Fair warning - This is a "slow burn" short story. If you're scouring the site for stories containing quick, graphic and mindless sex, this probably won't be for you; however, if you are willing to invest the time to envision in-depth scenarios and character development, please feel free to ride along with me on Claire's journey. Comments are welcome.
UNHOLY DESIRES - PART ONE
"Oh Jesus Chr...," Claire said before abruptly catching herself, realizing that she was running late yet again. She had totally forgotten about the upcoming church mission meeting until she glanced at the wall calendar in the laundry room. As with many small churches, "volunteering" at the local Lutheran branch often meant being placed on various committees without being asked. She was convinced that it was a tactic that was taught in Clergy 101 or whatever entry level theology course that was offered, but who was she to complain? She knew that as a fairly recent divorcee she needed all the brownie points that she could muster, assuming that there actually is an
afterlife
and someone - or some THING - was somehow keeping score.
"If there isn't one, I'm going to be really pissed," she mumbled to herself as she pulled her t-shirt off and scrambled out of her leggings to change into something more "church-appropriate." Standing in front of the full-length mirror in her studio apartment, she braced herself before peeking at the image in front of her, unconsciously sucking in her tummy and feigning a smile. She ran her hand through her dark hair, still moist with perspiration from her Zumba class. Finding a scrunchie, she pulled her wavey locks back into a ponytail and reassessed herself. With no time to jump into the shower, she generously applied her deodorant and gargled with mouthwash.
"Good enough for that motley crew," she said out loud and smiled to herself.
Despite her indifference at impressing the mission team, she reluctantly dared to take a quick sniff of her underarms and gave herself a tentative thumbs-up, knowing that for the sake of hygiene she should try to distance herself - if possible - from the other attendees in the meeting. With no time to change fully, she kept her sports bra and sweaty panties on as she rummaged through the closet, grabbing a pair of grey slacks and a black blouse. As she stepped quickly into the slacks she stumbled, nearly falling on her face before regaining her balance. She slid the blouse on and decided to leave it untucked.
She twirled and looked in the mirror, reluctantly admiring her firm butt as she thought to herself, "Not bad for a thirty-something divorcee."
Indeed, over the two-year period since her separation she had transformed herself from a bored, frumpy plus-sized housewife to an almost marketable, reasonably attractive woman - at least on the outside. It's amazing what a bout of undiagnosed depression can do. After trying and failing throughout her nine-year marriage with most of the popular weight-loss programs, all it took was a contentious separation combined with the accompanying semi-depression, and the weight just melted away. Down nearly four dress sizes, Claire glanced into her closet which was neatly separated by size ranging from her current 9-10 on the far left to her plus sizes topping out at size 14 on the far right side.
She knew from reading the myriads of weight-loss books that she should have donated the clothing on the right, but deep down she knew. She would always mentally be a 12-14 despite the façade of the toned body she currently - and most likely temporarily - occupied. She closed the closet door after slipping on a pair of comfy flats from her small collection that was scattered haphazardly across the floor. She exited her apartment and slid behind the wheel of her Prius for the short drive to the church. She knew that she was one of the main topics for gossip since her separation, and she heard several of the falsehoods that were circulating through the social media "grapevine."
Of course, the rumors ranged from her husband's infidelity to questions about his sexual preference, none of which could be further from the truth. She wished that she had the nerve to confront the gossip-mongers - not necessarily to confess, but at the very least to defend her ex-husband's integrity and reputation, although she knew that she would never be that strong. If it wasn't her husband's fault, naturally it could only mean that it was hers. Although she knew she was totally to blame for the breakup, it was much less painful to ignore the noise despite the harm that it may cause.
The fact was that even if the truth were to somehow get out, few if anyone would believe it. Even she could hardly believe that it was her - demure, church-going Claire - who was caught in the act, on her back with her best friend Tammy on her knees between her parted thighs, hungrily lapping, and as usual - worshipping Claire from her tight ass to her drenched pussy for the umpteenth time. What a sight that must have been for her ex, she often thought, embarrassed that despite the damage it caused, the thought made her wet, even to this day.
"Sometimes the truth really IS stranger than fiction," she thought to herself, wondering if the guilt would ever subside. Despite the trail of destruction that she left behind, she knew that if she could do it all over again, she would. And that admission - along with the accompanying sexual excitement of reliving it - terrified her the most.
