All characters presented below are 18 or over.
Forewarning, this opening chapter features some reluctance on the heroine's part concerning her sexual encounter.
This is the opening chapter of a story I have wanted to tell for some time, of a character who has been living in my head and trying to escape to paper much like you see Priscilla May trying to escape her confined upbringing below. It plays to my own experiences as well as those around me. Below you will see the beginning of Priscilla's misadventure as she breaks from the confines of her small hometown of Waterbury, Nebraska, and begins to doubt whether this life is one she wishes to continue to live knowing there is much more out there.
I intend for this to be a running series, you will see her explore the image of the 22nd century I have in my head, and all the while experience a variety of *encounters* that she may or may not be prepared for. This opening chapter from my perspective is light in sexual content, but it will certainly get more and more steamy if you chose to follow along!
Hope to have you on the adventure with us!
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May Rising: Chapter 1, Waterbury Precepts
"The neon lights, the circuits of oppression, these are the false gods that have led our society astray and broken us apart from the brothers and sisters we have in Christ." Above them on the stage, a homely man, mouth still hanging open at the trail of his statement. His eyes shifted around the congregation, clean-shaven face glistening in the stage light with a pearly white smile ever so trusting.
"The great domed cities of Mars ever absent the cross, their minds filled with so-called science. But don't let it fool you! This is Satan at work!"
A few "amens" or "here here's" resonated amongst the parishioners as the pastor decried the misdeeds of greater human society and civilization. Admonishing the Martian civilization, in particular, played to the congregation's tribalism and bias, always a popular scapegoat for the exploits and plots of satan.
"As we raise our children in the light of Christ, we must not let them stray into the temptations of this world or any of the worlds of this cosmos both human and alien... Sins of self, sins of false idols. They are our future, the future of the body of his word. Too many have fallen into the techno-cult, the visage of Satan on every holo-board, every flashing light, every grav car. They have made these more precious than the flesh of Jesus... we must ensure to instill our lords, our father's importance in our children's hearts."
The pastor's eyes scanned the crowd in the poorly lit sanctuary, incandescent lights flickering above. It was clear he was looking for someone, in particular, searching as he slicked back his black gelled hair and adjusted his black-rimmed glasses. It wasn't until his eyes found Priscilla did he stop, corners of his mouth smiling wider. In turn, the blonde girl shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She was thin, dressed in her "Sunday best" which was no more than a modest red floral-patterned dress that dared to end just above her knees. She at first met his gaze, as she had many times before, but as he lingered on her she knew it could only mean one thing...
"Take, young Priscilla May Anderson brethren." The pastor's words heralded the glances of the congregation toward her. Priscilla froze, the stage of broader attention the last place she wished to reside. Clenching the hems of her dress she tried not to make eye contact with anyone, her gaze locked with the pastor's, pleading eyes begging for the attention to go elsewhere. He however merely smiled at her, nothing abnormal or uncomfortable, simply the pastor she always knew doting on her in the middle of Sunday service.
"On Tuesday she blossomed in the shining pastures of our lord into a woman, turning eighteen." Mumbles and gestures of congratulations emanated from the crowd as many smiled at her. Priscilla remained frozen, not desiring any such elevation into the realm of perception by others. Yet the pastor's gaze carried on, his precepts accompanying it about how Priscilla was a shining example to their flock of a young woman who glorified the lord, who would carry forward a new generation of Waterbury Lord's Baptist youth.
The thought of that alone made her stir, a conscious shiver running down her back as a cold sweat fell from her brow. As she looked around the antiquated, faux wood, musty carpeted, two-hundred-year-old church, an ever-growing feeling turned her stomach. It had begun a few years ago, her thoughts ever-developing and perceiving the world around her as she "blossomed" into an adult.
Priscilla chanced a look around the sanctuary as the pastor continued, taking in the locations of her early years growing up as a child of God in Waterbury, Nebraska, the backwoods of the Great Plains Federation. She recalled the smell of the old carpet on the steps of the stage where she and her friends would sit after church on Sundays or the creaky wooden doors at the back she would hold open for the elders. This vintage 20th-century church was a dime a dozen across the land, but this place was a landmark of her life.
Yet despite all those memories, she did not find peace. It didn't take a single incident or some sort of exposure to the real world to make her doubt the pre-conceptions taught to her, it simply came naturally and gradually. It was a slow coldness folding over her, a fog of doubt descending on the dawn of her adult life. Now as she sat next to her mother on an old pew listening to the pastor preach about the evil ways of the world for the hundredth time, she grew restless. A strange unease filled her listening to the lesson of her youth yet with a developing adult perception of her own.
