a double life. Perhaps in time the sexual images would abate, releasing him from the torrid religious implications of his fantasies. Perhaps he could at least change them to something more acceptable, devoid of the religious icons that now populated his world. Then he might at least be able to live with the guilt. He could be an ordinary sinner among ordinary men.

He found San Xavier perched between the highway and a deep ravine halfway up the mountain. Inside he found a large stone church, built by Franciscan monks more than one hundred years ago. The quiet and peacefulness he expected was only broken by the occasional rumble of large trucks on the highway using their engines as brakes against the steep incline. It reminded Jim about his own slide into his personal sexual abyss. He walked into the church confessional, just as he was instructed, at exactly 3:00pm.

The flicker of light as the holes between the screens alternately aligned and then closed and the slight dragging sound of wood against wood brought Jim back. It was time. Time to start, and he hadn't rehearsed anything past "Bless me Father. . . "

". . . . it has been one week since my last confession." Jim intoned. He paused, wondering how to proceed next.

A kindly voice asked of him, "Why is there so much sadness in your voice my son? We are all sinners, yet Christ will always forgive us. You only need to state your offenses to the Lord. That's why you've come isn't it?"

"Yes, but this is so difficult. I have been plagued by impure thoughts. Thoughts so out of character, so indescribable, that it will be difficult for me to relate them.

"I don't see this as an unusual thing for a young man like yourself. You are young, perhaps a little older than majority by the sound of your voice. You are at the height of your physical urges no?" Said the voice from behind the screen.

"But father, this is different. I'm going to be a priest. Was going to be that is. I was to be ordained in the spring."

"It sounds as if you are grievously troubled." Said the voice from behind the screen. Impure thoughts so serious as to derail a man's devotion to his religious vocation, this I have not seen before." The last words were mumbled as if to himself more than to Jim. The kindly voice started again. "It is no great sin to have impure thoughts, to be sure it is an affront to God, but never an unforgivable transgression. Celibacy is not to be entered into lightly. Every priest has to fight this demon, but prayer and faith in Christ sees us through these difficult times." He then added more ominously, " But to act . . .this is more serious. You have not taken any overt actions to satisfy these urges?"

"Yes. . . , I mean no. . ." Pleaded Jim. "I mean I'm not sure."

"Then you must pray." Replied the screen, "Pray to be relieved of these thoughts. Pray for guidance."

"But father, it was prayer that lead me to this problem in the first place.

 

 

Chapter II

"Perhaps you'd better explain, young man." Said a somewhat sterner voice from the other side of the wooden slat. "Perhaps you'd better start at the very beginning. I'm interested to know how prayer has led you into sin. In my many years as a priest, I have never seen that happen before."

Jim swallowed hard, wondering if he had gone too far. "Wouldn't it be better to just talk in general terms, beg for absolution, and then get out of here as quickly as possible?" A vision of Curtis Selchrist's face crossed his inner eye. He had promised. How could he cheat on this last promise to his old friend?

How long this was going to take? How far should he go with this unknown priest behind the curtain? From his voice he sounded elderly. Suppose he startled the old man with his revelations and he threw a fit, cussed him, or worse had a heart attack? Jim smiled at his own resourcefulness in arguing against a true confession. Starting at the beginning would mean at least explaining St. Augustine. Perhaps he'd have to go further back.

Jim began slowly, "Well father, perhaps the best beginning is the point when I first discovered prayer. I don't mean the recitation that you learn in confraternity classes, I mean spiritual communion with the Lord, with the Universe, with the 'All There Is.' I must admit that I discovered the joy of prayer at an early age. My mother used to say that she had never seen such a devote boy. When I would attend Mass she would have to awaken me from my conversations with God, actually shake me. I guess those early experiences are what led me to believe that God was calling me to his chosen profession. I've wanted to be a priest since I was a small boy.

Prayer has been the cornerstone of my life. I've always been able to achieve a separation from normal waking reality, almost as if God created a special place for me to sit while I spoke with him. Over time the feeling of a separate reality grew. I created great cathedrals to sit in while I spoke with the Lord. It was wonderful for me. My greatest solace was prayer. It was so important to me that I spent much of my waking life in prayer. Eventually, it became quite difficult to reconcile my need for quiet solitude with my more secular obligations. The problem came to a head while I was at St Augustine's."

"You attended St. Augustine's?" Asked the priest, perhaps wondering how a boy who had gained entry to that premier East Coast seminary had ended up in a small church on an Indian reservation high in the desert mountains. "Please, you must tell me what happened."

Jim heard a rustling that sounded as if the priest had slid forward in his chair, his voice grew louder as he moved his face closer to the screen, "How did you come to this place?"

"I never would have guessed how difficult it would be at St. Augustine's." Jim began. "I suppose you know that all of the assignments are personalized. I had my own guidance counselor who assigned and reviewed all of my work with the professors. In high school I had been a pretty good student. But here, well, it seemed from the start as though I had an unlucky break or that I had been singled out. Almost as if I was destined to fail.

Every assignment was so difficult. We weren't supposed to discuss our personal assignments with each other, but you know that it's impossible for students not to talk about their work. My fellow students were getting by writing papers on the changes in Church Dogma resulting from the Counsel of Nice, or the development of the modern Papacy, while I was relegated to projects that even veteran researchers would be wary of. One of my first assignments was to decode and interpret the 'Pretiossissme Donum.' It took me weeks to find a copy. My God, some of it hadn't even been translated from the original ancient Latin! Of course I failed miserably.

And so it continued. Each assignment more difficult than the preceding one. Each demand heightened my awareness of what I lacked. Each time I failed. The failures drove me to doubt if this were the right path for me. Perhaps I was not cut out to be a priest; perhaps I was only good at prayerful meditation with the Lord.

Eventually, I found myself flunking nearly all my classes. I felt as if they were trying to drive me away from the priesthood. I wondered if that was possible, I mean, the church is so short of clergy, why would it seek to intentionally drive me away? I didn't lack for devotion. Why was it so important for them to humiliate me? Why did a priest need academic accomplishments anyway? I was certain it was just my own personal failings. I took solace in my conversations with Jesus, asking him for help. I reread the Book of Job several times, wondering if I was being tested by God to see if I was really worthy to be one of his servants.

After almost three years of this I could stand it no longer. I was about to drop out. I didn't want to but I couldn't see how I could continue. I thought of suicide. I was hopeless. My greatest aspirations were being crushed by a seemingly calculated plan to bring me down. Why did they treat me this way? After some more thought and prayer I knew that suicide would be a not be the answer. I could not commit such a mortal sin without damning my soul for eternity. Perhaps I could to find another way to serve the Lord, something that utilized my natural inclination better. But what?

Luckily, I was saved by a priest. He showed up at the dean's office one day and literally rescued me from St. Augustine's. I quit the place within hours and we took off together. I've been at San Paulo up north with him ever since, almost two years now."

Jim considered this a pretty good beginning. He was starting to trust the unseen man on the other side of the screen. He seemed genuinely interested. "But," He wondered half aloud, "is he ready for the rest?"

"And you have been able to remain celibate all this time?" Asked the screen.

"Yes, father, I am celibate, . . . I think. I mean I have done nothing overt to break my vow. " Answered Jim.

"But my boy, you have not taken vows yet, you are not yet bound by Church dogma to remain celibate. You seem confused. Perhaps you will need to take time off and experience some level of sexual exploration. Now I'm not suggesting that it would be proper for you to engage in sexual activities outside of marriage, but there are other ways that the Church would not consider to be a great sin. . . .." He searched for words. ". . . Perhaps something along these lines is necessary for you to make up you mind." The old man was fairly laboring to give Jim some leeway without telling him to violate any commandments.

"No, father, I made a personal vow of celibacy when I was fifteen. Almost as soon as I knew what it meant. I have never been with a woman, and I've always tried to keep my thoughts pure. I was successful until recently."

"Please go on, I am interested in how these doubts manifested themselves. How could simple impure thoughts, which are to be expected from a healthy man such as yourself, how could they stop so completely your goal of becoming a priest?"

"These are not simple thoughts Father, in fact what I'm going to relate may be difficult for you to grasp, but I ask you to listen without judgement, at least until the end.

My mentor, I'll call him Father 'C', took me to San Paulo. As you know it is in a rather out of the way place in the high country up north, many miles from the nearest city. Father 'C' and I lived with the Supplicant Brothers. Perhaps you have heard of Monsignor Menaul, the founder of their order?"

"I have heard of him." Replied the voice. "He is the great mystical priest. I've heard his name in connection with the Supplicant Brothers. You have met him?"

"Oh no. Father 'C' often speaks of him in the present tense but he's surely been dead a long time. I think he was born in the 1840's and formed the Supplicant Brothers around the turn of the century. I have listened to a great number of stories about him from Father 'C'. He was a great man of God. Quite a mystic I'm told. If others knew of his greatness I'm sure he would be a candidate for canonization."

Jim continued from where he had been interrupted. "It was a quiet life of contemplation. Father 'C' kept me further isolated even from the small community of monks and devotees that stayed on the grounds. He said that there would be time for interacting with the rest of the brothers once my training was complete.

For almost two years I lived a life of devotion to God. Each day Father 'C' would ask me to the chapel, or out among the rocks and hills. We would sit and he would teach me how to pray. I must admit, I thought I knew how to converse with God, but Father 'C' showed me how much I had to learn. Proper breathing, exercises to focus the mind, passages to read from St. Germain, Bernard of Treviso, Francis Bacon, and others. We were together for those months almost exclusively. Everyday was spent in reading, writing, physical and mental exercise, and of course meditation directed toward the Almighty. We built up a bond of friendship, love, and trust. He is my friend and my mentor. Perhaps I should be confessing the sin of having caused him great harm by the disappointment I instilled in him?"

