The Reverends Wife 1

Jack had been a virgin when they married. He'd assumed she was too. She'd never had the heart to disenchant him, for one thing, it didn't seem important, & for another, she didn't want him to look at her differently.

When she'd been a girl, she & a cousin had secretly explored each other. The kind of innocent experimentation that so many young people do when discovering the differences between their growing bodies, & learning about sex & their own desires. When they'd been older, that cousin had gently deflowered her (she loved that term, so quaint & romantic). It had been quick & uneventful, he'd pulled out before orgasming on the grass. Neither had been able to meet each other's eyes until a few months had passed & by then, he was going steady with a girl he'd met at college & things got back to normal.

It hadn't been the incest that had embarrassed her, she'd felt more embarrassed that she was no longer a virgin. She didn't know if any of her girlfriends had lost their virginities yet or if she was the only one. Sex wasn't as openly discussed back then, especially in her churchy circles. It wasn't even until she was in her 30s that she'd found friends she could confide in about that sort of thing. Their candor had been assisted by the TV shows they talked about, like The Nanny & Melrose Place.

But Rosemary had another secret, one she'd kept even longer than the event of her first time. There was another first, her first & most lasting love.

Thomas Adams (Tom to almost all his friends) had been far too old for her. He was friends with her parents before she was even out of Junior High. He'd been the young new Reverend at the family church.

Even as a child she'd had a budding crush on the handsome, blue-eyed man with soft, light brown hair. It's not uncommon for people to develop crushes on church leaders, they're forbidden, after all, & have a piety & authority that's intoxicating. Thomas (she could never seem to bring herself to call him Tom, even in her imagination) had been magnetic at the pulpit, charismatically delivering sermons with humor & compassion.

Less well known was how shy he secretly was, how he'd taken his position as a way to reach out to people, even though he'd suffered from almost-crippling social anxiety. The vestments were a suit of armor he disguised himself with before he'd speak, clear-voiced to a congregation of local believers. Perhaps it helped to know that many of them were still sleepy-eyed from the early morning Sunday drive.

Every other day of the week he was softly spoken, a trait that had seemed serenely meek. On top of that however, he was kind. A truly gentle, forgiving man. Open with his praise, sharing with his interests, quick to laugh, slow to judge. In Rosemary's home, with her austere, intellectually competitive parents, he'd been a shining beacon of emotional availability. She'd never felt judged, never felt ashamed to speak her feelings to him. He'd always listened with acceptance & reassurance. She found it easy to believe he could communicate with God.

But she'd known it was a childish dream, had known there was an expectation for her to marry & then she'd met Jack. Long ago she'd resolved to find a man as much like Thomas as possible. Jack appeared to be close enough. He adored her, he was sweet, attentive, emotionally vulnerable. He'd worn his heart on his sleeve & she'd been reassured by that, by his stability & calm. She knew they could make a good life together as partners.

Thomas had officiated their wedding, which they'd held not in the church itself, but in their favorite public garden. While Thomas outwardly advised them to hold the ceremony within the church itself (as her parents pressured her) he'd surreptitiously told the couple not to worry, that God would be at their union regardless of where the vows were spoken.

They'd honeymooned in Vancouver & Jack had revealed himself to be ridiculously over-endowed. At first she'd wondered if her cousin had been unusually small, but upon thinking back, to the strange relationship she'd briefly had with her first boss, to the secret glances she'd caught of the male member before that night (her father while camping, a man who'd flashed her on an escalator, a magazine that had been passed around on a giggly summer afternoon in her typing class), she realized that in fact no, she'd been accurate in her assessment of its magnitude. If anything, she may have under-measured. The first few nights they made love had been painful, difficult.

Surprisingly, Jack seemed unaware of the over-abundance God had blessed him with in that department. Was it a blessing? She wasn't convinced. It had taken nearly a week for her body to adapt to the massive appendage he'd ram heedlessly inside that tender part of herself. Twice in that first week, when they'd ordered room service, she'd gently straddled the chilled, cold side of a champagne bottle. The smooth, gently curved surfaces, cooled by ice, had soothed that exhausted & aching part of her anatomy as she sat on it like the seat of a bicycle. She regretted waiting until their wedding night to experience each other's bodies (Jack had insisted) but also wondered if she'd have gone through with the marriage had she been forewarned.

