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Message-ID: <63753asstr$1464880202@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Anna Howell <amhowell91@gmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Ablution, Part I (FF, rom, oral, cons, priest)
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Date: Thu, 02 Jun 2016 11:10:02 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d



"Morning, Mother Leah," my favorite acolyte said cheerfully as I
entered the vesting-room. Typical Julie I had just arrived at
church, and she was already vested and ready. 

We offer two Sunday services at the Episcopal Church of St. Mary
Magdalene, both of which are Rite I, meaning that we use the
Elizabethan language in our liturgy. (I guess you could say we're
more than a little Anglo-Catholic; some other churches
affectionately refer to us as "Smoky Mary's".) The 7:45 service
is a fully chanted Eucharist with incense, and the 9:00 am
service is a spoken Eucharist without incense. Because my rector
is profoundly tone-deaf, I am always the celebrant at the early
service. Father Michael and I alternate weeks celebrating at the
second service whoever is not preaching that Sunday celebrates
the Mass at the 9:00 service. 

Not only does Julie serve in many capacities on Sunday mornings
she's an acolyte first and foremost, but she's also a trained lay
Eucharistic minister, lector, intercessor, usher, cantor, and a
member of the altar guild but she is incredibly involved in the
life of the church outside the Sunday service. She helps lead
youth confirmation classes in the spring, and she was recently
inducted into the Order of the Daughters of the King as our
chapter's youngest-ever member. She's also the person who trains
acolytes, Eucharistic ministers, ushers, lectors, and
intercessors, and schedules people to serve in each of these
capacities every week. Oh, and on top of all of that, she's also
a full-time college student.

(If you don't speak Episcopalian-ese, allow me to translate:
she's a liturgical superhero, and she makes the lives of her
priests so much easier by her willingness to serve cheerfully in
whatever capacity she is needed.)

Above all else, her immense reverence and love for the liturgy,
and for the God she serves, calls us all clergy and laity alike
into a deeper sense of awe and wonder at God and all His works. 

I have a sneaking suspicion that Julie may be called to the
priesthood herself. Although she's made no indication, at least
to my knowledge, that she's aware of her possible priestly
vocation, Father Michael and I are in agreement that she likely
is called. 

 "Hi, Julie," I replied. 

After some brief pleasantries, she excused herself and slipped
into the hospitality room to snag me a cup of coffee. Three
creams, two sugars, just the way I take it.

"Did I ever tell you that you're my favorite?" I teased, taking
the Styrofoam cup from her and proceeding to guzzle its contents
rather ungracefully. "Praise be to God," I said, and she
chuckled. The coffee was lukewarm in temperature and weakly
brewed an occupational hazard with church coffee but it was
certainly better than nothing. 

"Would you go into the sanctuary and light the altar candles,
please, Julie?" 

"Yes, Mother Leah," she said, bowing her head respectfully to me
before grabbing the long brass taper and scurrying off to the
sacristy to look for a lighter.  

As the coffee made its way to my brain, it occurred to me that
today was the fifth Sunday of Easter still part of the Easter
season. I called after her, "You need to light the Paschal
candle, too, please!"

"I know." (Of course she knew.)

When she returned, having lit all the candles, and bearing a
second cup of coffee for me, she straightened out my stole and
clipped on my body mic before helping me get my chasuble on.

"You look really beautiful," she said, when I was fully vested,
which made me blush and look away. She reached out to touch my
arm, her delicate hand resting on the lacy sleeve of my alb. "I
mean it. You do." 

It's hard for me especially since my thirty-two-year marriage
ended in divorce, which happened a year before I began serving at
St. Mary's to see my body as anything other than a vessel or a
container for the rest of me. I've gained a lot of weight since
my marriage started to fall apart, and rarely wear makeup beyond
a bit of concealer and some chapstick. I don't feel connected to
my body. It's just the shell where I live. I used to get
manicures and expensive haircuts and put a lot of thought into
what I wore, but that just isn't me anymore. I'm not repulsed by
my body, necessarily; I'm just incredibly apathetic about it. 

I look quite unmistakably German very fine blonde hair, ice-blue
eyes, and fair skin. Not to mention, I have a rather prominent
nose, about which I'm somewhat self-conscious. There's not much
else remarkable about me. 

Julie, on the other hand, is drop-dead gorgeous. She's about my
height around 5'8" and very slim, maybe 140 pounds soaking wet.
She has deep caramel skin, curly mocha-brown hair, and very large
hazel eyes laced with flecks of amber. She knows how to play up
her best features with just the right amount of makeup, and her
elbow-length ringlets are always flawless. She isn't vain by any
stretch of the imagination, but she's always well-dressed and
well-put-together. 

