I wait until all other parishioners have left the sanctuary. I watch as he snuffs out all the candles, the smoke from each rises up into the air to disappear forever. I close my eyes and breath in the scent of this place, the Holy of Holies, the House of god. I wonder how many women have come here, pregnant, searching for an answer only to be told that abortion is against god. How many people have laid out their troubles to some Priest that sits behind a confessional screen only to have him talk back in a bored tone, giving instruction to say a few Hail Mary’s and then they would be absolved. What a total and complete load of bullshit this all is. There is no absolution, there is no forgiveness, but what there is, is a book written 3500 years ago about an invisible force that created all life, and gave rules, and started wars, and got a young girl pregnant then didn’t pay support, but worst of all? Forbid the masses from eating pork! Fuck that shit, I’m eating a Triple Decker Bacon sandwich right now. I bet jesus is up there in the stratosphere majorly craving some perfectly cooked pig parts at this very moment. I get up and smear the pew with the pig oil from my finger tips, and I save just enough so that I can also smear some on my lips, then I climb up onto the Alter and kiss jesus with my bacon lips. There you go jesus, enjoy.
This is when the Father turns to look at me. He says tersely, “Can I help you?” I climb down, licking my fingers. I say, “Yes Father you can. I need counsel, can you hear my confession?” He checks his watch, and puts his hand on the back of my shoulder; I try not to puke from being touched by this asshole; and leads me to the confessional booth. I sit down and open my messenger bag; I wave at Ruby Girl; I take out the crucifix, and start to suck on it. The Father takes a seat, and asks me, “How long has it been since your last confessional?” I say back, “Twenty years. I have never confessed to anything before.” He goes on to ask me to tell him my sins so that I can atone for them. I start. He hesitates. I push the Jesus On A Stick that I brought with me into my cunt. I tell him more. He fidgets with his collar. I start to moan. He tries to peer through the screen. I start to say the Lord’s Prayer in Latin; and no I do not speak Latin, I just found it online and took it with me and tried my best to enunciate it correctly. He gets up and swings open the confessional door, he sees me with Jesus buried Holy Beard deep, and he yells at me. I laugh, and continue riding the son of God until I cum. I stand up, allowing the Jesus On A Stick to slip out of me. I pick up my messenger bag, push my way past the wide eyed Priest and make my way out the door. I like to think that after that, he picked up the violated jesus and licked it off.
I might go back to that church some day, might even take jesus a whole ham this time, because I’m generous like that.
Raven
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