© Sauce*Box, Winter 1997-98. All rights revert to author. 

Chapter One: Tho' I Don't Know Many Words of Praise.
 

I remembered the words from my childhood..."Forgive me Father, for I have sinned". But then they ask you that.."how long has it been since your last confession?"...question.

 It had been so long since my last confession, that I didn't really know where to start and frankly the only reason I was in this booth was because I also didn't know when to stop.

That's the peculiar thing about sin...defining it. Because sin is circumstantial, it's rules change with the environment, and your age, and the degree, and the society. An act that may be murder in Boston is defending your country in Beirut - there truly are beneficial lies - honoring thy mother and thy father surely doesn't apply in the extreme cases.

And so the accuracy of the very concept of sin, had always evaded me...always seemed just beyond my grasp, my understanding. The daily conundrum of life held no relevance in the biblical definitions of sin...and yet...whose other version do you have any desire to conform to? I ask you.

I wondered why the interior of the booth was so cool, when the church itself was baking in the summer dryscorch. I remember these places as huge places... dark places...hot and humid places - places I did not want to be, kneeling and scuffing up my Sunday shoes. And now, now that I was completely out of my twisted twenties, this booth... what my grandmother used to believe was the actual doorway of "GOD HIS OWN SELF"...wasn't huge anymore. It wasn't scary anymore and it was even cool and comfortable.

And if it was indeed the doorway to god his own self, I was no longer afraid to knock.. I just had no idea what to say when he answered. I mean, what are his priorities these days? I like to believe the same as I've always believed about god's priorities.

But sometimes, u have 2 question it, don'tcha think? My knees rested into the small cushion on the floor, it had always made the booth seem tall but now it was almost just my size...I had the adulthood to either kick my shoes off, or to not care about the scuffs...whereas I grew through childhood feeling as an intruder in this box...now I felt that it was completely my space.. a physical and aural extension of my own power and faith.. My conscience was astonishingly at ease and comfortable...I suppose the purpose of this box was to allow you to develop those very senses about it's purpose.

My clothes were loose and comfortable, and I was unhurried. It was dawn, right after the Matins and I knew that it would be quite a while before my absolver would join me.

I guess I'd better figure out a place to start before he arrives. I'm pretty sure that once I get goin' I'll be ok but gee whiz...(that's the sort of profanity that comes natural in a confessional y'know?)...how 'bout a hint.

I have been tempted to view this visit, after so many cobweb years, as some sort of ecclesiastical cross between therapy and absolution.. and yet, now that I'm here, on my knees and so comfortable, it seems more like stories over wine and cheese on a spring Sunday with an exlover at brunch.

My mind moved back along it's line of sin...forgotten, regretted, enjoyed, unrecognized, disguised, frantic, subdued and, in my case, frequent and voluminous.

I have no idea of where and how it started...when the first sin was. Probably childhood touching of myself. Innocently enough, no doubt when I began to develop something to hold up a top. Those were the days when we all believed in hand reared tits and because mine appeared early on, the only hands available were my own.

In examining them continuously for growth, my fingers gained an undignified familiarity with them , and they in turn began to respond as though alive. Even when they were but small nubs in an almost concave chest, I had very sensitive nipples.

It wasn't long before I discovered that whenever my self examination took place, many other parts of my developing body increased their sensitivity.

I allowed my fingers to sooth other parts of me also...stroking the backs of my own soft hands and lightly dragging over the pad at the thumb base with my strong young fingernails.

I can remember that on long car trips, when I was unable to freely explore my own exploding senses, I was often surprised to discover how much of me was almost linked directly to wherever my finger attended. My parents once drove me to a dance class competition about two hours away and the entire time I spent wearing a furrow up and down the back right corner of my neck...running up under my my long hair.. hidden by it from view. I know that it wasn't exactly a tickle but it was pretty close...it's just that my entire body recognized the motion and responded to it - certainly unlike your basic tickle.

They began to think I was sick, and kept asking me if I didn't want to try again when I felt better. But at that age, I could see no way to possibly feel better... the action of first one finger and then several...and then back to one again....this sweet rub ran ripples down my spine and straight through my chest cavity, past my beating heart and directly to the inside of my nipples, which then swelled against the tight weave of a cheap leotard.

When I looked down I could see them, under my sweater. And when I looked down, I could also see that I had moved my knees apart in a most unseemly fashion for a young dancer. I didn't know why, or what the connection was between neck, knees and nipples. I only knew that there was one, and that I wanted to find out what it was. In that one delicious weekend, I didn't even place in the dance, but my mind was elsewhere.

For most of the event, both my parents went to visit nearby relatives and I was left to largely entertain myself, but I couldn't leave the room. But the room was where I wanted to be.. alone and unseen. I discovered that the neck link went all the way down to the feet and even down to the toes. And the harder my nipples grew, and the larger they became, the more I could feel the blood in my body alter it's course to flow much closer to the skin.

If I dragged my fingernail across the small wrinkled ending of each nipple, I felt a sudden flush in my lower belly....and the blood ran hotter and faster. Laying on the hotel bed, in just my panties and a t-shirt, and watching M.A.S.H. reruns on t.v., I had my first climax.. I can't really call it an orgasm...but it was a build. I could feel my supple toes begin to curl under and even my defined and designed muscles couldn't prevent it. My mouth was part open...(Catching flies?) and one of my hands strayed softly to the rise of my belly.

I could feel the tender flames down there, they were just beginning but they still felt mighty hot to my fragile fingertips. As I continued to rub my buds under the shirt, and stroke hip to hip, I felt a sudden heat flash along my entire body and then, just as quickly, it wasn't there any more.