Her parents, she told me, are as white and as blonde as I am, but
she herself was adopted from Brazil as a toddler. I met Julie
when she began her freshman year of college, already a devout
Episcopalian, and immediately began seizing every possible
opportunity to serve. She quickly integrated herself into the
life of the parish by her genuine desire to help out wherever she
was needed. 

And, dear God, she's stunning. She's the type of woman whom
perfect strangers approach to compliment on her beauty. She
modestly brushes it off, of course, but it couldn't be more true.
Although I would never admit this to another living soul, I can't
help but have the tiniest bit of a crush on her, despite the fact
that she's younger than my daughters. To be fair, I think
literally everyone at St. Mary's has at least a little crush on
her. No one is disrespectful or gross toward her, of course, but
her beauty doesn't go unnoticed.

"Thank you," I muttered clumsily. "Are you... are you ready to
go?" She nodded, excited at the prospect of beginning worship.
She grabbed the processional cross and we made our way into the
narthex, getting ready to process into the church.

Two services later, we were once again in the vesting room.
Father Michael, who had joined us for the second service, and six
other acolytes were milling about, hanging up vestments and
chatting about their plans for the rest of the day. Julie
supervised the younger acolytes, making sure they hung their albs
up properly and didn't leave their cinctures dangling down to the
floor. 

"Bye, Father Michael. Bye, Mother Leah." The young acolytes left
one by one. Father Michael had to be on his way too; he had five
children under the age of twelve and a wife who would be rather
unhappy with him if he didn't hurry home. That left only Julie
and me. 

"Did you lose power after the storm last night?" I asked, trying
to make conversation. 

"Only for a few minutes. You?"

"Yeah. A huge tree fell on my street, right on the power line. As
far as I know, the power at my house is still out."

"Oh," she said. "Well, come eat lunch at my apartment, then." 

"Hmm?" 

"Yeah! I'll cook for you, and you can hang out for a bit. You can
take a shower, too, if you want. Maybe your power will have come
back on in time for you to eat dinner at home." 

No part of that invitation was even remotely appropriate for me
to accept. And yet...

"That sounds great. Thank you so much," I blurted out, before my
mouth had time to check in with my brain. "Where are you parked?"
 

What the hell, Leah? I barked at myself. She's a junior in
college and you're her priest, for heaven's sake. Do you want to
be defrocked? Even though nothing unseemly is actually going to
happen, nothing about this looks right, and nothing good will
come of it.

We pulled up to her apartment building in her old Range Rover and
climbed a few flights of stairs. Her apartment was about like I
had imagined a modest but sufficient one-bedroom affair with a
small balcony. 

Her little dog, Lily, greeted me at the door with an enthusiastic
combination of wheezing and yapping. 

"That's right, Lily Bean," she said. "You remember Mother Leah.
She gave you a blessing at the Blessing of the Animals last year
and then you tinkled on her shoe!" I laughed, remembering that
incident. Lily had been just a puppy when that happened. She'd
grown a lot since then and, apparently, learned the art and the
science of greeting someone without losing control of her tiny
pug bladder. 

Julie went all out with the cooking. She made eggs, grits, and
sausage with a small stack of silver-dollar pancakes. And, of
course, every college girl's favorite brunch drink: mimosas. I
wasn't sure whether she was old enough to drink I was pretty sure
she wasn't but I didn't ask any questions. I was looking forward
to digging into this big, beautiful brunch she'd made. She was a
Southern girl at heart, and loved her breakfast food. One of her
favorite days of the year was Shrove Tuesday because of the giant
breakfast-for-dinner pancake supper we had at the church. I had
never met anyone with a greater appreciation for pancakes than
Julie. 

"Julie, dear, I have a sneaking suspicion that if Aunt Jemima was
a man, you'd want to marry her," I ribbed, as she smothered her
pancakes in syrup. 

She looked at me a little funny and said, "Well, her being a
woman isn't the issue for me. Not being real presents somewhat of
a challenge, though."

Oh. Oh. "Wait you're... wait, no, that's none of my business. I'm
so sorry. I'm going to shut up now."
"No, it's okay," she said with a chuckle. "And yes, I'm gay." 

The Episcopal Church doesn't condemn gay people at all in fact,
openly partnered and married gay and lesbian people can become
priests and even bishops and I personally don't have a problem
with it, either. I just didn't happen to know that about Julie. 

