Remote Possibilities

When the universe sends you the person of your dreams, there’s nothing you can do but hold on for the ride of a lifetime.  There’s no way to plan for it, there’s no way to calculate how things should progress; you just have to be present in each moment to receive the gifts you deserve.  Little did Marcus and Karen understand how perfectly suited they were for one another and how vulnerable it would make them in the eyes of the other. 

Most people assume that when you meet someone whom you like, it all happens by chance, that it’s all a matter of luck.  Little do they know that cosmic forces work diligently, crafting and planning, coordinating and preparing the perfect set of circumstances in order to facilitate the spark that ignites true love.  All the forces of extraordinary chemistry were in place at the Borders bookstore in Hyde Park and the only thing missing were the key players in the game.  Karen Anderson was in place, sipping a cup of tea with her head buried in her laptop, oblivious to the world.  Enter Marcus Stevenson, stage left, precariously balancing a tray with food, books, and an ulterior motive while looking for a seat. 

“Excuse me, Miss, is this seat taken?” 

Karen looked up, slid her things to the side to make space for her new table companion, and mumbled something barely audible that sounded like, “No, go right ahead.”  She went back to staring at her computer screen and shutting out the world around her.  She was desperately trying to stay focused but deep inside her heart had just skipped a beat.  Marcus was breathtaking.  Standing 6’ even, he towered over her 5’6” petite frame.  His butterscotch complexion, dark brown expressive eyes, and enormous smile melted her heart.  Karen was attracted in a way she hadn’t felt since her first crush in Middle School.  Her palms were sweaty and she could actually feel an electric current coursing through her body.  Her body was one big mass of heightened sensation.  To the casual observer, she was just another lady in self-absorbed, technological distraction.  Nervous and shy, she didn’t even dare look up to make eye contact with her tablemate. 

“For all your generosity in sharing your space with me, I think you should at least accept my offer of some more tea.”  Karen looked up as Marcus was sliding a freshly brewed pot of Good Hope Vanilla tea towards her.  He motioned at the fellow behind the counter and said with a smile, “He was kind enough to tell me what you were drinking, I hope you don’t mind.” 

“Gee, that’s very nice of you but it’s not at all necessary,” she said, thinking that was the most polite way to say, “Oh hell no, you aren’t going to drug me with a roofie.”  Before she could even get the thought completely processed, Marcus anticipated her reaction, poured a cup for himself, and took a sip.

“Hey, this is pretty good, I think you might have turned me on to something new.  I like it!” 

Karen smiled at the coincidence and graciously accepted the offer of tea and went right back to burying her head in her work.  She didn’t want to assume he was flirting with her and she was totally unskilled at how to show interest in a man, so she went back to pretending she wasn’t at all interested in Marcus and planning on what she would say on the remote possibility that he extended himself to her again in conversation.  After twenty minutes, she figured she’d ruined her chance of striking up a conversation with him and made a mental note to herself to be just a little bit more assertive the next time a gorgeous man sat down at the table next to her.  She had all but given up her hopes that he might be interested in her, when, she stared at her computer screen and blurted out in complete shock, “Three thousand dollars?”

Marcus looked up from his reading and inquired, “Is everything okay over there?” 

Karen apologized for disturbing him, “Oh, I’m terribly sorry, but I put a bid on something on eBay and the price has shot up to $3000 with only twenty minutes left in the auction.  I’ve been watching this item for a week now and there was no activity on it at $800.  Now, there’s no way I can get it.  It’s way out of my budget.”  She looked disappointed but Marcus thought her cute little nose squished up and her lips pouting out made her look incredibly sexy. 

“What on earth were you interested in getting that upset you so, if you don’t mind me asking that is?”  Truth be told, Marcus was looking for any opportunity to strike up a conversation.  He had seen her sitting at the table from the second he walked in and he was instantly attracted.  It was the sort of, “This is the woman I’m going to marry,” attraction that guys talk about in locker rooms when they are describing the woman that is going to make them change their ways.  From head to toe, she was his idea of perfection.  From her head of braids to her exquisite face, all the way down to her delicious looking toes that peeked out from beneath the table in her cute sandals.  After he made the first move and she didn’t respond, he figured she was probably happily married already with two kids and a dog.  Women that beautiful weren’t the type of women to be single. 

“Oh, it was just a piece of Shona sculpture that I wanted to add to my collection and . . . well, never mind, it’s no big deal.” 

