A Slow Seduction of Jasmine Pilcher Ch. 01

I know I'm going to hell for what I tried to do and what I did.

I've learned to live with the guilt just as I live with the sad, sweet, depraved and glorious memories.

I don't figure I'm ever going to get over either. And maybe that's my real hell.

A few years ago I set my sights on Jasmine Pilcher, a most ordinary woman who came to my attention in a most unusual way. She was walking up to the choir loft at the Sunday 11 o'clock service offered by Pastor Ryan. She and I sing together – or used to sing together – every Sunday and sometimes at special Wednesday services too.

You couldn't meet a sweeter woman than Jasmine or a better friend. Although she had little money herself, she was always eager to help out a friend in need of a little extra cash, or a last-minute babysitter or to cook a pie at the last minute if needed for a church social.

Jasmine used to be a really fine singer in her youth and now she was just okay. Although Jasmine was a friendly, outgoing person, when she sang she was all earnest intensity. No smiles and no joking. She had a cute little way of clearing her throat in a barely audible way when she finished a song. I liked that.

She was divorced from her first and only husband more than 12 years ago and now lived in a small home not too far from the church. She grew roses in the backyard, talked a lot with the neighbors and sometimes laughed in a way that was positively heart warming. Jasmine had two children and four grandchildren who lived about an hour away. She worked at a nearby production line assembling small wooden furniture pieces.

Despite her friendliness and great laugh, there was a real air of sadness about Jasmine. I don't think she ever got over her divorce and it was pretty much understood by everyone who knew her that she had nothing to do with men ever since the divorce.

And that seemed to be okay with her. I don't think the sadness I saw in her was due to loneliness. I think it was sadness at a life that had gone astray.

Jasmine was a heavy woman. Okay, she was fat. It's hard even now to write this because I like her so much and "fat" seems as much an insult as a description. But she was a heavy woman. She was only about 5-3 but she was big. She had puffy cheeks even when far thinner but now her heaviness seemed to accent them so that they almost looked like they were closing in around her eyes. They were pretty eyes but I've got to tell you: there were times when I looked into them and wondered if her face cheeks would close up over them and she would be sightless.

Good old Jasmine. Oh, yeah. I didn't say how old. She was about 57 or 58 at the time of my – how should I say it? – revelation.

You're probably wondering a little about me. Believe me, you'll be wondering a lot more before this story is over. My name is . . . let's just call me Fred. I'm in my early 30s and I'm vice president of a small company that produces specialized medical equipment used in large X-Ray machines. My father is the president and, some day, the good Lord willing and the creek don't rise, I'll be the boss. For now, I'm making some decent money but keep a pretty low profile.

I have girlfriends but none at the time this story begins. I'm pretty active in the church, was defeated in a run for the local town council last year and am active in the local chamber of commerce and a few civic organizations. It's fair to say that everyone likes me but no one is overly impressed with me. I wish it were different, but that the way it is.

There is a dark side to me, however. I used to convince myself that it was just "my way" and that I was eccentric but now I'm pretty sure it's just a darkness.

I'm well versed in these things, you see, and when I say darkness I'm simply talking about selfish disinterest in others. I hope you don't think I'm talking about being in league with the devil or murder or anything like that. I had to laugh out loud as I wrote that. That's far too ambitious a darkness for me. Heck, once when I was ticketed for driving 15 miles over the speed limit, I had to take the afternoon off I was so upset.

But the darkness is there. Lurking.

Frankly, I'm far too cautious to let it boil over. I mean, who knows what might happen? I keep a pretty tight rein on this "my way" thing. It bubbles and whistles and makes noise but I would never let it boil over. Not ever.

At least that's what I thought.

I hope you forgive me for getting off track. I have a hard time coming to the point. Sometimes this works to my advantage, as you'll see but I've been avoiding writing down the very thing that prompted this . . . bubbling over.

But I know what it was. I know exactly what it was.

It was me watching Jasmine Pilcher's very overweight ass climbing the steps to the choir loft. It was seeing the pantyhose clinging to the chunky legs. It was the hint of a white girdle leg far under the long red and black cotton skirt. It was the swish of her fat thighs rubbing against each other as she grabbed onto the handrail.

It was this sense of fleshy ordinariness combined with the sweet delight that is Jasmine Pilcher which ultimately led my dark pot to boil over. It was at that very moment that I knew I could never put a lid on this boiling. It was just too powerful. I remember that and I remember my face glowing. That's how it started.

"You look as tired as I am," said Jasmine, smiling. I was breathing hard, but not because of the climb. "I may not get my breath back until the sermon is over," I said. "I guess I'm getting old."

"You're a young man," she said, smiling. A little wistful, I thought.

Pastor Ryan was talking energetically about sin in his sermon. There was lots of motion today. Hands flying over his head showed the muddled, wanton mind of the sinner.

