The girl sitting next to you…
in the bar-stool to your right… nooo, your other right. Yeah that girl…
well she is, along with the other patrons in this, mmmm, ?okay establishment?
I mean, it's not a complete dive bar and even though there aren't that many "cultured" people beating down the doors to get into this place, it doesn't smell like piss and puke either… so let's go with that.
Where was I? Right. This girl, like the others in this okay establishment, is quietly listening, to the diatribe of one, Father Terrence Alloissious Xavier Boss of 'The Church Of Saint Frances Over By The Door'.
The place across the street from the donut shop. No! Not that donut shop, the donut shop over by the strip club, yeah that one, where the cops all hang out.
Her hair is long and champagne blonde and it has that sorta ethereal glow, when it catches the light just the right way. It's reminiscent of the strands of silk that wave and ebb on the tops of the stalks in the cornfields.Especially the way the stage light is catching it now. See it? There, right above her shoulder, where her tresses start to flow down the curve of her small but delightful breasts. Breasts that are straining against the fabric of a white tank top. Her shirt is adorned with bunnies and kittens. Stitched strategically in place to nestle in her cleavage, or lay lazily on the ridge of those dark, half dollar circles that surround her long, sensual, nipples. Pinky sized protrusions that poke out of the shirt, that she's wearing like a tattoo, in an almost uncomfortable display of rigidity.
"Fornication! Is a fucking perversion!"
You and the lithesome blonde simultaneously pffffttttt the sips, you just took, across the bar and onto the black mat flooring, barely missing the feet of Killian the bar dude. He gives, the two of you a glance. It's a look, of mild amusement, but it's tinged with, 'Oh great, something else to clean.'
You and Sarah, stare at each other, through the mirror, willing each other not to laugh.
No! Not Tara, Sarah. Yes, I'm one hundred percent sure. What? Oh! You're welcome.
Father Lou, as he let's the people he likes call him, is never more on than when he's just a little bit, off. "That's right I said it, Fornication is a fucking perversion. Now before you get all pissy with me, Let me surmise my surmisation. You seeee, fornication is what you'd call, fucking. Now, I'm not talking about 'fucking', I'm talking about fucking! You know, like fucking someone over, the sex were you use somebody like your right hand. You don't give a fuck about them, so you cum and you're out the door, without even a thanks or a handshake. That kinda FUCKING. That's Wrong, wrong, wrong."
No he's not always this short. But he is always a little more astute, in his prophesying, when he's had his third glass of wine and his usual three hits off of Sallie's bong. "You gotta know you're limitations," he tells people, "but more importantly, you need to know the point, where you moderate yourself into the best version of you." And if Father Lou knows anything, He knows, his moderations. Now quit interrupting, the stories almost over.
The girl is still staring into the mirror. Her gaze is miles away and you get lost in the steel blue of her eyes. Your thoughts flow through their reflection in the glass. Her right eyebrow raises a little as she ponders the words of the man in the black leather jacket. She purses her lips, tilts her head, then nods it slowly and "hmm"s, in an understanding tone of acknowledgement.
"Now don't get me wrong, it's not the sex that's bad. Sex is like karma, or lighter fluid, or guns, or trucks, or whiskey or a rock. It's just a thing and it's never the thing itself that's good or bad. It's the intention of the wielder. It's your intention and your will that shapes it towards good or obscene. Morality has many layers my friends, but once you cross that line, well that's where the greyscale ends."
She sees you staring at her, through the looking glass, and smiles. Her chest rises upwards, in time with yours. Your breaths, even if just for a couple of cycles, are shared in perfect unison. Her nipples strain against the clothe of her shirt. One of the bunnies wriggles it's nose, and she shivers. You can feel her musk pulling at your groin. It's taunting your senses. You breathe in deep and feel a rush. Your heart pulses a little harder and you shiver too. Her face turns a little red but she doesn't shy away.
"You see, if you have sex for procreation? Amen people. That's a wonderful thing. A blessed thing. If you have sex to please your partner or just share in a fun, stress relieving time with someone you actually like, and want to please, well, Amen to that too. But if you use someone, because you're tired of using your own damn hand, or you're just putting up numbers. That's pretty shitastic on the crapmeter of morality. And, if you molest or rape, well, that's a karmic, FUCK YOU, brothers and sisters. It's a karmic fuck you, that you, put right into the world. And if you don't think it'll come back and bite ya… well, well, well, what you put in, you'll get out, threefold, at the very least."
You watch through the mirror as the girl, sitting next to your image, turns to look at the one sitting next to hers. You turn, just in time, to see her leaning in. You feel her heat on your cheek as she puts her lips to your ear and whispers, "Wanna spread some good karma?"
You both cross the floor with fleet feet. You pause just long enough to bid Father Lou adieu.
"Don't even get me started on the Porn, paying people to fuck just to make a..."
You grab Father Lou by the collar and kiss his forehead and whisper, "Thanks Lou." then turn and quicken your pace to catch up to the girl in the short black skirt, with the two glittery butterflies dancing on the cheeks, as she skips towards the door, holding her hand backwards waiting for yours.
"...buck is just disgusting, I mean where's the love, people, where's the..."
You don't hear the door close. Hell you don't even hear the sound of the street.
'Have fun you two. Spread that good karma.'