Marcus’s face lit up.  “You like Shona sculpture?  No way!  Check it, I’m reading a book on Shona sculpture right now.”  He handed her a substantial coffee table book that he had been reading and went on and on about how it was such a small world. 

Skeptical, Karen remarked, “Yeah, coincidence, isn’t it, just like the tea.”  Are you sure you didn’t look over my shoulder and see what I was looking at?” 

Confessing all his sins, Marcus whispered so the people at the table next to them couldn’t hear of his attraction to her and his attempt to show his interest with the tea.  “Honestly, I love African art and I was just here to look at some different books and Shona sculpture is one of them.  Promise.  Cross my heart.”  That puppy dog expression on his face made Karen just melt.  For the first time, she let down her guard and started to open up. 

It was only then that Karen let the forces of nature take over and guide the connection that would prove to be the most amazing relationship of her life.  Time seemed to stand still as the two began to get to know each other.  Minutes turned into hours, hours turned into days, days turned into weeks.  The more they shared with one another, the more obvious it became that they were twin souls separated at birth.  They shared the same loves, the same passions, and the same temperament.  Most people would say that a love like that would get boring, that opposites attract, variety is the spice of life and all that.  That’s only because they have no concept of what it’s like to find a true soul mate.  They base their beliefs off of relationships formed from physical attraction and lust and then criticize emotional, intellectual, and spiritual connection because they can’t grasp its parameters. 

Within a few months, it was more than apparent that Karen and Marcus were inseparable.  They both loved salsa music and creative vegetarian cooking and obscure cerebral films.  Their love was blossoming and taking on a life of its own.  They were both supportive of each other’s goals in life, Karen the more creative and Marcus the more technical.  There were no secrets to be kept because they could be completely honest without fear of being judged.  No secrets except for one.  There was something unspoken, something unsaid that was the wedge in their machinery.  Marcus was sure it was the bullet that would kill their budding romance. 

Karen, unaware that there were any secrets, was in bliss.  They’d become physically intimate and he seemed like the perfect lover.  He was responsive and gentle and his sensitivity to her needs reminded her of her previous female lovers.  She’d been completely honest with him, sharing details of her past and being completely open about her preferences.  She wasn’t tied one way or the other with being with women or men.  She was open to loving relationships and she was interested in monogamy so whomever she decided to be with, male or female, was going to be the recipient of all of her love and affection, and she expect the same back in return. 

It was a typical Friday night and the pair had just settled in after dinner to listen to some music and relax for the evening at Marcus’s crib.  Neither of them were big fans of television so when Karen suggested that they watch a movie, it sounded like a great and novel idea to both of them.  There was no TV in the living room; it was hidden in an armoire in the bedroom.  Karen made her way to the bedroom with a copy of the DVD Chocolat in one hand and her shoes in the other while Marcus was off to the kitchen to make popcorn and open a bottle of wine.  He was carrying the tray up the stairs when he froze in his tracks.  He almost dropped the goodies out of sheer terror.  He could hear the sounds from the television coming down the hall. 

Karen has made her way to the bedroom to start the movie.  There were three remote controls and she was just pushing combinations of all of them trying to get the DVD to play.  Marcus still has a combination DVD/VCR player and when the screen flickered and images appeared she quickly climbed on the bed to get comfortable.  She was ready to call out to Marcus to hurry up when what she saw made the words freeze in her throat.  There, live and in living color was a video of two men engaged in some serious, hot, and heavy action.  Karen stared at the scene, two men licking and sucking and fucking, but it was more than just typical porn, it was almost as if they were making love.  Karen shifted on the bed, pulling her legs up under her, drawn to the action and afraid to look away but almost sure she should turn it off before Marcus got there.  In an instant, Karen realized that the porno on the screen wasn’t a regular porno; it was a homemade video.  It was a homemade video of Marcus with another man.  She gasped out loud and looked up to see Marcus standing in the doorway with a look of sheer terror on his face. 

She scrambled for the remotes, trying to find the one that would turn off the video but she was pushing buttons in vain.  For a full minute, she was fumbling, cursing, and pushing more buttons trying to turn off the video.  Finally, she pushed the right one and the screen went to blue.  Blue easily described the look on Marcus’ face as she turned to apologize for the accidental invasion of privacy.

“I’m sorry . . . . I  . . . I . . . I didn’t mean to . . . I’m so sorry.” 

Looking dejected and broken, Marcus set down the tray and sat on the edge of the bed to keep from falling down.  He whispered, “There’s no need to apologize, I’m sorry for being dishonest for all these months.”

