Sweetest Sin(32)
Then Mass.
As if I weren’t already thankful for my Holy Orders, the prayers and ritual distracted me from Honor’s singing. Beautiful words. A blessed voice rising over the choir. The hymns and chants blended the celebration into something secret for me.
I’d fallen into fitful sleep thinking of her. Dreaming of her.
And I woke as every man woke, eager for a warm body at my side.
Cold showers did little once the body broke after exhaustion. I’d allowed myself three strokes of my hardness in the shower this morning, then I denied the pleasure. That left me frustrated. Impatient.
At least Honor felt the same. Her texts this morning teased me, blaming me for her equally disturbed night’s sleep. I liked that I lingered in her fantasies, but playful texts were nothing compared to the pleasure of meeting her in the church. There, she so often turned shy. There, her thoughts truly twisted.
Dangerous games…but our kiss had returned her confidence. She’d taken the Host during Mass. Her sweet mouth had parted, and she offered that pink tongue for me to place the body of the Lord.
What blasphemy to envy Christ.
Benjamin coughed. The fluid built in his lungs, and he hacked hard.
I flinched as if he read my mind. The papers nearly scattered. I gathered them before they fell.
“This is the deacon’s work, Rafe. And the volunteers.” Benjamin didn’t wave a finger, but I accepted the chastisement. “Why are you working on this? You’re too busy with other responsibilities. How many homilies do you have to write?”
Too many. “I only had a baptism today. Light schedule.”
“You’ve always turned to projects to stay busy, when you should turn to the Lord instead.”
“I’m not—”
“What are you sorting through now?”
He’d never believe it.
“Festival politics. We doubled our festival size from last year. Now we have craft and food booths, community businesses, and other vendors setting up, including two ladies selling cosmetics. One of the cosmetics vendors applied for their spot when we first posted sign-ups. We gave it to her. Then…another vendor applied, but the cosmetic company only allows one booth of their products per event.”
Benjamin flicked his IV. “Can we speed this cancer up?”
I smirked. “Well, Judy knew the second vendor from previous festivals. I guess there was some sort of drama—”
“—Imagine that—”
“The spot went to the vendor who signed up late. Now it’s causing an issue, and I’m—”
“They needed a priest to mediate?”
“You’d be surprised how…combative they’ve become.”
“Rafe, you aren’t really—”
“It’s my parish, Father. I’m putting out fires.”
“You have greater responsibilities.”
“I know.”
“They’re more important than the festival—which your volunteers can handle.” Benjamin shifted. “And your duties are more important than visiting a dying man.”
“Don’t use that word.”
“Have some humility, Rafe. We prefer to leave this body and be at home with the Lord. I’m ready, my boy. What did I teach you?”
I knew the scripture, but I delayed speaking it. “A good name is better than fine perfume, and the day of death better than the day of birth.”
“I’ve shown you all I can. The Lord will show you the rest.” Benjamin rested his eyes. “Unless…you have reason to come here, something more pressing than comforting a man preparing to leave this earth?”
“No, Father.”
“You have no reason, or you are unwilling to speak it?”
I was unwilling to confess it. If I had anything to confess. In my heart, I did what was right, what I had to do to face my sins.
Good men prayed, others distracted themselves in repetitive prayer, and some lost courage and fled. If I was to be tempted, I would be tempted and face it as a man, a vessel of the Lord, and a warrior.
But my desires damned me.
I knew I would kiss her again. We wanted to taste each other once more. But in recognizing it, confessing it to myself, gave me more power over the wicked thoughts. I’d confess if I lost control.
Until then, my sins were my own, and my triumphs belonged to Honor.
“I’m fine, Father,” I said. “Just worried about you.”
“Don’t be.” He pointed to the papers. “Pack this up, hand it to whoever is organizing your festival, and spend an hour in prayer—deep prayer, Rafe. No phones, no interruptions, no mourning. Clear your mind and heart, and you’ll feel rejuvenated.”
A man could hope.