I admired the casual confidence with which she said it. For the
latter half of my marriage, and ever since it ended, I had
harbored suspicions that I might be attracted partly or perhaps
even exclusively to women. This was a large part of why Charlie
and I had gotten divorced. I had always told people that it was
because we had fallen out of love with one another, but in my
heart, I wondered whether I had ever been in love with him, or
whether I was even capable of it. I loved Charlie don't get me
wrong; he was a wonderful husband, an amazing friend, and the
best dad my daughters could have ever asked for but although I
had never strayed, I don't know what my heart was ever his. I
think he knew that. I had never had the courage to speak the
words aloud to him, or even to myself but I think he knew. My
secret was something I kept hidden as deep inside as I could bury
it. 

"Thank you for trusting me enough to share that," I said in my
best priest voice. 

"It's no big deal." 	

Our conversation turned to other things her studies, anecdotes
from my own college and seminary days, and everything else under
the sun. It occurred to me that we'd had very few real one-on-one
conversations mostly just passing chatter as we were vesting
together, or group conversations at the college students' group I
led. I was enjoying talking with her. It was incredibly natural.


After she had stacked our empty plates in the sink and poured us
each another mimosa her second and my third she rejoined me in
her bedroom and we resumed our talk. We talked about movies and,
as it turns out, we both have the hobby of watching terrible
rom-coms and making fun of them. You know, the cheesy kisses, the
bad dialogue, the wildly contrived plots... all of it. 

Then our conversation turned to the subject of first kisses. Mine
was with the only other guy I ever dated before Charlie the guy
who had introduced us, actually whose name was Bill. Bill and I
were about nineteen and in college and he kissed me behind the
bleachers during a college football game. Both Julie and I
giggled about how ridiculously dorky that was. The first time I
kissed Charlie was even more ridiculous it happened while we were
drunk and sitting in the bed of his truck at a tailgate party.
Yes, in the flatbed of a Chevrolet pickup truck. Classy, right? 

As for Julie, her first and last-- kiss with a guy was in eighth
grade on a dare. Her first kiss with a girl was in tenth grade.
Grace was her name, and she had taken Julie's virginity later
that year. She was the girl who broke her heart just before
graduation. 

Out of curiosity, I asked about that relationship. Julie told it
was great while it lasted intense, like a flame and the sex was
amazing. Embarrassed to have blurted the sex bit out in front of
her priest, she immediately apologized, and I assured her that it
was just fine, and I had heard a lot worse. (Which is true.
People tend to think the white collar I wear around my neck is
actually a big white screen onto which they can project their
home movies, and those movies aren't always G-rated.) 

"It wasn't even really the sex, though. It was okay, you know
that moment afterwards, where you're just holding each other, and
it feels like the whole universe is just you and them, and
everything stands still?" 

"No...I can't say I know what that's like," I admitted, although
I shouldn't have.

"Oh. I'm sorry, Mother Leah. Everyone should know what that feels
like. Especially you you're so sweet. Like, you're just such a
good person. You might even be the best person I know. And if
anyone deserves to know what it's like to have someone feel that
way about you, it's you." 

I blushed fiercely. "Thank you. That's really sweet." I couldn't
help thinking that if she could hear my thoughts right then, she
would not think I was the best person she knew. 

"What's it like to kiss a woman?" Leah! 

"Soft," she replied with a smile. "Just, amazingly soft. Like
rose petals. And tender. Even when it's not gentle even when
you're being rough on purpose there's still an inherent
tenderness to it. It's really special." 

"Wow," I murmured. 

"Yeah," she said. "Wow is about right." 

I felt myself breathing more quickly. I was dizzy, almost, but
not in a bad way. I felt weightless and light. My head was
swimming. I could physically feel my blood rushing in my veins. 

No. No, no, no, no, no. No. No. 

My eyes closed, my body leaned forward, and before I could
register what was happening, my lips touched hers. 

Oh. 

It was light as a whisper, and yet, it made everything race
inside of me. She put her hand on my chest, over my heart, and
kissed me again, this time much longer and deeper. She was right
about the rose petals. Her lips were incredible. Her nose brushed
against mine as she pulled away. 

"You're so beautiful," she told me. "You have the most beautiful
eyes I've ever seen."

A rose pink flooded my cheeks, and I couldn't look her in the
eye. "Thanks," I mumbled. 

"No, I mean it. You're gorgeous. And your lips are perfect. May I
kiss you again?"

Rather than answering, I leaned in and kissed her, relishing how
soft and plump her lips were, and how skillfully she kissed. All
at once, I somehow managed to feel so vulnerable and yet so safe.