It was in that moment, Karen froze.  It hadn’t occurred to her that the video might be current.  They had spent every moment together possible and there wasn’t any time that Marcus’s whereabouts weren't unaccounted for, or so she thought.  She was scrambling for her shoes and trying to make her way out of there without crying.  “I thought, I thought we had something special,” she said, sniffing and holding back the tears.  “I never thought you would be capable of cheating.”

Marcus was dumbfounded.  He hadn’t even considered that she would think that he was cheating on her, he was sure she was going to call him a faggot and a sissy and go off about how he wasn’t really a man and about how she was going to out him to the world.  “No, no, no, that was made over two years ago.  I would never cheat on you.  I respect you too much to lie to . . .”  He stopped himself, realizing that his lack of full disclosure counted as a lie.  “I’m sorry, I’m so very sorry.”  He waited patiently; ready to answer questions if she asked, mentally preparing himself for her to walk out of his life forever.

Karen sat on the bed next to him, covering his hand with hers.  She comforted him.  “I can understand why you wouldn’t tell me about this.  I really wish you had but I can understand why you didn’t.  Boo, we were tested.  I know you aren’t positive.  I could have handled it.  You should have trusted me.”

Marcus felt a sigh of relief flow over him.  He’d been expecting the neck rolling, irrational, deranged tantrum of a woman who was going to rip him a new asshole.  It almost seemed to him that Karen was being supportive, allowing him to share with her without judgment.  He couldn’t even conceive of a woman like that.  “Have I watched one too many Oprah shows or is it possible . . .”  He sat staring at the floor, afraid to speak. 

“Or what?  Is it possible that I’m understanding of you being with another man,” she said, finishing his thoughts.  Baby, you should know me by now, you should know me well enough to know that I would never equate your manhood to something as silly as who you share yourself with.  My identity isn’t shaped by whom I sleep with, why would I think anything different for you?” 

With those words, a weight had been lifted off Marcus’ shoulders.  He turned to face Karen and she touched his cheek softly.  She kissed his lower lip, gently sucking it in her mouth and his hands instinctively encircled her.  She fell back on the bed and he tumbled on top of her, driven by passion.  “No, stop,” he said, “We have to talk about this.”  He stood up and paced the room.  He was trying to find the right words but he was just saying the first thing that came to mind. 

“Sometimes, I think we are more alike than is even possible.  I wanted to tell you so many times.  I wanted you to know but I was so afraid you’d leave.”  He continued pacing and talking.  “Reggie and I were lovers, for over a year in fact.  He’s the only man I’ve ever been with, I swear.  I have to tell you the truth and do with it what you want.  It wasn’t just sex, we were a couple.  I cared about him; he cared about me.  There was no top or bottom; nobody was the woman.  We were both men, involved in an intimate, sexual relationship.  I guess I secretly wanted to get caught by leaving the video of us in the machine.  Seems like some sort of sub-conscious fuck up, right?”  He went on and on about how the relationship taught him more about himself than he had ever imagined, and how he sometimes just missed the sex.  It wasn’t a reflection of his dissatisfaction with Karen; it was just a part of his sex life that really couldn’t be duplicated. 

Finished pouring out his heart and soul, Marcus came out of his oblivion and looked up.  Karen was on the bed naked, with her legs spread, watching the video and rubbing the remote on her clit.  His dick jumped at the sexy sight and he wanted nothing more than to bury his face between those silky thighs.  He looked at the TV and his dick jumped again.  It was the scene where he was engaged in a hot, wet 69 with his lover.  Karen’s eyes were glued to the screen and she seemed to be in a trance. 

“Marc, sweetie, is it inconceivable to you that I could be aroused watching you with another man?  How would you feel if you were to watch a video of me with another lover?  You should have trusted me, trusted that I wouldn’t unfairly judge you.  You should have had faith that I would respect you for who you are and not whom you have sex with.  When I look at that video, I see two incredibly beautiful people engaged in an intensely erotic situation.  It turns me on incredibly.”  She spread her legs and beckoned Marcus to come join her on the bed.

It was Marcus who was in a trance now and he fell to his knees and pulled her sexy body close to him.  Karen took his head and held it tightly against her mound.  Karen spread her legs and awaited her moment of reckoning.  He lowered his mouth to her sweet center.  Her slippery and sweet juices were flowing freely.  Her lips were parted slightly, exposing her silken and pink center.  His tongue softly flicked at her clit, sending waves of pleasure throughout her entire body.  Karen’s body jerked and shook every time his lips sucked her sensitive button.  The more he licked the wetter she became.  Her moans and utterances of profane and graphic directions were music to his ears.  “Baby, I love the way you lick my pussy . . . oh shit . . . fuck . . . yesssss.  . . finger me.  Oh, it feels so good.”  Marcus cupped her ass in his hands, pulled her pussy to his mouth, and drove his tongue deep inside her as she released her juices down his throat.  

