Chapter 2

A Man, Both Spirit and Flesh

Embarrassed and disappointed in myself for ogling the poor woman’s breasts, I shut the bedroom door and entered the adjoining room to finish my work on the sermon I was to deliver for our virtual service tomorrow. What a sobering sight it was to see ministers and priests all over the internet, even the Pope himself, giving homilies to empty, echoing cathedrals. Yet there was a lightness in my mood to have some company in the next room. I imagined Adam must have felt the same way when he first discovered Eve relaxing in the Garden of Eden.

I had begun writing the rough outline of a sermon on the irresponsibility of some church leaders, who, during the apex of the fight against the infection, insisted on continuing to hold their Sunday church services. Ego-driven ministers in our state, as well as New York and Mississippi, disobeying state mandates to practice social distancing and complaining about their religious freedom, are reported to have contracted Covid-19, some actually dying from the disease. Who knows how many other believers and non-believers alike have been infected due to their reckless behavior?

Inspired, I opened the document on my laptop but could think of nothing other than the image of the innocent woman and the curves of her breasts. What’s more, I became aroused thinking of her lying on my bed just a few feet away. I had to continually push my hardened, unruly flesh back down toward my thigh or else it formed a perverse tent under my minister’s robe. Who was I to stand in judgment of these misguided preachers if I couldn’t stop myself from having sexual thoughts of a sick, homeless woman in the next room? Struggling once more against this pestilence in my mind, I closed the laptop and took my face in my hands. What had come over me? Where were these lustful thoughts coming from? I kept telling myself I was only trying to give shelter from the cold and minister to the needs of the poor woman, just as Jesus would’ve done. At the same time, I tried to forgive myself for being a man, both spirit and flesh. No one exists in our world without this dual nature to which they were born, these two primal forces destined to be in a continual battle for the salvation of one’s soul.

Feeling a slight headache coming on, I popped a Tylenol and drank some water. Perhaps the woman was sick as she said or among the 40% who carry the virus but are completely asymptomatic. Awash in paranoia, I took my temperature again and it was, of course, normal. I thought perhaps if I checked on the woman, I could put my mind at ease and get back to work on the sermon. I reached instinctively for the face mask I always kept at arm’s length, but then decided against wearing it, come what may. Armed with a glass of water, a cold compress, cold medicine, a tablespoon, a thermometer and a bottle of Tylenol, I slowly opened the bedroom door.

What I saw next made my jaw drop, my mouth water. Eve had slipped out of her blouse and skirt, placed a pillow between her thighs and was writhing face-down on the bed. The sheets and blankets were on the floor, along with her clothes. All she had on were a pair of nude thigh-high stockings and panties which completely exposed the round, perfectly flowing curves of her hips and back side. When she turned onto her back, her long thick black hair tumbled down over her shoulders and came to rest over the mounds and in the cleavage of her bare, voluptuous breasts. In the dim light, she appeared more like a Goddess from Greek mythology, than a human female. If I was a better man, I would’ve immediately backed out of the room to give her privacy, but instead I stood riveted to the spot, gawking at her through the crack in the door. Her eyes were shut and she appeared feverish. Tossing from her back to her side and to her back again, she removed the pillow the from between her legs and slowly opened her thighs like a clam shell, revealing the pearl within. I blinked once, then twice, unable to believe what appeared before me. As if by some planned defect in design, the panties had a completely open crotch. Her vagina and surrounding labia were revealed, smooth, moist and completely shaved. The glistening folds had peeled open like the petals of a flower, kissed by the first rays of the morning sun, exposing her innermost flesh. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen in my life. I stood there entranced, the saliva forming a pool in my mouth, threatening to spill over my lower lip. Somehow, psychically sensing my presence through her closed eyes, my Aphrodite, my Venus caught me ogling her. As soon as she spoke, my heart pounded and I shut the door, humiliated.

“I know you’re there behind the door, Pastor, spying on me. It’s OK, you bad boy. I don’t mind. I’m almost finished. Open the door and watch the show…”

What strange and wonderful new words were being uttered in the bowels of our holy church? I leaned against the door, my heart racing. No matter how quietly I hid, she knew I was there listening through the wood like a common pervert. I began to hear a distinct sound of shallow breathing and a repeated wet sloshing noise I couldn’t make out. Open the door and watch the show, she said. This was my moment of temptation, when the lusciously ripe red apple was offered into my waiting, open palm.

Unable to resist, I opened the door a crack. Peering in, I watched in awe as she rapidly penetrated the opening of her vagina with her fingertips, while repeatedly brushing the pad of her thumb over a distended nub of aroused pink flesh. Her lips parted as she masturbated. Through hooded eyes, she turned to make eye contact with me, while biting down firmly on her lower lip. We held eye contact for a moment more until she closed her eyes and took several shallow rapid swallows of air. Looking closely between her thighs, I saw a ring of dampness on the bedsheet and a clear fluid that seemed to be leaking out of her. After a final deep exhalation and a more intense period of vigorous penetration and rubbing, a treasure emerged: the release of a thick white substance, oozing out of her vagina, over her puckered anal opening, down her inner thighs to join the growing circle of wetness staining the sheet. After a moment of catching her breath, accompanied by the sporadic twitching of her thighs and the heaving of her breasts, she closed her knees and sat up in bed, the show over.

“I have the worst headache. Could I trouble you for some aspirin? I thought if I masturbated it would relieve my headache, but oh well…”

Fumbling with the medicines in the doorway, the cold syrup dropped to the floor with a thud. I quickly picked it up, embarrassed.

“Of course. Yes. I’m sorry you’re not feeling well. I’ve been meaning to… I mean, I have these various medications.”

“May I have a drink of water, please?”

“Yes, of course. May I come in?”

“You may, sir. It’s your home. You don’t have to ask.”