Father

by Clarissa Wild

  But then she turns her head … and looks straight at me.

  I’m captivated.

  Completely mesmerized by her pristine eyes.

  And I realize she’s caught me standing here with a bottle of vodka and a cigarette. Me, the preacher of this church.

  I quickly hide them behind my back and turn around to hide behind the pillar. Like that will magically take away the fact she’s seen me in my most shameful moment.

  “Father? Is that you?”

  Her voice.

  It rings through my ears, making my heart stop and start all over again.

  The sound of perfection.

  I want to hear her say it every day. Is that wrong?

  I take a deep breath and turn around to face her. “Hi there.”

  She walks toward me with hesitation.

  I quickly place the bottle on a small table standing in the corner and put out my cigarette in a potted plant after taking one final drag.

  “I’m sorry if I’m bothering you,” she says, clutching her fingers.

  “Oh no, it’s fine,” I reply, smiling awkwardly. “I was just taking a nightly stroll.”

  “With a bottle?” she asks, peeking over my shoulder.

  “Ahh … it makes me sleep easier.” I’m having a really hard time coming up with excuses.

  “You were about to go to sleep? I’m sorry; maybe I should’ve come at a better time.” She averts her eyes, almost as if she’s ready to leave again, but I don’t want that.

  “No, no, it’s fine.” I place a hand on her arm, and the moment I touch her, a hot flash shoots through my veins.

  We stand in front of the pulpit as she gives me her first smile.

  I don’t know why I need to memorize this moment, but I do.

  Like it’s important. Something I will remember for the rest of my life.

  That smile is a smile of one in a million.

  So beautiful.

  She clears her throat. “I just wanted to say thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “Bruno told me he talked to you yesterday at the cemetery. You left quite an impression on him.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I smirk.

  “He said you helped Diego rethink what he was doing.” She bites her lip, and my eyes hone in on it, and I can already imagine sucking on it. God, I’m such a horny bastard when I’m intoxicated. No, screw that—I’m always a horny bastard.

  “Look, I know my brother’s hanging out with the wrong people and doing things he shouldn’t be doing. But you changed his mind. So I wanted to thank you for that. You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Oh, it was no problem. I’m here to help people.” There I go again, being smooth as fuck when I’m the world’s worst preacher.

  “Well, thank you for that. At least someone is looking out for the people,” she says.

  I smile and scratch the back of my head, not knowing how to take the compliment. I don’t get them often. “Thanks.”

  “So what’s your real name?” She chuckles. “Other than Father, of course.”

  “Frank,” I answer. “And yours?”

  She holds out her hand. “Laura.”

  Laura. I like the sound of that.

  We shake hands. “Nice to meet you,” I say.

  “Yeah …” Her smile really makes my brain numb.

  It’s quiet for some time, and I wonder what else I could say to make her stay.

  I don’t know why I feel this way, but I want her close. Her presence alone causes all the pain in my mind to fade, just like when I smell the grass after a thunderstorm.

  “So … praying, huh?” I mutter, trying to break the ice.

  She looks up at the statue of Christ and nods. “Yeah, sometimes you just have to. For the sake of your own wellbeing, you know?”

  “Well, if you need someone to talk to, I’m here.”

  “Hmm …” She looks at me briefly before glancing back up at the cross. “I don’t know. It feels so wrong.”

  From the way she smashes her lips together, I can tell something’s bothering her. “Is it something you want to confess?”

  “Isn’t it too late for that?” she asks.

  “No, any time is fine. The church is always open.”

  “Oh, that’s good to know.” She smiles. “It’s hard to wait when things weigh down on you.”

  “I definitely understand. When life gets you down, it can be hard to trust yourself to work through it. Sometimes, you need a little bit of an extra push. Someone to tell you things will be all right. A nod from up there.” I wink.

  “Yeah … I feel like … I owe it to Him or something. Is that weird?”