"We can discuss that later." Came back a quick reply. " Perhaps that is less of a sin than you think." Said the low voice cryptically.

Jim had surprised himself at his candor with this old priest. He was beginning to open up to him, although he was uncertain what was motivating him to do so. "Perhaps he will be accepting enough to listen to me about these dark images." Thought Jim. He seemed mature and though his words had been plain they suggested a great intellect behind the simple phrases. He wondered how such a man had come to such to a far away place as San Xavier.

"Toward the end I was able to place myself in a trance, deep and far away from the physical world, and communicate with the Universe, with God, and his messengers. I was ecstatic. I was what Father 'C' referred to as an 'adept,' an apprentice of God. I felt I was manifesting my destiny. I was happy, and I was ready to take my place as a servant of God. Father 'C' had already spoken with the Bishop about setting a date for my vows. I could almost picture myself prostrate before the Bishop reciting them, it would be the culmination of my lifetime dream. I looked forward spending the rest of my life devoted to the adoration of God. I could see myself living out my years at San Paulo, spending each day in quite meditative prayer.

Father 'C' had shown me a way out of my desperation, out of my worry, out of the academic and secular life, and into the hands of God. For that I will be ever grateful, even if I ultimately failed him. The weight of the failure can only be placed on my shoulders, not his. He has done everything in his power to help me. It is not his fault!"

"I'm sure Father 'C' is a fine man of God" Calmed the priest. "Please continue."

Jim took a deep breath through his nostrils, exhaled slowly through his mouth, and began again. "About three months ago Father 'C' took me on a guided imagery exercise. He had deemed me ready to advance to a new level of contemplation. It was a simple exercise, one of relaxing and going within myself. I was able to follow his instructions easily. To be honest, it was far simpler than many of the exercises he had previously put me through.

Then something really strange happened. I opened my eyes as he commanded and found myself somewhere else. In an entirely different land. Instinctively, I knew I was in a different time. I supposed that it was a Mediterranean country in the first century. It was before the crucifixion. Now Father, I'm not talking about a dream or even a realistic fantasy, this was as real as everyday life. I could reach out and touch the limestone walls, feel their coolness, feel dirt floor of the hut under my sandals, smell the dung from the donkeys outside the door, hear the muffled voices in the next room and the clatter of pottery. I had traveled backward in time! I was wrapped in a fine white cloth. A cloth I sensed that was of a much finer grade and softer than the fabric worn by most others in this place and time.

It wasn't like a dream in another sense. In a dream, no matter how vivid, one doesn't question how you got there. You deal with dream images, no matter how fleeting, as if they had always existed. But here, I could remember my flow of consciousness from moment to moment, from the New Mexico high desert to this strange country. This was real. I had been instantly transformed from my normal conscious awareness to this place. I had been sitting on a rock in the New Mexico desert with Curtis, er. . . I mean Father 'C' and in a moment I was in a different place and time. I knew this had to be a mystical creation, and yet it was real. I was transported fully and completely backward in time to the first century."

"You say that you were on a rock with your mentor, . . . Father who?" Questioned the old priest.

"I guess it would be alright to tell you that his name is Curtis." Replied Jim.

"How did he assist you? In what way did he guide you to this place?" Jim was uncertain at what this old priest was after. He wanted to confess his sins, and yet the old man wanted to talk about his prayer techniques. "Why?"

Jim continued. "It began pretty normally, breathing and relaxation. Except that before we started he had me do a ritual. There are some movements and incantations. But I'd rather talk about that right now.

Now this is where it gets really weird. I had carried all of my mental senses to this place. My thought processes and rational skills seemed intact. But there was no evidence of the physical me, Jim Bowers. I had a physical form, but my senses seemed distorted. I was not myself. Not physically anyway.

I felt lighter than my usual self. My hands were small and slender, like those of a woman. I looked for a mirror or glass, but there were none in those days. I lifted the white robe and saw the tops of two unfamiliar delicate feet standing in sandals with leather laces wrapped around slender white ankles. I turned to a shiny metal vase on the shelf but could not make out anything beyond a white blur. I lifted my hand to my head and found a covering made of red cloth held in place by a beaded cincture. My face was smooth and creamy, oiled perhaps, and heavily scented. Feathers of various colors adorned this headdress as well as my sleeve. I wondered where I was, how did I come to this place? What happened?

Then an older woman, dressed in clothes that were similar to mine walked in. She Spoke to me, 'Mary, the carpenter is here, he has asked for you.' Her voice was quite matter of fact. I heard my own reply in a strange and soft voice. 'The elder or the son?'

My God, I suddenly realized where I was. I was a woman, a prostitute! This was a house of ill repute. I had a 'customer.' You cannot imagine the mixture of feelings I experienced in that instant. I was shamed; shamed to think my own conscience had led me here. I was curious, 'What manner of place was this?' I was scared, 'How can this place seem so real?' Then I paused to consider that Father 'C' had led me here. I trusted him. I decided to go on.

I must confess Father, that I also felt something else. I have never been so near to a woman before. I mean not one like this Mary woman. Her youth and vitality felt strange and wonderful. She was earthy. I knew she delighted in the pleasures of the flesh. I wanted to share that sense of aliveness that she felt. Here I was nearer to this woman of the flesh than any man has a right to be. It wasn't even nearness in the normal sense. I was this woman! I looked through her eyes. I heard through her ears. I felt her sensuous skin rubbing softly against her fine clothes.

It was stimulating. I was excited. I confess that it was more than a desire to please my mentor. I had a wanton desire for matters of the flesh. The flesh of this young woman. I possessed her in a way that was unnatural and exciting. I wanted to continue this fantastic creation of my mind to see what pleasures it afforded me! Oh I sinned; it was my great failing, that was the very moment of my undoing. If I had only resisted! I should have resisted the challenge of the flesh. But I was weak. This was this very moment that started me on the path of moral destruction!"

Jim paused to wipe a tear from his eye. Now that he started he knew he would have to tell all. It had been welling up all these months and it had to be told. But to confess out loud the moral turpitude that he willfully experienced was almost more than he could stand. Bad enough he had to live with these thoughts alone. This was going to be more difficult than he imagined.

"Please, I must hear this from your mouth, you must complete this. I must hear the words from your mouth." The old priest fairly commanded. "I cannot trust a secondhand description!"

His words made no sense to Jim. What was this talk of secondhand descriptions? Perhaps he had misjudged the priest. Maybe he was taking perverse delight in this story? But he was too distraught to think further about what the priest was saying. "Please", Jim heard his mind command, "do not try to project your own guilt onto others. Stick to the confession." He took another deep breath. He drew on his ability to control his mind by controlling his breathing. Control that Curtis had so patiently taught him. Once he felt ready he continued:

"A man was asking for me! In spite of my fear I found myself walking toward the front room. It was small but comfortable, covered in carpets and sheepskins, lit by oil lamps. A sheepskin dyed a bright shade of red hung over the doorway. There was the smell of Rosemary and Frankenscence burning in a copper pot in the corner.

In the room were four men and another woman dressed like me. Each man had squatted down in the fashion of those who are accustomed to life without furniture, even though I could see a couch formed from straw and woven carpets in the corner. Two of the men played lots with a square piece of wood marked with unfamiliar characters. On the floor between them were a few gold coins and shiny stones. Another man sat near the woman.

"Did you know this man?" Jim's confessor inquired.

"Which? The one with the woman? No. I didn't know him at all. I don't think any of them looked familiar." Jim replied as honestly as he could.

"Did you get a good look at his face? Would you recognize him again?" He seemed to bore in on the irrelevant, at least it seemed so to Jim.

"Yeah, I guess so. He was a strange guy. I didn't like what he was doing. He appeared to be placing his hand up the robes of the only other woman in the room. She shrieked, not with fear, but with pleasure, or perhaps it was the ersatz pleasure of a woman paid to entertain, I couldn't be certain. Her shrill laughter filled the room as it mixed with his heavier nasal grunts. His other hand moved methodically under his own coarse robe. I forced my eyes away. I couldn't continue to watch that spectacle.

I turned to the sad looking man squatting alone near the entry. Like the others, he was dressed in a simple coarse brown tunic. He was barefoot. He was bearded like the others. His features were plain except for his eyes. They attracted me to him. They were filled with sadness or grief.

He had removed his simple headdress. His hair stood askew and disheveled, with what appeared to be small chips of wood tangled his dark hair. When I stepped up I had the impression that there was a glimmer of golden light about his head. A soft warm light, forming a halo-like shimmer around his head and shoulders spilling on his unkempt hair. At the time I convinced myself that the light came from the lamp on the wall directly behind him. But now I'm not so sure. His presence put me at ease. I lost my fear and found myself being pulled into his warm circle. I wanted to share my time with him.

'Forgive me Sister Magdalene.' He used my superlative name instead of the familiar. 'I don't wish to be here, but I have no recourse. I need relief. My son has a high regard for you. He speaks. . . uhm, spoke highly of you in the past. When we were still speaking to one another. You are the only woman I trust to help me. Please. You know that my wife can't . . .I mean that we cannot. . .'

I nodded. He had no need to explain this to me, but I let him go on.