Karen was not a woman to be denied her own brand of pleasure.  She moved quickly to take advantage of the situation and climbed on top of Marcus.  She held his stiff dick in her soft hands.  She began to softly, gently lick the head, licking it like a soft serve cone and expertly using the tip of her tongue in his slit.  She began swirling her tongue around the head, getting it wet and slippery with her spit; stroking him to full hardness with her hand.  She looked at him with a sexy look in her eyes took his entire length in her mouth in one stroke.  She took a deep breath and went further down, deep-throating him with a technique that would make porn stars jealous.  “Is that the way your boyfriend did it,” she teased. 

Totally consumed, all Reginald could do was moan and grab the sheets tightly.  He was breathless as he knew what was about to come.  Karen began her technique of licking, sucking, and stroking his dick in a way that made him want to lose his mind.  The pleasure was indescribable.  Her lips, her tongue, her mouth and hands all worked together to suck with the right pressure, to lick the right spots, to give him sloppy, wet, sensuous pleasure. 

Marcus, out of control with lust, grabbed his dick and squeezed it tightly so as not to cum.  “Marcus, make love to me, please.”  She was pleading with him, desperate to have him inside her.  Marcus paused, nervous again.  He took the head of his dick and placed it at her hole.  The heat traveled up his body and Karen pulled him to her.  Her silky walls grabbed him and pulled him deeper.  Their cries echoed out into the calm night sky.  He was stroking her hard and she was meeting each thrust with passion.  It was too intense.  Marcus couldn’t control himself.  He needed to be deep inside her, to fill her completely.  Perspiration glowed on their bodies and their grunts became animal-like.  He braced himself and started working her pussy, hitting every spot, every angle.  He was a machine, giving her pleasure like he’d never done before, experiencing pleasure in ways he’d never known were possible. 

Karen was cumming all over him.  Her body was trembling and her juices were flowing freely.  She was begging for more, pleading with him not to stop, so Marcus concentrated and kept up his technique.  He placed her legs on his shoulders and gripped her hips tightly.  Her soft flesh filled his hands.  The head of his dick was hitting bottom and he couldn’t stop his own orgasm from overtaking him.  The cum in his nuts boiled up and exploded inside his lady love as she held him tightly to her body.

           

His orgasm hit him hard.  More than just the physical sensation of pleasure overtook him; it was the realization that they there were no more secrets, that he was accepted and loved unconditionally.  He collapsed on top of her and she cradled him and comforted him in her sweet and loving embrace. 

           

“I will always respect you baby,” she kissed his cheek, “as long as you continue to be a man of integrity,” she whispered our of breath, “and as long as you let me control the remote.”  They laughed, snuggling together as they fell asleep in each other’s arms contemplating the possibilities of what was to come with their new-found sexual freedom. 

Copyright 2006 AfroerotiK

Well, I hope I’ve given a few people something to think about and I’ve opened the door to greater communication for some others.  It’s really past time that we redefine what makes a man and stop having such illogical, knee jerk reactions to healthy erotic expression.  We need to raise our standards of behavior so that sex becomes more than just a way to bust a nut but it is really about sharing someone special with your partner, whether they be male or female. 

Bless Me Father for I Have Sinned

I’m a pervert, and an unapologetic one at that.  I’m so completely confident and comfortable with my sexuality that I refuse to compartmentalize it, lie about it, or be ashamed of it. I’m free from society’s pressure to conform and that is a joy most people will never experience.  To most people in a sexually-repressed society, being unashamed of your sexuality translates to being a perv and trying to convince people that you never have any sexual thoughts whatsoever is considered normal.  That’s insane.  Anyone who knows me knows that I will swear on a stack of bibles in a court of law and admit to anything and everything I’ve ever done sexually, regardless of how uncomfortable it might make some pseudo-conservatives and religious zealots, because I’ve never done anything immoral or illegal and I’m not ashamed of people knowing that I color outside the lines.  I’m of the strong belief that two consenting adults should test the waters to see what they enjoy and explore alternative options.  I personally enjoy exploring where my mind can go sexually and you know what they say; the mind is the biggest sexual organ. A pervert is defined as someone who leads another astray morally.  I like to think that I have the unique ability to seduce people into doing things they secretly crave but publicly denounce.  I get off on seeing people become feral, primal, sexual beasts, shedding their façade of straight-laced formality and conformity only to embrace and revel in their true nature.  I belong to the school of thought that it’s the responsibility of forward thinking individuals like myself to challenge the notion that sex is only valid if it’s missionary position on a Friday night with the lights out between two married, white, mildly unattractive and boring, financially stable heterosexuals. 

