Goddess Ch. 04

It seems to me that those who think that I am living in a different planet are right! I never thought of something like this being possible. I may be naïve but, is the world out there as crude and ugly as this? Do we really live in a never ending ocean of hypocrisy?

'Even at that age I was far more self-assured than my peers, but at that point I was speechless. Annie stopped talking. She had other uses for her mouth. She was sucking one of my nipples and it felt as if her tongue was caressing every part of it at the same time. She was definitely very skilled and I must say that I did enjoy it and, even against my better judgement I eventually had an orgasm. Annie told me to lay down on my stomach and started stroking my back with just the tip of her fingers.'

'I was abandoning myself to the pleasurable sensations that I was experiencing when I felt Brendan pushing my buttocks open. I screamed 'No!' but he didn't stop. Annie said to him 'You are not going to be so beastly as to take her back passage without a lubricant!' 'Father Michael did it and she took it.' Annie said 'I don't care, when Father Michael did it to me he used KY jelly and if you are going to do it you will use it too.' Brendan backed off. I was going from surprise to surprise and in disbelief I said to Annie 'He did it to you too?' 'Yes, I was younger than you, not quite twelve when he did it.' She turned to her brother to ask 'Brendan, how old were you when our revered uncle fucked you?' I thought that she was putting me on but Brendan answered 'Eleven, it was on the first day that I was Altar Boy'.

'I felt Brendan fingers, feeling cold with lubricating jelly working their way into my back passage. I tensed and tried to move away when Annie held me down saying 'Camille, get it right, I stopped my brother just from taking your back passage without a lubricant, not from taking you back passage at all. This one you will gracefully take in you chin'. I was still sore from Father Michael's ministrations and, although Brendan wasn't enormous he was big enough to hurt me and I cried with deep sobs. But my hurt was far beyond the physical pain, it was the feeling of being forced, which was the same as having my human condition denied to me. I have had anal sex may times since then and I actually find it very pleasurable, but I will only have it when I want it, not when it is imposed upon me.'

'Without realising it, my education was advancing in leaps and bounds. It wasn't until six years later when I was travelling through some forgotten corner of Latin America that I could understand that the day I met Annie I met face to face for the first time with the most complete form of Fascism. At that point I also began to understand that religions in general were no more, nor less than elaborate mechanisms of social control, always ready to become allies with the powers that had the most to lose if the status quo was not maintained.'

'I had to continue to go to church until I turned sixteen, when I said to my mother that if she insisted on me having to do it I would leave her house and she would never see me again. She claimed to be devastated by my lack of religion but soon learnt to cope. One thing is for certain, in those three and a half years of continued church attendance I never again went to confession, nor I allowed anything that the church would say to affect my life. In fact, I have always made an effort to act in the opposite direction to the demands and teachings of the Vatican and it has always worked very well for me.'

'I have never stopped experimenting with all aspects of my sexuality. I couldn't say how many lovers besides my father I had in those very intense four and a half years until I graduated from High School. One thing I can definitely say: I never again gave any of the members of the O'Reilly family half the chance to be alone with me in a private place.'

'Since I completed my training in psychology I have done a substantial amount of clinical work with all sort of people. Time and time again I come across Catholics and even ex-Catholics with a number of problems, some of them very severe, all centered around intense guilt, specially relating to all aspects of sexuality. As a rule of thumb, three out of four of those cases are women who had been bombarded with the do's and don't –specially the latter, of religious demands and accepted it for fear of being rejected, of 'not belonging', of being ostracised. They invariably developed into beings afraid of experiencing, afraid of trying. In fact they grow up to be just afraid of living. In some cases it was as if they were expecting that the nuns, priests and the whole paraphernalia of the industry of religion would jump from behind the curtains of their bedrooms and condemn them in disgust if they gave free reign to their sexual feelings.'

'In a way I have to thank the hypocrisy and double standards of the church for setting me free. Father Michael may have half broken my sphincters, but he failed to make even an insignificant dent in my spirit. I was one of the lucky ones who didn't break but many more did, joining the ranks of those helping to perpetuate a state if inequity from generation to generation. Like my brother with his children.'