  “No, not weird at all. Everyone feels like that sometimes.”

  “Even preachers?”

  “Yeah, even me.” I grin, and the way it makes her smile sets my heart on fire.

  Hot damn, Frank. Keep your head straight, and your heart buried.

  “Is it … I want to …” She starts and stops several sentences. “Could we? Is it possible to confess?”

  I frown. “Sure.”

  “I mean … in the confessional?” She seems flustered, and I’m flabbergasted for a moment but then compose myself.

  “Yeah, of course.” I hold out my hand, gesturing toward the confessional. “Ladies first.”

  She chews on her lips again as she turns and walks toward it, tentatively sliding aside the cloth covering the entrance. I open the little door and go inside, sitting down on the wooden bench. Her face now hides behind the lattice screen, the design forming an intricate pattern on her face. Just like the ink etched into my skin. Stunning.

  “So … tell me what’s on your mind,” I say.

  She breathes out a sigh and makes a quick cross symbol. “I … have been keeping a secret for some time now, and I don’t know if I can ever tell anyone about it. I am so ashamed.”

  “Feeling shame is natural. It helps us learn the difference between right and wrong.”

  “I did something so wrong …” she continues, her voice softer than before. “So … indecent.”

  “If you want to feel better, you have to admit to yourself what you did.”

  She nods, mulling it over. “I … I …” She briefly glances at me, her face turning completely red, before she looks away again. “A few days ago, I felt this incredible urge to … to …”

  “Say it out loud. It’s the only way to confront your fears.”

  “Masturbate.”

  My eyes widen, and I find it hard to take down the gulp of air I just breathed.

  My dick just grew an inch.

  She drops her face into her hands. “Oh, God … I’m so ashamed.”

  “No, don’t be.” I clear my throat, exercising a pure force of will to get my dick to go down. “Feeling urges is normal too.”

  “Not in church,” she whispers.

  “Why? I … do it too sometimes,” I mutter.

  “You do it too?” She frowns at me like she can’t believe what I’m saying.

  “Of course. Every human has needs. If God didn’t want us to make ourselves happy, why did he make it so pleasurable?”

  She looks confused. “Well, that’s one way to put it.”

  “The church is here to make you feel welcome.”

  “Not like that.” She shakes her head.

  “Not like what?”

  She leans in closer, whispering, “I masturbated … in the bathroom … here.”

  “Here?” I look her straight in the eyes.

  “In church.”

  Fuck. Me.

  The mere mention of her fingering herself in this place makes me picture all kinds of unholy acts. More specifically … catching her in the act. Oh God, how I would’ve loved to have seen that. To have been there myself and enjoy the sight of her touching herself. That’s what I’ve been fantasizing about—her naked body ready for the taking—and now she’s telling me it could be a reality.

  Well, not yet. But close enough.

/>   And for some reason … I want her to tell me all her dirty sins. I want to know every filthy little detail.

  “When?” I ask.

  “Last week. Does it matter?”

  “Yes.” I blink a couple of times. “God needs to know the precise truth … otherwise, your sins can’t be forgiven.” I made that up on the spot. Hey, a dude’s gotta do what a dude’s gotta do.

  “I just … couldn’t control myself anymore. I don’t know why. Probably just a weird day.”

  “Oh no, nothing weird about that,” I muse. Probably should’ve kept that to myself, though, because she keeps looking at me like we’re both being immoral.

  Well … maybe we are.

  But I really don’t care.

  I mean I’m a half-drunk, half-assed preacher in a small wooden cubicle with the most attractive girl I’ve seen in a long time, and it’s turning me into a horndog. See, it’s not like I can get any worse.

  She swallows, visibly unsettled. “I … I’m done. I’m sorry, Father Frank.”

  “It’s okay … but only if you forgive yourself.”

  She nods. “Thank you.”

  And suddenly, she’s up from her bench and out of the confessional.

  And I’m left with a boner as high as Mount Everest.

