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FATHER O'CONNER'S CONFESSION
The following Sunday, after the service, Jocelyn Besinger went to see Father O'Conner in his chambers.
She was wearing another of her florid moo-moo dresses. This particular sack was a pale lime green with bright yellow daffodils. It covered her from neck to ankle.
Jocelyn tried very hard to hide her curvaceous booby old body. Unlike most of the other women in the congregation, Jocelyn had an idea that church was not the place to flaunt yourself. She tried to dress modestly in the vain hope she could keep libidinous thoughts from the male parishioners.
It didn't work of course.
Gaudy and billowy as the dress was it didn't come close to hiding her terrific big breasts. They ballooned out the front of the colorful shapeless sack like a pair of basketballs.
"A moment of your time Father?" asked Jocelyn from the cloistery door.
The priest looked up from his desk. Even though the nasty old woman was the last person he'd ever want to see, Father Patrick O'Conner's hefty florid face lit up with a wide smile. Like all good priests, he was a practiced politician if nothing else.
"Ahh. Well now. It's Mrs Besinger," he said in his lilting Irish brogue. "What a pleasant surprise. Please, come in and take a seat. What can I be doin' for yu?"
Jocelyn sat down at the desk opposite him and put her handbag on the floor. Rethinking it, she clutched it on her lap instead. She rearranged her glasses, cleared her throat, and, digging deep, started her submission. She was on her very best behavior, trying very hard to be respectful to the stupid old priest.
The good father was fascinated. He'd never seen the old Besinger woman so self-effacing. She was normally so imposing and rude...
Jocelyn told the Father everything about the cabin she and Harvey wanted to build and how, as the land they wanted was in a national park, there was red tape in getting approval to build.
"Well? Can you help me Father?" finished Jocelyn. "It would mean the world to Harvey and me."
Cordial as their meeting had been to this point there was no love lost between either of these two. Jocelyn's long admiration for her priest had changed to contempt ever since she found out he was fucking young Madison Slevinski. Father O'Conner saw Jocelyn as a depraved cranky old bitch. In his patronizing eyes the age difference between her and her husband was obscene... not to mention what she did to Mona Slevinski.
The old biddy dain't deserve any help from me, thought the priest self-righteously. De things she dooz to poor Mrs Slavinski are sins! Awful sins!!
Nothing about this struck him as ironic. The fact that he, a supposedly celibate priest, was fucking Mona's daughter, getting blow jobs from the hot little teen as he heard Mona's confessions, never entered his hypocritical head.
"Well now, Mrs Besinger," he began in his thick Irish accent. "I see yu 'ave a problem. No doubt o' that. But I don't see 'ow I can be 'o much 'elp..."
"Well you see Father, "said Jocelyn, smiling as sweetly as her cruel features would allow, "it's really quite fortuitous that a member of your congregation works in National Parks Department."
"Ah. I see. And that is?"
"Graham Herbertson, Father. He looks after all the leases. He could approve us immediately if he wanted to, and as you and Mr Herbertson are both Knights of Columbus..."
"that's true..."
"...well, you're both in the same club Father. Surely you do favors for each other all the time? Harvey and I would be very grateful..."
And there it is, he thought.
"Ahhh... now there yu are, Mrs Besinger. My answer can be noothin' but a categorical no. I can't be using me influence on a fellow Knights brother. It's just not doon!"
...and just like that Jocelyn's shortest of short fuses ran down and the old lady exploded with fury.
"I CANNOT BELIEVE I EVER LISTENED TO YOU... YOU... YOU... HUMBUG!...YOU FAKER! YOU FRAUD!"
Father O'Conner was suddenly a little frightened. Jocelyn Besinger was not a small woman and when she was angry she was a force to be reckoned with...
But he held his nerve. He'd been harboring very unchristian thoughts about Jocelyn for several years now. The old priest just did not like her. Turning the unpleasant old woman down was very enjoyable.
"Steady yourself Mrs Besinge," said the Father calmly. "I'm sure dez nootin yu can do or say that'll be changin' me mind on dis. I canna believe yud even ask me!"
Jocelyn was up... her clenched fists supporting her as she leaned over his desk forcing the priest to rock back on his chair...
"IS THAT RIGHT?" cried Jocelyn. "IS THAT WHAT YOU THINK?"
"CALM YUSELF WOMAN! Me minds MADE OOP!" he cried, raising his own voice an octave or two. "There's PRINCIPLES... and TRADITIONS!"
Jocelyn sat back down and the Father thought he had her on the ropes. He couldn't have known that when Jocelyn was quiet she was at her most dangerous. It was the calm before the storm.
"How are things with you and young Madison Slevinski, Father? Seeing much of her these days?" she asked.
The priest, who was rocking confidently back on two legs of his chair, almost literally fell over backward. A last-second grab for the edge of his desk was the only thing that prevented a nasty fall.
"Yu knoo?" he gasped fearfully. "Yu knoo me secret shame?"
"Oh yes father," said Jocelyn evilly. "I am very familiar with your situation. You should be ashamed of yourself you drunken old pervert! You'll probably go to hell!"
"Now Mrs Besinger, I implore ye! Don be sayin' dings like dat. I'm a fool... a flawed man, I know it, but I can't stop..." he begged. "These last few moonths 'ave been the hardest o' me life..."
"Very hard I'm sure," said Jocelyn, sarcasm dripping from her lips. "You must find it terribly difficult to use that beautiful young girl as you do!"
"I've tried to keep away from 'er," he cried. "But I'm weak Mrs Besinger... so very flawed and weak..."
From that first time at Harvey and Jocelyn's wedding, he had been tested by the young harlot. Tested, tempted, and fallen short. It's true, he'd been very drunk but...
"...it's me sinful overindulged in alcohol that caused it all Mrs Besinger," he begged. "you hav'ta believe me..."
His whole congregation had been at the wedding reception and it promised to be a wonderful evening. There'd been lots of food and drink as well as dancing, and he'd been singing... old Irish folksongs that everyone seemed to like. His was popular.
"I was popular Mrs Besinger," he said as he told his story, "loved and respected."
Unfortunately, what started as one glass of scotch turned into a bottle... and then another. Eventually, even with his native tolerance for alcohol, he'd become too drunk to stand up.
It wasn't until the early hours of the following morning that he'd finally sobered up enough to look for somewhere to pass out properly and that was when he'd stumbled into the room where Madison and Morgan were sleeping.
"Except the evil girl wasn't sleepin' Mrs Besinger," he said, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "She was sinnin'... wallowing in lust... using her gorgeous, beautiful, god-given body like... like... the whore of Babylon!"