'It is what a man needs. Do not the rabbis agree with me? This is natural, no? Do not the animals in the wild couple freely, and yet God smiles on them? And what about the men that do not have the problem I have? They can sleep with their wives. God graces them with natural pleasures. Is it not for a poor man of wood to seek simple pleasure? It is forbidden for a man to spill his seed on the ground. I have heard this command spoken in the temple. What else can I do?'

'You have chosen wisely Josef.' I consoled. 'You are regarded by all in the village as a holy man, the husband of the most wonderful woman in the land. But, I know of the problems you speak of. It is true you are poor. You cannot sleep with your wife. Your only son has rejected your way of life. But God does not seek to withhold all of life's pleasures. If God wished it to be so, I would not be here would I? This place would not be here. Would it? He will not be displeased by this visit, I am sure. You need feel no shame in coming here. Please, recline with me. Allow me to wash your feet. I will feed you.'

Then I turned to a young girl of about fourteen who appeared in the opening in the back of the room. I commanded, 'Salohma! Bring me a jug of water and a bowl so that we can wash this man's feet. And bring me some dates and wine. Quickly!'

His eyes had changed. Whatever troubled him seemed to be temporarily pushed aside. He took my hand, hesitantly at first. I felt his rough hands against my smooth delicate fingers. Oh, What a feeling! His warmth washed over me and seemed to enter into my heart. He was so kind, so simple, so unassuming. I could not refuse pleasure to him. I didn't want to. I wanted to feel his touch. I needed to let him wrap his arms around me. For me to wrap my own self around him. He seemed to relax as he knelt at the fabric draped over the wooden bench that served as a table. I poured the cool water out of the jug and slowly washed his feet.

I already felt a womanly sense of accomplishment. I knew that my reason to be here was to give pleasure to the men of the village. Women must be of service. That is the expectation I felt from the other men in the room. I didn't disagree. Women were meant to serve men. What better way to serve than to insure that the men of the village were comfortable so that they would want to continue to provide for us? This is how life worked.

But this man was different. He did not demand pleasure but asked for it. He didn't expect me to respond, and yet I did. He made me want to please him, not because I was a woman of service, but because we were two humans. How could I not nurture this simple man who eyes were so kind? More than the others he needed my help. There's no sin in me feeling that way about him was there?"

Jim hesitated here, waiting to see if the man behind the screen would give him some sort of sign, some indication of just how far he should go in this confession. He knew what he wanted now, to get the entire thing off his chest, to tell all in detail. Yet, he was still uncertain how to take this old priest.

"Hmmmm. Please continue."

Jim laughed silently at the old man's words. He recognized this artifact of counseling, "Let the patient know that you've heard him but give no indication of judgement." He was beginning to trust the old man.

"Father, I must tell the rest of this, but I fear I cannot be delicate about it. You realize the position I was in, the woman I was? You can see where this leads." Jim started.

"Go on with your narrative." It was an odd choice of wording. He had not used the word 'story', or 'fantasy', or any other pejorative word. What was he getting at? "Does he actually believe what I'm telling him?" Jim wondered.

"I led this man Josef to a smaller room at the back of this building. It was sparsely furnished with something like a cot, an oil lamp, and rugs or heavy fabric on the floor and walls. I knew what she was about to do. It was not as if I had no control. I was Mary but I was also Jim. I still had my own conscience and awareness. I could have stopped. I could have said no. I could have tried to transport myself back into my own body. But I did not. I was weak. I wanted this man. I wanted to feel him inside of me. I was swallowed by desires of the flesh.

I slipped his tunic over his head and unraveled the cloth wrapping at his waist. He was already aroused, demonstrating plainly what I could not. But I was as aroused as he was. I opened my robes to reveal large dark breasts, freshly oiled with a mixture of scented palm and olive oil. He buried his face into them immediately. I was delighted. I played my hands over his thick back, throwing my head back as his soft kisses advanced up my chest to my neck. I felt his manhood at my entrance. It was hard, throbbing, and ready to advance into me. He easily slipped inside. For a moment I forgot about Jim, about Curtis' guided imagery, about anything other than this man. I was Mary the sinner giving and receiving pleasure from him.

In a minute I was flat on my back, his throbbing tool inside of me, sliding in and out in a periodic thrust that was building in intensity. 'Oh Josef!' I cried, 'Please let it go, I need it deep inside of me! I longed for him. I dug my fingernails into his skin, I squeezed my legs harder around his muscular thighs, allowing him to penetrate to the very bottom of my womanhood as the skin of our bodies rubbed together in splendid harmony, exciting every nerve ending where his body touched mine.

I felt a glow. A light that grew up from within. I pressed my breasts against his hard, firm chest and found myself moving in rhythm to his jabbing motions. My intensity built in concert with his, both of us caught up in an act that was more than just physical. He had penetrated more than just my body. It seemed as if he had entered my mind, my emotions, and my soul.

We were coupled together in every way a man and a woman could be. My breathing came in short spurts, in time with his heaving chest. I began to lose awareness of anything other than his huge tool and the flesh I had wrapped around it. My whole world shrunk. It was as if the center of my awareness had moved from my head and was now sitting on the top of his penis, riding up and down his pulsating piston. His semen surged out and seemed to bore a hole right through the pinprick of bright light that was my conscious self.

What I sensed as 'me' seemed to clamp and surround him emotionally and physically. It was a release for me. I had never felt such physical joy. The throbbing of my climax had shut out my world, indeed my very existence. It wasn't two people each having an orgasm. It was a conjoining of our conscious existence. I felt his orgasm as much as mine, and it served to enhance mine. He felt my physical sensations and that enhanced his. The result was an explosion of sensation, light, music, and smells. My conscious world had shrunk to embrace only our joint orgasm. I felt as if I had merged physically and spiritually with him. It was my first sexual experience, and it was wonderful!

He collapsed in a heap above me weeping softly. It had been as intense for him as it was for me. I felt the warmth of his hard body against my supple breasts and flat abdomen. I could still feel him inside of me, small throbs slipping in intensity to almost nothing as his seed filled me. I never felt so warm, useful and needed. 'Oh Mary, I love you so much, I'm so sorry.' He pleaded. He had called my name, but I knew it was not me he had been talking to. He was far away, with someone else. I simply stroked the back of his head until he fell asleep.

I never knew that a human could take such spiritual pleasure in the ways of the flesh. I had promised myself never to partake in carnal activities. Yet here I was experiencing the very thing I had sworn against, not as a man, but as a woman. I felt her feelings, but they were mine, and they were beautiful, can you understand?"

"Why did you see this as a sin? What you described to me seems a wonderful fulfillment of the human spirit. This should not trouble you young man." Said the priest.

"But for a man to desire another man? This goes against the teaching of the Church." Stated Jim incredulously.

"May I call you Jim? You have said yourself that you embodied a woman, a woman of flesh who rightfully desires a man. It's true that the church teaches that the union between unmarried partners is a sin. But, you said that this took place a long time ago. Clearly it was the custom of the times. It was accepted. You said yourself that this was the role of this woman in the village. It appears that even the holy men of the time understood the needs of the men in the village. You performed an act of kindness to a troubled man, how can this be a serious transgression of our Lord's wishes?

And in any case, this was just a fantasy, a vision, a figment of your imagination wasn't it?"

"Was it?" Jim thought. He was certain he detected a hint of sarcasm or irony in the man's voice. It was almost as if he was trying to goad him to deny that this was real. Why would he probe this? It was not a fantasy, it was as real as his perceptions now in this confessional.

"No it was real. As real as I sense this time and place. This was not fantasy. If I sinned, then it was not a sin of thought, but a sin of deed."

Strangely, this seemed to satisfy the old man. The old priest's voice was so kind and full of understanding. Jim felt like a sham. Sure the way he had described it, it had been a wonderful fulfillment. It was the kind of pleasure God must have planned between a man and a woman. It had been good and Jim saw it that way. But he alone knew what lurid other sins he had committed. "This priest will not look be able to look so kindly on my other transgressions." Jim thought.

"Father, there is much more. I have additional sins that are far more troubling than this one. Sins I fear that you nor anyone can ever forgive."

 

 

Chapter III

Jim felt faint. He was breathing heavy and had partly collapsed on the kneeler, his body held erect only because it was jammed into the corner of the confessional. The curtains parted and a hand reached out for him. It was attached to a tall man dressed in shirtsleeves with a stole around his neck. The sunlight against his back prevented Jim from seeing his face immediately.

"Perhaps we should take a little break. I don't want to broach your anonymity if that's what you desire, but it's hot and stuffy in this confessional. Why don't we walk outside and talk. You can relax and we can start to unravel this mystery. They have a nice garden just outside the church. Come on." Said the priest.

Jim was uncomfortable. He knew that there was still a long way to go and he needed a break. But if he walked away from the confessional he was unsure if he would be able to come back. He was just as uncertain about continuing once he met this priest face to face. He was already exhausted. Once he looked into his eyes he might not have the strength to go on. It had been difficult enough talking to a screen. How would he do talking face to face?

Slowly he straightened up. He reached out to the firm hand and found himself easily pulled to his feet. The curtains parted and he found himself bathed in rose colored light from the late afternoon sun streaming through the stained glass windows along the walls of the church. He turned to look at his confessor.

He returned the look, locking eyes with Jim and gripping his hand. "Just call me Pete for now. I'm so glad to meet you Jim."

"Jim's sense of uneasiness vanished. He stood in front of a tall man, perhaps sixty years old. He was trim, strong, and had a solid face. His gray hair was cut in a way that reminded him of his friend Curtis. He was remarkably free of the signs of aging. Jim was uncertain of why he left the impression he might be so old. Perhaps the look of wisdom in his eyes. They reminded him a little of Josef's eyes, only less sad. Knowledge, wisdom, understanding, but not sadness. Jim's confidence rebounded.