As Claire pulled into church lot, she quickly scanned it, hoping
not
to see specific vehicles.
"Oh, great - Nate's here," she mumbled sarcastically under her breath when she spotted his blue BMW that intentionally took up the better part of two spaces.
"Flirty Nate" was one of the few eligible bachelors within the church, and he took every opportunity to offer himself up to the various divorcees and widows. As far as she could tell, his victims' target age range was anywhere from eighteen to eighty. She guessed that he was around fifty or so, and by his dyed body perm and cheesy mustache, it was clear that from a fashion standpoint he never escaped from the 1970's. Despite that, he was relatively harmless, and although he clearly was not her type, she supposed that some of the more desperate congregants may have discreetly connected with him. The thought made her shudder.
She took one further glance across the lot, searching for a white Mazda Miata. To her disappointment, Amy's car was nowhere to be found.
"Oh well, what were the chances that we would have the nerve to even explore any type of relationship, especially in a church setting," she wondered, trying to dismiss her excitement at the thought.
"Besides," she thought, "Amy's as straight as they come." But then again, that's what others thought of Claire as well, and look at how wrong they were!
Of course, it was clear that Amy had been Nate's primary target ever since her husband passed away more than three years ago. Absolutely no one would have guessed that she was also in Claire's crosshairs. How could they possibly know? Claire herself still sometimes struggled to understand what led her down the previously untraveled path that ended with her best friend between her legs. To the rest of the world, Claire was the jilted eligible divorcee - a far cry from what only she, her husband and her former best friend knew to be the case.
A familiar twinge of sadness came over Claire at the thought of her "ex" best friend. Despite being "bffs" for the better part of two decades, their recent intimacy and the embarrassment combined with the guilt that it caused. Despite their initial attempts to remain friends, it simply was too much for their relationship to overcome, and they were forced to tearfully say goodbye, not only as lovers, but - more painfully - as friends. Despite her sadness, Claire smiled as she flashed back to their glory days in high school when they became fast friends despite being polar opposites in almost every way. Claire was awkward and introverted, while Tammy was athletic and outgoing. Claire was a brunette with natural waves that extended well below her shoulders, while Tammy's mousy brown hair was frequently
styled
in a low-maintenance pixie cut. Claire painstakingly applied her makeup to a near professional level on a daily basis if not more often, while Tammy rarely applied anything beyond lip gloss.
Claire was taller and soft; Tammy was shorter and toned. When Claire was hot, Tammy was cold. Claire would never be heard utterly profanity while Tammy was as potty-mouthed as they come. Claire's eyebrows were always meticulously plucked and her panty line was always waxed or shaved, while Tammy never bothered with that type of needless manicuring. It nearly drove Claire crazy whenever she saw one of Tammy's eyebrow hairs that needed plucking, yet she always resisted the urge to just grab it and yank it out. Tammy grew up vacationing in the mountains while Claire's family practically lived at the beach during the summer. Despite their differences, they were inseparable for the better part of two decades. They were the closest of friends with no secrets between them. They survived distance when each of them went to separate colleges, and they talked or texted almost daily. Naturally, Tammy was Claire's maid of honor, and until Kenneth - Tammy's fiancé and first real boyfriend - developed a case of cold feet and disappeared just three days before their wedding date, Claire was set to be Tammy's maid of honor as well.
It was Kenneth's sudden disappearance that became the turning point in the girls' relationship nearly three years ago. When it became clear that he was gone with no plans to return, the girls along with the other two bridesmaids -Tammy's younger sister Brittany and her former roommate Jessica - quickly went into damage control in the bridal suite at the quaint rented cottage located next to the barn where the wedding was to be held. With a new mission of consoling the bride as well as heading off the attendees, they split up the workload among themselves and started making phone calls while taking turns pouring wine for one another. They did an amazing job in keeping Tammy occupied, and they were surprised that no tears were shed, chalking it up to a combination of shock and denial. Although there were hefty charges to do so, the DJ was cancelled as well as the catering. They all laughed when Claire called to "kill off" the dove release, and when Tammy realized what she said she broke down in hysterics.
"Fucking doves," she snorted as she sipped directly from a bottle of chardonnay.
"That was such a 'Kenneth' thing anyway. Who in the fuck releases doves? Fucking doves. We should keep them, change their names to Kenneth and use them for target practice."
