Updated: Jul 23, 2021
For the umpteenth time, Ms. Honey was forced to watch as yet another 'short and tight skirt' walked into the confessional. She too was waiting to speak with father John, but from the far confines of the church lobby opposite the short hall, at the end of which was the wooden stall. Father John, in kind, was attending to that morning's long procession of sinners in the front pews; ordinary Livingston folk eagerly awaiting their turn to confess! If only she'd come earlier, but getting up early, getting up at all, was becoming more difficult each day. Finally, after more minutes of waiting, the most recent penitent sauntered out of the stall with a beaming father John in tow. The two shared a knowing look that spoke of more than 'confessions' being volunteered during their session. As they approached her, Ms. Honey's eyes were inadvertently drawn to the bulge at the 'good' father's crotch. 'Good GOD!' she winced, could he be more crude? With his right arm on the small of her back, the priest slowly led his long legged companion to the church's entrance.
Already faint, Ms. Honey had to swallow back bile in her throat! Church was sanctuary to all, she told herself; the Bible was clear, Christ died for those in sin; it was religious and right that the stalwarts of St' Patrick's church were not only louts, but 'short and tight skirts' as well; she was in the right place; father John could be trusted. Also, he was the only one in town capable of administering her last will and testament. A handsome, charismatic and tall man, the town priest drew the attention and affection of all kinds of women. Fifteen year old Matilda was no exception, she and him got along swimmingly! Perhaps her plan would work; perhaps father John would take care of her little girl, Ms. Honey pondered as she fiddled with the purse on her left shoulder. Not a minute later and father John was walcing back to the confessional, past the lobby and herself. Infuriated, Ms. Honey made to protest when suddenly, he stopped, looked behind and frowned. "Jane? I didn't see you there". She wasn't surprised. "Good morning. I hate to drop by unannounced, but I was hoping to steal a few minutes of your time", she tried and failed not to sound curt. As she rose from the lobby's settee, the 'good father' turned to face her, "no worries. Are you okay? You look pale". Ms. Honey managed a weak smile, "fine, just a little tired is all. Can we talk in your office?". The once smiling priest was now gone; in his place was a brooding father John. With deliberate strides, he walked across the floor to his office door next to the sofa, opened and gestured, "please, come through".
Episode's podcast: https://anchor.fm/malama7