I was going to hell. I woke up with a loud start slipping on the pew down to the ground twisting my hair sprayed up do into a nest. I sat up quickly and pinned the mess back noticing I had moist sweat beads covering my neck.
Again, looking at the empty rows in front of me I remembered that this wasn’t a dream. It was real. I was going to hell.
For months I have tried everything to get him out of my head. His hands, his kiss, his……
“Oh stop it you whore!” I said out loud forgetting where I was.
My eyes scanned to room filled with dripping candles just lit to one of the holy men staring at me in a daze. I wasn’t so guilt stricken over wanting to be near him. Anyone with my husband would be entertained by a baboon more than Harry. It was the lust I was afraid of . This uncontrollable need to express myself sexually was making me feel well….insane. Men are the ones who drool and not women! Especially not me!
I was diligently recording all of this in my journal. Every thought, every impulse, desire and fear were written on sheets of paper in my diary. I was trying to forget I lost it last Sunday. I looked everywhere. EVERYWHERE. I started to try and write my sinister thoughts out again but it only made me feel more dirty, revolting lust.
The sweat became more profuse under my chest and back as I squirmed lower into my pew. That is when I felt a flat object hit the backside of my head and I turned around to see my neighbor from across the street.
“You lost this?” she was grinning with her gorgeous red lips. Her few words and crafty smile filled what a speech could hold.
I was about to say something. I didn’t know what exactly; but I was hushed before I could make out a sentence. She put her white cloth covered finger over my lips and whispered to me while holding the diary under her other arm.
“Lets get this bad boy out of the holy place first shall we.” she looked at the book and then towards the pulpit crossing her silk blouse before she winked at the very, very sweaty preacher. He grinned with one half of his lips in a paralysis sort of weak fashion. I stood up and followed the sound of her clicking heels all the way out of the sweat.
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