The Minister

The Indiscretions of My Body, the Corruption of My Soul

When Elenora Swan first appeared in my life, the pandemic had already caused great suffering and anxiety in our country and across the world. As of today, according to the Center for Disease Control, over to 567,000 Americans have died from Covid-19 and nearly 31,700,000 infected. Over a year ago I was assigned here in my home town as Assistant Pastor, just as our church had closed to protect the parishioners from community spread. When the minister in charge passed away, I was given, out of necessity, the title of Interim Head Pastor. Perhaps you’ve seen our beautiful church, with its impressive twin spires and stained-glass windows. If you ever attend one of our services in the future, whether I remain here or not, I pray you leave the chapel with a feeling of peace, despite the indiscretions of my body, the corruption of my soul. If this memoire offends you, it was not my intention. I hope, by the end, you’ll forgive me for writing it.

During the shutdown, I’ve spent time wandering through these cold stone passageways and ruminating on spiritual questions. How could a supposedly loving God inflict humanity with yet another senseless epidemic? I’ll never understand what possible reason there could’ve been for such meaningless sickness and death, all across the globe. It all confirmed what I long suspected: we live in an indeterminate world and there is no rational God in control. For many of you, that may be obvious. But for me, the realization caused cracks to occur in the fragile veneer of my faith.

But what tormented me even more was the memory of a sexual experience from my youth, which I had of late been obsessively perseverating upon. I had tried to put it behind me during my years of religious training, but it still played through my mind like the unending reel of a pornographic movie. Well before hearing the call to become a minister, I dated Katie, a lovely, well-endowed girl my same age whom I’d met at church. Forgive me if I reminisce, but I have very fond and wonderful memories of our last summer together. How we kissed in the back of my car on those warm nights, how I would slip my hand under the back of her shirt and unsnap her bra, and how it would make me so aroused to hold her soft, full breasts in my hands… On our final weekend before college, her parents were away for the evening and she invited me to her house. Of course, being young lovers with passion in our hearts, we soon found ourselves in a state of undress in her bedroom. One thing led to another and I slipped my penis into her vagina and lost my virginity on that special night. I didn’t have a condom, so she told me to pull out before finishing and offered her magnificent breasts to ejaculate upon. When I couldn’t hold back a moment longer, I pulled out just in time and a cannon exploded within me, shooting a fountain of semen over the mounds of her pale, quivering flesh. It was an intense physical release unlike anything I had ever experienced. The moment I especially cannot forget was when she lifted her large swollen breasts toward her mouth and licked the fresh semen off her skin like it was some kind of delicacy for her. What she couldn’t reach with her tongue she scooped up with her hand, lusciously licking the creamy-white fluid off her fingers. Ridden with guilt and shame about our sin, I didn’t go to church on Sunday and left for college the next day. When I came home for my Thanksgiving break, I called her, but her number was disconnected. The more I thought about her, the lonelier I became, walking aimlessly through the austere and joyless cathedral. Losing touch with Katie was the single greatest regret of my life.

Wrestling with such troubled thoughts, I looked out of the upper alcove window one night and saw a shrouded woman, sitting on the front steps of the church. To be honest, my first thoughts were: I haven’t been vaccinated yet. Why should I let the deadly virus in the church? I should’ve immediately offered shelter to the poor women, but was afraid of getting sick myself. If it were a homeless man or drug addict on the steps, I would’ve kept the church doors shut. I ended up opening them, not because of an innate sense of goodness on my part. I offered sanctuary because it was a woman, driven as I was by the loneliness in my heart, the lust in my soul. As soon as she heard the doors creak open, the frail woman tried to slip away into the shadows like a wraith in the night.

“Wait, Miss. Don’t run off. I saw you shivering. The church is open. Come in,” I said. “There’s no need to be afraid. I’m the Pastor here.”

She stopped at the bottom of the steps, as if she had nowhere else to go. Speaking softly, with her back to me, I strained to hear what she said.

“Go back inside. I’ll ruin you. It will be the death of you, Father.”

What did she say? I’ll ruin you? It will be the death of you? What could she have meant by that? I shivered, clutching the black robe to my chest.

“No need to call me Father. I’m not a Priest, just the Minister here. Please come in. It’s cold outside.”

When she turned, ever so slowly, the streetlight revealed a most attractive woman with black hair and pale skin, appearing out of the shadows. I know it may not seem like much as you read this, but it was a transformational moment for me, as when the Apostle Paul fell to the ground, enlightened on the road to Damascus. In that one stolen glimpse everything about my life, everything I believed in, came crashing to the ground. A moment passed, or it could’ve been longer, mesmerized as I was by her beauty. After coming to my senses I invited her inside again, for the poor woman was on the street during the pandemic without a facial mask.

“It’s dangerous out there. Come inside where it’s warm.”

“I feel sick. I haven’t been vaccinated yet.”

Walking down a few steps, I reached out my robed arm and held out my hand, surprised by and secretly proud of this strange new force that had taken complete possession of me.

“Give me the virus. I don’t care…”

After hearing my words, she reluctantly took my hand. I led her carefully up the steps and into the foyer of the church. As we walked together down the center of aisle of the chapel, her body weakened and I placed my arm around her waist. Suddenly, she leaned against me and her muscles went limp. Catching her before she fell to the floor, I took the woman into my arms and immediately carried her through the church to the quarters I’d been living in since the lock down began. Gently, without waking her, I took off her shoes and overcoat. Laying her down on the bed, I caught a glimpse of her body. She wore a tight form-fitting blouse without a bra. As soon as I saw the curve of her full breasts and nipples under the thin material, I forced myself to look away. Covering her to her chin in blankets, I turned the heat up to high and immediately left the room.