A Vision of God

"Oh Anna!" Joseph said, sucking in air quickly. But he kept his eyes closed and did not move. I pushed my fingers against his shaft gently. I was surprised by the heat that it gave off and also how hard it was. The skin felt thin, like it would tear from being stretched, and it felt like knotted rope inside. Except that it seemed to quiver as I touched it. I liked the way his body seemed to react to my touch. My fingers flitted up his shaft and then reached the tip. It felt spongier and bulbous. I felt the thick liquid against my finger.

"Anna, please be careful, you don't know what will happen," my brother said, his voice was strained. I didn't know what he meant, but I knew he was right. I was totally out of my element here. I loved it. I started to move my hand up my brother's shaft, letting my fingers press into his skin. I even wrapped my hand around the shaft, letting its weight land in my palm. And while I stroked my brother, I stroked myself. My two hands moving in unison; building tension both in my own body and in my brother's. My brother was moaning lightly and I could hear myself whimpering as well. Our minds, together, had drawn blank and only our bodies and the pleasures they provided were the only things discernible. I could feel my body moving towards that same delectable crescendo I'd experienced the night before. I saw the muscles in my brother's body tighten.

"Oh Jesus Anna, you have to stop!" my brother said suddenly. I was confused, because I could tell by the noises that he was making that he was feeling the same thing I felt. Anyway, I couldn't stop now, I was so close. My hands flew on my brother's shaft and my fingers probed against the tight wet spot between my legs.

"Oh no!" my brother screamed and then he let out a low groan. I felt his shaft suddenly bounce a little in my hand, I squeezed it a little tighter. Then, even more surprisingly, liquid erupted from my brother's shaft! Big, thick streaks of white liquid poured out of his body, splashing against my face, covering my eyes and my nose, even running against my lips. It was hot and gooey and smelled divinely. Just as the first thick glops splattered on my eyes I felt that same ecstasy I'd felt the night before. My body became weak and if felt like the entire world had turned to a warm, fuzzy embrace. I moaned, opening my mouth. The hot, salty liquid that poured out of my brother's body landed on my tongue.

In a few moments, the last few drops came out of his body and landed on my bare breasts. Slowly, I came down from my ecstasy. My brother did as well; I felt his shaft softening in my hand. I released it. For a moment I thought he'd urinated on me, but I knew it was too thick and the wrong color. And I liked the way it felt on my skin, I liked the way it tasted. I didn't think I would like it if it were waste. I had no idea what had happened. My vision was obscured and my mind was only now clearing.

"Oh my God Anna, what have you done?" Joseph asked.

"What have I done?" I asked, wiping open of my eyes clean, "What is this?" I asked, looking at the pearly liquid in my hand.

"I don't really know," he said, "It happens sometimes at night. Or when I touch myself. I don't think you were supposed to make that happen." He sounded nervous and I felt guilty. But also indignant, I hadn't been trying to make him feel bad.

"Didn't it feel nice?" I asked.

"Yes, but..." he said. But then we heard something that made our blood run cold.

"You kids...what are you doing out there?" We heard my father call from the back porch. I knew that we were in the midst of a great and probably mortal sin. My brother looked like he was about to panic.

"Almost finish Father," I called out, my voice sound guilty and uncertain, "we will be done in a moment." I said, trying to sound casual. We both knew that my Father would wait for us outside, and that if we did not come in a few seconds he would come to us. He would need to find out what mischief we were engaged in.

Joseph quickly began collecting his clothes and throwing them on. I was still squatting on the floor. My face was still covered in my brother's ejaculate. I quickly wiped it off of my face and breasts as best I could. My hand was now covered in the sticky liquid. I looked around desperately for something to wipe it on. The floor was just dirt and straw and I didn't see any rags. I couldn't very well wipe it on my dress. I didn't really have much of a choice. I started licking my hand voraciously, sucking on my fingers and pulling every last drop of my brother's juices into my mouth. It was a little cooler now, but still warm. And thick. The flavor was intense and I felt the aroma in my nose even as I was swallowing it down. I still liked the taste, even in that moment of terror.

Once my hand was clean, I quickly moved to the truck and found my dress. I threw it on quickly, sliding it over my head. I knew my father was probably already approaching the door when I realized that I was too flustered to zip the back. I tried to reach behind me but I couldn't. I saw the door start to open. Then, I felt my brother's hand on my hip. I turned and looked, he'd come up behind me, dressed as though nothing had happened. He quickly zipped up my dress and took a few steps away from me.

"What is taking so long?" my Father thundered as he walked into the door.

"Nothing Father," Joseph said, "We're done." My Father looked around the barn briefly for evidence of misdeeds. He scowled and then nodded and walked back towards the house. My brother and I followed.

* * * * *

I had a difficult time sleeping that night and I awoke feeling groggy. I had spent the whole night, even in my dreams, thinking about what had happened. There was no doubt in my mind that I'd committed a grievous sin. I knew that my body was sinful and I knew that pleasure was sinful unless it was in praise of God. And I knew more than either of those things that I'd hurt my brother.