I didn't know what had happened to me, but I knew that something definitely had. I wondered now, if that was sin, in the eyes of a merciful and benevolent god...or if it was merely a test run of machinery of his own design. Was he offended - or pleased with the results? Was this act sufficient for eternal damnation - or a guarantee for salvation? Or was this the devil in my soul, the torment crafted to bring about a million nightmares and a life of lingering uncertainty? I didn't know now, so how the hell was I supposed to know then?
 

Chapter Two: The Valley of the Shadow.

I hadn't thought about that weekend in a long time. I suppose it was the setting...watching the young sun as it's rays filtered through the stained glass in the East window, and cast a changing psychedelic flickering light show on the walls of the booth.

I remembered how long it was before I discovered where all those knee, neck, nipple nerves went to.

I spent the entire first summer believing that the fire and the shuddering flashes came from my breast examinations and the flames in my belly....It was thanksgiving day when I discovered the precious place...the place that increased all the other senses...and even then I had to have help. It was customary, in my home and most other american homes, to have two separate tables for large family get togethers and dinners. Even though I was visibly becoming a woman, I was still seated downstairs at the kids table.

I, and my fifteen year old cousin had to eat our meal with the two bratty sisters that made up the rest of our extended youth family tree. They bolted their food and left me and David to try to eat ours more delicately...we were in no hurry to finish and then get stuck with the dishes...and the pots and pans.

So we ate slowly, mostly in silence.

I saw him taking longer and longer glances at the way my blouse was no longer flat against my chest as it had been at all the other family dinners...and I liked it...these first sexual attentions from a man, they made me fill the blouse out even more.

Periodically, he would reach across me for one thing or another and he would graze across my hard nipple with the back of his hand or his arm. He could see the effect that it was having on me, and I could sure as hell feel the effect. I was overcome with the desire to scratch the itch at the sensitive end of my tits, but...

When it was time for dessert, I went upstairs with our dishes and brought plates down for both of us. When I sat back down I noticed that he had moved his chair closer to mine, now whenever he reached for anything, he boldly brushed against my entire breast, even deliberately lingering there. When he saw that I raised no objections, he reached again, but this time he just stopped his hand on the outside curve of my right breast, and then took his other hand to my left.
 

I still had my dessert spoon halfway to my mouth, I would have to move at least one of his hands to eat...so I set the spoon back on my plate. For what seemed like an eternity we sat there, he with my young fresh tits in his supple fingers and me just staring ahead with my hands resting on the table. It was the first time that anyone had touched my body besides myself since I was a very small child. I knew that I had been warned against strangers doing such a thing, but not cousins. Some part of me knew that what he was doing was wrong but I wasn't sure exactly what it was that was wrong...I only knew that every other part of me knew that it was right.

He angled his chair towards mine, and took my chin in his hand. Then he turned my head and kissed me, full on the mouth. In my eager virginity, I kissed him back, even though I had never done such a thing before...Our lips locked for quite a while and his hands returned to my hardened breasts. My belly was alive with small tongues of flame, licking upwards towards my tits and downwards, all the way to my toes. One of his hands slipped from my nipple, as we continued to kiss...he was a really good kisser...and traveled to my knee. My senses raced, as he drew small patterns on my knee and began to edge his hand up my thigh, under the hem of my skirt. I didn't have any idea where he was going with his fingers but I knew that he was taking the fire with him, up my inner thigh. I felt him push my legs apart to give himself more room.

Our eyes were closed, or at least mine were... my breathing was getting heavier and so was his...And then the tip of his fingers brushed against my innocence... and all the heat in his hand leaped into my sweet, pretty, hairless virgin lips.
 

I thought I would swoon.

Instantly I realized where all those nerve endings went to....as his fingers rubbed me through my panties, I could feel myself getting wet down there.

I got so wet, that I thought maybe I had peed myself and that he would stop - or that I should stop him.

But neither of us stopped...we went on kissing and he went on squeezing my breast with one hand and rubbing my panties with the other. My entire body was alive by now, my legs were spread wide open under the table and his busy hand had my skirt pulled all the way up into my lap. I felt him begin to slip one finger under the leg band of my panties. And I got scared.

I closed my legs suddenly, trapping his hand at first, and then releasing it. I pushed his other hand away from my breast and stopped kissing him. I was still sitting bolt upright with my hands on the table. He looked at me, and he must have seen something of my fear in my eyes. And in his all knowing fifteen years of accumulated wisdom, he knew when to push his luck and when to fade back.

 It was fortunate really, because it was almost immediately after that when we heard adult footsteps coming down the basement stairs. By the time my father arrived downstairs, our chairs once more had the separation of decency, my skirt was back down to my knees and I held my arms over my still hard nipples.

"Say David," said my Dad, "why don't you come upstairs and watch the Lions game with us men...while the girls take care of the clean up." Although my gender equality conscience was just beginning, I was glad to see him get up and leave. Later on I realized why he walked so odd, and remained behind my father as he walked up the stairs. It was some time before my legs would work properly and I picked at my dessert, flushed and feeling fine, but somehow imcomplete, somehow unfinished.

When I dropped the dishes in the kitchen, my mother asked me if I was O.K. and I managed to say yes, I was just stuffed from dinner and wanted to go and lie down for a while.

I stopped in the bathroom on the way and examined my underwear...they were soaked at the crotch but didn't smell like pee. My lower lips were puffed and tender.

As my fingers moved over them, all the nerve endings came alive again, my nipples became instantly hard and my fingers began to get damp. I kept rubbing until, by accident, my fingers slipped just inside myself...a place I'd never been before.

They discovered lots more moisture and a stiff little outcropping of skin and sinew and nerves.

