Susie's first call was in the afternoon, with Fr. Harold Beteman close to the chancery. He answered the door himself, an average, thin man in his early sixties with white hair and a deep tan. After introducing her to her secretary, he took her on a tour of his collectibles from his days as a Missionary in Bolivia. After 35 years in South America, he returned to the States and went through a special re-entry program before. Susie winced as he brought out a picture book as they sat on the couch in his living room.
"When's he going to get down to the sex?" she thought. "I've heard of men who hire prostitutes just to talk to them, but I can get stories like this from my uncle Mike."
When he opened the book up, the pictures of his village in Bolivia had a simple theme. There was one girl in a faded picture: average in every way in an embroidered low-cut, white blouse, elegant skirt and bare feet, whose dimpled smile electrified the viewer. It was a progression of her life, holidays and Sunday, at play and a work, raising three children to adulthood and dandling grandchildren from her knee.
"This woman was special to you?" Tears came to the corners of the old man's eyes. "Your housekeeper."
"Yes, she was." His voice held a strong Latin accent, even though he was raised in the U.S.
There was a pause as Susie scrutinized the pictures. "She was more than your housekeeper, wasn't she?" He daubed his face with a handkerchief, nodding. "Tell me about her."
"I met her just after I got there. Bolivia's priests usually take a consort, someone to live with them, and well, she ended up with me. It was a dream: hard work almost every day of the week, but it was simple and rewarded and blessed. When the bishop came, she went away with the kids until he left. Almost 35 years together, and then, she got sick. It was a gall bladder problem, something that gets fixed easily here, but we lived a long way from a hospital and by the time we got her there, it was too late. I tried to stay on, my daughter stayed with me and my people were so kind. But I just couldn't stay in the wonderful place without her."
The grandfather clock ticked in the corner. After a pause, he continued: "I came back home, and tried to live here like a regular priest. It's so different, and I've struggled with life here, even though I'm from here. I miss my family, my kids and my grandkids. When I retire, I'm going back."
Susie laid her hand on his. "You should. Being around family will help."
"In the meantime, I miss the simplest things. I learned to use the Internet, but, but, seeing a real pair of breasts, feeling soft hands on my balls. . ."
"I understand," Susie said. Slowly she stood before him, and undid each button of her blue blouse. Sliding it to the floor, she reached around and unhooked her bra, pulling the straps over her shoulders, and replacing the cups with her arm momentarily . She reached out with her hand and invited him to pull her arm away, revealing perfect, teardrop breasts.
His fingers traced her orbs reverently, skimming close to the areolae and following every curve until he caressed them with his palms. Her breath grew faster as he worshiped her flesh. It was a full fifteen minutes before he tentatively leaned forward to nurse her pink nipples.
Just when she thought she would burst, she pushed him away and lowered herself to kneel before him. She unbuttoned his fly, one at a time, and released his serpent, fondling his spongy balls. Her tongue took it time; he was ready to erupt as his cock appeared, and she wanted him to savor the experience. A measured pace intensified his arousal, and she orgasmed as he filled her hungry mouth.
The dinner hour was barely contained bedlam and all the little ships sailed for their ports of call by 7:00PM. Susie pretended to call Steffie in earshot of the master of the house to announce her departure and ask if she wanted anything. He was indifferent to her departure from the house, ensconced in his easy chair in front of a baseball game.
Fr. Marcus Frazier lived in a posh part of the city. A gate protected his property from ordinary people; the only heir of a rich family, he pastored a large parish closeby, and lived at his ancestral home with the Bishop's permission. A handsome man with blond hair, blue eyes and sculpted body, he greeted her at the door with a martini, and led her to his study. They chatted easily in the study, smoking Havana cigars. Marcus had traveled the world, and delighted her with stories of his journeys. The martinis were followed by another round, and they took them poolside when they finished their cigars. The full moon crested the horizon and was sailing high into the night.
After a while, he touched her hand and said: "You're most welcome here, Ms. Cox, I have been longing to meet you for a week."
"Really?"
"Really. Word of your, good works, has been passing quietly around, and I'm looking forward to our time together. Tonight is special."