That day I walked down to the breakfast table and saw that he was already there. I looked over at him, but he pretended not to notice me. When I spoke to him, he would not speak fully in response. Instead, he would just sort of grunt. As soon as he ate, he got up from the table and went to do his chores. All day, he ignored me and avoided me. And every time he did, I felt a stab of sadness and guilt in my heart. But when I thought back to the day before, in the barn, our bodies touching, I could not feel ashamed. It had been too lovely. I knew Joseph felt the same, he was just scared. I needed to talk to him.

Finally, around dinner time, I found Joseph standing next to the shed, collecting tools to put away for the evening. His hands were on his hips and he was looking down. I smiled despite myself. I could not help it. Just to see him or to smell him or to feel him was the absolute height of pleasure. My love for my brother was so much more than it had been just a few weeks earlier.

"Joseph, can we talk," I said quietly and he jumped a bit. I winced and he turned to face me. I expected a sheepish smile and a bit of awkwardness. But his face was cold.

"No," he said simply and started to walk away. I felt like I had been struck. I ran towards him.

"What do you mean 'No'?" I asked indignantly, "I am your sister and your friend; you can't just walk away from me." He stopped and looked at me, still with fury in his eyes.

"You are still my sister," he said, "But you are not my friend. We will never be friends again." He said and I felt sick to my stomach. I didn't know how to live in the world if Joseph wasn't by my side. What was he saying? He couldn't mean it.

"Joseph," I said, grabbing hold of his arm. He jumped away from me as though my hands were made of ice.

"I will say this once," he whispered, looking around to see if our parents were around, "You...bedeviled me into...disrobing in front of you and you disrobed yourself. Then you made us touch and you caused us both to sin. And I told you to stop, and you kept going. I don't know what came over me, I was completely under the power of the Devil, I could not control myself. And you...you took advantage of that. Your selfish actions are going to send us both to Hell, and there is nothing I can do but fervently apologize for my sins and pray for both of our souls. But I cannot speak to you, because you will once again lead me into sin." And then he stopped. And his body was shaking with fury, but I could see a tear forming in the corner of his eye. Joseph was pushing me away, he thought he was protecting me, saving me from Hell. But I would have risked Hell to have his arms around me again.

"But Joseph..." I said and he raised his hand stopped me in my tracks.

"Good bye sister," he said solemnly, "I am going inside to wash up for dinner." And then he walked away, leaving me numb and hopeless in the yard.

* * * * *

The next few months were proof that God was punishing me for the multitude of sins to which I had succumbed since my brother's 18th birthday. I awoke each day in fog and went about my chores. I did not really taste my food and I did not really enjoy my tasks. Every day was the same as every other day and I wondered how I could live for another 50 or 60 years without joy in my life. My Mother noticed I was upset and tried to cheer me up. But it was no use; I could not begin to talk to her about what I was feeling. Time seemed to crawl, my life stretched on forever. Day after day seemed like it was years of quiet agony.

In part, I knew that I deserved misery. Everything that my parents had taught me had essentially been true. I had allowed sin into my heart and my soul. I had used my body for pleasure, taught myself to sin. And now I reaped what I had sewn. Sin led to soul death.

Sin had caused me to lose my best friend, my companion, my confidant, and my...lover. Every day I thought about my actions, starting from the time that my brother first went out to the Market with my Father. I thought about all of my mistakes. So obvious in retrospect, but so obscure then. Each step I had taken had afforded me with options to stop, to turn back. But I'd allowed my curiosity to get the best of me. I'd allowed my body to overcome my soul. And I knew that everything my brother had said was right. This was all a mess of my own making.

Further, God tortured me by keeping the object of my unholy lust just feet from me every day. And I welcomed that torture, because it would teach me not to sin. So I would see Joseph at the breakfast table and I would work with him in the yard. And I would try desperately to convince myself that I no longer wanted his body, that I was prepared to be righteous. And Joseph ignored me. He rarely spoke to me and when he did, it was always about a task that needed to be done. His heart had grown cold to me, God had granted him that relief. In a very short time, my torture was so routine that it felt like it had always been that way.

When the first market day arrived after our interaction in the barn, I'd actually thought that maybe Joseph would talk to me, explain the world again. But he did not. We cleaned Father's truck quietly and efficiently, never speaking about a thing. My tiny window to the world had closed again. I would never hear about buildings and dogs and other people ever again. Each market day after that was the same dreary chore. My only connection to the outside world was the magazine my brother had gotten me.

One night, about three months after my encounter with my brother in the barn, I was sitting in my bedroom, quietly reading the magazine. I knew every page by heart now, every word. It was evidence of my sin, so I kept it to remind myself of my evil. But it also reminded me of happier times. I was flipping through the pages when I heard a shuffling at the door. I felt a cold rush of panic and quickly stuffed the magazine under my pillow on the bed. My door opened and my Father entered. I was quite taken aback. My Father rarely entered my room and never at night when I was in my gown.

