I stepped into the confessional booth nervously. I had planned everything; imagined every step. Yet still, I was anxious to the point of being jittery. I was sure it was going to go as I intended, or almost so: you never really know. As I sat down on the little bench, I closed the wood-paneled door behind me. I took two deep breaths, trying to calm my nerves. I had just about accomplished that, when I heard the door on the opposite side open, and then close.
I knew it was Father Daniel, the slightly older priest who’d been in the church for longer than I had been alive, and I knew it was him because I had watched and figured out his schedule. He was here on Tuesday afternoons just after lunch, every week. I also knew that there would be practically no other parishioners there at that time, because I had tracked that, too. I wanted to catch him alone. All alone. I took another deep breath, and began. Calmly. Assuredly.
"Bless me, Father, for I am about to sin." The variation caught him a little off-guard, but only a little. "How long since your last confession, dear?", he asked, trying to refocus the confession. I didn’t allow that, because I’d planned not to allow him to change the direction of things. "That doesn’t matter, Father, because I don’t want to be forgiven for what I’ve been doing or thinking since the last time I was here", I answered. "I just want you to give me a blessing for what I’m about to do."
"Tyler? Is that you?" He asked. Of course, he recognized my voice; he had known me my whole life. All of it. He had baptized me. First communion. CYO. All of it. "Of course, Father", I said. He went on. "If you haven’t committed the sin yet, then just don’t do it, and you won’t need forgiveness", was his reply. I could hear the uncertainty about the destination of the conversation begin to enter his voice, and I could hear him trying to get back on a familiar plane. I was having none of it. "I didn’t ask for forgiveness, Father: I asked for your blessing. Are you going to bless me or not?"
"Before I can act, dear, I need to know what it is you have in mind, and when: I can’t condone something without knowing what it is and who it might harm, including you." "No one’s going to be hurt", I countered, "least of all me: in fact, I’m going to be extremely happy." I left the ambiguity to hang in the air. I could nearly hear the gears spinning in his head. And so I added, "And he’s going to be extremely happy, too. I just want your blessing first. Can you help me, Father Daniel, or what?"
He said nothing for nearly thirty seconds, then forty-five, pondering the imponderables. He’d been unable to pick at the request from one angle, so he tried another. "Tell me who ‘he’ is, the man that’s going to be happy . . . and how he’ll be made happy." It was time for bombshell number one. "I’m going to give him my virginity." I heard him lean back on his bench attached to the wall in the opposite half-booth, and I heard him breathe in deeply and exhale. He thought he was approaching safer ground, talking about abstinence and the church doctrines on adultery and birth-control. "Tyler", he said my name, "we’ve had this talk in class and in person before, and you know that it’s a sin to give yourself to a man before marriage, and you know that birth control is against the . . .", "My parents refuse to give me birth control, because of the fucking church", I interrupted, "and so I’m not going to worry about that, or about abortion, or about adultery." It was earlier than I had planned to reach this point, but I was on a roll, and so I rolled on. "The man is in love with me, even though he hasn’t admitted it — a girl can just tell these things, trust me — and I’m going to have sex with him, and I’m going to do that today, multiple times, and I have no intention of violating the rules about contraceptives, so we’re going to go unprotected, and that’s actually what I want anyway: I want to feel that man up and in and deep and hard and pushing and cumming. My pussy just aches for him; my whole fucking body does."
From the other side of the little screen, I could smell his fear. I was talking fast, and not allowing room or time for his counterpoints. He was losing ground in the conversation, and that was where I wanted him. "I’ve seen the way he responds to me whenever we’re together, even when other people are around. He wants me. I want him. And I’m going to fuck him. Repeatedly. And I’m going to have him cum in me. Repeatedly. We both want it. It’s going to happen. Repeatedly. And there’s nothing, not one fucking thing, that you can do to stop it. So, you might as well bless me and let me get on with fucking him."
"I can’t bless you, Tyler; what you’re talking about doing, and even the filthy language you’re using to describe it, is against our religion. You know that. And you had to have known that before you came in here today. Didn’t you?" I said nothing. Not one word. I just sat there on my side of the wooden world, and let him think. "Tyler?", he called. Again, a little louder: "Tyler?"
Eventually, I leaned into the screen. I waited a beat, two, then three. And I said again: "I want this man, Father Daniel. I’ve wanted him for a very long time. I get wet every time I’m around him. And the man wants me. He’s wanted me for a very long time. He gets hard every time he’s around me. Today, both of us are going to get what we want." He tried again: "You knew my answer, didn’t you?" I laughed, but didn’t respond.
He allowed that to settle in the air for a second, and then tried to change course. "Is he waiting for you to come to him?", he asked me. "He needs me to make the first move, and that’s how it will happen. Because I’m the age I am, he can’t initiate anything. I have to do that, and I will". "But", he said, "is he waiting for you now?" "Yes, he’s waiting for me to come to him. Right now. All I have to do is walk in his door, and he’ll know. And he’ll do whatever I tell him to. Because he loves me. He needs me. Just me. Only me. He belongs to me. ME!"
