——–Another restless day spent prowling in front of my computer screen in the failed effort to do some work. Now, having accomplished the items I needed to touch upon, I am now free to write in the vain hope to nuture some calm. Be aware that the below contains strong graphic content.——–

My hands were clasped together, my fingers intertwined with strands of evenly spaced hematite beads. Their glossy and gray surface easily reflected the soft candlelight in the cathedral. A simple crucifix dangled from the chain about 2 inches from the point at which the beaded strands joined. My gaze was averted from the sight of it. I did not touch it for surely the symbol of my holy father would burn itself into my palm.

My thumb grazed lovingly over a larger bead made from onyx. My prayers, said with each bead of my rosary, filled the silent air of the hall. My voice served as the only noise that resounded. It was undeservingly beautiful, even to my ears, and for a moment it seemed as if God himself was trying to carry me through these dark thoughts. Even as I prayed with the rosary beads sliding across my fingertips, I could only concentrate on failing images of life around me. I spoke in Latin, a vain effort to focus my mind on my prayer and yet it had done nothing to halt or lessen the burdens on my mind. The strain of living was becoming too great.

‘Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum…’ I started again, for the third time. My hands trembled where they clasped the beads, my grip tightening dangerously upon the fragile, beaded strands. My bowed my head deeper, gray streaked hair falling across my forehead, and began for a forth time. ‘Pater noster, que es in caelis…’ I broke again.

‘Thy kingdom come, thy will be done…’ A voice spoke from the back of the hall, and was punctuated by the soft sound as the heavy doors closed.

My hands shook even more violently, and the beads dug tightly into my skin before they suddenly went lax. I glanced down, unwinding the broken strands from my fingers and, making the sign of the cross, I rose. I tucked them away with a sense of foreboding, as if they had predicated a greater fall from grace. I turned to face the intruder and stopped.

‘Hello, Father.’ She stood there, a hesitant smile upon her mouth. ‘I am sorry if I interrupted you - you seemed - to be struggling.’ Her words were broken, reluctant. ‘The doors were not locked, I had hoped you still remained awake.’ I stared at her for a long moment and then smiled.

‘Thank you, Maria.’ I struggled to remember her name. ‘I don’t seem to be able to concentrate.’ I felt the blood pulse thickly in my veins, my voice deepened a bit as I spoke, ‘What…,’ I coughed slightly, ‘What can I help you with, my child?’

Her gaze met mine and then she glanced down coyly to her shoes - red heels. See seemed to be ready to go out this evening. I watched as she toed the carpet and her voice was so soft, I had to lean closer to hear her words. ‘I need confession, Father.’

I closed my eyes briefly and sent a silent prayer for aid in getting through this. I could smell her perfume, it warmed me as a drug might. I nodded my head and walked with her through the pews to the confessionals. I opened the door, and gestured inside before moving to another door and sitting down. I hurriedly spoke a prayer and opened the divider between her compartment and my own.

She spoke before I could. ‘Bless me father for I have sinned. It has been 1 day since my last confession.’ She paused and I watch through the screen as she swallowed hard. I could not understand her nervousness. ‘I have had impure thoughts about a man, Father, and these have left my body warm - hot even. I can’t sleep at night, I think of nothing but him, his hands upon me, fucking me, touching me. I would do anything for him.’

I felt my flesh respond to her words. My cock, which normally obeyed my will, stirred under the robes I wore. I struggled to find speech again. ‘Have you acted upon your thoughts?’

She shook her head then. ‘No father, He does not know. He would scorn me.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Sometimes, I can’t help but give in to my skin - It crawls for him to touch it. Nothing helps. Prayer - It doesn’t help.’ Her voice trailed off.