 

Pete talked casually as they crossed the aisle and exited the side door of the church into the late afternoon sun. "San Xavier de Sierra is a wonderful church, don't you think? Did you know that Spanish missionaries built it in the early 1700's? This part of the country is so full of history, especially church history. There was the rebellion at Yselta, Coronado, Don Juan de Onate's forced conversions of the Indians, even the mythical Seven Cities of Gold were purported to be here in the Southwest. They did exist. But not exactly in the way that Coronado thought." They walked along a stone path around the side of the church and turned to face the western sky.

Jim had listened carelessly to what Pete was saying, he was just glad to have a break. He was sure it would be over too soon.

"Look at those two doves in the Pinion trees." Pete pointed. Did you know that the locals think that doves are a symbol, a sign of good fortune? Perhaps God is smiling on us and has blessed us with the symbol.

"I always think of doves as a symbol of peace." Replied Jim.

You do want to be at peace don't you Jim?" Countered Pete, his head nodding as if to urge Jim to agree.

"More than anything Father." Jim replied. "I want to be at peace with myself."

"Then that's exactly what we will work on. Come over here and sit on this rock wall. We'll watch the sun set and then get back to work."

Watching a New Mexico sunset was something Jim had never take for granted. He really never appreciated the beauty of the sun against the clouds when he lived back east. Jim was certain that New Mexico sunsets were the most beautiful in the world. It must have been the high clear atmosphere, the altitude, and the wide open sky that all contributed to the spectacular feeling. Today's would be better than most. The blue winter clouds were already starting to take on the orange tint of the setting sun. It was almost as if a fire had started inside them. The church, perched on the side of the mountain, afforded a wonderful vista of the valley laid out below them. The valley was now in shadows even as the pale oranges and reds from the sun peaked in the streaked clouds across the open western sky. Between the clouds and the horizon was a patch of blue sky.

"Do you see that sky there?" Jim pointed, "That's kind of how I picture my experience. I wasn't in the clouds, but I wasn't on the ground either, I was somewhere in between. It was real, but not the reality that I associate with everyday experience. It was as if I had entered a space between dreams and reality, squeezed in between them."

"And you think that Curtis lead you there? Do you suppose it could have been intentional?"

"No, never, why would he do such a thing? I'm certain that he wanted me to get closer to God, to help me pray, not to experience the pleasures of the flesh. I'm certain that it was my own sinful mind that led me to that place." Jim was adamant and defensive. Perhaps a little too much so. For truthfully, Jim had to admit that he had wondered the same thing himself, especially after these hallucinations continued.

"Did you ever confide to Curtis what had happened?" Pete looked directly at Jim.

Jim paused for a second, looking directly back into his eyes. "No, when I first came back I was still in a state of bliss. At first I wasn't even aware that I had come back to the present. I woke up laying on the rock I had been sitting on with Curtis. He was nowhere around. I was so drained that I couldn't even get up. When he returned he seemed satisfied that I had accomplished the task at hand. By that time I was too embarrassed to say anything."

"Did Curtis continue to guide you?" Queried Pete.

"Well, yes. We continued to work together. Many times before he had led me into a blissful state of communication with 'All That Is'. These were wonderful moments. But the effect of this sexual experience seemed to pull me away from pure thoughts such as that. After that no matter what he did to lead me down the right path, I seemed always to end up going wrong."

"Tell me about the next experience that disturbed you. Did Curtis take you on this trip too?" Pete commanded.

"No, not exactly, he had asked me if I remembered the ritual. I said that I had and he asked me to meditate on the need to be of service to the priesthood before I attempted the ritual by myself. This I did, but the results were even more bizarre.

Instead of waking up in a different place, this time reality seemed to melt before my very eyes. It was as if the here and now were made of wax and a new reality existed just behind it. The present simply melted away exposing a modern scene far away from the New Mexico desert.

This time I was in a church. Somehow I knew things about my place and information about the people in it in the same manner that you know about people in dreams. I don't mean to suggest that this was a dream. It was real." Jim paused.

"No, no of course not, I see exactly what you mean, it was as if a higher consciousness had set the stage so to speak?" Suggested Pete.

"Yes, that's a perfect way of putting it. It was as if I was an actor in a play. I knew the story, at least up to the point that I entered the stage, but then I was on my own. There was no director, no script, the stage was real, and I was the character I was playing, not just pretending to be.

This time I was standing at the altar of a church. It was the present, or at least had taken place within a few months of the my present time. I think it was St Louis, or at least it seemed to me to be that city."

"Are you familiar with St Louis?" Coaxed Pete. He was intently listening to each word muttered by Jim. The light was failing now and it was hard for the two men to see each other. But it was clear to Jim that Pete was concentrating not only on his words but the manner in which he was speaking. He was intently focussed on him.

"No, that's the strange thing. We drove through St. Louis on the way out here, but other than that I had no familiarity with it the city, and certainly not with this church. But maybe it was because of Father Tom, he's from St Louis."

"Who is Father Tom?" Inquired Pete.

"Oh, he is a guest at San Paulo and the main character in this drama. That's what bothered me so much about this event. Here was a man I knew, or at least I was acquainted with, entering my hallucination.

Now this is the part that is unsettling for me to relate. I was a woman again. I was much different than last time. In fact I was a nun. I was dressed in a blue habit. I had on a plain dark blue skirt, a plain white blouse, and a matching blue jacket. Around my neck I wore a large silver cross. A gray veil fell about my hair with stiff sides that curled around and covered my ears. I guessed that I was about fifty, maybe fifty-five, years old. I was far from beautiful. I was quite full figured. In fact, it wouldn't be unfair to describe me as plump. Maybe even fat. Everything about me was plain.

I was engaged in folding the altar cloth after a late Saturday mass. Apparently the evening services had been over for some time. I was alone in a church. From the look of it, I was in a modern suburban church. Wide aisles, white walls, large stained glass windows, two statues each mounted on a pedestal jutting from the front wall. There was one on each side of the altar. The one on the right was the Virgin Mary, and on the left St. Joseph. I remember thinking that it wasn't a very good likeness of him. 'Too clean and refined for a carpenter.' I thought.

I turned when I heard the solid wooden doors at the back of the church slam shut. A man in his late fifties was pulling the door and working the keys. I recognized him as Father Tom, the priest who was visiting us at San Paulo. For this drama he was apparently the pastor of this church.

He stood with his back to me for a while, fiddling with a bunch of keys until the door was locked. I guess he was having a little trouble, although I was pleased because it afforded me time to take a look around at my new surroundings.

I glanced at the darkened stained glass windows and was surprised to see the outlines of strange symbols. I would have expected the glass tiles to have formed pictures of saints or something of the sort, or perhaps an abstract design. I knew these symbols from somewhere. They looked somewhat like alphabetic characters, but it wasn't anything from modern texts. There was one that resembles a scripted 'V', but with an additional curl inside the two intersecting lines. Still another was a horizontal bar with a curving 'S' shape inscribed below it. Another looked like a Capital 'I' inside of a circle. I could recognize only one, the circle with a cross on the bottom denoting the symbol for the female. It was an odd place for such a symbol. Aside from this, the rest of the church looked mundane and familiar, like any other of the dozens of Catholic churches I've attended.

I turned my attention to Father Tom. I wondered what had caused me to dream or conjure him. I mean I hardly knew the man, he'd been at our place only for a few days and I had hardly spoken with him. In this apparition he appeared as real and complete as when I normally encountered him, which was mostly at vespers and at the supper table.

Still, this was the first time I had really looked at his appearance. He was rather short and a little round. But even at this distance, across the length of the church, there was something I could sense that I liked about him. Perhaps it was his posture. He was a heavy man, but he carried himself erect. His posture spoke to me of a confident man, one who I sensed the woman I was now could be attracted to.

He had on plain black slacks with a plaid dress shirt. His rear was wide and round and I supposed that even as a young man he must have been quite heavy. His hair was mostly white, only small streaks of dark brown peppered his head. He turned, satisfied that the door was secure and slowly made his way up the main aisle. His face was unremarkable too. The effects of age had not been kind to his jowls, which hung down and seemed to merge with the fat around his neck. His nose was rather long and appeared to emerge from somewhere above his eyebrows.

He walked slowly, yet his steps were strong. His walk mimicked the gait of a much younger man. He was almost light on his feet. As he approached the altar I could see that his light blue eyes were kind and gentle and I felt a surge of affection for him. His eyes, locked on me, seemed to return the same emotion.

He detoured around the pulpit to a row of light switches arrayed on the wall. Eight large chandeliers that hung from the wooden beams in the ceiling blinked out row by row. A wave of darkness rolled into the church. It began in the back and slowly made its way forward with each flick of his wrist. In a moment I was standing at the altar with only a single spotlight illuminating the altar and forming a yellow puddle of warmth in this darkened cavern. In the middle of this pool was the altar with me standing beside it.

'Sister Mary Beth.' Said a voice from the darkness just outside of my little circle of light. 'Are you almost through?'

'Yes father, I heard myself reply.' My voice seemed higher pitched than it should have been. I sensed that it was reflecting the anticipation and excitement I felt welling up in this unfamiliar and strange body. I was not completely certain why this was so. It was a moment where the situation should have been plainly evident. But I was unwilling to admit it. I stood perfectly still as I watched him walk slowly into the warm light.