'In fact, the Catholic Church did far more than setting me free. It made me understand that the struggle against the Father Michaels of this world will never stop. On the contrary, I see it becoming more and more intense. Anyone who reads the business sections of any paper and has a mild interest in history can see that capital is now concentrating day by day. It is growth by acquisition. We live in the culture the take-over and that will only increase with time. Gone are the days of the baby boom when wealth was being re-distributed. The gap between those who have and those who have not has continued to increase during the past ten years, ever at an increased pace, specially since the god of economic rationalism and global capitalism has been enshrined in the minds of politicians and overpaid public servants alike. I have seen lately how the many little Hitlers and little Mussolinis among the rich are growing in stature, bit by bit, more often than not helped by the dispossessed that swallow their propaganda. No, unfortunately I don't think that the fight against Fascism stopped with the end of the Second World War. It will have to continue and cannot be slowed down. If we fail to stand up to it, we would have to accept the eventual wholesale denial of our human condition.'

Camille stood up and said to Father Patrick 'You mainly remained silent with the exemption of your feeble attempt at denial. If you have ever cared to open you eyes you would acknowledge that I'm right.' Father Patrick remained sitting down, without uttering a single word, but looking intently at Camille. She moved to stand facing him just two feet away and said 'I'm really hot, I think summer is coming early this year' I saw her hands reaching for her back and I heard the muffled sound of the zipper sliding down. Seconds later she was naked and Father Patrick's gaze was once again concentrating on the carpet, his lips moving in a silent prayer. Camille reached out and forced his head up. He closed his eyes as somebody would do coming into the bright sunshine from the darkness of an underground mine 'Father Patrick, are you a prude? If you believe that God created us all, you should not be disturbed by nudity. On the contrary, you should worship your God's creation, so stop and look at me'. With a crimson face he slowly opened his eyes to be greeted by the magnificent sight of a naked Camille. She took Father Patrick's hand and motioned him to stand up. I watched in total fascination. He was acting as obediently as I had, as incapable of doing anything against Camille's wishes as I was. She put his left hand on her right breast and pushed his other hand between her legs. Father Patrick sighed. With a soft voice Camille said, 'You are very hot now. I can feel it. Join me by taking your clothes off.' I could not believe what was happening. Father Patrick undressed himself completely as if in a trance. He had a full erection and Camille hugged him, and pressing her skin against his she gently walked him towards the bed.

I continued to watch them in amazement. I had never seen other people having sex, not even in a movie. I felt incredibly aroused and ridden by jealousy at the same time. Camille was guiding Father Patrick through what could have been called 'How to Go From Celibacy to Sexual Expertise in One Easy Lesson'. She was even preventing him from exploding into a blaze of almost half a century of accumulated desire by squeezing his penis every time that he was about to ejaculate. It was an erotic ballet that just lacked the music. Silently I got up and careful not to disturb them I went to my stereo and soon the sensuous music of Vivaldi was increasing the arousal of the three of us to an unbearable level.

While Camille was riding Father Patrick as she rod me in the bush she looked at me and softly but clearly said 'Join us now'. Full of uncertainty I undressed. Totally self-conscious I stood naked on the side of the bed, not knowing what to do or what was expected of me. Camille laid down on her back, holding Father Patrick's hand and said 'First go down on me for a while.' I obeyed, soon my tongue darting between her labia and her clitoris. Before long she said 'Come inside me now and move very slowly'. I had an erection so hard that it was hurting me and I wanted to go fast but I obeyed. I started softly pinching one of her nipples and she sighted. Suddenly her hand was taking my other hand and guiding it to grab Father Patrick's penis. It felt moist with Camille's juices. I tried to pull my hand away but not only her hand kept mine in place, but started moving it up and down. After a while, her hand moved away but I didn't stop mine. The three of us were now totally intertwined. I was fucking Camille while with my left hand I was pinching, caressing and kneading her right breast and my right hand was dedicated to masturbating Father Patrick. Camille had half turned around and was partly sucking, partly biting Father Patrick's right nipple. All this time this dedicated Redemptorist priest just stayed motionless, his eyes closed, his breathing heavy, taking it all in, without any fire or brimstone left on him.