It’s rare to find a woman, at least as upstanding and educated as I am, and a Black woman on top of that, who readily admits that she is a aroused by sexual variation and coloring outside the lines.  I didn’t say it was rare to find a woman of my social and economic standing who is a pervert, I meet tons of them. We live in such a sexually repressed society, finding women who are sophisticated and conservative on the outside and horny and willing to push their limits when they let their hair down is a piece of cake.  All one has to do is know what to look for; like attracts like as they say.  It is rare, however, to meet women who are as proud to be as kinky as I am.  It’s easier to find men who are kinksters, at least in name if not in practice.  There are tons of men who claim to be comfortable with their sexuality as I am but all they do is jerk off in front of a computer screen or they lie about their true motives and desires.  You can’t claim to be a comfortable with your sexuality if you your only connection to other people is though a broadband one or if you are ashamed of your actions.  You can’t claim to be comfortable with your sexuality if you need to lie, manipulate, cheat, and do things that are unsafe and unhealthy in the pursuit of illicit sex.  I am the real deal.  Usually, women are so secretive about their sexuality that no one knows about their dark side; they even keep it hidden from their lovers.  They hide the fact that they look at extreme porn on the internet and crave things that they pretend to their co-workers, family, and friends offends them.  Me on the other hand, I don’t care who knows that I am aroused by almost every expression of sexuality in some form or fashion.  Pick a fetish, inclination, or preference and I’ve probably masturbated to it. 

I was in the mood for some fun so I decided to take the afternoon off from work to enjoy the beautiful summer afternoon.  I went to the park to see if I could find some average-looking married guy sucking off some stranger in the bushes.  That always gets my pussy wet.  I love watching the white guys with receding hairlines who wear sweater vests and pocket protectors enthusiastically schlobbing on the knob of some Black or Latino guy with a huge cock and sucking him like a porn star at 2 in the afternoon in the park.  Let him bend over and take that big, brown cock up his ass and I’m turned on and cumming and fucking myself like there’s no tomorrow.   Any guy that horny who is willing to do something that outrageous and contrary to social norms in broad daylight is a risk taker; he is addicted to getting off and that turns me on.  I can get off on just the mental image of this middle management white guy going home and having to take out the trash and pay the bills knowing that he has the cum of a hot black man dripping out of his boipussy while his unsuspecting wife is making meatloaf and green beans for dinner.  That is so fucking HOT!

This particular day, I was in the mood for more than just watching; I wanted to play and play hard.  Every step I took, my wet and throbbing pussy reminded me that I needed relief.  When my perverted mind is turned on, I see sex in everything.  I was searching the eyes of everyone I saw, looking for that look of arousal and secrecy that only other perverts can recognize.  I saw it in the most average looking woman who was coming out of a church.  It was a weekday and it was the middle of the afternoon but I could see she was wearing a top that was just a little bit too sexy for church and she was visibly aroused.  I could see her hardened nipples through her shirt and she looked breathless.  Sitting on a bench across from the park, she had that look of guilt on her face that I could tell she had been doing something naughty and she was trying to collect herself before she had to go home and face her hubby.  She had on a pair of polyester slacks, flats, and a blouse that looked like it was something she got from the junior’s department straight from Wal-mart and she looked like she was on her way to pick up the kids from soccer practice.  I casually strolled up to her and sat down next to her and blatantly stared at her.  It made her uncomfortable and she started fidgeting around, eventually grabbing her purse like I was going to steal it.  One of my shoes literally cost more than 10 times her outfit so I had to laugh at her white paranoia. 

“Gorgeous day, isn’t it,” I casually inquired. 

