Warning: This story contains a religious setting and rituals the use of which some may find offensive.
Theresa entered the church and paused as she saw the tall form of Father Nicolo Curiel-Borromeo walking toward the confessional. His long, black cassock flowed behind him gracefully as he moved purposefully toward his destination. The irregular ripples and folds of the heavy fabric mimicked the thick, wavy, shoulder-length locks of his raven hair. Though he was across the sanctuary, the clicking of his shoes on the tile floor carried to her with each of his steady steps. She had come to confess her sins but he was not the person with whom she wanted to share her shame.
Many of the older parishioners resisted the new, younger priest's presence for replacing Father Stephens—despite the older priest's increasing senility—but she did not share their general hesitation to speak with him. Her reluctance stemmed from something else, something more personal. However, with communion happening the next day, she had to do it or explain to her husband why she could not partake in the sacrament.
After taking a few steadying breaths, she hesitantly made her way to the booth. Another surge of shame and embarrassment hit her just before she entered making her pause. Behind the door where the priest sat, she heard the hard soles of his shoes slide on and tap against the wooden floor as he got comfortable. Seizing on the fact that he was not yet settled, she turned away telling herself that she'd return later though she already knew that once she left, she wouldn't.
"Do not be afraid," she heard his voice say softly. "If you need help, I will guide you. I am here for you."
Despite the deep tone of his voice, it was melodic due to its heavy Italian accent and Theresa found herself calming, though she still did not move toward the empty booth.
"If it helps, I remind you that I am bound to keep anything said just between us. No one else will know. Even I will not know who you are unless you tell me. Let me ease whatever guilt it is you are carrying."
Hearing the father's gentle, encouraging words helped strengthen the pull she felt on her soul toward the empty booth. With a pained sigh, she entered and sat. Both an instant and an eternity passed before he opened the small door between them to begin.
"Tell me what is wrong. What do you need to confess today?"
She relaxed slightly at the sound of his gentle, soothing voice. With her own voice trembling, she answered, "I have sinned, Father."
"What have you done? What is so terrible that you hesitate even to confess it?"
"I have had impure thoughts."
"That is not so bad," he said kindly. "I am not saying that it is okay and that you should do it often, but it happens."
"No. You don't understand. I'm married and the thoughts—" Theresa took a breath thinking she'd be able to give voice to it but she still could not utter the words.
"Were of another man?"
A tear fell from her eye. "Yes."
"Again, while it is important to respect the vows of marriage, a single fantasy—"
"It was more than one," she interrupted.
Suddenly, the wall holding back the guilt gave way and a rush of words left her.
"I had many thoughts and...and dreams in the night. Some to the point where I...I...climaxed." The whispered the word was full of her guilt. After heaving a breath full of her embarrassment, she added, "With your image in my head."
"My image?" Father Borromeo asked with shock in his voice. "That is surprising, but not so much if you are a regular and attend some of my counseling or outreach sessions. People going through trials or pain in their lives often find comfort in those who help them. Again, I am not saying it is acceptable, but it is understandable.
"So these fantasies, to what do you need to confess besides their existence?"
Theresa did not answer immediately. When she finally spoke, her voice was childlike with its shame. "That you touched me as only my husband should. And I liked it."
"What did you imagine? What did I do? What did you do? You must admit it all."
Quiet tears began to fall down her face. It was difficult enough for her to make the confession at all, but having to share the details of her sins with the man she had been fantasizing about made it even worse. However, she knew she had to do it for the safety of her soul. "It started with a...a...a kiss."
When nothing else followed, Father Borromeo urged gently, "Is that all? It will help if you close your eyes. Close your eyes and tell me. Tell me what you see."
Lulled by his soothing tone, Theresa allowed her eyelids to fall as she sat back on the wooden seat then slouched down in resignation in order to lay herself bare. "I was lying on my marital bed, my husband was sleeping next to me and you...you climbed onto the bed and laid on top of me as if it were your place. And I welcomed you. You kissed me deeply in a way that no man—not even my husband—ever has as you began to undress me. Once we were naked, your hands lightly ran up and down the sides of my body. I could even feel the drag of your nails against my skin."
"I'm sorry if they hurt," his amused voice seemed to purr in her ear. "I do prefer to keep them long."
Theresa blushed. "They were fine. I liked it. Especially when you began to pull at my nipples. I could feel them digging into my flesh, but the pain only seemed to heighten my arousal. It made me want more."
"Was there more?"
"Yes," she said, ignoring the almost expectant tone in his voice. "You kissed your way down my neck and across my chest to my left breast, then took it into your mouth and began to suckle on it. I could feel your tongue rapidly flick over the nipple as you held it in your teeth."
Hearing her gasp suddenly, Father Borromeo asked, "What? What is it? Keep your eyes closed and tell me."
"Your hand. The one that your mouth replaced, it is...was between my legs. Touching, rubbing me."