When I stroked it, it became bigger and harder... and more sensitive...My heart was pounding inside me and when the flash hit me I almost fell off the toilet onto the floor. My entire hand was drenched, My thighs were in spasm along with my toes and the hair on the back of my neck. After the aftershocks subsided, I was almost afraid at the power of the sensations which I had just experienced. I wiped myself dry, almost causing the same thing to happen again, and steadying myself, made it to my bed.

For several hours my mother and my aunt fussed over me, told me how peaked I looked and took my temperature several times. I lied to them both and pretended that maybe I really was coming down with something...but I knew I wasn't.

I knew that I had crossed some kind of line, some sort of major change had taken place inside of me, and I would forever be different...and I also knew that the focus of my body sensations had moved from my neck, knees and breasts to that aromatic damp place, the place that David had woken and guided me to...the place that held the magic and the power. But I didn't register any of what had happened as sin...except possibly for lying to my dear mother and aunt, but I excused this small mistruth on the grounds that I actually had felt...somehow different...and who was I to say whether it was a sickness or not. At the time, I didn't feel that it was really a confessable sin, but just to be on the safe side, I threw in a couple of extra "Hail Mary's" at the following Sunday Mass.

I didn't see David again until the following Easter. By then I had hair, much bigger tits and a lot more experience. The hair and the tits just seemed to appear overnight from nowhere. The experience was a Christmas present.

Chapter Three: Hark the Herald Angels...Sing?

By Christmas, I was in choir.

Despite my complete lack of musical ability on any instrument my anxious relatives bribed me to attempt to master, it turned out that I had a quicksilver voice, capable of calling down the hosts from heaven according to the aging nun who led the choir.

For me, it was a wonderful extension to my newly discovered masturbation skills. Of course, I didn't know yet that that's what they called it, or even that anyone else did it but me...When I was on pace with the music, in key and harmony with the soaring trip through the cosmos that any good church music induces...when all was right between the waves of the universe and the electrical nervous system that ran the hormones which frequently took over my body...when all these things happened, choir was the closest thing to heaven for me. A lot of it was the robes...we were supposed to just slip them on, over our street clothes, but I was always naked beneath mine. It gave me an incredible freedom both in performing and actually singing. The voice takes on new balance, new emotional strength when the body is unrestricted.

I would put the robe on with all the other choir members, and then slip out to the bathroom right before the entrance for the services, and remove everything from under the long flowing cotton vestments. After the opening short piece, and throughout the service until the ending grand finale, my voice would float out of a body with air around it...the soft cotton would cling and abandon me from note to note. Generally, by the time the choir changed after the service, I was electrified. The combination of the voices, and the organ/piano accompaniment, was enough to raise the tiny hairs along my forearm and down over the slope of my stomach...the rub of the robe made them dance. I had been perpetuating this private devotion for several weeks until the practice session for the Christmas Mass. It was a snowy New England night, crisp and sparkly...a night to echo children's sleigh born laughter to the million visible stars and a fat crescent moon.

The church wasn't heated in the wintertime, for practices, and yet my habits, (so to speak) didn't change just for the sake of a few degrees. This evening, when I came out of the bathroom after divesting myself of my outer things, there was someone waiting for me.

His name was...well to be honest I don't remember what his name was, or in fact if I ever knew it.

All I knew was that for the last two or three weeks he had stood directly behind me at the end of the choir line.

He smiled at me and followed me to our respective rows. I took my place and opened my hymnbook, one of the main pieces that we were scheduled to work on was my solo "Ave Maria", and I had been practicing it all month, by myself.

The choir director ran the main group through most of the scheduled pieces and then excused them. She said that since the weather was getting worse and snow was accumulating, anyone who wanted to leave early could do so, and I was to stay and practice to her accompaniment. The entire group, as one, rapidly left and I was alone...high in the semi dark choir stall, staring down at the nun at the organ.

While I waited for her to start, I noticed huge fast fluffy snow flakes drifting in a cloud past the window of the church. I was relaxed and warm, despite my nakedness under the robe, and when the opening stanza played, I took several deep breaths and began to sing from the top.... I had always loved this piece and knew it by heart and so my voice had no fear.. no hesitation. My notes were clear and my young lungs could hold air and notes for ever. I could almost see the music hovering in the crisp air, floating effortlessly around the church and coming back to warm my body with it's familiarity...wrapping it's velvet self around me and filling my soul and my faith...it was wonderful to be able to honor the lord with such clarity and beauty and I felt the music, the low rumbling from the organ downstairs mingled with my high clear voice...I felt all the music as it's filigreed fingers ran over my neck, standing the hairs on end...I could feel it in other parts of my body as well. As always happened when I sang, particularly when I sang well, my body responded in that same manner of sensuality as it did when I was alone and exploring. As my lungs filled, so did my breasts.. as my mouth opened wide, so did my thighs... as I swayed to the rising tempo the flowing robes caressed my body and allowed the chilled air to cool my increasing heat. I loved the feeling and didn't want it to stop and so, for once, I deliberately messed up in one of the hard parts. The nun below patiently called up to encourage me..."Don't worry," she said, "take your time dear."

I started back from the beginning, listening to the swell of the organ filling the huge room, watching the white blanket as it fell noiselessly outside...I ran my fingers across my nipples, through the cotton robe, and felt them get even harder. Alone in the darkness, my hand traveled between my legs and rubbed the swelling pussy lips, with their fine forest of new grown baby hair. I could feel the texture of my young mane through the loose shift...I could sense my openness and wetness, and I swirled the material around me to send cool chilling air directly to my fire. My voice was subtly ringing the notes, bending them and making this classic song of absolute devotion my own...from me to god and whoever else was listening.