  Damn.

  I clear my throat and take a deep breath before I step out. When I look around, no one’s in sight. She disappeared. Maybe she was so ashamed she couldn’t bear to look at me any longer. I can imagine—as it’s not something you’d want to tell anyone, let alone your preacher. But she felt the need to do so, and I was there to listen. That’s all that matters.

  And now, I gotta go take care of this boner.

  I casually stroll through the church back to my room and grab the first magazine underneath my bed, flipping it open on my bed. I throw off my robes, pull my dick out, and then start rubbing one out.

  It feels so wrong, but I can’t control my urges anymore.

  Like I said, it’s natural.

  I just hope God will forgive me for having these filthy thoughts. For wanting to fuck her brains out.

  I mean who can forget about a girl saying she masturbated? No one.

  Not a man on this earth wouldn’t picture her touching herself, fantasizing about watching her do herself.

  Not even a preacher can resist.

  I turn the page and continue to jerk off, my veins pulsing with greed as I imagine her sitting right in front of me with her pretty mouth opened wide, ready to receive my blessing. God, I’m such a filthy fuck, but I can’t help it. This is who I am, and nothing will change that.

  I’m so drunk on arousal and alcohol that I moan out loud; the thought of having her ready and willing to take me was too much to handle.

  I close my eyes and picture her rubbing her pussy while also pinching her nipples, licking her lips in anticipation of my cum. And I come.

  I come so hard it squirts all over the pages of the magazine and my bed. I groan and rub myself until every last drop is gone and my bed is a giant mess. Breathing out loud, I open my eyes again. From the corner of my eye, I spot something. No, someone … gawking right at my naked, flexing butt.

  I glance over my shoulder, and the moment I realize Laura caught me in the act, I know I’m fucked.

  Big time.

  Her eyes zoom in on my still rock-hard dick, slowly trailing across my tattoo-covered body before widening as she looks me right in the eyes. She slaps her hand in front of her mouth as I rip the sheets off the bed to cover myself up.

  “Fuck,” I hiss.

  If I’d known she was still here, I would have never done this.

  And why didn’t I lock my fucking door?

  I’m so infatuated with her that my head doesn’t work anymore. That, or the booze is clogging up my brain.

  The fact of the matter is … she saw the preacher jerking himself off to a couple of magazine tits. If that isn’t unholy, I don’t know what is. Did I just scar her for life?

  “I’m so sorry,” she murmurs through her fingers.

  But before I can tell her it’s okay, she turns around and runs.

  5

  It’s been days since I last saw her, and I’m not sure if she’s ever coming back.

  The moment she ran from the church was the moment I knew I fucked up real good. I tried running after her, but by the time I’d dressed, she was already long gone. More than anything, I wish I could find her, but with only her first name as a clue, I don’t have a chance.

  I just hope and pray to God she doesn’t tell anyone what she saw.

  If Mother finds out, I’m screwed.

  She’ll probably throw me out on the street right away.

  I’ve already given her so much trouble; this could be the last drop in the bucket. She’s told me so many times before it was the last time she’d forgive me my sins. A man can only break the rules so many times before it catches up with him.

  Still, I feel like I need to make something up to Mother. Because she, of all people, deserves better. She deserves a better me.

  So with that thought in mind, I go visit an old friend who’s been having trouble lately. He hasn’t come to church in ages, and Mother’s worried about him. Rightfully so, I’d say, because, in all the time I’ve known him, he’s always hung out with the wrong people. Same as Laura’s brother—gang business.

  However, this morning he called for help, and since Mother picked up the phone, she obviously said yes the moment he asked if I could come to his home. I don’t like it, because I already know he’s going to try to hand me his problems instead of dealing with them himself. But Mother doesn’t know him as well as I do.

  Sighing, I knock on his door and tap my foot until he finally opens.

  A screaming baby is the first thing that greets me. Then his ugly mug.