I nudged the crevice between her lips with my tongue. When she
parted them, I used my tongue to softly groom the inside of her
mouth. She was so pliant, so submissive. I wasn't even aware this
dominant part of me existed, but with her, it came alive. I took
her face in my hands and kissed her like my life depended on it.
Her tongue greeted mine, caressing it and swirling around it. It
was heavenly.

The passion and urgency of the moment increased as she pulled
back from my lips to kiss my jawline, starting behind my earlobe
and making her way to my chin. The first time her mouth touched
my neck, I felt a guttural moan from deep in my belly escape from
between my parted lips. Butterfly kisses in the curves of my neck
became deeper and deeper until she was sucking on the incredibly
sensitive skin, dragging her lips and tongue from my jaw down to
my shoulders and back again, sucking harder and harder each time,
leaving little marks in her wake.

Oh my God. 
I had no idea anything could feel like this. I must have sounded
like some kind of animal in heat, and I didn't care at all. I
just let myself moan. She grabbed handfuls of my hair, digging
her nails into my scalp and the back of my neck as she came up
once again to kiss my mouth. Her eyes burned wild with lust. 

I took the opportunity to grab her by the hair and tell her how
much I wanted her. I buried my face in her neck and kissed her
roughly, hoping to leave at least one good hickey for her to
remember this by. I had never actually given or received a hickey
before, but the idea of marking her as mine was extremely
arousing to me. She moaned and squealed noisily while I sucked
her neck.

Her trembling hands roamed my body, exploring me on top of my
shirt my lower back, my sides, my belly and as she inched closer
to my breasts, she asked, "May I?"

"Of course," I said. I took her hands and placed them on my
waiting breasts. 

She let out a guttural, "Oh my God," as she took them in her
hands. "They're amazing." When she began to knead them, and
squeeze them, I couldn't believe how wonderful it felt. I'd been
felt up before, sure, and with some degree of enthusiasm, but
never with such skill. I moaned into her neck. The vibration of
my lips against her skin nearly sent her into orbit. So I
continued, keeping my lips pressed into her neck, alternating
between kisses and moans. Before I knew it, I could feel her
tugging upward at the bottom of my shirt. 

Oh, God.

"Wait," I said between shallow gasps. "My collar.
Collar...has...to...come off... before...the shirt..." 

I reached up to remove my clergy collar, but Julie said, "I want
to do it. Show me how." I helped her find and undo the metal
collar studs on the front and back of my shirt and remove the
collar itself. She placed my collar and the two small metal pins
carefully on the table beside the bed. "There," she said,
grinning. 

She began undoing my shirt buttons, starting from the bottom. The
anticipation was such exquisite torture. My heart nearly leapt
out of my chest and into her cupped hands as she worked her way
up my shirt. When she finally undid my top button and slid my
shirt off of my shoulders, she gasped. "You're so beautiful," she
told me. She placed her hands on my pudgy belly. I almost
recoiled in disgust, but held still, allowing her to touch the
part of me that bothered me most. "You're so soft," she said.
"You've got the nicest, creamiest skin, and your belly is
absolutely gorgeous." 

Gorgeous? 
Me? 
Hardly. 

Still, her nails on my skin felt so good, and when I got over the
initial shock of being touched on my stomach, I rather liked the
way it felt. It was almost as though even the worst part of me
was perfect to her, and that's what I loved about it. Her obvious
if inexplicable desire for me hadn't decreased at all since she
removed my shirt; if anything, she was somehow even more beset
with passion. 

She moved her hands to my back, working her way up toward the
clasp of my bra. Deftly, she unhooked it in a single fell swoop,
allowing my breasts to fall free. 

Her jaw literally dropped at the sight of them. I don't think
they're all that impressive DD-cups aren't really that uncommon
on a woman as heavy as me, and I was of the age at which gravity
had ceased to be my friend but she couldn't take her eyes off of
them. 

Or her hands, for that matter. There are no words to describe how
her hands felt on my bare breasts. Her touch was strong and firm,
but at the same time, soft in a way that a man's hands could
never compare to. She massaged and squeezed my heavy breasts,
caressed them with her palms, and ran her fingernails over them.
I trembled under her touch, overcome with the deep desire for
this to never, ever stop. 

I thought I might faint from the pleasure when her attention
turned to my nipples. A current ran through my veins. "Oh, God,"
I said aloud, so many times in those few minutes that I was
certain the Divine must be screening my calls at this point. 

Is saying "Oh, God," during sex the prayer equivalent of
accidentally pocket-dialing someone? 