I wasn't even paying attention to the travels of my fingers anymore. I didn't even realize where they were, only that the music and the fingers were carrying me away...into the song...into the power of faith and fullness.

There was no reflection of sin in my young voice as it sailed clear and true across the night air, while my engorged clit became further enlarged under the soft but insistent rubbing and flicking of my hands. I messed up again, but the woman had the patience of a saint, (and obviously no life of her own to pursue.) We took it again, from the top.

By this time I had thrown caution to the winds in my darkened choir stall.

Alone and private, I raised my robe up, past my thighs and rolled it and rested it on the top curve of my ass. If the nun happened to look up, she would see me decently clad from the top down, but would have no idea what sort of sight she would have if the booth front were glass rather than heavy oak panels.

The organ seemed louder this time and I was so comfortable with the piece that I could sing and play at the same time. As my voice rolled through the long first couplet, I had three fingers knuckle deep in the saturated folds of my pussy, driving hard on the tempo of the song.

I wasn't listening to the notes or even to the sloshing sound of my fingers...I was just lost in the pleasure of my voice in harmony with the grand echo of the old building, and my body in harmony with the energy which returned, with the echo, to my fingertips. That's when I felt another hand - on my cool naked asscheeks. But at this point I didn't care. I moved and swayed my ass against the hands, they were young but rough, they grabbed my ass and held and spread the cheeks apart. One of them slipped around the curve of my hip and traveled confidently down over my lower belly to my furry mound...although my fingers were still deep inside me, the other hand began to peel apart my pussy lips and searched out my clit.

The song roared through my brain, and leaped from my mouth, wailing and moaning in ecstatic desperation. It was a chilling version of the piece and it was made greater by the fire in my faith and the flames between my open wet thighs. I pulled my fingers from deep inside me and allowed the other hand to slide smoothly inside me, while it's companion continued to pinch and squeeze my ass from behind. In the dark...during the song...I came...hard and fast and rough. I felt my body spasm and forgot the words. The organ stopped playing and then automatically, mercifully, just started again, from the top. Both hands of mine were now on my nipples, pushing on my breasts as though to help me hit the notes by helping to coax extra air from my lungs. Both the other hands were now tormenting me, roaming my entire body...without regard for my permission or help. They forced my legs as far apart as they would go, and they ran up under my robe to my aching tits, pushing my own hands away in the process... they flashed suddenly back to my pussy and rammed deep inside me, again and again until I thought I would pass clean away from the joy of it.

My voice was flying now, rippling over the notes and forcing them into the ears of heaven in my bliss of simply being alive...my adoration sparkled with every note and tone...shining through the tempo. I felt the hands abandon me, and begin to slide down my inner thighs, over the tender sensitive backs of my knees and down to my ankles where they began to gently caress the top of the arch of my feet. I had kicked my shoes off at the entrance to the church to give them a chance to dry from the wetness of the winter outside.

I felt movement between my legs and before I knew what was happening I could feel hot breath blowing over my pussy lips. The breath was followed by a mouth. I was in ecstasy and wonder as the lips met mine...as a tongue slipped down into the crack at the top of my girlhood and sought out the stiffness buried just inside. The mouth took the stiffness and sucked it hard, swirling that fabulous tongue around and up and down it...I was flooding the face between my thighs, my heat and juices pouring from me as my climaxes matched that of the tempo.

As the song reached a crescendo, so did my body...It racked and swayed and rolled and twisted as the notes flew higher and higher, stronger and clearer.

My orgasm was my gift to the song.. my emphasis to heaven.. my everything I had to give in my faith.. it was the most perfect me I could possibly ever be...and somewhere I knew that god was pleased at the reflection of his best work.

As I held and powered the long last final note.. drawing every inch of life from the song..the face vanished from between my thighs, sucking my lips and clit fully into it's mouth as it said a tender goodbye. When the note ended, I turned quickly, but I was once again, alone. The nun downstairs burst into applause and bravos, and I barely had time to compose myself and my clothing before she burst through the choir stall door. She wrapped me in a huge bear hug and I expected her to immediately smell the strong musk in the room, or to feel my still hard nipples against her chest. But she was transported by the music alone, and assured me that all of heaven had stopped to listen to my joy and faith in the lord...how could that possibly be a sin...
 

Chapter Four: For They Know Not What They Do....

The flush of memories that had returned to my mind, as I knelt in the booth, waiting for my absolution, had stirred in me a melange of quandaries.

My life had been so clean then, so clear... there was nothing abstract to me in my delicate youth except of course for my faith - which was abstract only in it's intangibility...but pure in definition. I held no judgments in those tentative days...and I believed that my god held no judgments either.
I was pure in his eyes, if not in mine...but sin??? Sin was for those around me who didn't go to Mass, who stole and lied and took the name of the deity in vain.

The discovery of my own body...made - in a figurative sense - in his own image, was what I was supposed to do... my way of examining his handiwork all the better that I might admire and worship it, and him. It was, to me, the same as my art appreciation class only more tactile. By the time I quit choir I had been touched by the hand of the lord, as well as my own and those of at least one other person. Apparently word had escaped about my dressing habits and my willingness to lose all my inhibitions while singing. I did have a couple of repeats of my Christmas practice occurrence, but I never looked for a face because a face was immaterial to me....

I felt that the pleasure which I was given on these occasions was my just reward from the audience...he does indeed move in mysterious ways....but as my teen years became longer and the nights more entertaining, I grew tired and bored with the fumbling of unseen strangers, as well as the certainty of my own physical successes.

I left the church at seventeen...although at the time it was more an act of rebellion than dissatisfaction.

