'Forgive me Father for I have sinned,' Margaret said as the Priest opened the little wooden window in the Confession Box.
'How have you offended against our Lord Jesus Christ, my Child,' the Priest said with the routine indifference which comes from hearing hundreds of confessions.
Father Morgan was now in his mid-50s, having qualified as a Priest in his native Ireland. He left his home at 18 and went to the seminary, qualifying and taking final vows when he was 22. He had worked in a Parish in Ireland for several years as an assistant Priest, before being transferred to Australia. Although he had been in Australia for over 30 years, he still retained his Irish accent.
His mid-life crisis as a Priest was over. This often happened to the nuns when they reached menopause, realizing that any possibility of leaving the Church and having children had come to an end.
With the priests the crisis of personal faith happens somewhere in between their 35th and 55th years. It was not often a crisis of faith as such, but a crisis of vocation: a questioning as to whether their lives had thus far been lived in a useful way, and an examination and reaffirmation of their faith.
Father Morgan didn't have such a crisis, but there was a profound change in his view of the Church. He had, for a long time, worked to undermine its authority. He was no longer pro-Church, but anti-Church. He was, in fact, a practicing Satanist.
The period of his conversion to Satanism happened when he started examining his religion. At 30 he started graduate studies at Sydney University, and by the time he was 37 he had completed his Ph.D. He started lecturing part time, and enjoyed the cut and thrust of the discussion from atheists, Muslims and others who came to his classes, seeing it as an easy option to complete an Arts degree.
One day the Father met a young woman in his class. She seemed the same as many of the other students, taking his comparative theology class just so she could get the credits to graduate. This girl announced proudly that she was not a Christian, or a Muslim, or Buddhist, and she listed the world's religions he expected her to say that she was an atheist. Instead, she said that she was a Satanist.
In the four years of Father Morgan's training as a priest, they hardly dealt with Satanism. After the second Vatican Council, references to Satan were often met with laughter within Catholic circles. And apart from the brief revival of people asking for demons to be cast out after the movie The Exorcist, there was little demand for an up to date knowledge of the Prince of Darkness.
The Satanist's name was Julie. She had long dark blonde hair, and a general 'New Australian' appearance, even though her accent was Australian. Her mother, in fact, was Russian, which explained her appearance. She often dressed the same. Black t-shirt, dark or dark blue skirt: a standard uniform, Father Morgan felt, for the 'Satanists' who were in fact just Goths wanting to get attention and to shock their elders.
Julie's essays were always thoughtful and excellent, and she often stayed after class to debate him. She even showed up at the end of one of his Masses on a Sunday, so that she could discuss theology with him after the service, in the back hall where some of the congregation went for biscuits and coffee.
The course that he was teaching was an academic year long, and it was during this time of teaching Julie that he noticed her in a less than pure way. She often wore the same denim skirt, which was short, but not any more so than many other students on campus. She invariably sat in the front row, and during the lecture she would cross and uncross her legs, an action which he always noted.
Father Morgan's thoughts turned more and more to see Julie as a young 24 year old woman, rather than as a student. On one occasion, while walking to the lecture, he surprised himself when, thinking of Julie, he developed an erection. There was the period during his late 20s where he developed the habit of masturbating almost daily, but that was now a long time ago. And of course, even though he was now in his mid-50s there was still the occasional erection that he would ignore till it went away. But on this occasion his erection was hard and prolonged, something that had not happened for a long time.
That night while he was trying to sleep, sexual thoughts of Julie arose in his mind. He imagined her white thighs, crossing and uncrossing themselves. He imagined holding her breasts in his hands. Her lips, which Julie sometimes licked when she was thirsty, he imagined sucking his penis. He drifted off into a half sleep, laying on his side, his erection hard. The lips were wet and they were so warm. He drifted to sleep and when turning on his tummy the pressure on his penis stimulated him enough to ejaculate into the sheets.
It was not a sin to have a wet dream, but he knew that he would be seeing the cause of it that morning. He became obsessed with either seeing her or not seeing her. Her requests for extra time to discuss things were refused, so as to avert temptation. But that avoidance of her after class in itself produced guilt, where he said to himself that she should not suffer academically because of his lusts.
A month after his wet dream, Julie was in the Father's study. The old grandfather clock ticked loudly. There were no other noises, as the study door and the main door was locked to keep out visitors.
The priest sat in a large leather armchair, with Julie opposite in a sofa. A recent essay of hers was in his hands, and she had a copy of The Satanic Bible, from which she was pointing to arguments against the god of the Old Testament, Yahwah, being the true God.
She started speaking, quite suddenly, about her family, and she started to cry. Father Morgan went over and sat next to her, held her by a hand, and with her body she threw herself onto him in distress, with her head in his lap.
On Julie's part, it was a calculated act. And as a calculation it worked. She knew that all she had to do to melt the discipline on his part was to keep her head in his lap. Almost immediately she felt where his penis was, and she also felt in hardening against her face. The priests hands touched her head as if to move it away, but he touched gently and it would take more than that to get her to move her head.
His arm raised itself in the air, not knowing where it should go. He rested it on her side and her hip. She moved her head so that she faced down, his penis centremetres away underneath the rough cloth of the priestly trousers. She almost laughed at the cruelty she inflicted on him.
Her skirt rolled up her thigh, exposing a great expanse of flesh, even though she was quite slim. Flesh, flesh, flesh: it was a beautiful word, his penis became totally hard.
At that moment, the priest could have still stopped what was happening. He still had control. But the point came where he could no longer turn back. That point was where he smelt her hair. She had shampooed it that morning, and the apples and peaches were still fresh in the smell. At that point his resistance was no more.