(This story is a continuation. It isn't necessary, but you may wish to read the first chapter, "The Secret Life of the Mature Woman". In either case, enjoy.)
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The morning sun was shining brightly as my son, Robert and I made our way into St Joseph's church for Sunday mass. Rob had complained bitterly about going to church all morning and it had been a real struggle but I was happy to have him with me. I had been attending this church for as far back as my memory could stretch and had even attended St. Joseph's Catholic School since it opened its doors when I was in the fourth grade. It made me feel nice inside as we were greeted by old friends and familiar faces as we made our way to a pew about midway up the aisle. I, in particular, felt like I really needed to be here.
I had been feeling such tremendous guilt ever since the shameless way I had acted with Mark nearly two weeks ago. Mark was a young black man only half my age who had been my tennis instructor. I had been living in mortal terror since that day, afraid that someone would find out and word would spread throughout our small community like wildfire. When you live in a town with only four hundred inhabitants there is no such thing as a secret for very long. So far, I hadn't heard any rumblings that my indiscretion had become public knowledge.
Mark had attempted to call me twice, but I had not returned his calls. I had called the gym where he taught tennis lessons and left a message that I was sick and would not be coming to my lessons for a couple of weeks. It wasn't an excuse that I could use forever, but at least it gave me some time to think about how I was ever going to straighten out this mess and resume my previous dull and predictable life.
The mass began and although nobody would have guessed it from my outward appearance, I was praying for forgiveness inside. The priests and nuns had always taught us that if you prayed hard enough, your prayers would be answered. My meditations were interrupted by an usher who was asking me to slide in a little further into the pew. I did so while looking up to see who it was that had arrived late and would be sitting next to me.
Oh my God! It was Mark!
I'm sure my face must have turned every shade of red known to man. I'm sure he saw the look of sheer panic in my eyes. Mark only nodded his head to me and smiled a greeting. I turned around forward again, but the blood was pounding so hard in my ears that I don't think that I heard one word of what was being said. I was dead certain that everyone in the congregation could tell that this forty-eight year old mother of six, who had sat in this very church every Sunday had lain with this 24 year old black man. That she had opened her legs wantonly and allowed him to take her over and over again all afternoon on that dreadful day. Looking back now, I know that was pretty silly. However, at the time I was sure that God was punishing me as I deserved to be punished.
But, doesn't he look great! He is so handsome in that suit and tie. Much different than the last time I saw him when he was completely naked and bringing me to the point of such ecstasy that I thought I had died and gone straight to heaven. I remember when he --
Stop that Sandra! What is the matter with you? Haven't you gotten yourself into enough of a mess already?
Mass progressed normally and, thank God, forty-eight years of training had conditioned me to know when to stand, when to sit, and when to kneel.
Kneel??
Like I had knelt before this man, doing things to him that would have surely gotten me kicked out of this very church forever? Using my tongue, that would soon be receiving communion, to greedily lick up and down his beautiful brown hardness until he had exploded inside my warm, wet mouth and I had hungrily swallowed every drop as if I were a starving woman?
I shook my head and concentrated on paying attention to the priest. Eventually, it came time to pass the collection basket. I placed my envelope with my donation in the basket and turned to pass it to Mark. As I did, our hands touched for just a moment and my breath caught as I had a flash of those magnificent hands touching me as they had that day. Expertly caressing me in all the places that I so love to be touched. His fingers, so powerful, yet so gentle as he made my body writhe with pleasure until I almost had to beg for mercy.
Oh, God, please -- Why are you doing this to me? I have sinned and I am heartily sorry. I will never, ever, ever do such a shameless thing again. I was weak. I was confused. I will try to do better if You will just forgive me this once.
When Communion came I made my way up the aisle towards the priest. I found that my legs were shaking. Surely this would be the moment when my punishment would be meted out and my shame would be made public knowledge. However, just the opposite seemed to occur. As I accepted the Eucharist I felt a sense of calm come over me. I almost wept at my relief as I made my way back to my seat.
As I returned to the pew, I noticed that Rob and Mark were both missing. I was used to my son being gone. He always got up and left during Communion and waited for me outside. It was a small concession to make in order to have him accompany me. Mark must be in the same habit. It must be a generational thing. We never would have done such a thing while I was growing up.
Actually, I was glad to have the pew to myself at that moment. I bowed my head and gave thanks with all my soul. While kneeling there, it came to me what I had to do. I couldn't keep running from Mark. I had to make a point of talking to him as one adult to another and make him see that the way I had acted was not who I was. I had to make him see that I was the one to blame and I was sorry that I had ignored him during the interim, but that we could never repeat what we had done.
As the service ended, I left the church with a renewed strength. I had asked for guidance and my prayers had been answered. I had begun to believe that there was a way out of my predicament and I was bound and determined to put it behind me.
I was mildly surprised when I didn't see Robert waiting for me in the vestibule, so I wandered out into the sunshine where there were groups of parishioners chatting and visiting as always. I said hello to a few friends, but my eyes were looking all about for my son. Finally I saw him. He and Mark were kicking a soccer ball back and forth in the small park across the street. I remembered seeing that ball in my van and had meant to take it out, but it had somehow slipped my mind.
I stopped and watched them cavorting about like a couple of goofballs. I smiled to myself as I watched Robert moving with the ease of a natural athlete. All of my children had been quite athletic. Luckily, they had inherited that gene from my ex-husband, Bill's side.
Mark, too, moved with a grace that reminded me of a jungle cat. Of course, I had seem him displaying his athletic prowess many times during our tennis lessons, but it felt different watching him he when he thought he was unobserved. Even in his dress shoes and suit pants, he moved in such a way that would make any woman, young or old, take notice.
"Such a handsome young man", I was startled from my reverie by Doris Graham, a long time friend of the family.