She hadn't enjoyed sex until her body had finally relented. She'd figured out the positions & angles that hurt the least & over time, she'd been able to accept his entire penis, sometimes right up to the nest of pubic hair that grew around the base. On the other hand, the non-penetrative parts of sex, touching each other with fingers, or when she'd wrap her hands around him & rub him as if starting a log fire with the friction, had been delightful. She'd even (after some coaxing from him & some nervousness to begin with) started to enjoy & feel confident kissing, licking & sucking the head of his enormous, bobbing penis. She'd revelled in the intimacy of the experience, the pleased moans he'd make, the happiness they gave each other & after he'd orgasmed, the gentle cuddling & hair stroking.

It hadn't been until just after her 30th birthday when she'd experienced her first orgasm. She'd enjoyed sex, even believed she'd been having orgasms up to that point. One of her girlfriends had secretly given her a small, pink vibrator for her birthday. She'd been amused but slightly embarrassed & had hidden it in her underwear drawer (before she realized that was obvious & re-hid it in an old handbag, under a pile of winter quilts at the back of the winter wardrobe).

Alone at home, her kids at school, her husband at work, she'd indulged the whim she'd secretly been harboring & retrieved the little, battery-operated device. It almost seemed like a finger in comparison to her husband's mammoth tool. She'd marvelled at it, twisting the controls, feeling the mechanical vibration with its increasing speeds, its rubbery surface. It was like a novelty toy, not something adult & illicit. She'd gently, trepidatiously inserted it.

Three hours, four flat batteries & several orgasms later she lay panting on the devastated bedding & gently touched the sweat on her collarbone in wonder. The remarkable, ecstatic climaxes she'd experienced had her trembling in relief. She'd made the sex toy a regular part of her daily routine from that day on & after a few weeks, when she felt she sufficiently understood the sequence of events, the different areas of her sensitive interior, she'd coached Jack on where & how to touch her, & finally, how to use his stupendous erection to bring her to orgasm.

She tried to do so gently, soothing his pride in case he was distraught to learn she hadn't been finishing all along but she was gratified to discover that he wasn't offended by the misunderstanding (mostly on her part, she realized) & was instead, overjoyed at the opportunity to bring her to a higher level of physical pleasure. She reflected how right she'd been to choose this emotionally open man. Emboldened, it hadn't been long before she'd introduced him to her little pink friend & he'd enthusiastically embraced that addition as well.

Their sex life had improved in leaps & bounds, even his cunninglingus had seemed to improve once he was more familiar with the topography of her body. In hindsight, there had only been one major misstep, when over-excited, Jack had tried to thrust his hulking manhood inside WITH the vibrator & her orgasm had been snatched from her grasp as she had to prevent the painful, cramming attempt.

There were times she mused (not seriously) childbirth may have been easier than sex with Jack. Especially their little girl, who'd been their last & had slipped out after far fewer hours of labor than her boys. In many ways, the stretching of their arrival had aided her ability to tolerate her husband's size (after brief sexual droughts while she healed, naturally). At least when a baby was born, it didn't try to go back in & out, thirty or forty more times.

Her girlfriends sometimes bemoaned the changes in their bodies, the way their babies had 'destroyed' their vaginas & while she certainly mourned a little about some of the changes, the looser, more pronounced labia, the reduced pelvic floor strength. She secretly appreciated that at least her husband's entrance to her had been relieved a little. She'd been drier afterwards & they'd added 'lubricant' to the ephemera of their sex life (along with batteries in bulk).

She laughed when she remembered the doctor who'd delivered Liam exclaiming 'WHAT a boy!' & how many times that phrase had been repeated when his resemblance to his father had fully been revealed (baby-sitters, doctors, uncles & aunties). Jack hadn't seemed to understand the implication. Sometimes, her kind husband was naive. Thankfully, she thought (at least for the women in her middle child's life) Trevor had taken more after herself.