The emanating aura of perfection and expectations from her mother certainly only stood to highlight her growing doubts. Trisha Anderson, venerated lady of Waterbury Baptist sat perfectly upright, without blemish... at least on the surface. At home, she sheds the layers of personality and interpersonal theater that she produces for the general public. There she holds Priscilla to the perfect image of her motherhood, ever the martyr of what she has done as a single parent. Yet this all-consuming parental view has served to hold Priscilla to standards constantly moving with the changing of Trisha's mood and limiting the exposure Priscilla had to the outside world, beyond the boundaries of Waterbury.
Priscilla's eyes caught a flicker of light in the corner of her eye, Lydia Myers a girl her age stealing a glance at her digital wristband, no doubt catching an update on the latest news of some far-off fashion show or reports from the farthest reaches of exploration in the stars. It inevitably carried far more interest as the sermon droned on. She had always envied her peers who were allowed to have the latest technology. Wrist bands, ocular devices, digital scrolls, and even a simple pad that would allow her to see and learn about the world and the stars.
But none of Satan's implements disguised as technology could be tolerated, Priscilla would never be able to understand this information given to her. It would only be a means for Satan to creep into her precious little heart. At least that was the view of a certain overbearing mother.
As the streams of light that circled Lydia's wrist disappeared, Priscilla's eyes wandered back to the pastor before she could be chastised by her mother for not paying attention. Interrupting her from this, however, the sudden realization that a few other lingering gazes held her as the subject. A handful of men gazing at her through the corner of their eyes, or even less subtly a full-on stare. Even Mr. Breadenbury, a church deacon, leered at her. His eyes made her skin crawl, Priscilla stirring in her seat, slumping a bit in the pew.
Without hesitation, her mother jabbed her with her elbow. Priscilla winced as she caught it in her pert breast, shifting in her seat with a sharp gaze at her mother. They exchanged this agitation together, both wrestling non-verbally amid the service.
"Sit up," Trisha whispered sharply, her tongue lashing against her overly red-colored lips.
Priscilla obliged, knowing her mother would make a larger point of it later if she did not comply. Their relationship was largely one-sided, her mother's judgment a constant and oft reminded aspect of her life as she was told what to do, wear, say, and go despite her now being a fully grown woman. Though, It was not as if there were many places to go in Waterbury.
"Let us rise, and sing a hymn to our lord." The pastor finalized his sermon and lifted his hands to beckon the congregation to join him. Priscilla took a deep breath as she rose, holding her dress down in the back to ensure it did not rise further than she already chanced with her knees. Turning to her seat, she grabbed the hymnal that had rested next to her, but as soon as she raised her eyes she met with another gaze.
In a row behind her, the eyes of an older man, Mr. Lutwick the owner of the electronics shop looked her over, a sly smile running across his face before he passed a wink to her. With a disturbed look of indignation, she spun around quickly to avoid his gaze, yet she could still feel it on her rear side. Her hymnal bumped into her mother's arm, a sharp glance yet again passing between them.
"What is the matter with you?" She snapped as the congregation broke into how great is our god. Priscilla gripped the top of the pew in front of her tightly, both in anger and anxiousness as she felt Mr. Lutwick undressing her with his eyes. Priscilla only recently caught on to the lusts of men, and since that harsh discovery, it made her rather uncomfortable in certain situations and further made her feel secluded in this already secluded small town.
As the hymn concluded the pastor said a few parting words, prayer services, community events, and even a potluck later that week among the announcements. Priscilla hung on the edge of nervousness as he finished, waiting for him to conclude and dismiss them so she could shake this feeling behind her, this penetrating gaze.
"May the Lord be with you all!" His final words were much like they had been for the past eighteen years of her life. Priscilla wasted no time grabbing her purse and looking for the quickest egress from the pew. There were however many lingerers that morning, talking with each other and trading half-hearted blessings. It made her want to scream, desperately trying to not turn and look at Mr. Lutwick whom she felt the heat emanating from behind her.
"Oh, darling! Happy birthday!" An older woman in front of her, Mrs. Hare, turned and cupped Priscilla's hands in her own. "You are a beautiful girl!" Her denture-filled smile turned to Priscilla's mother, who without fail turned on her narcissistic charm. They exchanged words about Priscilla as if she were not there, her mother telling the tall tale of how proud she is of her little girl, words that she only ever uttered with the undertone of glorifying herself as a mother. Priscilla meant to break away from Mrs. Hare's grasp in a polite fashion, but soon her old wrinkly hands brushed her face as she looked deeply at her.