She nodded, mumbled her agreement, and stared at the ground, trying to avoid eye contact.  She looked like she was trying to catch her breath.  I leaned in close and whispered in her ear.  “So, what was it in that church that got you so hot and bothered?  What got your pussy so wet?”  There was no mistaking the look of terror in her eyes.  She got up and quickly walked away, looking back over her shoulder the entire time until she was out of sight.  I just smiled and waved.  I decided to go investigate myself and I entered the consecrated building.  The place was deserted with the exception of a wrinkled, elderly Latina woman lighting candles at the altar and I highly doubted that she was who had that woman so flushed and aroused.  I sat down and observed for a few minutes.  I was just about ready to go, bored out of my mind, when at about a few minutes to 4:00, a priest came out of a side rectory door and went straight to the confessional and turned on an indicator light.  Giving credit where credit is due, the priest was reasonably attractive.  He wasn’t masturbation material but his face was chiseled and distinguished and his brown eyes danced with brilliance with a sly smile.  He was maybe in his early 40s and I guessed that under his black shirt and pants, his body was toned.  Overall, he was intriguing enough to get my “creative” juices flowing.  I saw the elderly Latina woman make her way to the back of the church and at exactly 4 pm, she entered the small booth.  She was only in there about 5 minutes and when she exited she certainly didn’t look particularly flustered or aroused. 

I hatched the most delicious plan right then and there.  I entered the confessional and sat down.  The partition opened and I said, “Bless me father for I have sinned, I’ve never confessed before because I’m not Catholic.  Shit, I’m not even Christian for that matter.” 

“How then can I help you my child?  The confessional is a sacred space for Catholics to confess their sins and seek absolution. Perhaps, if you are in need of counsel, I can make arrangements to meet with you outside the confessional.” 

“Oh, no, please father, I need someone to talk to and you are the only one.  Anything I say here you have to keep a secret, right?  Cross your heart and hope to die, right?  Well, I need to confess and get a lot of things off my chest.  It would make me feel so much better to do it here, where you can’t see me.  I’d be so embarrassed that I don’t think I could tell you these things face to face, Father.  Please.” 

I was lying.  I didn’t give a half a fat fuck if he saw my face or not.  I couldn’t give a hot damn if someone looked me dead in the eye while I spilled my guts about my fetishes and fantasies.  I just thought it was a turn-on to be in a confessional with a man who took an oath of abstinence and telling him incredibly nasty things. 

He conceded and let me go on with my fake confession.  “Father, I’ve been a very naughty girl.” I paused, giving him time to gather his senses.  “Father, I . . .  hardly know where to begin.  Well, let me ask you this.  Is anal sex a sin?” 

The priest gasped, audibly shocked.  Clearing his throat, he said, “Are you . . . are you  married my child?  Well . . . uhmmmm. . . . whatever happens in the marriage bed is considered sacred in the eyes of the lord but . . .” 

“Oh, I’m not married but my boyfriend is.  Cool, he always fucks me in the ass in his marital bed when his wife is out of town.  Okay, on to my next confession . . .” 

“Wait, no, no.  That’s not what I meant.  I was trying to say . . .” 

I could barely contain my laughter.  “Relax, pops, I was just kidding you.  I know that adultery is a sin.  My boyfriend isn’t married.  In fact, he isn’t even a boy.  He, is a she.  My girlfriend is married though.  Do I get extra forgiveness points or whatever you call it because I’ve known her longer than she has known her husband?  She and I used to fool around in college and we just can’t seem to stop . . . fooling around . . . if you know what I mean.”  “Oh, gosh darnit all to heck,” I sarcastically added and then changed my tone to that of the most intense sexy whisper, “You see, Father, I love eating pussy.  I can’t get enough.  I love sticking my tongue between those meaty folds of her wet cunt and tasting all her sweet juices and swirling her hardened clit between my lips to make her flood my mouth with her hot cum.  Awww poop, I guess that is a sin in your book too.  Man, I’m not doing too well here.  I love getting dicked really hard up the ass with a strapon by my married lesbian lover and having her eat my pussy too.  I’m guessing it’s a good thing I’m not Catholic.  I’d never leave this little room with all the things I do.” 

By this time, the Padre knew exactly what I was trying to do and it looked like he was willing to play along.  “These are some very serious sins, my child, I think you should start at the beginning and tell me everything, don’t leave any detail out no matter how small, so that I can know how to counsel you and give you guidance.”  At that point, I heard the very faint sounds of a zipper being lowered and the tell-tale signs of labored breathing. 

