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“Yer trespassin’ boy.”
That voice, sharp, succinct, like the predatory click of her daddy’s shotgun, signaled the start of our game. I may have been the prey, but she was the prize. So I raise my hands in defeat, I play along, and quietly walk down the empty church aisle in the dark. She pressed the barrel of the gun on the small of my back and I could already feel myself grow hard. We couldn’t go to her house on account of her 5 siblings and pastoral parents, and my house was no less forgiving (crazy grandma Keeny’s reign of terror was at its peak). So when we wanted to sin, the local church seemed like the safest option. This only served to heighten the illicit nature of our rendezvous.
“No I aint.” I said to her, a shit eating grin apparent in my tone of voice. “This here is the house of God, not yours.”
She walked me up to the pulpit and made me kneel, pushing me to the floor with the heel of her boots. I looked up at the preacher’s daughter as she stood over me, powerful, and committed the image to memory. The way her skin glowed under the silver moonlight pouring in through the church windows, shadows accentuating every curve, and her daddy’s shotgun glittering menacingly. Years later she remains the only woman who could bring the great Scarecrow to his knees, quivering.
“I am God.” she said, and she was right.
Suddenly, I feel a pressure between my legs. I look down and see she is pushing her boot onto my tented blue jeans. I gasp, and she swats my outstretched hand with the butt of the shotgun.
“Now, I want you to put your hands together and pray.” she says.
“Why?” I reply, voice raspy.
“Because you’re a sinner.” her voice was curt.
My vision, now clouded with lust, begins to see dull halos of moonlight around my lover’s stern gaze. I put my hands together and begin to do as I’m told, closing my eyes and mumbling a Hail Mary as quickly as I can. She pushes the barrel of the gun to my forehead and her foot to my sex.
“Again.” her dissatisfaction was made clear.
“Hail Mary fullofgra-'' I ramble off, beads of sweat blossoming on my brow in the thick Georgia heat. She flips the rifle and hits me again. My head begins to spin, and I slowly turn my gaze back up to her, hazy and dream-like.
“Say it right, boy.” she returns the cool metal of the gun barrel to my feverish skin, and I give out a small sigh.
“Hail, Mary, full of grace…” I pause and make sure to lock eyes with her. “The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death, Amen.”
She pulls the gun away from my forehead, casting it aside, and removes the pressure from between my legs. She then kneels down before me, cupping my face into her gentle grasp. We share a chaste kiss and she lovingly whispers to me.
“Good boy,” she says.
Her hands reach down and begin to remove my belt buckle. I help her speed the process along, gasping breathily as I free my member from its confines. She puts her hands on my chest, and I can feel her clammy palms through the thin fabric of my white tank top. She was just as nervous and aroused as I. For a moment, our personas dissipate into the surrounding humidity, and we both moan in unison as she lowers her body onto my lap. Her insides felt just like a ripe Georgia peach at the height of summer,
slick,
moist,
sweet.
“Now,” her voice was little more than a gasp. “Say it again.”
I extended my legs beneath me, putting one hand on the floor to lean on, and the other slipping in under her nightdress to feel her bare skin. She held still, defiant, and I could tell she wouldn’t move till I said my part. I took that moment to kiss her neck and lick her ear. She shivered, and I took in one last deep breath. Her skin smelled of old fashioned bar soap and a cheap vanilla body spray that she used to try to hide the scent of Marlboro reds. With each word I uttered she hastened her pace, rolling her hips against mine until she reached a full gallop.
“ Hail, Mary, full of grace,
the Lord is with thee.
Blessed art thou amongst women
and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.
Holy Mary, Mother of God,
pray for us sinners,
now and at the hour of our death…”
Like a man possessed, my back arches up, eyes rolling, and I see the light.
“Amen.”