I reached the point where I could no longer control myself. Both my hands cupped Camille's breasts and my rhythm accelerated to a frenzy. Within seconds my semen inundated her. Suddenly, tired beyond belief I moved to lay on her side. Her legs still wide open, Camille whispered 'Come inside me Patrick and fuck me'. Never before and never since have I found anybody capable of sounding so commanding while whispering as Camille sounded that night. As the biblical Lazarus, Father Patrick obeyed. In a way, by fucking her he was walking for the first time in his life, no longer a cripple, his erect penis pushing away his lifetime crutches. I saw Camille's hands reaching for the hips of Father Patrick to guide him on a faster motion. I took her nipple in my mouth and tried to replicate her description of Annie's technique. I don't know if I fully succeeded, but judging from the sounds she made I must have come a good part of the way. I was very absorbed in what I was doing when Father Patrick's floodgates containing his sexual repression opened with a very primeval scream that seemed to last for ever. I jumped and saw him pushing so hard inside Camille that it seemed he wanted his entire body to penetrate her. I looked at her to see her body arching whilst a more subdued cry of joy announced to the world her orgasm. Three spent bodies were then lying on the bed.

Satiated and exhausted I fell into a sleep full of wonderful dreams. When I half walked up, I could feel through my closed eyes the early morning light. I went to hug Camille and as I did it I opened my eyes. Father Patrick and I jumped away from each other so hard that we both fell off the opposite sides of the bed. Camille was nowhere to be seen. Looking back at those days now, I can see the humour of it all, but at that time is was a most difficult moment. Father Patrick and myself hurried to our clothes and got dressed, facing away from each other. I started making a coffee and some toasts. I set two cups and plates on the table and motioned Father Patrick to sit down. With his head down he said 'I don't think that I can stay for breakfast'. At that point the utter stupidity of it all hit me hard for the first time, and holding my head high I said 'It's a bit late now for shyness, don't you reckon?'

I can see the tears welling up in Father Patrick's eyes but I feel no pity. I don't feel anger or the wish for revenge either. I am having the experience of peace entering my body and my mind for the first time in my life. My gilt is gone. I can start to be myself now.

I put my arm over Father Patrick's shoulder and guided him to sit at the table. I poured two coffees, gave him one and sat down myself. We looked at each other. Father Patrick at that point was crying with silent tears that rolled down his face into the shadow of his beard and beyond. He was the personification of despair. I sipped the hot, life giving coffee and said 'Believe me if I tell you that I can really sympathise with the way you feel. Camille's appearance in my life has triggered countless changes. I went through a time of hell on earth, but now I'm beginning to get to know myself better and the world around me is slowly changing for the better, no longer looking the foreboding place that used to be.'

Father Patrick took a deep breath and started to talk. 'I was born at the time of the great depression. Even without the help of the worldwide depression my parents were very poor. As a child growing up in a country with limited opportunities for the dispossessed I had the option of either joining the IRA or the priesthood. My father had fought in WWI and had more than his share of killings and he did not approved of Irish murdering Irish, so religion won the day.'

Father Patrick looks as if he is at the beginning of a journey that he feels he has to make, but he has no maps of the roads and probably does not even know how to drive or what plane, train or bus to take.

'I went on to a seminarist college as soon as I came out of the village school at twelve. I can see my mother and my father waving me good bye at the station because they did not have the money to buy the railway tickets to come with me. My sweaty hands were clutching the small suitcase containing all my possessions and my eyes were clouded with tears. All the way to the second class carriage I kept trying to look at my parents and, at the same time keep sight of the forbidding looking back of Father Brendan who was taking me away from the small world that I knew and into the great unknown.'

He started drinking his coffee; his eyes lost in the distant past and I let him be. He waked up from his reverie with a shudder and continued. 'I didn't see my parents again until after I was ordained as a priest. In all those years of isolation, study and often mortification of the flesh I was taught about a world where God and Evil were engaged in a never-ending battle in an eternal war where we were God's soldiers. We were also taught that women, from Eve onwards were ready-made agents of the devil, always prepared to tempt us to depart from the teachings of God. I am fifty-five years old and in all those years I never touched a woman. In fact, I never even touched myself, always afraid of my body becoming the Devil's Playground instead of an instrument of God's greater design.'

Is he talking to the cup of coffee, to himself or to me? I was born on the other side of the world, not so poor that we could not buy a train ticket, but the same ideas were drilled onto us. I made a career in journalism, however meager it may be, but the guilt and fears that were planted on me became my travel companions for all those so many years!

