The light of the church illuminated his face perfectly. From where i stood in the front pew i could see him clearly.
His smile took the fear I felt and remodeled it, giving it a different flavour. My heart hit my rib in a loud thump, a rugged monster fighting to be free.
I would never get used to the Royal deepness of his eyes. His eyes as darkness itself and of the shadow of death; without any order and where light is as darkness.
He was light standing on the altar his perfect gown to the heel of his feet.
The blessed Sacrament was firmly held in his hands now. He rose it up and the whole church fell to their knees.
I knelt too. Submissive to him and to Jesus. Submissive to both.
The lady by my side who had fallen earlier stood up and dusted the dirt of her baggy gown.
Her hands were raised up as she continuously sang thank you Jesus. Tears fell down her eyes in abundance.
I pulled my eyes away from her and back to the altar where father Valentine stood now speaking into the microphone.
His voice, oh his bass voice! Nothing turned me on more than it. It was powerful, seductive and completely alluring. It summoned my pussy and played with it in the most sensuous of ways. Tapping and blowing even sucking.
His voice was music, slow blues, the type you loved to hear while you make love.
And his groans ohhh
The church was filled with stillness now as the choir raised a hymn. He too stood still in all majesty.
I could have mistaken him for a God had I not seen him as he was created, as he was in himself. Had I not touched his immaculate skin. Had he not driven himself in me while releasing soft moans. And sometimes, sometimes shaky groans.
Had he never told me to ride him.
The programme ended with shouts of joy and cries of grace. Grace from the Eucharist and joy from redemption.
But my cry was lost, lost in the crowd and in my throat refusing to be let out so it turns not to a longing moan. At 20 I still couldn't stop thinking of when I was 16.