He held a prayer book curled in his arm against his chest. He walked up close to me and placed the book slightly behind me. He left his arm resting on the altar, half circling me. I turned slightly and stepped forward, letting my body touch his arm. I moved my face closer to his. The reason for my excitement was becoming all too evident and it surged into my conscious awareness.

'Are you ready?' he asked in a low tone, almost whispering in my ear.

There was just moment's hesitation. In that moment I almost had control of myself. I knew where I was and who I was. I was Jim again in spirit, but not Jim in my normal physical from. I had my own free will. I could choose what to do and what not to do. But again I was weak. I succumbed. I knew exactly what he meant by the remark and I knew it was my choice."

Jim stopped for a minute to examine Pete's face, looking for some kind of reassurance. It was quickly forthcoming.

"Go ahead Jim." He urged.

"Father, I chose sin over purity again." Jim paused for a deep breathe and then continued.

"In a moment I held his head in my pudgy arms, pulling his face toward mine. I kissed him passionately, burying my tongue deep into his mouth. He responded in kind, groping his arms at my chest and then reaching down around my waist and grabbing my massive buttocks. Slowly he slid my skirt upward.

We embraced for a full minute, our passions building. I thrust my hand down between his legs, confirming that he was as aroused as I was. In a moment I was loosening his belt, dropping his black pants to his knees. His white cotton briefs could not hide his enormous erection. One look at the tent-like protrusion and I knew I had to feel it, see, it, smell it, and taste it.

I dropped to my knees clumsily, my heavy large breasts flopped in the poor cotton bra that he was struggling so hard to unfasten. He grabbed for my right breast, missed and squeezed a handful of fat before discovering his error. He pulled his hand upward, finding my tit between his thumb and forefinger. I gasped, even as I urgently opened my mouth to accept his tool.

He stood for a time, basking in the delight of my sucking and slurping sounds. Our excitement built. I stood up and he bent over sticking his head in the layers of fat between my large breasts. They were massive, perhaps D cups. Gravity had done its work over the years. They hung down below the middle of my torso. Without my bra, the nipples pointed nearly toward the floor. Still, they were very sensitive. I cupped the massive mounds of flesh so that they nearly surrounded his head. He slid slowly to my areola, pulling gently with his teeth. I gasped in delight.

We continued petting, groping and sucking for several minutes until I could stand it no longer. My back was bent over the altar and he was playing his tongue across my neck. He kissed the folds of flesh below my chin and then slid upward forcing my veil aside. He crept gently toward my ear. I reached backward with both arms and tried to lift myself onto the altar.

I wasn't strong enough. The altar was too high and I was too heavy. He helped me get my cheeks level with the stone table and then pressed me upward. Together we struggled, both of us panting from the added strain, to get my body on top of the stone. The effort left him red in the face. He leaned for a moment to catch his breath and I wondered if we were going to be able to continue.

He revived and tugged at my white hose. I wore old-fashioned stockings, not pantyhose. I suppose it was in keeping with the generally plain habit of an Ursaline nun. In a few swift strokes he pulled my the stockings and my white cotton briefs down to my knees. I bent over at my waist. The excess fat around my gut pushed outward as I struggled to reach my knees to pull my legs up. I pulled first one leg and then another up to the level of the altar. He half knelt so that his face matched squarely with my now open legs.

I could smell the faint traces of fish odor emitting from below my waist. He seemed not to notice, diving in between my immense thighs and sliding his tongue into my crack. Oh, the wonderful sensations I felt. This was so exquisite. If I had any doubts about what I was doing they left me the moment his lips curled around my clitoris. He pursed his lips and pulled directly on my underused organ. It was an awakening, although I wasn't sure if it was her awakening or mine. Perhaps it didn't matter. Me as Jim had never pictured the sexual ecstasy I might be capable of. Me as Sister Mary Beth had never allowed such thoughts into her consciousness either. Now I was enjoying it, but I couldn't be sure what part of me it came from. It didn't matter, either way it was a sin.

I fell back, the top of my head with its short curly gray hair was almost off the end of the altar. My feet lay flat on the cold marble surface, my knees bent in the manner of a woman about to be examined by her gynecologist. He leaned over and pressed his middle finger into my crack while bending over to suck again at my wet breasts. He turned and tried to get on top of the altar to mount me but he couldn't succeed in getting high enough. Only a layer of fat from his gut spilled onto the flat surface, spreading it out and pressing against my huge thighs. He swung away sprinting across the floor, grabbing and sliding the straight backed wooden chair from behind the pulpit. He used it as a step up to his goal. He knelt before my open legs on the altar.

He fell on top of me. He was crushing the breathe out of me but I didn't mind. I was far too excited to notice any discomfort. He rammed his penis into my vagina. But I was dry, it hurt and he could not continue. Quickly he slid off the altar and stepped into the pool of darkness. In seconds he had found his way into the sacristy and returned with the crucible of oil used for anointing the sick. I smiled at the irony of using the oil intended for the sick to fix this problem with my old body.

He poured the oil liberally on my stomach and dipped his fingers into it. The feel of that slick fluid all over my stomach excited me further. I was hot. I pushed his hand below and the oil easily allowed his finger to slip deep inside of me. He climbed back on top and knelt before my open legs. His tool stood out straight. It was engorged with blood, dark red and stiff. I let him drive it into me.

His thrusts hammered at my virgin crack, building in intensity and speed. I responded as best as I could, our fleshy torsos pressed against one another, the motions creating waves that rippled through each other's fattened bodies.

I started to slip into a different realm. Again my focus started to narrow until I was aware only of his throbbing cock and my swollen womanhood. The narrower my focus the finer I could perceive the physical beauty and sensations my body was experiencing. I was coupled again with a man in a mutual embrace and we were about to climax. His climax came in a burst, only two strong contractions but enough to set me off. I gasped, I screamed, I surrendered to my little physical world defined by these two pulsating organs.

His spurt of seed had a curious effect on me. At the very height of this coupling, when he was exploding into me and I was gripping his organ in mine, I seemed to couple with his mind. This was much different than my intimacy with Josef the Carpenter. This time I had access to Father Tom's inner psyche. It was as if I had made contact with his personal historian.

In a brief moment I was able to perceive a great deal about this man that had been hidden from everyone else. Indeed, the most important information he had hidden from himself. I had access to parts of him that had been off limits to his own awareness for years. He had driven the memory of his sinister actions far away. This physical act had unlocked this closet in his mind. A closet I knew was filled with a dark blackened skeleton. I had a looking glass, no a microscope, that could amplify what he had hidden. I was able to view his actions clearly and uncritically. At that moment I knew why he was attracted to me, why I needed to respond to him, why we had coupled, how this sinful deed affected his connection to his past, present, and his future self. I knew why he had become a priest."

"Why he became a priest? Was that important at this juncture?" Asked Pete incredulously.

"Yes, very important to him. It was a compensatory act. An act of penance really, for an evil deed that he did as a young man. It was something he couldn't allow himself to remember." Replied Jim.

"That sounds like a poor motive for becoming a priest." Said Pete.

"It was. But Pete, what you don't understand is this. I knew the act he had suppressed. It came to me in this moment of ecstasy. When he was fifteen he had abused his young sister Mary Beth. He raped her! A month later, without ever telling anyone what happened, she committed suicide. It was guilt for this action that drove him to be a priest! Yet incredibly, he had repressed his memory of the rape. He had forgotten it until this minute. I was the surrogate 'sister', with the same name, that opened the doors to his past."

 

 

Chapter IV

Pete showed no emotion. Jim had expected a bigger reaction but the old priest simply nodded. "I see, what happened next?"

Jim proceeded with his narrative. "After what I guess you would call the 'glow' I opened my eyes and struggled up to find Father Tom standing at my side pulling his pants up. I reached for him but he backed away.

"What's wrong?" I asked, although I had my suspicions about what had happened

'I think I just figured something out.' He replied. 'I'm sorry it had to happen this way, I'm sorry for what I did. Please forgive me.' He pleaded softly.

'Tom, it was wonderful. It was what we both wanted. I know how you feel, I know what the problem is.' I tried to comfort him.

'No, this is something you couldn't know. It's something that came to me in the middle of my ecstasy. This wasn't just a physical act, something much deeper happened. I remembered something, something that makes me wonder if I should have become a priest or not.

'But Father, you've had many years in the service of God, how can you say that?" I tried to play dumb, but I think I was unconvincing, perhaps he suspected I knew his secret.

He stayed with me a few moments, helping me to get dressed. But clearly he was a different man. Earlier his eyes had been locked to mine. He had been interested in me. But now he had a faraway gaze, deeply troubled. This was not normal post coital guilt. In fact, the sin of having sex with me was hardly the point now. He had something much deeper on his mind.

He accompanied me to the door of the church and squeezed my hand. 'I have to be alone, I'm going to pray here for a while, I have to decide something.' When I walked through the door I found myself in my cell back at San Paulo, staring at my cot."

"And have you talked with this Father Tom since this incident?" Inquired Pete.

"No, good God, I couldn't even look at him. I knew something, or I . . . I thought or fantasized something very private about him. How could I?"

"Jim, tell me about San Paulo." Replied Pete nonchalantly. This seemed diversionary to Jim. 'Why was that important right now?'

He thought about confronting the priest. Perhaps he should ask him what he was up to. He glanced at Father Pete and decided to follow his lead, he was still convinced that he had his best interests at heart.