("Hello, Father," I imagined His archangel-secretary telling him.
"You have fifty missed calls from a very horny middle-aged priest
who keeps butt-dialing you while being felt up by an acolyte...")


"Holy shit," she gasped. "They're so perfect. I want them in my
mouth." 

Now it was my jaw that fell, nearly hitting my lap. 

In your mouth?

There was nothing I could have possibly desired more in the world
than to let her do just that. Her mouth was so warm and inviting,
and her tongue so agile. I couldn't even imagine how good it
would feel for her to suck on my nipples.

"Lie back," she instructed me, and I acquiesced without a second
thought. Straddling my hips, she bent over me. She placed her
tongue just above my navel and began to flick it against my skin.
It was electrifying. Everywhere she kissed and licked, my body
came alive, my nerve endings rising up to meet her talented
tongue. She traced the curve of my hipbone and each of my ribs,
licking and sucking my skin, plunging me deeper into the throes
of lust.

When her rose-petal lips finally enveloped one of my painfully
erect nipples, I screamed. I grabbed her by her hair and told her
not to stop. She didn't have to be told that twice. She sucked
like she was starving, devouring as much of my breast as she
could get into her mouth at once. My oversized nipples, which I'd
always been a bit self-conscious about because of my tendency to
high-beam, proved to be the perfect size and shape for her
luscious little mouth to latch onto. She switched after a while
to the other breast, leaving one nipple coated in saliva and
exposed to the cold air while she drew the other into her warm,
soft mouth. She placed one of her knees between my legs, and my
hips rocked against it. 

"Ooooh, you're wet," she murmured. "Don't worry; I'll lick it all
up in just a little bit." 

My body shook uncontrollably as she finished sucking my nipples
and sat up again. "God, you look so good," she growled, shimmying
my pencil skirt off of my hips and leaving me in nothing but my
panty hose. 

"Thank you, baby," I said. "But you're a little overdressed." 

"I can fix that." She pulled off her dress. Her bra and panties
matched sort of a sky blue with black lace trim. I never in a
million years thought I'd care about anyone's underwear, but
there was something about seeing her in hers that evoked a very
primal, erotic response in me. I wanted to take them off of her.
Preferably with my teeth. I was even digging the dangling silver
belly ring she wore somehow totally forgetting the weapons-grade
meltdown I'd had not even fifteen years earlier when my eldest
daughter came home with one in eleventh grade. Now I was
imagining tugging Julie's with my teeth. Oh God, where was all of
this coming from? 

"Very nice," I said. "You look amazing." 

"You too." She caressed my thighs with her manicured fingernails,
careful not to run my hose. "Mother Leah? I'd really like to take
these off of you, if that's okay."

"Yes," I growled, resisting the urge to yank the stupid things
off myself. "Please." 

She nodded, her own arousal matching mine. Now that she had my
consent, she wasted no time getting me out of my panty hose and
my white cotton underwear. She stripped them off of me carefully
but purposefully. As they lay on the floor beside the bed, I was
completely naked, covered by nothing but the blonde thicket of
hair between my legs, which was now sopping wet. 

She continued to stroke my thighs, gazing at me as though I were
the most beautiful piece of art she had ever seen. As her hands
went higher and higher on my thighs with each caress, I felt
myself begin to whimper, wordlessly begging her to touch me where
I needed it most. 

"I want you so bad, Mother Leah," she said in a low, sultry
voice. The only response I could muster was a visceral groan.  

She ran her thumb slowly up and down the slit formed by my outer
lips, telling me she had never seen anything so beautiful. I
hardly thought of myself as attractive down there, even before
I'd had three kids. I shuddered to think of how it must look now.
But she assured me that it was perfect perfectly soft, perfectly
pink, perfectly lovely. I have to admit as my self-consciousness
about my body gave way to her onslaught of praise and adoration,
I felt the most beautiful I had ever felt in my life. 

Every nerve in my body stood at attention, totally enraptured by
her tender touch, which became more and more urgent as her thumb
probed deeper into the sopping wet crease. 

"You have the perfect little pink pussy," she told me. I still
wasn't used to hearing her curse, but it was strangely arousing.
"It's so soft. And, fuck, you smell so good. Does that feel good?
You like this? Good. I'm going to rub your clit. Is that okay?" 

"Yes," I responded between jagged breaths.

I could feel my heart pounding in my fingertips and the soles of
my feet. My body was overcome with pleasure, like a series of
increasingly-powerful waves crashing against the shore. Her
fingers cupped my soft, pink inner labia, applying deep pressure,
rubbing me in small, tight circles. "Oh, God," I moaned. 