I held the glory of god deep in my heart but the social ramifications of organized religion soured with the judgments. I didn't give it a lot of thought since my relationship had always been with the man himself rather than with his many housekeepers...and yet, on Sundays I still felt like I couldn't go home. My family tried to understand why my lifelong comfort with the church would suddenly seem to disappear but I really couldn't explain it to them.. and I didn't really want to.

It never dawned on me that it might be important until one afternoon when I was sucking off my music teacher in the small practice area adjacent to the main orchestra room.

It hadn't happened suddenly or quickly, this strange little seduction. I had spent an entire year in his class. By now my voice had grown to a whisky rasp and I had to actually feign interest in an instrument in order to validate sitting in his classes. But instruments came and went...I just wasn't talented enough to warrant enjoying the discipline. But I loved this man with all the lust that a girl of my years could muster. I would sit, in his class, quietly and stare at him, licking my lips. Once, when I was sure that everyone else was reading the sheet music in front of them, I looked straight at him, caught his eye, and blew him a kiss.

He looked away and avoided my glances for the rest of the class, but gradually I wore him down.
I realized that we were a good match, for school, he liked to look and I liked to be looked at....and so my skirts got shorter and shorter and my blouses lost more and more buttons.

I would spend all my allowance money on underwear, and take great delight in allowing him selected glimpses of the new lacy underthings. I could often feel his eyes upon me, even when I wasn't looking at him. My body would sense the heat of his stare and my thighs would squirm in my seat. My nipples would come alive... not a handy event when you're trying to master the accordion...and I would imagine how his strong mouth would feel around my tits. They were precious hours those three music periods a week...and when summer came and I could wear tube tops and loose shorts, my seduction escalated. By now, it was common knowledge in the room that I was willing to suffer almost any indignity in order to get to this man...to have him deep inside of me and to milk his beautiful seed into me. I would sit, in the front row and allow my hands to run around the loose legs of my shorts, and up to the juncture of my legs. I was very hairy by now and I knew that if he looked, he would see the edges of my bush pushing out of the sides of my panties...and I made sure that he looked...and that he saw.

It would make me so wet that I would have to use a need for a bathroom as an excuse to relieve my demanding pussy and then to wipe myself dry... but it would only last long enough for me to get back into class. And then he would look at my breasts as I walked past him to my seat and watch me as I sat down, spreading my thighs before his gaze.

It couldn't go on forever without resolution and resolution first came under very strange circumstances. Although it had become apparent that the only instrument that I had any interest in belonged to the teacher, I was sort of accepted as the class mascot and it allowed me to even go along on school orchestra trips to help set up music stands and unpack the instruments and help tune them. The last trip of the year was to Cleveland, not exactly the nightspot metropolis of the northern hemisphere, but we got to stay in a fairly ritzy hotel and I had the room next door to the teacher...there was an odd number of band members on the outing and so I had the room to myself but I couldn't figure out a way to get him into it. At about two in the morning on our departure day...I was tired of the frustration of working myself into a raging sexual frenzy with my own fingers and decided to go down to the lobby for a soda. They had machines on our floor but it was the top floor and I loved the experience of moving 34 floors in a glass elevator. I threw a t-shirt and some cut offs on and headed downstairs. The lobby was deserted and I got my coke and rang the button for the ride. It took a few minutes to arrive, and guess who got out when the doors opened. He had on a pair of sweat pants and a loose shirt...he spotted the soda in my hand and said "Well, great minds think alike, I see". I said I'd hold the car for him while he walked briskly to the machine in the lobby.. mainly so I could watch his tight ass moving under the loose material.

When he got back, we stepped inside and pushed the button for our floor. I faced the back of the elevator and watched the lobby get smaller as we rose towards the sky.

Out of the blue, I felt his hands on my hips. Without a word I leaned back into him and tilted my head onto his shoulder. In a flash he had his tongue in my mouth and his hand down the front of my shorts and into my panties. His mouth moved to the side of my neck and kissed along it to my shoulders...my tits were alive with feeling and begging for his hands. His fingers were busy exploring my juicy pussy, and teasing my clit. I was hot and wet and eager and desperate... and he knew it. I reached behind me and found his hard cock under the sweats, it wasn't huge but it was in my hand at last and that's what counted. I felt him unzip my shorts and peel them down over my hips...I was showing my wet panties to the entire lobby below but I didn't care. I could feel his stiffness probing my asscheeks from behind and pushing his pants and my panties deep into the crack of my ass. I wiggled it against him and heard him moan.

Before we spoke a word the elevator stopped at our floor.. but he pressed another button and the car continued upwards to the suites level, where it rested.

I guess no one was in a hurry to get to or leave this floor. Standing with my hands reached upwards onto the glass he slid my panties off and I stepped out of them. My t-shirt was next and then I was naked in a glass box, hundreds of feet above the ground. I pushed my stiff nipples against the cold glass while his fingers worked deep inside my sopping cunt...and then suddenly, his hardness was inside me, teasing my lips with it's hot head and rubbing against my clit. Before I could so much as gasp he was buried to the balls in my fire...I was suddenly filled and fabulous. In the glass world I was the queen and I was getting fucked hard and savage in full view of anyone who cared to glance upwards. I ran my hand down over my pussy lips, past the root of his cock and grasped his full balls, trying to pull them inside me as well.

It was more than he could stand and with one violent thrust he exploded inside me, drenching my insides with his scalding come...flooding me and flushing me.. I shook and shuddered to my very core, my cunt walls grabbed him like the scepter of life itself and as I hung on for the ride I was so pleased that all those days in class teasing and tormenting him and myself had finally paid off, and been worth the effort. He was my first actual true to life fuck and by morning he was also my fifth. We moved, naked from the elevator to my room...and damn near broke the bed... n the morning when he slipped out to his own room it looked like a squadron of marines had field tested a whorehouse in my room...the mattress was against the wall and the sheets were torn into little pieces with the savagery of our passion.