'Last night all the walls of my fortress collapsed like those of Jericho. I made love to a woman for the first time and I can only say that I have never before experienced such an incredible pleasure in my life. However, I also feel condemned and lost. All my years of study are proving useless for the task of helping me find an answer to what happened just a few hours ago'. Father Patrick stood up with the movement of an old and tired man and with a sad expression in his face said 'I used to call you "my son". What am I going to call you now?' I raised from my chair and said 'Why don't you try "my friend" for a change?' We walked together to the door and the tight hug we gave each other was the most natural thing to do.

I remained standing in the landing, listening to the steps of Father Patrick fading away until I heard the front door open and close. When I went back to a much-needed shower and a shave I was acting like if I was a robot, my thoughts totally immersed in the events of the night before. I had always thought that two were company and three were a crowd, but now I was finding out that I was deeply enjoying the company of a crowd. I wandered where all this would take me and decided that to swim against the current was too exhausting and presented a greater risk of drowning than just moving along with the flow, so I jumped in my car to go to work.

Driving past Father Patrick's church I saw that it looked still closed. While stopped in the heavy morning traffic I saw an old woman dressed in black from head to toe climbing the steps as she had probably done every day for most of her life. She walked to the door and unsuccessfully tried to push it open. With a bewildered expression she turned to look around at the top of the steps, as if expecting a priest to come running to save her from the break in her routine. All she could have seen was the rush hour people hurrying to their jobs, oblivious of the church, let alone the solitary figure in black standing in front of it looking lost.

Father Patrick

Feeling desperate and confused, I started running as soon as I left the block of units where Franco lived and I didn't stop until I got to the church. In desperation I kneeled at the altar and prayed for God to give me guidance. Nothing worked, so I decided to go and see Bishop O'Reilly for support and advice. I rushed out and jumped on the bus when it was about to move away from the stop. My parish was not wealthy enough to have a car, and I had never had the need to learn to drive either. I prayed, with my eyes closed during the entire bus ride. It was just 8:30 when I rang the bell at the Bishop's residence. Storm clouds had moved in fast and rain was beginning to fall. I waited for almost five minutes before I rang again and a couple of minutes later, a young and attractive man who must have spent many hours a day in a gym opened the door. Visibly annoyed he asked me 'What do you want Father?' He was brusque and impolite but I was beyond caring. 'I need to see His Eminence, please'. He frowned and asked me 'Do you have an appointment?' I lowered my head and said 'No, this is an emergency'. I was not going to get any sympathy from him. He said 'They all say the same. Give me your name and I will ask the Bishop if he wants to see you'. He didn't invite me in and he didn't leave the door open either. It was raining more heavily now and water was running over my face and the back of my head. Before the door re-opened I was completely soaked. The young Adonis said 'Come in and wait standing in the tiled part of the floor until you stop dripping. I don't want the carpet getting wet'. With those words he vanished.

I waited for more than half an hour before the Bishop's secretary, the very old Father Anselmo came to collect me. He had come from Spain as a fairly young priest and had served the previous three bishops. In those thirty-five years he had earned a reputation of being a strange combination of very conservative, fair and compassionate. I had heard before that he had often got into conflicts because he could not reconcile those three traits into one single line of behaviour. 'How long have you been waiting here?' he asked with a frown. 'More than half an hour.' With anger in his voice he whispered 'Ese malparido de Wayne!' I could not understand what he had said, so I asked 'Sorry Father, what did you say?' He shook his head before he answered me 'Never mind, when I get upset my Spanish comes back to the fore. Come with me. Monsignor is finishing some urgent work, so we have time to have a cup of tea in the meantime.' I followed him. He walked with rapid steps and virtually stormed into the kitchen, where Adonis was sitting reading the morning paper. 'Wayne, you are employed here as the housekeeper. God surely knows what arrangement you have with Monsignor and I have a very good idea of what that is, but if you ever again do what you have done to Father Patrick I will personally kick you out of here.' The youth raised in defiance and said 'You wouldn't dare and Monsignor would not let you!' Father Anselmo, with the expression of an avenging angel hissed 'Wayne, you are the housekeeper. Being also the bishop's bed keeper will not save you. Bring two cups of tea to my office. Now!' Wayne pretty face went pale and we left.