I was in my zone.  I knew I had him just where I wanted him and it was turning me on like crazy.  I was tempting this devout holy man with my particular brand of perversion and he was falling for it hook, line, and sinker.  I have long had my suspicions that anyone who makes a conscious choice to deny their sexuality is ripe for perverse pickings so to speak.  Sex is natural, human beings are supposed to have sex.  Anyone who denies their sexuality, suppresses it, is setting themselves up for mental illness and sexual addiction.  Duh!  All these priests molesting children is clearly because humans are not meant to be asexual and they are driven to these detrimental and deviant behaviors because they have shut off that part of themselves which is natural.  And now that priests can have access to porn every day all day on the internet, every sort of degrading, misogynist, vulgar porn, they are sure to be even more susceptible to being led astray and have more opportunities for sexual depravity than most people would care to acknowledge or accept. 

I moved closer to the partition. I whispered so the priest would be forced to lean in closer.  “I’m not sure where to begin, Father.  I guess it all started when I got my heart broken by a guy who was a sociopath.  Up until that point in my life I had been pretty comfortable being average and regular, hiding and denying my sexuality like everyone else.  Then, I dated evil incarnate, a demon; I fell in love with someone without a soul.  He was beyond a pathological liar.  Every single solitary word out of his mouth was a lie.  He lied when he would swear to me he was telling the truth.  He looked me in the eye and lied to me, used me, he cheated on me.  He told me he loved me, told me he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me, that I was the woman of his dreams, for no other reason than he wanted to fuck me.  He got a perverse thrill out of making me believe that he was my ideal lover, that he believed in me and was supportive of me when he knew I was just a placeholder for the next woman he could romance who would feed his distorted ego.  When I found out the truth, it broke my heart in ways I can’t even explain.  I was emotionally shattered.” 

I continued.  “So, in order to heal from that pain, I had to start really loving myself.  Loving myself meant I had to embrace every part of myself.  Loving myself meant that I could step back from the situation and see how pathetic and sad my ex was because he felt so driven by his sexuality and so ashamed of it that he had to hurt, use, manipulate, degrade, humiliate, and deceive people for his sexual satisfaction and that that had nothing to do with me, my value as a lover, or my ability to make sound choices in a partner.  It was then that I decided that I was not going lie about my sexuality ever again.  Never again would I be ashamed of anything I fantasized about, desired, or got aroused by.  I was not going to be victim of the same beliefs that made him into a narcissist and sociopath; I was not going to be a slave to a society that created monsters like him because they felt like they had to deny their sexuality. When I got to that point in my life, Father, I released all the fear, shame, and guilt that I had been socialized to have my entire life and I started to enjoy my sexuality in a way that I had never even realized I could before.” 

“I see, my child.”  The father was listening intently.  I could see his outline through the partition and he was riveted to my every word.  It was as if I was counseling him in a way.  I think I might have been telling his story.  I knew he had to have some form of sexual release and I just imagined that he struggled with his own sexual demons and maybe what unhealthy, dysfunctional things it might have driven him to do.   

“Do you really see, Father?  I mean, you’ve never even had the opportunity to slide your dick in a wet, hot, tight pussy before.  How could you possibly understand?  You’ve never had soft, full, sensual lips sliding up and down the shaft of your cock, coaxing you to the verge of orgasm.  You’ve never had a thick, hard dick up your ass, hitting your prostate, making your cock leak precum.  Not once have you experienced what it feels like to shoot your cum deep inside someone and know that you are sharing yourself with them in a way that God intended people to connect and share.”

He was moaning softly and I could clearly hear the tell-tale signs of him jerking off.  I decided to join the party.  I stood up and slid my soaking wet panties down my brown, tone legs.  I held them up to the partition and he inhaled deeply my feminine scent.  “No, I’ve never experienced any of those worldly desires personally, but you cannot say that the God wants people to have sex outside of the holy covenant of marriage.  The bible says . . .”

“Fuck that,” I interrupted, “How the holy hell can you say that God doesn’t want us to experience pleasure, ecstasy, and bliss when she created our bodies to feel every bit of that?”

“I’m afraid you are terribly misguided, my child,” he reprimanded me, practically choking on his words. “We have Catechism classes here on Thursday and Friday evenings if you’d like to come and learn about the true word of God.”  It was clear he was getting upset by my assertions.  I’d seen it before.  People who are intent on pretending to be asexual have this form of cognitive dissonance, their brains start to shut down, their wires get crossed and they freak out when they are confronted with facts that contradict their beliefs.  That, ladies and gentlemen, is precisely the point when I can entice people to come to the light, the enlightenment of sexual freedom and expression. 