The whole while, through all the years of their marriage, her unspoken love for Thomas persisted. She'd expected the crush to fade, & some days, she convinced herself it had, that it had settled into a platonic familiarity. But the truth was, a steady, unwavering fire burned within her heart for the gentle man. Even as he aged, the milestones at first years, then decades, as his hair grayed & the smile lines around his eyes deepened, she could still see the young man he'd been. The sweet, polite father-figure who had felt dearer to herself than her own family.

Following in her mother's footsteps, she'd taken on many of the responsibilities that a Reverend's wife would have managed, keeping the books, organizing charity drives. Thomas never married, more Catholic than Epicostal in his celibacy. Nearly every woman at the church had either flirted with him or tried setting him up with some 'suitable' lady, confused by his singleness, his independence. The blind dates & photographs of eligible unattached women had gradually dwindled (although never entirely) as their flock had come to a wary acceptance of their leader's strange refusal to be joined in holy matrimony. Many had assumed he was on the 'down low' as it used to be called.

The crush had withstood the test of time, had survived administrative disagreements, her marriage to Jack, health concerns, funerals. Still, her love for him accompanied her as loyally as a shadow. Sometimes, when she found herself alone at home (when she wasn't busy with her many other activities & clubs) she'd imagine his face, his mouth, his now watery blue eyes. Sometimes imagining him as that young man she'd met decades ago, as she brought herself to climax with one or more of the four vibrators she & Jack now owned. Many times, when Jack settled his face between her legs & drank from her as if she were a ewer of tepid water on a hot day, she'd imagined it was Thomas bringing her to rapture with his tongue.

Life continued in this way until the pandemic restrictions. The decision was made to close St. John's to in-person worship & conduct sermons via Zoom. As volunteer church secretary, unofficial 'Reverend's wife' Rosemary had left her home, mask on, sanitizer gel at hand, to drive to the church office & assist Thomas with the new method. She helped him install Zoom, they familiarized themselves with its operation & learned how to record videos that they'd post on YouTube & the church's website. Although she'd technically left the workforce years earlier, when Doyle's Furniture had needed more administration than she was able to provide alone (& they'd hired a professional office manager & an in-house accountant/payroll officer) Rosemary had continued to ensure the church ticked along behind the scenes. If Thomas was the church's beating heart, she was the brain & hands.

As the weeks of isolation went on, Rosemary increased her 'administration assistance' to Thomas from once a week to twice. Partly because she was hungry to see him & partly out of concern for his wellbeing. The shy Reverend wasn't introverted by nature, & living alone, he'd been especially susceptible to loneliness during that strange time. His pre-covid weeks had been filled with social & community engagement, visits to elderly or unwell congregants, people dropping by to the church to find counsel or spiritual guidance or very often, just to say hello. Now his days were empty & devoid of personal interaction. Delivering sermons online, filming videos, even having private Zoom meetings with people who wished to receive counseling during that time were poor substitutes for his old routine.

The church had bid farewell to two of the elder attendees who'd contracted & been unable to survive the virus, as well as a young woman who'd left behind a new husband. These deaths had felt very personal & shocking, not just to their immediate loved ones but also to Thomas, who grieved deeply & sometimes struggled to understand God's plans, even on the best days.

One day, when Rosemary had arrived at the rectory she found Thomas slouched in his leather desk chair with his head cradled in his hands. He looked exhausted & miserable. She'd tried to cheer him up before they set to filming a sermon, had offered him the lemon & poppyseed loaf she'd baked, a cup of tea, to put on one of the Chopin albums he loved so much. Nothing had cheered him up. He'd never been so reluctant to talk, so distant & it worried her. She'd knelt beside his knee & put her hands on his hands & gently urged him to tell her what was weighing on him.

Embarrassed, he'd admitted he was lonely, profoundly lonely. That now that he was an old man, even before the pandemic, he'd asked himself why he'd avoided intimacy, what it was about the possibility that had scared him. She had the sense that there were old scars there, perhaps from all the way back to his youth. He'd effectively built a wall around himself for protection. There was a push & pull to his personality, he wanted to draw people in, to foster connections, but he wasn't brave enough to let them in, past a certain point, & would push them back. The distance the church afforded him was a way to control intimacy. A way to avoid frightening emotional entanglements & vulnerability.