"Is this man your age?" "No", I said, "he’s grown." "How long have you known him?" "My whole life." "He could go to jail, you know, because of your age." "Only if HE tells somebody, because I’m not telling anybody." "Tyler, you’ve just told ME." I laughed again. Louder. Longer. "What’s funny about that?" "Nothing, it’s just funny, is all."
"I can’t bless you for the sin you are about to commit, for the damage it might cause, or for the disobedience to your parents. Have you even considered how they would feel if this man gets you pregnant?"
"I’m sorry, Father Daniel, but I have to go. My man is waiting on me. My man needs me. Please bless me, Father, for I am about to sin."
"I can’t, Tyler. I won’t."
"Bless me, Father, for I am about to sin. Hurry up. Bless me. Bless me, Father, for I am about to sin."
"No, it’s not right. It’s not acceptable. It’s a violation of several commandments, all rolled into one single, sexual act. You’re lying, you’re committing adultery, and you’re dishonoring your father and mother, and by the time you’ve had sex with this man as many times as you . . .. What the . . .?" As he was speaking, I had silently exited the booth, walked around to his side, opened his door, and stood before him. Naked.
I stepped in quickly, before he could react. I straddled him on the bench, kneeling around him, and pressed my body against him, rubbing my tiny breasts in his face, and humping him slowly down below, rubbing my bald, dripping vulva along the length of his fly. I could feel his cock through the material of his pants. It was growing and it was warming. I knew he wanted me and I knew I would have him. He finally caught enough breath to moan and then say, "Tyler, we can’t, I can’t, I mean . . ." before I drove my tongue into his mouth and down his throat.
I reached down between my legs, and unzipped his pants, extracting his dick from the fly, allowing it to rise and lengthen and swell. "Oh, Christ . . . Oh, fuck", he said as he pulled out of our kiss, looking down between us and seeing his slimy cockhead straining toward my glistening pussy. "Huhnnhhh, . . . I . . . I . . . that looks . . . you’re so . . . Oh, Christ . . . Oh, fuck". With my right hand, I positioned his tip right at the mouth of my slit, and then I slid directly down on it. Slowly. Long before I reached the base of his cock, he exploded in me and cried out, "OH, TYLER! OH, TYLER! OHHHHH!"
He bucked up against me seven times, giving me more and more of his cream. I wrapped my arms around his head, and kissed him on the nose, holding him in a gentle embrace, as his semen oozed and oozed and oozed out of me. "This . . .", he ultimately said, "this is just so . . .". "Beautiful", I finished his sentence for him, before putting my tongue back in his mouth and beginning a slow rocking motion with my hips, his limp cock still buried in me. "Beautiful", I said again, breaking the kiss only long enough to say that word, and then returning to his mouth. I could feel his rapidly returning erection, thickening, hardening, wanting.
"Stand up", I ordered him, in a voice that made it clear I wasn’t asking. He did that, with me still wrapped around him, and with my pussy still wrapped around his cock. I opened the confessional booth door with my left hand, behind my back, and motioned for him to walk me out, which he did. He stopped suddenly and began looking around, nervously. "Don’t worry", I told him, "nobody’s here, and I locked all the doors. We’re all alone. No one will bother us. No one will stop us. No one can."
I nodded for him to take me to his right, and he began duckwalking with me on him, my legs hooked behind his back and my arms wrapped around his neck, his pants falling down around his ankles. "Keep going", I said, "I’ll tell you when to stop". Once he realized where I was taking him, he stopped again, and said, "Jesus, Tyler! We can’t do THAT!!" I laughed again, because he hadn’t realized that I was always going to get my way, and kicked him in the butt with my heels, hard, once, spurring him toward our destination. When we reached the point I’d selected, I said, "Look, Father: you didn’t bust me, but you’re going to. Right now. Right here." He tried to resist, but his cock was resisting his resistance, and his cock was winning. "Lay me down." I could feel his cockhead enlarge and grow even hotter. He wanted this as much as I did, and I told him, "See, Father, I told you: my man wants this every bit as much as I do. And he wants it in this very place." He lowered me, holding onto my back and laying me flat, with my legs still behind his back and his cock still positioned partly inside my pussy and hard as steel.
As I laid back on the altar, and I reached out my arms, wide, tilted back my head, looked around at my surroundings, and relaxed my legs, allowing him to press deeper into me, to the point that I could feel my hymen starting to stretch and give. With only the slightest of additional effort, he broke the seal and pressed further into me, with a groan and an "Oh, fuck!", before pulling back and thrusting in again. And then again. And then again. Opening a space that had never been opened before. As he reached my depth, he whispered, probably to himself as much as to me, "I’m going to cum". I already knew. I could feel it boiling up in his balls as they pressed against me. So, there was only one thing left to do, to bring my plan to fruition and I did that. "Well," I said to Father Daniel, "I guess I should tell you." "Tell me what?", he said, grunting, distracted by the imminent orgasm. I smiled up at him and said, "I’m ovulating."
And in the second before he painted my vaginal walls virgin-white and spilled himself and his life and his soul into me, I said, "So, bless me, Father." And that’s just what he did. Atop the altar. From inside me.