When we got back to school it was almost impossible for us to keep out hands from each other, but we managed most of the time.

And so it was strange, on this one day while I had him trapped inside my throat, that he would make an offhand comment to me about my mouth being one of god's best creations... and that it would make me think, once more, about the place of sin in my life.

I took him out of my mouth and looked at him, which wasn't exactly what he wanted at that particular point in time. "Maybe," I said, "It's not gods creation...maybe I did this on my own". He smiled at me and told me that anything this good had to at least have had the benefit of divine intervention. I took that well and put him back between my lips, but it seemed to ring a strange and disquieting bell in the core of my being...

It was the last time that he came in me and the last time that I wanted him to...like a melted ice cream he was different from what I had wanted so much - all those weeks ago.

I guess I had simply eaten off all the sprinkles.
 

Chapter Five: I Have Fashioned an Altar Before Thee in the Eyes of Mine Enemies...

 As my mind dredged up these memories, from the distant days of my spent youth, I noticed that the dawn light from the outside was penetrating the confessional. It was still filtered through the large stained glass window at the east end of the church and it played even more, across the interior of the small womb in which I found myself. I thought back across the years to the other times that I was in such a place...as a child this was my place to commune with my higher extension...the god who ruled me, and commanded and protected me. It was a forgiving god and a merciful one...a god who took little children and loved and protected them unconditionally...he saw no sin in the actions of children or even in their thoughts.

And so, it was little wonder that I had an impossible time feeling shame for the parts of my life which came into being along the way...even into the last urgent teen years, when I was devastatingly familiar with my own body and had allowed many others to gain equal access to it. And I had become more than a little knowledgeable about the bodies of others....I had developed a connoisseurs taste for cock. I was not in the least concerned with size or strength...but purely taste....that meaty salty taste of a man in hardness - I loved it....and craved it like a good wine on the summer porch.

I had many a man before I crossed the line into my twenties. And, in truth, most of them were not very satisfactory as lovers.....they lacked the spirit of gentle imagination and all out fun that allowed me to fully submerge myself into the act. Most of course were too fast, too selfish and, in the end, too aware of their own failings to be able to abandon their nervousness and fear of failures. Some of them were too good. - (or thought they were)...too long, or too self assured.....they felt that my pussy was the waiting logical conclusion to a drink bought or a ribald story told. And, because I had my own agenda, I took them and let them take me...they could put their wonder cocks into my hot wetness as long as I got to taste them first. I loved the easy feel of flesh sliding deep into my mouth and upper throat, I loved the architecture of a good hard dick, the ridges and valleys and the sense of that river of blood flowing rapidly and evenly into the head. I loved the small twitches and jerks that a cock makes when you run your tongue across the sensitive tip, and down the length of the shaft...it seems like a creature of it's own race.. independent from whichever guy it happens to be attached to. I practiced long and hard, (so to speak) to acquire the technique of taking a cock fully into my mouth, to allow it to pass the gag reflex and rub it's head against the top of my throat, and at the same time, to be able to hold the base firmly between my lips and create that suction around the shaft that makes it feel like several people at once have it inside them. When I first went away to college, I was blessed with a roommate who had the same dick addiction as myself. In our junior year it was all we could talk about and within a few short weeks of arriving in town we were the hit of every frat party on campus....It was at one of these parties that I met Jackson.

He stood out at the shindig because he didn't have the usual frat attire...no letter sweater or expensive fashions...when I saw him, leaning against the wall, he had on a denim shirt and jeans. He was nursing a beer, and watching bemused as the youth around him played the games that youth makes up and perfects. Unfortunately when he first saw me, I was on my knees in the living room...I had the hard extensions of two young college boys straight from the country jammed into my mouth and two more waiting. He watched me and smiled as I showed my taste for lustful behavior and for a moment I thought he would step forward and take his place in line...but he didn't. In no time flat, I was swallowing the sweet seed of both these boys and watching them as their eyes rolled back in their heads. I kept a tight hold on their cocks because I knew that a man is most sensitive in his cock immediately after orgasm and I wanted to make these youngsters beg me to stop licking and sucking their cocks...beg me to leave them be and let them recover. The two waiting in line didn't like this plan and began to rub their shafts against any part of my body which they could access...one of them slid my shirt down my shoulders and exposed my hard nipples and firm tits....and then he rubbed his cock meat against the tip of my breast, teasing and flicking it against the nipple. I still kept an eye on the stranger against the wall and became frustrated at his aloof attitude to a semi naked natchal' born cocksucker on her knees less than ten feet from him.

I increased my efforts and took the two patient boys and gave them their turn inside the velvet of my mouth. They both lasted less than a minute and although they gave me all of themselves...it only made me hungrier...I wanted more...lots more, and now.

When I looked back towards the man who seemed to be so cool, so unimpressed, I smiled at him and licked my lips. He turned and went into the kitchen.

Most of the men in the room had shifted their attention to my roommate, who was doing her usual party trick with the handle of her hairbrush and a very wet pussy. I stood and watched for a few seconds before following the stranger.

He was in the half shadows of the far end of a galley kitchen. He was cool and calm and white hot in my head. My breasts were still naked and still hard...and getting harder.

I went to the refrigerator and pulled out a beer, popped it, and drank most of it in one open throated swallow.

Then I walked straight up to him and put my hand on his cock....and smiled and licked my lips again. "Tell me what you want," he said.

"I want this cock.. I want it in my mouth and rammed deep inside my cunt until your balls are jammed into the crack of my asscheeks...I want your hot seed to fill me at both ends and then I want to taste you again when you're soft...and keep tasting you until you get hard again and fuck me some more."