“So, you’re telling me, Father, that when I touch my clit, like this, I’m not supposed to experience pleasure?  You’re telling me that I’m not supposed to enjoy the sensations of having my hard nipples softly caressed, sucked, and licked unless I have a piece of paper from the courthouse that says I’m married?  Seriously?  You believe that?”  I started masturbating, at first with just one finger on my clit and then quickly graduated to using both hands, one to furiously rub my pussy and one to finger fuck my horny hole.  I was moaning loud enough for him to hear but I didn’t want to attract too much attention and I had no clue who could hear me outside the confessional.  I didn’t want some Bishop or Monsignor or even some other parish priest busting in and interrupting what was quickly becoming one of the kinkiest, most erotic experiences of my life.   

I stood up and turned my back to the partition.  I pulled up my skirt and revealed my ass.  Bending over, I pulled my ass cheeks apart and I backed up.  This time, the priest didn’t even try to hide the fact that he was deeply inhaling the musky scent from my unwashed pussy and asshole.  This smell wasn’t soap and perfume, it was the heady aroma of my unique essence, my pheromones.  “Does that turn you on, Father?  Are you aroused?  Is your cock hard?  Do you want to fuck me?”

He didn’t answer.  He didn’t have to.  He was pounding his dick unashamedly at this point.  He was being even more cautious than I was about making noises so I had to listen carefully for any sounds that let me know he was enjoying every second of this lecherous experience.   I wondered if he had ever seen a Black woman’s pussy before.  African Americans are Baptists and Methodists for the most part, we aren’t Catholics in any sort of great numbers.  Then, it dawned on me that perhaps there were millions of lonely, frustrated, sexually repressed white housewives using confessionals all over the country as their illicit source of sexual satisfaction.  I thought maybe that was a secret hidden in plain sight; that priests everywhere were jerking off to confessions from people who were turned on by getting their clergyman all hot and bothered.

 If that damn booth hadn’t been so damn small, I would have taken every thread of clothing I had on and left it in a heap on the floor so I could really give the good Father a show.  The lighting was poor and the space was cramped and confined so I had to make the best of my circumstances.  I was more aroused than I had been in a long time.  So close, but yet so far, was this man, a virile man who took a vow of chastity whom I had tempted to sin.  I had to use the only skills I could to get us both off, and that was my ability to talk dirty.  “I know you want this wet, Black pussy, Father.  You want to lay me down on your bed, push my legs back, and aim your hard cock and my unrepentant, sinful cunt, don’t you?  You want to bend me over, my big, round ass sticking up for you to slide your hard dick in me like your animal instincts tell you to do, fuck me hard, make me scream, make me cum all over you.  You want that, don’t you?  You want to give me pleasure with your stiff dick in me, make me feel like a woman.  You want to feel like a man when you pump your thick, hot cum up inside me.”

By this time he was moaning uncontrollably and loudly.  Anyone who was even remotely close could have heard both of us.  That inspired me even more.  I was making him lose control.  He was someone else, he was no longer a priest, he was a man driven by his natural desires to release and satisfaction.  I couldn’t stop.  I was in a zone of sexual frenzy that could only be satisfied by my intense orgasm.  I put my leg up on the wall, slid my fingers inside my pussy and I let out a vey audible gasp as I shoved two fingers in my asshole.  Apparently, at some point that I had missed, the priest had taken his pants all the way off and he too was fingering his asshole.  I encouraged him.  “Oh yeah, show me that you know that men are supposed to feel good with things up their assholes.  Show me that you know in your heart that it’s perfectly natural for men to experience anal pleasure, Father.  Oh, Daddy, it feels so good in my ass.  I wish you were ramming me hard and deep in my backdoor.”

I couldn’t hold back any longer.  I was on a collision course with a mind-blowing, earth-shattering orgasm and there was no stopping it.  Apparently, my partner in crime was beyond the point of no return as well.  He was betraying all that he knew to be holy and righteous.  I heard him clearly say, “Yeah, take my stiff cock up your ass.  I know you want it.” 

It was that level of vulnerability, that release of inhibitions, it was that moment of complete emotional honesty that made me explode.  I bit my lip to keep from screaming I was so turned on and my friend could tell I was having a hellified orgasm because he jerked his cock and spurted his cum all over the partition, leaving it obscenely dripping like a holy sacrament. 

I pulled myself together, straightening out my clothes and powdering my nose.  “Thank you so much, Father.  I feel so much better now that I’ve unburdened myself of all my . . . uhmmm, some of my sins.” 

His voice was shaky and it was apparent he needed a bit more recovery time as he said, “If you are ever burdened by your . . . hungers and think you might need some one-on-one personal counseling, I will always be here for you, my child.  Anytime.  Night or day.”    

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