"Well, that's a bit difficult to explain, I actually don't know too much about the work they do. Of course Curtis was with me almost all of the time. As for the others, I don't know. Pray. I know. They seemed to study a lot. It seemed as though one or two would spend a lot of time with the visitors. They all seemed so busy. But I rarely interacted with the others much, just at meal-times and at our common prayer times.

There are only eight full-time residents, if you include me it's nine. I'm the only seminary student."

"You spoke of visitors. Was it unusual for visitors to come to this place?" Asked Pete.

Jim responded. "We didn't have tourists, if that's what you mean. We are too far off the beaten track for that. But we usually had two or three visiting priests living with us for sometimes six months or so. I inquired once and was told that they were on 'sabbatical leave.' I think the others were helping these visitors study or pray. I guess I was so wrapped up in what Curtis and I were doing that I never really found out much about what the other brothers were up to."

"Why do you suppose these priests picked your place? You didn't advertise in the Universe Bulletin as a vacation land for priests did you?" Pete was being sarcastic for some reason.

"I don't know, I never thought about it. As far as I knew they would just show up on our doorstep and stay a few months at a time. We never turned them away."

Pete changed the subject back again suddenly. "Did you ever inquire about Father Tom, the visitor from St. Louis."

"Yes, although I didn't have the nerve to talk to him directly. I was curious after the Sister Mary Beth incident. Father Tom looked far more troubled at San Paulo than when I had been with him in St Louis. I guess I wanted to know what it was about him that might have stimulated my imagination.

I talked with Brother Jacob. He seemed to have befriended Father Tom. The two of them spent a lot of time walking on the mountain paths and praying together. I asked Jacob why he was here. He was very discrete. I guess that is a word that applies to nearly everything about the place I live at. Little is ever said about our personal lives. He confirmed that Father Tom had been a pastor at Immaculate Heart in St. Louis and indicated that he was having some doubts about the priesthood. He had come here to contemplate and think about his commitment to the priesthood.

I must have picked up that information about Tom in a casual conversation or something and then created these bizarre scenes in my mind. Yet, I don't remember ever being told before that he was a pastor at Immaculate Heart, or even that he was from St Louis."

"You just finished telling me that he had only been at your place a few days and that you rarely spoke to him. How could you have picked up anything directly from him?" Pete demanded.

"I dunno. . .maybe God revealed it to me somehow and I wove it into this dream or drama or whatever it was." Jim was at a loss. He was trying hard to avoid the obvious. That he had picked up information about Father Tom from within his meditation. This information could not have been imparted in any other way.

"Is it possible that you may have helped this man in some way? Perhaps this event of yours actually aided him." Pete suggested.

"No . . . I do . . . I don't think so. I mean I never thought of it that way. I . . . uh, this felt very real but it never occurred to me that I might have had a real effect. How could that be?"

"Suppose that you were an agent in this drama somehow. Could it be that you were there at precisely the right moment to help unveil this secret he had in his heart all these years? Come on Jim!" Pete's voice was louder now and more insistent. "Isn't it possible that you were actually an agent for starting the healing process in this man? Can't you even consider this point of view?"

"No! No, your confusing me, this couldn't be about father Tom, I'm sure he never did anything like what I saw, it's all in my own warped, twisted, sinful, lustful mind. Don't you see? It must be me. I'm the sinner. Not Father Tom" Jim fairly cried out in pain.

"I don't know Jim, I'm not so sure I see it that way." Replied Pete.

"How can I convince you? I'm a sham. I am not worthy of the priesthood. I haven't helped anyone. I've only destroyed myself. Sure, you make it sound good, but you haven't heard everything yet. If this won't convince you then listen to this next drama." Pleaded Jim. Pete nodded accent.

Jim strode off a few feet into the Pinion scrubs and spun to look at Pete.

"This vision is even more bizarre.

The next time I was with Curtis for a prayer session happened a few days later. He hadn't asked me about any of my experiences and I was too ashamed to bring it up. I was hoping that it was just an aberration. I hoped I could get back into my normal conversations with God. But it was not to be so.

This time we sat alone in the chapel. It’s a lovely place and I used to enjoy sitting in quite solitude thinking and meditating there. But now its difficult for me to even sit in there for our communion prayers.

This day we sat alone quietly. Curtis took me through the preliminary breathing exercises and what I'll call a ritual"

"What ritual?" Pete asked.

"I'll tell you more later perhaps, let's just say that there were some incantations and some ritual movements that together with my breathing exercises were supposed to put me into a special meditative state.

I was nervous that I would have another strange experience. Perhaps the thought of it is what brought it to the surface. I finished the movement and heard Curtis say, 'Okay, you can open your eyes.'

With that I opened my eyes to see the chapel melting away. It was as if it was made of wax. The top of the chapel peeled away exposing the blue sky. As it melted, buildings arose behind the chapel and I found myself on a busy city street.

My first thought was 'Here we go again.' Indeed, I was a woman again. This time a very young, thin, and attractive women on a busy modern street. It was easy to see what I looked like, I simply turned to the glass windows of the shops I was walking past and could see my entire reflection.

What looked back at me was a parody of a streetwalker. I was dressed in a red leather miniskirt, black fishnet stockings, and a low cut, see-through, white blouse. The neckline of the blouse exposed a colorful brasserie that was decorated with rhinestones, as if it was intended to show through my skimpy blouse. I had on a fur coat with a leopard design, tall high heels, and a small purse flung carelessly around my shoulders. My hair was long, dirty blond and teased up so that I had a cascade of tresses flowing in the spring breeze.

My face was heavily made up. Deep, dark red lipstick outlined large sensuous lips. A darker liner around the lips enhanced the size and color of them and set the tone of a loose woman. I had on dark mascara and false eyelashes. They enhanced my high cheekbones and my thin arching eyebrows.

All in all, this look achieved exactly what I wanted to portray. Or rather what this woman, who I was wanted. Oh, I don't know, I get all confused. I guess it was what I wanted too. A slutty streetwalker looking for a John.

It was daylight out. That seemed strange to me. I would have guessed that people like me only walked the streets at night. I was in the red light district of this city. Every other business was a sex shop or a 'lounge.' Each one advertised things like 'The Best Women in Town", 'Topless Beauties', or 'Gentleman's Club.' Loud heavy metal music was blaring out of one of the bars across the street.

I must admit that this felt pretty good. I was enjoying the look and feel of being a streetwalker. I mean, I didn't have to actually do anything did I? I could just walk and enjoy the vast difference between this world and my own secluded life in the mountains of New Mexico.

But I was wrong. I couldn't control myself. In minutes I was swinging my hips and eyeing the businessmen walking down the street, asking them if they wanted a 'date.'

Yes, I had the stuff and I wanted to strut it. I knew exactly what I was and I proceeded to hawk my wares. The me inside of me, I mean Jim, the person who was experiencing this, could not seem to stop her. I mean really, I didn't want to. I wanted to experience life as real and immediate. I wanted to be able to react impulsively without thinking. I wanted to follow my appetite for sexual enjoyment. I didn't want to contemplate and think abstractly about life as I normally did. It was a part of my personality I never felt before. It must have been deeply hidden. I had never experienced lust like that. It was as if Doctor Jekyll had created Miss Hyde.

I heard a horn honk and turned to see a car pulling up. I leaned over to the open passenger side window and gasped. Here was a man I knew. 'It's happening again.' I thought to myself. This time it was Brother Bruce. Here again I was having an experience with one of our guests in the monastery. Brother Bruce had been with us for two or three months. I knew him better than Father Tom. He was a delightfully down to earth guy, always telling jokes and making us all laugh. In fact, he had been one of the few people I'd met at the San Paulo that did not fit the mold of the quiet, introspective, meditative monk.

He caught me so by surprise that I almost exclaimed, 'Bruce!' I caught myself just in time and turned it into 'Buddy! Do you want a date?'

Now why did I do that? Why was I acting like this streetwalker with Bruce who I knew? It could only get me in trouble. I should have turned away. I didn't want any intimacy with someone I knew. But I couldn't. The situation was just too inviting. I was pretending to be someone else and I had the chance to see a different side of a man I knew. I should have run away in shame, but instead my curiosity lead me forward.

'Hey girl, he replied in his familiar way. Get in the car, I'd like to get to know you better.' He slipped over and unlatched the door.

I jumped into the front seat but left my feet on the ground and the door open. What have you got in mind?' I asked.

'I have a proposition for you. I'd like to treat you to more than what you normally get from a man. I'd like to spend a few hours getting to know each other. We could go to my place and I'd treat you like a special lady.

I knew that a real streetwalker would be wary of such an offer, but I knew Bruce. Besides, this wasn't real was it? I accepted.

As we drove I suddenly knew that we were in Memphis. I knew this to be the city Bruce came from. I hadn't known it before but somehow I now knew it to be true.

It was easy to slip into this reality and almost forget that a few minutes before I had been in New Mexico. But there was one thing that reminded me that this was a different reality. Otherwise there would have been no clues.

I glanced at the radio in the car. It was a new digital radio with the station numbers lit up in blue. Only this radio didn't have regular numbers or letters. I saw the same strange symbols again. The 'V' with a curly-Q, the horizontal line with a 'S' shape below, and again the symbol for a woman. I had no idea what they meant, but they did provide a little continuity. They told me that I was having the same kind of experience as before.

In only a few minutes we were pulling into a driveway next to a large brick church.

'Do you live here?' I asked. 'Next to a church?'

'I'm a priest here at St. Rocco's. This is my house, the church rectory.' He stated flatly, as if it shouldn't matter that a priest was inviting a woman like me into his house.