I figured this was a good enough hint.

He set down his beer and took one of my tits in his hand...he was so soft and and yet so firm in the way he held my pulsating flesh between his fingers, rolling the hard nipple and lightly scratching the textured end of it.

His other hand undid the zipper of my jeans and reached inside, he roamed over the fullness of my belly and jammed his hand roughly down the front of my lacy panties and over my full mound and straight into my slit with two firm fingers. The knuckles rode hard over my clit and hurt me into ecstasy. As I stood in front of him, shaking and moaning...he unsnapped my jeans and told me to take them off. When I hesitated, he twisted my nipple, not hard but forceful.

I stepped out of them and stood in front of him, his hand still active inside my underwear. He told me to turn around and when I did, he bent me firmly over the dining room table. It was a heavy oak, farmhouse style piece of furniture and my arms and chest swept the odds and ends and scattered them to the floor. As I stood there, I felt him grab my panties in his hands and then he just tore them from my body. The force and suddenness of the movement made me shiver, and it didn't take long for me to find out what was to come next.

Chapter Six: There's No Such Thing as Original Sin

As my tits pressed hard into the old oak table, and the top of my pussy rubbed against the edge of it, I felt the remains of my shredded panties slide down my legs, and I came...buckets of hot juice poured out of me and ran down onto the kitchen floor. I collapsed with the effort and still he waited, this slender man with the quiet all knowing smile. I didn't know what he had to offer but I knew that I wanted all of it, and everywhere at once. As my breathing subsided into a mere flopping gasp, I felt something nudge at the outside of my soaking crease, and then it slid gently into the entrance to my wetlands. And then it paused?It seemed huge?filling and hard?and just out of reach just?almost?but not quite. I thought that I would go crazy with lust. I tried backing up, but he led me?I tried to reach behind me and through my open thighs but I could not reach him?He stroked the entrance to my pussy with the head of his cock, up and down the slit, and over the nub of my clit?again and again?I thought I would die simply expire where I was and leave them all to explain why this dehydrated naked woman, with torn underwear at her feet, had passed away on a frat house kitchen table?but just before I died, he entered me full and hard and fast?it took my breath away and as I gasped for air he rammed me again and then again, building to high speed and strong force in the space of just a few strokes. I was gushing again uncontrollably, his entire length was positioned directly on my clitoris, and I rode him as he fucked me silly, fucked me to oblivion, fucked my brains out, fucked me tender - fucked me true. I gripped the far end of the table and hung on for dear life. I could feel him building inside me, feel him swelling as his hot seed raced towards the place where it would escape and fill me. And suddenly, he left me, and turned me, roughly onto my back.

The table was hard but slick with sweat, my asscheeks hung from the lip of the old wood, and he spread me wide and exposed, wet and dripping. He began to tap me lightly, at the top of my crease, with the hard purple head of his manhood. rhythmically, and with increasing force?his hardness gradually forced my lips apart until he was tapping directly onto my clit. He grew harder, and tapped harder, until it became a smack, and then a wet slap. Over and over again his cock slapped into my clit?the power of the blows, although not painful, were hypnotic and hugely physical. They resounded throughout my whole body, shaking my nipples and clenching the cheeks of my ass. I could feel the small muscles in my shoulders dance to the tempo, and my breathing adjust to fit the strange building blood rush that surged though my entire being from my toes to my soul. Then he entered me again, completely, and in the white wave that electrified my skin, I came, a glorious buttshaking, thigh twitching, clit clenching, teeth gnashing, tongue biting, eye rolling, toe curling, back scratching, hair standing, mindfuck jesus of a come?I saw angels on horseback riding his shoulders, they were naked and copulating, and their steeds blew fire from their nostrils, directly into my swollen pussy. I could feel the flames, and smell the heat, I saw huge, celestial angel cocks waving in the air before my eyes, row upon row of them, coming in fountains over me drenching me in golden cherubim come and seraphim climaxes. I was as one with the man, and as one with my soul?this was the sense that I had felt from my very first almost orgasm?the oneness with a god of love, of harmony?of peace. If only I could still sing.

Chapter Seven: Peace is Always at the Center of Everything

These images were still swirling in my head, when I heard footsteps approaching the confessional. I hadn't realized that my memories were so entrenched and yet so close to the surface. My breathing began to slow down, and I waited for the other door to open, for my representative of cozmik justice, for my judge by proxy, my jury by remote. But the footsteps just moved on past, and I immediately swept, in my mind, back to the table top...

I can remember looking around me, when my flesh ceased to steam, and over his shoulder on the kitchen wall behind him, was a small crucifix. It was not altogether out of place in a frat house, although at least a tad incongruous. As he dismounted me, our juices glistening on his cock, I had a sudden flash to that movie, the Linda Blair one where she fucks herself with a crucifix...

I had never seen the functionality of a crucifix before, until that movie?but I had always been intrigued at the idea of bringing joy to the soul with such an obvious symbol of tragedy?and yet isn't that what jesus would have wished for me?even in this extreme. This was not an act of blasphemy in glorifying the body made in his image, (although frankly I always thought his image had a better ass than me, and wondered why I didn't get that!)

It felt strange, on the table thinking about jesus' ass and of slamming the symbol of his death into my dripping heat. and, after all, if the good lord didn't want us to notice his ass, then why did they have Michelangelo paint the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, instead of waiting around for Charles Schultz? And if such thoughts were so wrong, so eternally damned, then why were my nipples so hard. I remained fixated on the small wall object as my hands were placed inside open pants around me, apparently my table dance had attracted a loyal and firm following?from the living room. My hands were filled with tender, strong young cocks, others were stroking my cheeks? Immature, tentative fingers were exploring my insides, shaking with trepidation, like frightened little dildos.