Rosemary was a good listener, she didn't interrupt him as he opened up, just squeezed his hands gently. She felt tears of empathy wetting her eyelashes. He'd gazed down & noticed how his words had affected her, he was nearly crying as well. He'd gently pulled a hand out of hers & wiped under her eyes with his thumb. Then, surprising himself, he'd combed his fingers through her medium length, salt & pepper hair. He'd traced a finger lightly over her eyebrows & cheek.

At the same time, she'd moved so she was kneeling between his knees, she ran soft hands up his thighs & down again, stroking him over his worn trousers. He'd felt a stirring, a familiar one, although he'd never allowed himself to feel it with another person, only when he'd been alone in bed. He too, had always loved Rosemary, had always wondered if there was another world where they may have had a chance to be together, a world where the age gap hadn't discounted him & she'd not met Jack, a world where she'd become the Reverend's wife he'd always felt she was born to be.

For once, he didn't want to pull away from this intimacy, if he was honest with himself, had Rosemary initiated contact sooner, he would have gladly reciprocated years ago. He'd told himself all that time that she'd felt nothing for him but platonic friendship, & respect for his role, she was a married woman. They were old now, old people, he realised, she in her late 50s; he in his early 70s. He wasn't sure that if this stroking led further he'd be able to satisfy her, but he wanted to try. He wanted her more than anything. He kissed her then, his first passionate kiss in almost his entire life. She kissed him back & she was everything he imagined, everything he'd ever dreamed.

Luckily, she'd taken the lead at that point, while he remembered the mechanics he wasn't certain how to confidently advance in such a situation. In the back of his mind he recognised that the Bible would unequivocally deem this a sin, she was another man's wife & he was her priest, but Thomas's heart drowned out those trivial seeming concerns in the face of his longing for her. She was the only woman he'd ever loved.

She slowly glided her hands down his body & undid his pants, he shifted in the seat to help pull them down. He wondered if he was meant to undress her, to lift her in his arms & carry her to the bed to make love to her (he couldn't have, his old back would've crumbled like biscuit). However, Rosemary knew what she was doing & had gently pressed him back into the chair, she'd leaned forward & started to lovingly kiss & nuzzle his steadily rising cock.

When that cock had been revealed, she'd been thrilled, her entire body thrummed with desire. She forgot she was a middle aged woman, she felt like a teenager again, & Thomas's wide-eyed expression had made her see him as a young man too. His circumcised member, slightly deflated by the years, was nonetheless beautiful to her. 4 or 5 in in length, the width of a medium bratwurst, the skin was smooth, light-toned, the pubic hair gray. He was firm with arousal & she'd luxuriated in the experience of kissing him, growing him, hardening the shaft with her mouth.

It was almost genuflection, a moment of spiritual supplication, this tender blow-job. When she drew his full cock into her mouth she'd been unable to repress a sigh, he was perfect. She knew that sex with him would satisfy her in a way sex with her husband had been unable to. Not just because of the swelling feelings, the long-held secret infatuation she'd had, but also because that sexual organ seemed tailor-made for her anatomy.

Thomas was in heaven, he'd never thought that oral sex had really been as good as people had made it seem (he'd discreetly indulged in porn for decades). It was better. Her hot, smooth, wet mouth, that agile tongue, he'd felt the strength leave his body as she sucked & licked him. He was relieved to find that he was having no trouble achieving an erection, he knew the likelihood of ED increased with age, but his Johnson was easily standing at attention, he felt firm, strong.

She caressed his scrotum, which had sagged a little over the years but was still full & large. He'd almost whimpered in ecstacy. He wanted to be inside her, to put his twitching penis into her womanly cunt, but he knew he couldn't move, couldn't possibly change positions. His hands gently held her hair, his thumb grazing the side of her cheek & he groaned unabashedly, instinctively rolled his body a little in the seat & came in blessed relief into her talented, coral-lipsticked mouth.

She had stayed at the rectory until well after 6pm & they'd made love twice. He was getting the hang of it, he thought. Amazingly, she seemed to respond almost immediately to the sensation of his penetration. Even the first time he'd tenderly inserted his erection inside her, she'd moaned wantonly, writhing in euphoria when his cock had filled that sensitive crevice, he'd answered that wet heat & had moved in & out of her in automatic motion, like long-dormant muscle-memory. The second time, they climaxed together.