Chapter 1: The Priest

After another poor night of sleep I hear the ringing of the bells, calling the faithful to worship. Exhausted, I put on my thick robe and walk down the dark corridor toward the main chapel. Entering the nave I sit in my usual pew and look up at the large wooden sculpture of the crucifixion of Christ. Sacrificed for the sins of mankind, the gaunt, bleeding figure looks down upon me in agony, in judgment. As the Priest recites the opening prayer, a familiar ache settles in the depths of my soul. I’ve struggled with depression for several years now, but lately the narrow confines of the sanctuary are closing in on me. In a few days I’m scheduled to deliver the homily at my first Mass as an ordained Priest. The closer I get to Sunday, the worse I feel. Though I’ve studied four years and dedicated an additional year of service to the Mission of St. Sebastian, my faith seems fragile, like a house of cards, ready to collapse at the slightest errant thought.

In fact, I’m ashamed to admit that several times a day I’m plagued by fantasies of a highly erotic nature. It’s as if I’m alone in a dark room where sensual images are constantly being projected upon a screen in my mind which I have no choice but to watch. During my years as a seminarian, with an effort of will, I managed to suppress these inappropriate desires, though they always seem to be brewing just under the surface. Over the last few months, I’ve lost all self-control. I see the legs of an attractive female tourist walk by and I can’t stop myself from admiring the soft, feminine shape of her hips. She crosses the sanctuary and I am compelled, like a brown-robed spider, to creep after her. I sit across the aisle from her as she worships in the main chapel, her elegant long fingers holding the Holy Bible in her lap. She bows her head to pray and I imagine taking liberties with her, caressing her soft breasts and stroking my fingers through her long, silky hair. I close my eyes, drifting away into my favorite fantasy…

It’s late at night and we are alone in the Mission. The praying woman walks out of the chapel and down a long corridor into the darkness. Like a degenerate, I follow. The only sound is the clicking of her heels on the ancient stone floor. She knows she’s I’m close behind, we’ve played this game before. Looking over her shoulder, she loosens the first few buttons of her dress. I follow her into a warm, candlelit room, shutting the heavy wooden doors behind me. She kneels before an altar and I approach her from behind. Through the opening of her blouse I see the creamy white flesh of her bosom. Sensing my presence, she stands up and faces me unafraid. Casting her eyes downward, she slowly removes each item of clothing. Blouse, skirt, bra and panties slip off her body and fall into a silken pool on the floor. She kneels before me and I remove the cord from around the waist. Slowly extending her arms, she turns her palms outward and offers her wrists to be bound. Once tied, she shuts her eyes and parts the flesh of her luscious, moist lips...

I open my eyes, ashamed once again to have fantasized about an innocent woman who has come to our chapel to pray, only to be ogled by a perverted Priest. No matter how hard I try, I’m unable to stop these indecent thoughts from infesting my mind. Am I the only person at this Mission who struggles with feelings of lust and despair? I wish there was someone I could talk to but there’s no one here I can trust, not even the Bishop or the Prefect. I could blame it on a demon with a pitchfork or a slithering snake sent from the bowels of Hell to tempt me. No, these sexual thoughts have always been a part of me, woven into the very fabric of my consciousness, my identity. And I know they won’t just magically disappear once I enter the Priesthood. They will be a constant weight upon my mind and are a cross I must continue to bear. I wish Adam had never been tempted or God had not judged his desire to partake of the forbidden fruit so harshly. I bow my head and pray in vain for these feelings to go away. When the morning service ends I quietly leave the chapel with the other parishioners, keeping my eyes focused on the ground.

Despite my dirty thoughts I’ve carried on in this manner in preparation for a life of piety. But today, after morning meal, an unexpected circumstance plunges me deeper into my own carnality. I receive a special request that comes directly from the personal assistant of Mother Superior, one of the Directors of the Mission and the Head Nun of the Abbey of St. Sebastian. Along with her other duties, Mother Superior is the Candidate Director, responsible for choosing which prospective nuns will join the Abbey.

“Mother Superior has been taken ill this morning,” the assistant says, “and we’re looking for someone to step in for her today and conduct a tour of the Mission for a prospective nun named Dorothy D’Bennedeto.”

“Dorothy D’Bennedeto,” I say, repeating her name in a daze.

“Though I know your work here is principally concerned with the management of the Kristoff Food Pantry, Mother Superior tells me you also conduct tours of the historic Mission for tourists and visiting dignitaries…”

“I have, occasionally,” I say.

“Would you have time to fill in for the Candidate Director this afternoon at 1, Father Joseph?”

I agree to take Mother Superior’s place, having no idea how this innocent meeting would dramatically alter the course of my life.