  “Dude, finally.” He tries to hug me, but I stand there awkwardly, cringing from the screeching going on right next to my face.

  “Hey, Ricardo, nice to see you too.”

  “Come in, come in,” he says, opening his door further to allow me in.

  It’s a mess inside. Pots and pans lie scattered on the kitchen counters, and stains mark the furniture while flies fly through the room.

  “Jesus, Rick, ever clean this place up?”

  He shoves aside a few of the dirty cups and baby toys and tries to make room for me to sit on the couch. “I know, I know. It’s a mess. I’m a mess.”

  “I can see why you haven’t come to church lately,” I say, sitting down.

  He sighs. “It’s not because I don’t want to. I just can’t.” He puts the baby in a makeshift crib while it still cries, shushing it with a blanket. It won’t stop.

  “Because of the baby?” I ask.

  “Not just that. I mean yeah, but I’ve been busy with the gang too. You know how that shit goes.”

  He looks at me like I’m supposed to understand.

  I don’t.

  It’s been ages.

  Literally.

  “That, and Nadia left me with that thing so she could go to work or something. Like that’s more important.” He scratches his head nervously. “She seriously fucking left me with that fucking baby.”

  “Calm down,” I say. “It’s not a thing. It’s a baby. Boy or girl?”

  “How should I know?” He reaches for his pack of cigarettes and lights one up.

  I make a face. “How do you not know? It’s not that hard to find out.”

  “Like I don’t know that!” He blows out the smoke.

  “Calm. Down,” I repeat. “Is this why you called me?”

  “Yeah. Why else would I call you?”

  I sigh again. “And here I thought this would be some gang shit or something.” I shake my head. “Rick and a baby … how about that.”

  “I didn’t plan this. We broke up. We weren’t even together, dude. And all of the sudden, she comes out of nowhere and flops this baby in my hand, saying it’s mine and telling me I should tak
e care of it. She even demanded money, dude. Fuck!”

  He kicks the trashcan, which falls over, causing garbage to tumble out over the floor.

  Meanwhile, the baby is still screaming like a firetruck.

  “Dude, calm down,” I say. “This ain’t gonna go any better if you don’t stop screaming.”

  “Tell that to that thing!” He points his finger at the baby like it’s some kind of monster. “It hasn’t stopped screaming since she dropped it here. And why? Because she thinks her job is more important than mine is. Like I don’t have anything better to do than to take care of some stinking, screaming baby all day.”

  “Her job is more important,” I remark, raising a brow. “Because hers isn’t illegal.”

  “So what?” He shrugs. “I make cash.”

  “And you seriously think that’s going to be enough to support a baby?”

  “Hey, I didn’t ask for this, okay? If I’d known she’d do this to me, I’d have never stuck my dick up her snatch.”

  “Yet you did.” I roll my eyes. “Do you even know how babies are made?”

  “Of course, I do.” He glowers. “I had school. Junior high. Top dog.”

  “Top dropout, yeah,” I retort. “You know it takes two people to make a baby.”

  “She was on the pill.”

  “Maybe she forgot one. It happens,” I say.

  “Who gives a shit how it happened. The point is I cannot take care of that thing.”

  “Stop calling it a thing. What’s the baby’s name?”

  “I don’t know … Sofia or something.”

  I get up from the couch and approach the baby. “Sofia, huh?” I pick her up from the cradle, and I put her on my shoulder, patting her back while soothing her. “It’s okay. Shhh. Mommy’s going to be back later tonight.”

  I look at Ricardo for the answer to that.

  “I don’t know; she said she’d be back when she was done with work.”

  “When was she last fed?” I ask.

  “I dunno. I tried to give her Cheerios, but—”

  “You gave a baby Cheerios?” I interject.

  “Yeah … with milk, of course, so they were soggy.”

  I close my eyes and sigh out loud, rubbing my temples. “You can’t feed a baby Cheerios. They need baby formula.”