"Oh my God." 

Without stopping what she was doing, she told me she wanted to
taste me. I shuddered hard, overwhelmed by arousal at that
thought. 

This was it this was the moment I had wondered about in the
darkest, most secret parts of my mind. This is where my thoughts
had wandered time and time again while Charlie had fumbled around
down there with his thick fingers, fiddling with my clitoris like
he was trying to operate a radio dial. As I worked myself up to
yet another Broadway-worthy performance of a fake orgasm, a part
of me that I was ashamed of always wondered what it would be like
to feel a woman's velvet tongue there instead of a man's clumsy
fingers. 

Well, Leah, you're about to find out.

As tongue replaced fingers, I let out a shriek. I was loud,
obnoxiously loud, and I didn't care.  Whatever shame I probably
ought to have felt had been bound, gagged, and locked in a
soundproof basement. 

Her lips and her tongue felt better than I could have possibly
begun to imagine. She slurped up my juices almost as fast as they
could gush out of me. When she came up for air, I could see that
nearly her whole face was sticky and wet, and a small trail was
dripping off her chin. The force with which my hips bucked
against her face would make a mechanical bull jealous. 

Her thumb massaged my sloppy, wet opening while she continued
sucking and lapping at me with her tongue. Slowly so painfully
slowly that I could feel each millimeter individually she slipped
two of her perfect fingers inside of me. My hips strained against
her hand, engulfing her fingers deeper and deeper into me,
meeting each increasingly forceful stroke. The harder my hips
gyrated, the more deeply her face was buried in my aching pussy
if she can call it that, so can I and the more ravenously she
devoured me.

Her pointer finger joined her ring and middle fingers, then her
pinky. The force behind her frantic thrusting continued to
increase. Who knew a girl so petite could be so strong? 

I grabbed her by her hair, which forced her to eat me out even
harder. I ground my pussy into her beautiful face, humping it
like a wild animal. Her tongue matched the enthusiasm of my hips
as she kept up fairly effortlessly. Oh, to be twenty years old
again. 

The room was spinning. Everything was blurry. I could barely
breathe. My body was entirely outside my control, as was my
voice. Loudly, deeply, I grunted over and over, almost certain I
was going to explode from the overwhelming ecstasy my body was
experiencing. 

Is fifty-six old enough to worry about having a heart attack
during sex? 

Oh, fuck. 

But that awful thought was gone as quickly as it had arrived. 

I couldn't think. I could barely breathe. So consumed was I by
pleasure and desire that nothing inside of me functioned except
the muscles that kept my pussy pressed into her face. 

Every muscle in my body contracted violently. With a moan so
deafening that I thought the windows might shatter, I came. My
first real orgasm ripped through me with all the force of a
tornado, wrecking me, filling my abdomen with constellations of
glittering stars and phosphorescence. 

Slowly, lazily, I found my way back down to earth, guided by the
faint sensation of her warm tongue lapping at my opening, licking
me clean. I whimpered and shook, totally helpless, having been
thoroughly ravaged by my talented, beautiful young lover. 

My Juliette, my love. 

She sat up and stretched out her arms, wiping her come-soaked
face on the blanket. 

"Wow," she said. "That was amazing. How do you feel?"

I chuckled wryly, not really sure how to answer. "Whole." 

"Good," she replied, her voice still husky with pent-up lust. 

"Julie, baby? I want to do that for you, too. I'm just worried I
won't be any good at it. I've never done anything like this
before."

 "Start with a couple of little kisses," she suggested. "Go slow.
Don't do anything you're not comfortable with just go with the
flow, and see what feels natural to you."

With what little strength I had recovered at that point, I
hoisted myself up into a sitting position. "Take your bra off and
lie down," I ordered, with all the authority of a priest speaking
to an acolyte. 
She removed her bra and lay back. I could smell her arousal as I
kissed my way down her body. I fondled her heavy breasts, taking
the opportunity to suckle each nipple. It was so primal; it felt
so viscerally right. I could have sucked on her breasts forever
and then some. 

With her permission, I eased her lacy, beautiful panties off of
her. She was completely clean-shaven, which surprised me a bit. I
could see wetness beginning to leak from the crevice that split
her hairless mound in two. I took that as a compliment. 

She slipped two pillows under her ass to make things easier for
me. "Use your thumb and forefinger to pull the outer lips apart,"
she advised me. "And then do whatever feels right. Just go with
your instincts. Whatever you do will feel good, I promise." 

My heart filled with the excitement of a child about to open the
biggest present under the Christmas tree, crossed with the nerves
I felt before preaching my first sermon. 