Inside, the house seemed very much like a rectory. It was a mixture of personal and professional space. Here was a living room of this man's house but it was also seemed to be an office and a library. Books, a table, a couch, a fax machine, a coffee maker, religious statues, and clothes all strewn about. It suggested that his life's roles were comfortably intermingled. I felt comfortable in his home.

He led me through the living room and the kitchen and into a back room. This was a sparser room furnished with only a couch and a table. Across one wall was an enormous closet with mirror doors. I could see my short reflection next to this large and friendly priest. He stood over six feet and I supposed that my body was no more than five feet three inches, and that included the high heels I wore. He was well over 200 pounds and I was a petite 120 or so. He was thick, muscular and strong and V-shaped. I was thin, busty and my tight clothes showed my hourglass figure in the mirror. I liked the contrast between his body and mine.

Earlier, we had talked casually in the car and as we passed through the house. I had momentarily forgotten myself. It was just as if we were talking back at the monastery. But now I was aware of a different sort of feeling between us. I was physically attracted to him as a woman is to a man. Not just as any woman but the woman of the street that I was. I wanted to please him, sexually, I mean. The feelings of lust that I had learned from my previous experiences surged upward through my groin and chest. I was ashamed of myself. I was certain that Bruce had no such intent. I knew him to be a kind and honorable priest. How could I think such a thing?

'Can I take your coat?' He offered. 'Sit down, get comfortable, let me open the doors here and we can get started.'

With that he opened the mirrored doors to expose a strange array of equipment I'd never seen before. There was a leather vest, chains, a paddle, a wooden contraption, leather handcuffs, wooden stocks, and whips attached to the walls.

I stood gasping at this view. I had no idea what this was all about. I felt him walk behind me but stayed focussed on the array of equipment before me. Before I could understand what was a happening he had my arms pinned behind me. I felt him slip something around my wrists and in a moment he had me handcuffed. The cuffs were made of leather with silver studs. They didn't have a key but were fastened with belts. It didn't matter. They held me so firm it might as well have been a lock.

'What are you doing?' I called out.

'Treating you like the lady you are.' He replied. It was still a very friendly tone.

Next he slipped a collar around my neck. It had a chain fastened to the wall.

'Now, lets see what we have under our little red miniskirt.' He reached for my dress.

I struggled and kicked.

'Oh I like 'em feisty. He tugged on the chain and I felt a tightening around my neck. 'Keep it up.' I gagged and then gasped for air, twisting to try to loosen the noose at my neck.

The skirt slipped down my legs and I was standing with just a garter belt, the small fur of my pubic area exposed to his stare. 'You're not naturally blond are you?'

I crouched trying to maintain a sense of dignity and hide the private area he had exposed.

'Step into this.' He was holding up a leather outfit. I had never seen any garment like this before. I looked like a pair of leotards with an open crotch. There were openings where my breasts would poke out and two silver rings near the shoulders.

He slid the garment up my legs and then stopped long enough to rip open my blouse. 'This bra will have to go.' He quickly undid it. 'And the blouse, well I'm going to have to rip it off, we can't undo the cuffs at this point can we?'

'Please.' I pleaded. But he continued.

'Oh, don't worry, I'm paying you enough, you'll be able to afford a replacement.

He pulled the blouse off of my shoulders, then downward, covering my arms. In moment I heard a tearing sound and the remains of the blouse slipped to the floor. I was naked from the waist up now, my large round ripe breasts bouncing in front of him.

I was doubly excited now. I could feel this sensation from within but I could also view it as a voyeur by glancing in the large mirrors. I loved the way I looked. The feelings of helplessness excited me. His large frame next to my small, immobilized body excited me in a way I've never felt before. I wanted him to have his way with me. I actually wanted him to restrain me! I was excited from his touch, but just as much I was excited by the image of me in the mirror. Here was a petite blond, her hands fastened behind her, struggling with a leather collar around her neck. I couldn't tell if the gasps from my lungs were from the lack of my oxygen or my own excitement.

He finished fastening this leather garment on me. It was put together in such a way that he was able to slide it up my torso and fasten it over my shoulders without uncuffing my arms. The term 'thoughtfully built' crossed my mind.

I could see the reflection of a beautiful, shapely woman with her hands pulled back. My nipples were large and erect and obviously engorged by the excitement. My blond hair fell all over my head, strands of the blond tresses caressed my tits, fell on my shoulders and drifted toward my back.

He was undressing now. He stripped off his casual slacks and shirt quickly and stood naked before me. I tried not to look at his penis but could not avert my eyes. He was only semi-erect yet it was enormous. I wanted to touch it. It was as if the restraints that prevented me from touching it actually helped to fan the flame of my desire. I wanted to please him. Perhaps he would let me caress it, if only I was good and co-operated.

I dropped to my knees and crawled toward his feet, my tongue hanging out.

He grabbed a coil of plain rope. It looked no more complicated than a clothesline. He expertly wound it around my torso and arms, looping small tight coils around my large breasts so that they too were as immobilized as my arms. Then he took two clothespins and clipped one to each nipple.

The pain it caused shot through my breast to my spine and sent off electric sparks inside of my head. I cried out. And yet, there was something odd about the pain. It was mixed with pleasure. No it was pleasure. Pleasure from pain, I had never experienced such a thing before. I wanted it to go on an on. It was sexual pleasure and satisfaction that had no shame. I urged him to continue. He gave a little flick with his fingers to each clothespin before moving on. Waves of pain or pleasure swept over my body.

He pulled me roughly to my feet. He was powerful enough to nearly lift me off the floor with one hand. With the other he reached over for a set of wooden stocks. They were very wide, about three feet. He pressed my ankles against the green felt lining the inside of the wide stocks. He fastened them around my ankles and then locked them in place with a small metal hasp. I could barely keep my balance.

'We'll fix that.' He seemed to be enjoying this as much as I was. In a moment two chrome chains appeared from somewhere overhead. He clipped the hooks at the end to the sliver rings at my shoulders. He turned to a winch I had not noticed before and twisted the crank a few times. I was pulled upward, the toes of my open-toed spiked pumps barely touching the floor. I was completely helpless.

He reached for a paddle. 'No' I thought. Then 'Yes, Oh! Yes. Yes. Yes!' He slapped my rear so hard that the force raised my feet off the floor. I swung away from him in an arc set by the length of the chains fastened to my shoulder straps. The stinging sensation drove the pleasure centers in my brain wild. I felt a rush of heat at my smooth curving buttocks. I loved the pain! Incredible but true. It felt wonderful! I cried out in glee.

I was delighted by my immobilization. I was completely in his control. I could not move. My hands, my arms, my legs, even my tits were tied. Still he was not done. He placed a bar at my knees, forcing them to bend so that I was lifting completely off the floor. Then he knotted more rope and knots as he fastened the bar to my legs.

I was floating about two feet off the ground. My feet were spread by the stocks and my knees were bent backward so that my vulva was exposed to him. He placed his warm hand between my legs.

'Do you like this so far?'

I just nodded. The pleasure from the clothespins kept me from focussing directly on his words. He rubbed again and I moaned with pleasure.

He walked over to the shelf in the closet and pulled a leather mask over his head. There were two holes for the eyes and a round gaping circle for a mouth. It made him more mysterious and more desirable to me. I was panting now. 'Please, I want you! I want to please you. Let me kiss you, let me fondle you with my tongue. Let me swallow you.' I cried out.

'All in good time my dear. First I have a little something for you. He held up a rubber device shaped like a large thumb. With a twist he spun me 180 degrees. My butt was facing toward him. In the mirror I could see everything. He squirted a clear jelly on the device then rubbed his fingers and pressed my checks apart. He shoved this. . .this."

"Butt Plug." Pete supplied dryly.

"Yes, that's a good term, a plug for my butt.

At first I felt like I had to go to the bathroom really bad. It was huge. I didn't think he would get it in without me going to the bathroom all over him. But it went in. He wiggled the device and I squealed with delight.

Now he connected another chain to a ring in the stocks between my feet. He had a system of winches that could place me in any position he cared for. He stretched out on the wooden bench with me suspended inches above him. I squirmed to try to press my pelvis forward to try to let it rest on his thick pulsating member. I could come close. Oh, so close. But he remained always an inch or two away. 'Pleeease.' I begged.

Then from somewhere deep in the house a doorbell rang. 'Oh, ooh.' He said. 'I better answer the door. I'm very sorry, but I better take some precautions.'

He took out a small leather ball fastened to an elastic band. He placed this in my mouth and quickly looped the band behind my head. I could not move before and now I could not speak or even make a noise. Even this heightened my desires.

He quickly took off the mask, smoothed his hair and slipped into a black cassock. 'Just a minute.' He called in the most normal pleasing tone as the bell rang again.

I hung there for fifteen minutes. I couldn't move or make a sound. I could swing only a few inches before the chain around my neck caught me and started to close my windpipe. I remained motionless. Each minute my passions grew. I wanted this man and lusted for carnal satisfaction. The more restrained I was externally the more unrestrained I became inside. I cared not for anything save having animal sex with this man.

Two elderly ladies had called on him to discuss a church fundraiser. I could hear part of their conversation while they were in the front room and almost all of it after he invited them into the kitchen while he brewed tea for them. He was so calm and unhurried. He even had the audacity to leave the door to this room ajar. He was so brazen. Oooh. I just wanted more of him. I stayed motionless except for my sphincter muscle, which clamped alternately around the huge device squeezed into my rectum. My desire for him grew; my female fluids flowed around the mound of flesh that outlined my vulva. The pleasure or pain in my tits continued to heighten my overall arousal.