I knew exactly what he meant. My wanton mind was muddling over Jasmine Pilcher. I wanted to get my hands on her, to feel her soft, almost virginal flesh under my probing fingers. But it was more than that.

The truth is I wanted to debase her. God help me, that's the truth. I wanted to see this sweet, saintly woman hungering for me, thinking and doing things with me she couldn't even imagine.

The scale of this endeavor and the incredible challenge was daunting and quite seductive in its own way. Of course there was the obvious risk that I would be rebuffed, that our relationship would be forever uncomfortable or, worse, that word would get out. I would be ruined in the community.

On this last point, I wasn't much worried. Jasmine would never bring any kind of shame to herself, even if she was completely innocent. At most, she might tell a close friend but I even doubted that.

No. The real challenge in taking this great, innocent prey down to my dark level would be getting by her formidable defenses. And I'm not talking about her bulk in this case.

Unlike most women, Jasmine ('Jaz' to her friends) never flirted with men. She seemed intimidated by them, especially in one-on-one situations. There was no teasing. There were no sly grins. No one was going to misinterpret her intentions.

And her intentions were pure as, well, the driven snow. And, ironically, that very snow was going to help me out very soon.

On Wednesday, our choir practices in the church for Sunday's service. I had checked the weather and determined there was a situation that might work to my advantage. Snow was forecast. Lots of it.

There weren't too many at choir practice and by the time I got there, flakes were already falling. Jasmine was there wearing a big green and white sweater and a brown corduroy skirt that went down to her ankles. During a break, the choir director looked out at the growing snow on the ground and decided to cut practice short. I hadn't counted on that but decided to put Plan A into action anyway.

Jasmine looked out the window and seemed worried. "I'll take you home, Jaz," I said.

She smiled. "I appreciate it but you've got to get going yourself or you could get stuck in this stuff. You've got a long way to get home."

I shrugged. "Don't worry about it," I said. "You can't walk home in this. Get in the car while we can still find it in the parking lot."

Despite her bulk, Jasmine had a certain grace about her. She moved easily, sort of flowed, in fact. Still, she didn't want to fall on the sidewalk getting to the car. When we got outside, the sidewalk to the parking lot was snow-covered and I held out my arm. "Hang on," I said and she tentatively put her chubby paw through my arm. I quickly clamped it with my hand to hold her steady and she seemed to stiffen a little. This was one shy woman.

The snow was falling even harder by the time we got to her house. I helped her to her door and she didn't stiffen this time. That's progress, I decided. She offered me coffee, probably assuming I would pass so I could head for home. But she was wrong.

"Coffee? Yeah, you bet," I said. "I could use some warming up. Thanks."

I think I was in her home once before with some other members of the choir after a practice last year. Today just as then, it was neat as a pin. There were little craft-y things hanging all around. No dishes in the sink. Every pillow in place on the sofa. Doilies. Pictures of the grandkids. You get the picture.

"I love this place," I said. "It's so homey, so comfortable."

"Oh, it's nothing," she almost seemed embarrassed. Jasmine made some coffee while I watched the snow fly out the window. It was quite a storm. She poured me one cup, then another. She wasn't going to say anything but I could tell she wanted to get me out the door, for my sake if for no other.

I had anticipated my actions in this situation. The weather was just luck, of course, but this scenario was among my many plans for taking down Jasmine. Fortune, as they say, favors the prepared lecher.

We talked about this and that. It was all safe stuff. Grandkids, the new organist. At some point when she started to pour me another cup of coffee, I reached out and gently put my hand over hers. "No, that's enough for me," I said. She didn't jump when I did it. It's with such small steps that you mark progress in these matters.

There was no way I could go home in this weather. I knew it even if she didn't realize it yet. I said my good-byes before opening the door, then gave her a nice little A-Frame hug and thanked her for the coffee and the company.

She sniffed at this. "A young man like you must have lots of friends. You don't need to keep a woman old enough to be your mother company." I think she reddened a little at even saying this. "Anyway," she patted my cheek with her hand. It was soft but very cold. "You better be on your way. Gracious."

When I pushed open the door, the snow was piled up against it so it would barely open. My car, which I could barely see, was completely covered. It was obvious that I could not go out in this stuff.

"Oh, Lord," I said. "Can I use your phone for a minute, Jasmine?"

Now I had my cell phone in the car but that wouldn't work for the little game I wanted to play next. I took out the phone book and opened it to motels, then called my home phone and talked to my answering machine. "Yes, I'd like to get a room for the night. Just one night. Oh, anything, I don't care. Nothing? You've got nothing? Are you sure? Okay, thanks anyway."

I turned to Jasmine. "The Day's Inn down the street is booked up with people stranded in this storm. It's my own darned fault. I shouldn't have stayed so long. Stupid. STUPID." Yeah, sure.