The eyes of the man on the wall were not saddened eyes, And I realized that in very few portrayals of the death of christ, was he seen to be sad or unhappy. And yet, surely in Death.....?????

He looked down at me, enjoying his work, as my nerves began to race. He watched me as I opened my mouth and my thighs to the attentiveness of mob youth?we were alike he and I we were both subjecting our bodies willingly to the attentions of others, and it was really only a matter of perspective as to which was a real definition of love of mankind, he giving for the sins of many, or me sinning as a gift to many.

By now there must have been eight or ten faces above me, marvelling at my intensity of body and calm of spirit. But the face on the cross was the one that counted, and he looked?approving.

In the confessional after the footsteps receded, I could feel the high back of the small pew, as it dug into my shoulders?and it was in the same sense as the table edge, all those years ago, as my head lolled from one end, sucking and caressing a multitude of meats. Was it the pain of immediate punishment for warm thoughts and actions?or the slight pain of comforting, of congratulations for getting it right.

Sin is, after all, the single most subjective crime. The crime of a thousand definitions and the widest range of punishments saying a few incantations to eternal damnation....let's not give this one to the Simpson jury.

My asscheeks hung over the other end of the table I enjoyed a succession of fillings. But when I left, and, of course, took Jackson's number I was curiously calm, even after such obvious and technical debauchery, the truth settled on me that I had only really been with one man on that sturdy table?and I hadn't even fucked him. It felt like an audition, like dancing for Flo himself at the follies But I gave it a damn good shot, I knew the part real well my partners performed passably enough and often enough, so there's a good chance I'll get a callback, at least.

Of course, no-one ever really got to dance with Flo Ziegfeld at auditions, but I figured jesus is a man and eventually he'll want to get him some, and I meant to be ready and at the head of the line, when he came lookin'.

 Chapter Eight: He Leadeth Me to Lay Down Beside the Still Waters

It was well past dawn by now?I had mused past many of the events in my life and given quite some thought to the memories that they had provoked. I had sought in my heart and in my soul for the betrayal of my faith, for the cancellation of belief which would signify sin. I had searched for new definitions, which befitted my life so as to be able once again to balance my pussy and my pride and my paradise.

But in my eyes I found no memories which could clarify such a definition. I didn't want to get to the gates on the other side of the wall of brilliant white, only to discover that I had never sought total absolution, and yet surely one of the basic requirements for such absolution was to at least recognize one's sins so as even to be able to ask for forgiveness. It's not like one can reasonably expect to say to the lord, "Hey, you know what I did, just go ahead and forgive the stuff you didn't like...." and I certainly could take up much of my purgatory just verbalizing it all, if I was just supposed to confess everything and ensure that I covered whatever he might consider necessary for absolution.

I had no reason to fear that such a situation was impending?after all, my health was fine, my body was young and firm....But the small life growing inside of me, my first such life?demanded that I clarify my positions, long before I was called upon to teach the grand lessons of life and it's passages. I wanted to know, to be really sure, of where the lines were between my faith and my humanity?between my soul and my body?between heaven and heresy. After all this time, there still seemed little that I had ever done at least with my body and those of others which I could view in the spiritual or even religious sense as sinful - as shameful? as wrong? in any sense of the word.

Although there was strong reason to suggest that some of my actions had probably disobeyed certain local community standards and maybe even bent a few actual laws regarding public indecency and moral aptitude. I have a small button, in my living room, which has the word "morals" inside the international symbol for "NO" I always felt that morals were a religious issue, and had always been more comfortable with the use of the word "ethics" and, on this beautiful morning kneeling in the doorway to GOD HISSOWN SELF I felt no closer to a solution than when I first entered the box, I had no further clues?and yet felt strangely comfortable continuing without that knowledge...and that's when I knew...that's when I became at peace with the definition of sin...with what I would need to ask for, and why forgiveness wasn't any part of the process at all.

I inhaled the majesty of his house and allowed it's splendor and quiet peace to fill me as it had done all of my life in the still small moments of my thoughts to myself. I felt the harmony that I had captured in the choir, and the innocence of a grope at the kids table?the purity of naive self examination and the raw lust of a rising glass room?I felt the sense of giving the complete physical rapport with my college lovers and the submission to the joy of others that my actions had allowed me...

There was simply put, no place in my life for sexual shame, and nor should there be, inside the hearts of others. Those who perpetuate such shame, who define the categories of sin in the absence of the lord himself they are the ones to be forgiven - it is those abstract and malevolent souls who will be milling outside the gates of paradise upon my arrival and my swift and welcomed entrance through the portals will silence forever the clucking of their disapproving tongues, and bestill their waving fingers.

And when I reach the throne, the chair of grandness, with my reputation preceding me, and my diaphanous shift, swirling around my otherwise naked body, I know what will await me, I know that my lord will look down into my eyes, and touch softly his gentle hands to my cheeks and face, and lead me to his bedding, lead me on his arm, past the singing angels and the rainbow harmonies of heaven, into the place where his creation can be finally given it's ultimate test...and in that split second of eternal lust when he finally plants his silver seedlings inside of me, he will smile down into my face...with that same smile that I have seen and worn, many many times...and I will know that what I have believed all of my life...that my body is indeed a temple, that the lord my god is a loving god...that words and phrases about sin and judgement days and guilt and forgiveness are not heavenly issues, but merely the attempts on the part of man and womankind to justify their own fears and control others..and the only question I will be left with on that most magical of beds, in that most holy of settings is "Does this man eat pussy?"

My guess today, is that he does.

* * * * *

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