I started with a small, hesitant kiss. I looked up at her face,
and she was smiling, encouraging me to do it again. So I gave her
another kiss, this time more deeply. She let out a small noise. I
kept going, growing bolder with each kiss, enjoying her response.
Before I even knew it, I was sucking on her soft, pink petals,
pulling them into my mouth and bathing them with my eager tongue.
My ministrations were met with rocking hips and small, rhythmic
moans. 

I'm eating a woman out. 

And she likes it. 

I had crossed this forbidden line, gone where I never thought I'd
have the guts to go, and yet, navigating this brave new world was
as natural as my next breath. I let my tongue duck and dive among
the luscious pink folds, exploring every square millimeter. The
intense warmth and exquisite texture somewhere between satin and
the petals of a magnolia flower made my heart race. 

The taste wasn't at all disagreeable, either. I had been worried
about that, but the reality was a pleasant surprise. It wasn't
fishy or dirty like I had feared it might be it was very light
and slightly sweet with a hint of musk. It was definitely wet,
but not slimy on my tongue. "Silky" is a more accurate
descriptor. It was heavenly, really.  

She likes it. 

And I like it, too.

And I love her.

My clumsy lips and tongue began to find a rhythm, and soon her
body ebbed and flowed in time with me. Her breathing became
increasingly shallow and sharp, punctuated by whimpers. The
sweet, silky liquid flowed freely, a libation of rich, earthy
nectar coating my mouth inside and out. Her bent knees quivered
and her heels dug into my rib cage slightly. One of her hands
cupped the back of my head, her fingers tangled up in my hair.

I paused for a brief moment to catch my breath, and to ask, "May
I put my fingers in?" 

"God, yes," she gasped. "Please. Yes." 

I turned my hand palm-up and began to gently slide my middle and
ring finger inside her. Her body offered no resistance at all,
engulfing my fingers easily. She was ready for me, slick and warm
and aching to be filled. 

"Harder," she said. "Don't worry. I won't break." 

I happily obliged, letting the twisting and thrashing of her hips
guide me. My whole body, mind, and soul were consumed by her the
sound of her hungry moans, her sweet taste, the way her labia
felt in my mouth and against my tongue, the lovely warmth and
softness my fingers found inside her and in the moment, the whole
universe was contained within her, and flowed through her, and
was her. 

I became engrossed in pleasing her in a way I can only compare to
the way it feels to stand behind the altar, caught up in the
great and holy mystery of the Eucharist, calling down the Spirit
of God upon the Host and the Cup. 

"Take. 
Eat. 
This is my body."

Nothing else I have ever experienced even comes close to the way
I felt as my young lover trembled and quaked in response to my
touch. Her writhing hips grew more and more insistent, forcing my
fingers deeper into her, pressing the balls of her bare feet into
the floor on either side of me for leverage. 

"Fuck me," she begged as I slammed my hand in and out of her
body. "Don't stop." 

A shriek two octaves above middle C poured forth from between her
parted lips as her body spasmed violently. I never fancied myself
the type of woman who would be aroused by the sound of a noisy
lover in the throes of ecstasy, let alone one whose ecstasy took
the form of a high-pitched scream. But coming from her, it was
music an aria of passion sung by a goddess to a woefully unworthy
mortal. 

Her body trembled weakly as the great tidal wave within her
crashed aggressively, leaving her breathless. She released a gush
of thick, creamy, sweet liquid. I lapped it up gratefully,
savoring the taste. I continued penetrating her with my fingers,
slow and deep, not wanting this moment to end. 

Another great wave overtook her, and again she screamed, her body
and voice totally outside of her control. After her third and
most powerful orgasm ripped through her body, she was still. I
used my tongue to clean her up slowly. 

 "Mother Leah," she said, in a voice so painfully small that it
tugged at my heart a bit harder than I could bear. "Will you lie
down with me?"  

"Of course, love." I lay on my back beside her, and helped
maneuver her so that she was on her side with her head on one of
my collarbones, and supported her back with my arm. I felt
healing energy flow through my hand onto her skin, as though I
had anointed her and laid hands on her for the purpose of
unction. My other hand supported the back of her head, my fingers
wading in her dark, soft curls. Her legs soon became intertwined
with mine. We rested together, sharing sweet little kisses and
nuzzles, enjoying the closeness. 

