Wednesday 10 September 2014

Father Paul



Not a full red warning today but maybe a pink one :-) 
Unless of course you are religious ...

Mary went back to god after Liam. His departure was sudden and unexpected. All seemed well in their garden of roses until one day Liam just... announced he had met someone and was leaving and that was that. No discussion, no second chances just a hastily packed suitcase and a quickie divorce. The loneliness had been unbearable, it was more like a death than a divorce but at least in death you could rest assured that the recently departed was not running around the town with a young pretender.
God had provided some solace, some comfort, some company; church was an escape, a chance to get out of the house and a chance to listen to Father Paul. Father Paul was a dreamboat, imagine a younger, more handsome Jose Mourinho in a cassock, and you had Father Paul. His voice was like chocolate, not the Cadbury's stuff, but dark and rich and full of promise. Mary found herself mesmerised by his words, swept into a dreamland by his voice. Was it just her imagination or did he make Jesus rising up and the parting of the Red Sea seem like innuendo?
She found herself taking a little more care on a Sunday morning, an extra touch of make up, a slightly shorter skirt. She smiled sweetly at him at the end of every service and enjoyed him smiling back at her, a small shiver floating down her spine. She went to coffee mornings and helped clean the church hall just to be close to him. She knew it was pointless; he was a priest for heavens sake! But that didn't stop her putting in the effort and didn't stop her dreaming of his touch as she lay awake at night. Liam was becoming a less painful memory as ‘Father Paul’ stroked her to sleep, filling the void.
She decided she had to tell him, tell him the way she felt, see if he felt the same way too. After all he always seemed pretty pleased to see her and never missed an opportunity to lay a hand on her shoulder or on her arm. She decided to go to confession and confess her sin. She’d tell him directly to his face, well through a screen.
As she approached the church she felt nerves shake her very being, she felt sick to the stomach, what if he said no. What if? What if? If she lived her life by the rule of what if, she'd forever be that poor woman who Liam left for a young floozy.
‘I lie awake at night, dreaming of a man touching me.’ She told the priest. ‘Sometimes the feeling is so strong I touch myself.’ She said quietly hearing the breathing on the other side of the box get heavier.
‘The problem is the man is unattainable, but I think I’m in love with him and would love to feel his hands on my body, on my thighs, on my shoulders. I want to tell him I love him’
‘Why is he unattainable?’ the priest asked. ‘Is he married?’
‘No,’ Mary took a deep breath.
‘Then I think you should tell him.’
‘It’s a priest.’ she said nervously. Mary listened to the silence.
‘I see’ said a strangled voice.
‘It's you.’ Mary said.
Thud.

It sounded like Father Paul's trusty bible had fallen on the floor.
There was silence. Mary was blushing profusely. What had she done, she'd just confessed her love to a priest. She waited, Father Paul said nothing. In fact she couldn't hear him breathing at all.
‘Father?’ she said. ‘Father?’
Nothing. What had she done?  She could see the figure through the mesh but he wasn't moving.
She left the box and knocked in the door of the other side. Nothing.
She opened it and a pale, grey priest with his head against the division greeted her with silence.
Mary screamed.
Mary couldn't face going back to church, she couldn't face cleaning the church hall or helping with the coffee morning. She'd heard on the grapevine that Father Paul had made a full recovery from the heart attack but he wouldn't be coming back to work. She couldn’t face church with or without him. Her life spiralled into the miserable life of a widow whose dearly departed is having the time of his mid life crisis.
Then one bright day at the beginning of June there was a knock on her door. She wondered who on earth it could be, no one knocked her door. Ever.  She opened it ready to tell the cold caller to fuck off.
But it wasn't a cold caller. It was Father Paul. Looking a hell of a lot better than last time she'd seen him but not wearing his priest’s clothes.
‘Father Paul,’ she gasped
‘It's just Paul now.’ he smiled a smile that said I want you. ‘Do you still…’ he let the words trail off and the smile take over.
Mary welcomed him in but without the dog collar he somehow didn't seem quite as attractive. 

3 comments:

  1. fantasies about priests...... :-) Yes yes yes!

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  2. is that unattainability that makes us so much more attractive?

    BTW. That reminded me of the video people shared on facebook:-)
    http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0P3uPS_9iLk

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