This story is an entry in the Nude Day Contest. Qualifying themes include public nudity and exhibitionism. If you're going to vote, please read clear to the end. It's only a page and a half. Thank you for stopping by.
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My father can be such a prick. His motto? Every man has his price. He's proved it time and again, not just by manipulating others, but by selling his own soul to the highest bidder. I don't know if it was this winner-take-all strategy that turned him into a controlling, bitter tyrant, or if he was just born with the asshole gene, but it does explain why we butted heads our entire lives. Perhaps because I was his firstborn son, he expected too much? Everything I did was wrong, or not good enough for the "family name." In some circles, the family name is a dirty word, but he'd never know it. He's spent his entire adult life surrounded by yes-men and ignorant flunkies catering to his every need. Unfortunately for him, the one thing he needs right now - a cure for metastatic lung cancer - is the one thing his money can't buy.
Of course, when he fell ill, the family rallied in support of the old codger, but I remained on his shit list. I was excommunicated when Crystal and I got married, perhaps because she's so much prettier than Mom? He never did explain his reasoning, but that's not unusual. Dad doesn't need a reason to do what he does, he just does it, which might explain the letter I received from his lawyers.
"Dear Mr Hartman,
Your father Reginald regrets the troubled relationship that has developed between the two of you over the years. He has decided to rewrite his last will and testament to include you as an equal heir to his estate, along with your sister Anne and your brother Gregory. This is contingent upon one condition: you and your wife's baptism into the Church of Saint Elizabeth congregation, located on Main and Fourth. Please contact Father McHenry for further instructions."
Crystal wasn't too excited about joining the Church of Saint Elizabeth. She's always been sort of a free spirit when it comes to that sort of thing. It wasn't until we sat down and did the math that it made sense. $500,000 could go a long way towards getting us through this shit pile of an economy, so we decided to go for it.
It was a Thursday afternoon, muggy, the air hanging like a wet blanket over our town. We were standing at the entrance to the Saint Elizabeth Church rectory, an old brick building attached to what used to be a door factory.
"We're good right?" I asked my wife, straightening my tie in the reflection of a cracked window.
"Don't worry Honey," my wife said, squeezing my hand, "I won't blow the deal." She was wearing a black sleeveless dress borrowed from a friend, with matching black heels. The best thing about that dress was imagining her taking it off when we got back home. It had been too long since we'd made time for some hot sex, and I was hoping maybe this afternoon would be our big chance. Tearing my eyes away from my beautiful wife, I rang the door bell, which reacted with a set of chimes from within.
"Welcome, my children," Father McHenry beamed, flinging the door open and extending his hand. I was a little shocked. I was expecting some old codger with a bald head and a paunch, but this dude was nothing of the kind; more like a younger version of Robert Redford, but draped in a black choir robe with his bare feet sticking out.
"Pleased to meet you sir," I said, "or is it Father, father?"
"Call me Al," he said, his grip firm and warm. "And this must be..."
"My wife Crystal."
"Very good," Father Al smiled, shaking my wife's hand vigorously enough to set her boobs to vibrating. "Come on in and I'll fill you in on what the Church of Saint Elizabeth is all about."
He held the door for us and we entered his darkened chambers, which looked more like a two-bit Las Vegas marriage chapel than a church rectory. Fake stained glass windows illuminated a red naugahyde couch and a massive desk at one end of the room. Sagging shelves overloaded with tattered books gave the place a Goodwill vibe, enhanced by a huge vase of plastic flowers teetering on a spindle-legged end table.
"Take a seat," he said, waving an outstretched hand towards us. I could immediately see why my father would fall for this dude. With his dazzling smile and coiffed hair, he had that unmistakable alpha male charisma that propels men of questionable moral values to success.
Crystal and I took our seats, and suddenly I found her hand in mine. How cute, my conniving wife playing the innocent bride, all for a measly $500k. She grinned, crossing her legs primly, her pantyhose making a strange scraping sound when she did so. Suffice it to say, this was the first time I'd seen her in pantyhose since, or probably five years.
"Well now," Father Al intoned in his ministerial baritone, "I don't know what your father told you about our church, but we are a little unconventional."
"My father told me nothing about your church, sir. We only communicate through his lawyer, which is his idea, not mine."
'I was afraid of that," Father Al said, looking genuinely concerned. "Your father does seem to be a deeply troubled man, but, in the face of death, it looks like he wants to turn over a new leaf. He specifically asked me to go easy on your indoctrination. We normally expect a hundred percent commitment to the Church of Saint Elizabeth, but in your case, we can cut you some slack and let you ease into our special relationship with God at your own pace."
"Sounds good to me," I said, a little surprised by Al's candor. In that moment, it occurred to me that I might have misjudged the Church of Saint Elizabeth. Perhaps they weren't a bunch of ripoff artists like I had assumed. I mean, do ripoff artists level with you right off the bat? Father Al shot me a knowing look, his ocean blue eyes boring into me like a laser, and I decided I could trust him. He continued his spiel.
"Alrighty then," Al intoned, "in order to proceed with the baptism, you and your wife will have to go behind the screen over there and remove your clothes. All of your clothes. Even your underwear. Then you can put on a robe and..."
"What?" I gasped. "What kind of loony bin are you running here?"
Father Al's eyes softened, like a dad when he has to explain to his children why they can't eat any more ice cream. "This is not a loony bin, my son, this is a house of the Lord. We follow the teachings of Jesus Christ, as interpreted by the Wiccan scholar, Elizabeth Morris. Elizabeth determined that in order to be accepted into Heaven, one must first purify the body and the spirit, which are interconnected, just like our lives are interconnected with the earth that sustains us. If the body is encumbered by man-made possessions, this purification is impossible." He paused to let this profound concept sink in, and then continued. "Would you like to think about it and return another time?" He smiled, clasping his hands together on the desk, leaving me sitting there feeling like a jerk.
"What do you think, Hon?" I asked my wife. We had never been naked in front of other people before. She shrugged, a sour look on her face. Then she gave me a little nod. "Oh what the hell," I said, forgetting for a moment where I was, "we'll do it."
"What the heck, my son," Father Al corrected me, his Robert Redford smile still plastered to his face.
"Sorry, Father, Sir, I mean, Al."
"No problem son. Old habits are hard to break, aren't they?"
Nodding in agreement, Crystal and I got up and padded across the thick fake Persian rug to the screen in the corner of the room. It was one of those Japanese looking things, which didn't at all go with the Old World décor that dominated the rest of the room. Looking around at the fake marble busts of long-forgotten saints, and the threadbare velvet curtains and gaudy gold-trimmed furniture, I was reminded more of an old Hollywood B movie set than a house of worship.
"You okay with this?" I whispered as Crystal and I ducked behind the screen.
"No" she hissed, kicking off her high heels.
"Do you want to bail?"
"Do you want to be poor for the rest of your life?"