Noticing the scent of my lingering wetness, she reached her hand
down between my legs. Cupping the fluffy blonde mound, she
repositioned herself so that her head was on my belly, and began
to lazily massage me with her hand. The angle was a bit awkward,
and she was exhausted, but her touch was electrifying where I
needed it most. "Oh, God" I murmured, digging my fingertips into
her back. I had no idea how badly I needed to come until just
then, and it wasn't long before her gentle but firm touch
provided the release I ached for, allowing me to relax
completely.

"Thank you, Julie," I said. "That was nice." 

"You're welcome," she said, kissing my lips sweetly before
snuggling back up with me. She began licking her thumb and
fingers clean, which filled her with an almost childlike delight.
"You taste so good, Mother Leah," she told me. "See?" 

She placed her ring finger and her little finger, still sticky
with my juices, in my mouth. I was a bit startled by my own taste
it was very different from hers. Mine was darker, earthier, and
muskier. It wasn't sweet, and I didn't enjoy it nearly as much as
I did hers. Still, I sucked her long, slender fingers clean,
taking my time and savoring the feeling of them in my mouth. It
was erotic and soothing all at once. "Good girl," I murmured to
her. "Good girl."

Then Julie began kissing me very delicately on my lips at first,
but before long, she was kissing me deep in my mouth, cupping my
cheek with her gentle hand I had just helped her lick my own come
off of. Kissing someone who has no purpose or end in mind is
rather different, I found, from kissing someone who is quaking
with passion and already has their mind in your pants. This was
the former. We simply kissed for the sake of kissing, and it
seemed to go on forever. She kissed me slowly, deeply, lazily. It
was the most luxurious and heavenly experience. I couldn't
remember the last time I had been kissed for no particular reason
except that someone found me lovely.  

Why?

Why would she want me? Why would she choose me?

I'm nothing. I'm...

"You are so beautiful," she told me between kisses, as she caught
her breath. "Oh, I could just kiss you all day." 

A burning hot tear spilled onto my cheek as her soft words
clashed with the voices in my head. To be an object of lust for a
horny twenty-year-old was difficult enough to comprehend, but now
she was kissing me. Just kissing me, breathing me in, cradling my
face in her hands as the light of a thousand stars spilled in
through her bedroom window. This was the single most romantic
moment of my entire life. 

"Sorry," I muttered, sure that my tears would kill the mood. 

"It's okay," she whispered, pressing her forehead into mine and
nuzzling my nose and cheeks. "It's okay. You can cry. I've got
you." She caught the tear with her thumb, and gently brushed it
away. "All your tears are safe with me. You're okay." She was
concerned, not annoyed. 

Despite the slow, silent tears that continued to fall from my
eyes, I let my lips brush against hers again, beckoning her back
into that warm and tender place of endless, sweet kisses. "Yes,
please," she whispered, and I kissed her again, and again, and
again... 

I woke up in darkness, naked, my body tangled up with Julie's. 

Julie, the most beautiful twenty-year-old on the planet, my
cheerful little acolyte who served God and the Church with such
infectious joy, who always had a hug and a kind word for everyone
she met. 
Julie, whose body had moved with mine as I made love to her,
whose taste still lingered on my tongue, whose shrieks of
pleasure I had not only witnessed but caused. 

My little love began to stir in my arms, and I squeezed her
tighter, hoping she would feel perfectly safe as she awoke. I
kissed her forehead and she squealed quietly. She was so
comfortable in my arms, and I in hers. 

My ex-husband wasn't much of a cuddler. I don't know that I ever
slept or woke up in his embrace. 

My daughters weren't terribly affectionate, either. The last time
I truly cuddled with any of them was probably when they were
preschoolers. I'm the only really cuddly person in my family, a
fact that was sometimes difficult for me. I craved closeness and
warmth, even as my divorce, the death of my mother, and other
hardships caused me to close myself off more and more from the
people around me. I needed to be held, but I had forgotten how to
ask for it. 

But Julie didn't need me to ask. She didn't need me to say a
thing. She simply gave love, and gave it with abandon. I had read
about this feeling countless times during the trashy beach novel
phase I went through about five years back this feeling of
holding your lover in your arms and not needing to say a single
word but I had never experienced it. The sense of union was
incredible we seemed to live and breathe as a single soul and a
single body. I had no idea where I began and she ended. I held
her, and she held me, for what seemed like a lifetime, and yet,
wasn't nearly long enough. 

And the two shall become one flesh.

I remembered sitting at the lunch table in seminary one time with
a few classmates, one of whom the undisputed class clown
half-jokingly wondered aloud just what kind of sex St. Mark must
have been having that would inspire him to put it that way. 

Now I knew. 

Really good sex, apparently.  


(To be continued...) 

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