When they were gone he wandered back into the room and dropped his cassock to the floor. He had worn nothing under his garment while he met with those two old ladies. He acted as if nothing had happened.

'Where were we? Oh yes.' He flicked the pins at my chest, wiggled the plug in my butt and slipped the chain on my neck a bit, tightening it enough that I was again having difficulty breathing. He pinched my nostrils. I tried to take in air through my mouth but could not. I retched in agony as my lungs cried out for air. Yet, the burning in my lungs was matched by a burning in my groin. I couldn't tell which one was pain and which was pleasure. It all seemed so good. My eyes closed. I saw first red, then black. I struggled for air against my secure bonds. My chest heaved with the effort to suck in air. I sought the air that was pinched off by the leather ball in my mouth and Bruce's fingers on my nose. My arms twisted against the handcuffs. My knees bent against the ropes. Just as I was about to lose consciousness he let go, and I could breath again. It was an amazing experience. I could not believe that a brush with suffocation could be so exciting, so pleasurable, so intoxicating!

He returned to the bench. His now erect organ was so near my entrance that I was crying with frustration. Strands of my long blonde hair fell into his face. My mouth was quivering with excitement. My teeth dug into my gag, leaving a leathery taste in my mouth. I was nearly crying with the pent up sexual frustration. Slowly he looped the band over my head and I spit out the leather ball. "Pleeeese, I want you sooo bad.' I cried. I gasped. I still had not recovered from his attempt at suffocation.

He pushed me away so that my face swung toward his penis. I let my tongue out and barely grazed it. He was driving me wild with frustration. He spun me around so that I was facing his feet and now I could take his pulsating organ into my mouth. After only a few strokes he swung me around again.

At last he entered me. His arms against my shoulders controlled the sway of my leather and steel swing. He moved in a way that allowed me to slide up and down his shaft. In a minute he let go of my arms, but I could still throw my weight slightly to control the swaying. Up and down he slid. At the peak of each arch I thrust my pelvis downward, pressing it as far as I could in order to drive his rod deep into my love cavity. Each time driving toward the goal of satisfaction of my uncontrolled urges, a goal that was slowly pressing forward from a distant horizon.

Again my center of focus narrowed. My center of consciousness was riding along on top of his tool, deep within my own female organ. I was aware of nothing else. Pleasure swamped all of the thinking centers of my brain. Waves from a sensual ocean crested and broke into the rough surf of the deepest fissures of my sensual centers. He pulled at my neck chain, closing my windpipe. I didn't care. I didn't feel it. Only his penis deep inside. I was surrounding his penis, I could see the tip sliding forward toward me then slipping backward in its machine-like movement. I could actually see the drop of pre-ejaculation fluid at the very tip of his glans.

My lungs cried out again for air. I heaved involuntarily and kicked and squirmed as he choked me to near unconsciousness. A buzzing in my head grew louder and then I actually saw his semen spurting toward me. As it hit me I climaxed, an orgasm so deep and fulfilling, yet impossible to express vocally because of the constriction around my throat. I could not move, I could not cry out, I could not breathe. The entire physical explosion was turned inward, inside of myself. This inward force seemed to drive me toward an implosion of sexuality. I cannot describe better than that. It was as if I had been turned inside out and every nerve ending in my body was devoted to achieving one end: to add its impulse into this breaking wave of sensuality.

Time seemed to have stopped. I could not say exactly how long I remained in this state. A minute. Probably, although it seemed much longer. I went completely limp and then passed out from lack of oxygen. I came to moments later but remained close to unconsciousness. I was only semi-aware of my surroundings. At this moment I had an epiphany. It was something like what I knew about Father Tom. Only this time it was about Bruce.

It was a message, but not in words. It was an emotional message. I had tapped into Bruce's inner self. I was sharing his innermost feelings as if they were my own. I felt exactly what he felt. It came in the form of a great sense of frustration. Now it made sense why he played these games. This wasn't about sex. It was about being trapped. Bound to a sense of alienation, isolation, and boredom. It wasn't me that had my air supply cut off. It was Bruce who could no longer breathe in his stifling role as a parish priest.

It was him that was cut-off from everything important. He was acting out his own frustrations on me. He was the one bound up and restrained. He was bored by the work of being a priest in downtown Memphis. He needed companionship, freedom, and a chance at creativity. I sensed that he had important ideas, great plans, an enormous capacity for love and creativity that were lost in the depths of his depression. I wasn't the one bound, gagged, and restrained. He was. I wanted to reach out and comfort him.

I slipped into unconsciousness and awoke in the chapel where I had been with Curtis. He was nowhere to be found. The sun was just setting. I could hear the others outside the door gathering for our vespers. My watched showed I had been away nearly four hours.

I heard the door open and the first person to walk in was none other that Brother Bruce. 'How ya doin Jim?' He greeted me warmly. I didn't want to look at him. I just hung my head in shame."

 

 

Chapter V

"So what so we have here this time? Pete pondered. "How did you feel about this event?"

"I guess I liked it a lot. In a way I was contributing to his mental health maybe?" Jim was tepid in his response. He wasn't sure about this new viewpoint that Pete had allowed him to consider.

"Tell me about what you felt at the very end, about Brother Bruce."

Jim began. "I knew that he needed help. He was middle aged and must have been assigned to this same church for many boring years. By the look of it, meeting with old ladies to discuss the church bazaar must have been the high point of his day. That is, if you didn't count the distraction I afforded him. I sensed that he thought he could be much more than was."

"How does this feeling square with what you know about Bruce from the monastery?" Inquired Pete.

"Well, not too well. Bruce often referred to his 'vacation' at the monastery. He was humorous, at ease, and generally comfortable in these quiet surroundings. As I said, he brightened up the day for me, at least he did before the incident I just related. After that, I kept away from him. I was too embarrassed to look at him."

"Why? For what you did or for what he did?"

"I don't know. I guess I thought he might look at me and somehow know I had seen into his heart." Jim replied.

"So you knew that your instincts were true. You knew that he was putting up a front and that you alone had seen into the heart of this bored and isolated man didn't you?" Pete was quite pointed and direct.

"No, I had no evidence that he really felt that way, it was just my twisted thinking. I couldn't trust a feeling that came from such a perversion could I? I must have made up the entire thing. Bruce wasn't like that at all." Jim was defensive.

"And you refused to trust your own inner knowledge." Pete stated it with such disappointment that Jim felt bad. Pete continued. "Come on Jim, there must have been some physical evidence supporting your theory, think!"

Jim paused for a moment, the waning moon was setting just over the distant western mountains behind him. It was low on the horizon, perhaps two diameters above the crest of the silhouetted mountains. He paused for a moment, his attention captured by a small steady white and red light heading directly for the orb. He recognized it as airliner, probably climbing out of El Paso headed for Phoenix or the West Coast. The muted roar of the distant jet engines confirmed his guess. From his point of view it looked as if the airliner was actually turning and climbing above the ancient fertility symbol. This product of modern civilization seemed to easily hurdle the lifeless sphere hanging in the sky.

He and Pete had been at this for many hours now. He was tired, hungry, and emotionally exhausted. Still he resolved to go on. He felt like he was getting somewhere. Whoever Pete was, however Curtis had arranged it, he felt as if he had gotten a lot off his chest. There was still much more, but perhaps he could leave the priesthood with these terrible impure thoughts at least spoken to some other soul. Perhaps confessing them would ease his burden, allow him to forget the perversions. Perhaps then these disturbing thoughts would leave him alone.

Jim focussed on the question again and recalled something.

"Now wait. There was something that makes sense now. I didn't think about it at the time.

A couple of days after this incident I was on house cleanup. We rotated the assignment to clean the cells and change the linen and towels. It was my turn on this day. I was in Brother Bruce's cell and I pulled the linen from the bed. A magazine fell out from under the mattress. I just glanced at the cover. It had a picture of a woman bound in rope. Funny, I recognized it at the time but put it out of my mind until just now. It was one of those pornographic magazines that people buy at adult bookstores. Yes. I guess I wasn't able to believe it was true, so I must have suppressed it. Until now. Bruce must have been interested in that sort of thing. But how did I know that? This didn't happen until after my meditation, after Curtis guided me in prayer and I ended up on the streets of Memphis. How Pete?"

He didn't answer but instead bore in on Jim. "This sounds like a dangerous game he was playing. Suppose he had picked up a woman who was not in as good physical shape as you? Suppose this game became deadly? Don't you think you were there for a purpose? Maybe you were called to this man's side so that no harm came to anyone else. Can you see that?"

"But you're acting as if this was real." Jim Protested.

"You're the one who told me it was real." Pete reminded him.

"You say that I helped these men, but this happened after they came to San Paulo. Father Tom and Bruce had already arrived at San Paulo before I had these experiences. So that explanation cannot be true!" Jim's tone was that of a prosecutor who had just discovered a hole in the defense attorney's theory.

"Do you know who Richard Feynman is?" Pete responded. He continued even without an answer from Jim. "He received a Nobel Prize for his work in electrochromodynamics in the late 1960's."

"Pardon me Pete, But what the hell, I mean heck, has that got to do with what we are talking about?" Jim threw his hands up in the air.

"He invented a way for physicists to analyze interactions with subatomic particles. He called it a Feynman diagram." Pete responded calmly. "Now the interesting thing about these diagrams is that they can be interpreted in two different ways, either as a complex mediation between two particles, or a much simpler interpretation that requires a single particle to travel backwards in time."