"Anna," he said as though it were natural, "I hope that I am not interrupting your prayers." I felt flustered. I moved over and sat down on my bed and gestured for my father to take my seat at the desk.

"No," I said, and then realized he probably hoped I had been praying, "I just finished up. I was preparing to go to sleep."

"I wanted to speak with you briefly before I went to bed," he said. His voice was stern. But then, it was always stern. I could not figure out what he wanted with me. But I could not have resisted him if I had wanted to.

"Of course Father, what would you like to discuss?" I asked. I shifted nervously on the bed, my Father's presence was never are harbinger of good news.

"I have noticed lately that you have seemed quite discontent," my Father said and it felt like an accusation. He was not looking at me, but instead staring into the fire from the candle. It was true, I had been discontent, but I had not hoped to make it my Father's concern.

"Oh no," I replied, "I have been..." I started but my Father lifted his hand, silencing me.

"Do no lie," he said acidly, then, he seemed to relax, "I believe that I have discovered the cause of your anxiety." He said and my head began to pound. Somehow he'd found out. He knew what Joseph and I had done and now he was going to punish me. Worse, he was going to punish Joseph.

"Oh..." I said, not knowing what else to say. I looked at my Father, and he seemed just as menacing as ever.

"Yes," he said, "I realized in the last few weeks that you are a woman."

"I am," I said in a faint whisper.

"And women, virtuous women, desire beyond all else to be married and have children," my father explained.

"Of course Father," I said, not even thinking about what his words meant. He obviously did not know anything. I felt sweet relief wash over my body. Perhaps my relationship with God was on the mend.

"Well, it will pain you no doubt to hear that Sarah Davis has died, just two weeks ago. You might have noticed that she was not at church last week," my father said. I had not, in fact, noticed. I knew Sarah Davis, the wife of the Women's Preacher, but I'd never been close with her. She was an old woman who sat in the front of the Church. She seemed nice enough, I was sorry that she was dead.

"How terrible," I said.

"Yes," my Father said, but in a way that showed he did not believe it to be that unfortunate, "Well, Pastor Davis is a man of strong, but swift emotions. It seems that he knew his wife was to die for some time and has already grieved deeply for her. He has decided to take a new wife immediately, as he needs a helpmate, someone to assist him. Especially with his two young daughters," my Father explained. At first I was going to ask what this had to do with me, and the suddenly I realized it. My mind went blank, my body numb.

"Father..." I said, not knowing what I would say next, but my Father kept speaking.

"Tomorrow we will leave together and you will be made John Davis' wife," he explained, "Your mother and I are so proud."

"But..." I said, still not completely absorbing the import of this news. My father rose from the chair, walked over and kissed me on the cheek.

"We are proud of you now," he said with menace, "you would do well to take any time tonight to...grieve for your girlhood. Tomorrow, I will not stand for you to behave in an unchristian-like manner before you husband." It seemed he could sense I was on the edge, about to crack. He rose quickly and then walked out of my room, closing the door behind him. When the door closed, the sudden realization of what was happening to me flooded into my mind. I could not hold back the tears now. As my Father had predicted, I grieved for my lost freedom, such as it was. I threw myself face down on the bed, quietly covering my pillow with hot tears.

I don't know how long I cried, but the candle had burned a substantial amount when I got a hold of myself. I thought of myself as the wife of the fat, strange looking pastor. In the community, it would make me an important woman, an honored woman. I would have a little bit of power and some leeway when it came to interacting with others. But I would belong to that man. His ugly face and his fat, repellent body. I shuddered when I thought about it, but what could I do? My father had decided and so I would leave. I would go away from my home and never come back. If I saw my parents again, it would be at church or at a meeting at my husband's house. And my brother... I suddenly realized. I would only see my brother maybe a dozen times again and never alone. For the rest of my life.

An existential dread coated me. I had accepted God's punishment, the sudden coldness of my brother. But, in my heart, I had reserved a tiny bit of hope. Hope that God would forgive me for my sin and allow my brother to come back to me. I'd always known I was going to get married, but it had been such a distant event. Now I was going to be married and I would leave my brother, having our last words hissed at one another in strain and tension.

I sat up in my bed. I couldn't allow that to happen. I would be gone in the morning, before my brother awoke. My mother would just tell him that I was married. I couldn't bear for that to happen. I knew my brother was angry at me and that he was ashamed of our actions, but I think thought that it was better to go to him now when he did not want me than to never speak to him privately again.

I got up from my bed and moved to the door. We were discouraged from leaving our rooms in the night. I looked at the clock, it was 2:00 a.m. Everyone would be asleep. I had snuck out on occasion, to go to the bathroom. I knew I could be quiet. I carefully opened the door and then slid out into the hallway. It was quiet and still. I could hear my heart beating in my chest. I did not want to give my Father one last chance to thrash me before I left. And I was nervous about seeing my brother.

I moved towards his door. I had rarely ever been in my brother's room and certainly never at night. But I moved there as though it were a common destination. Any time not in the hallway was good. I quietly opened the door and slipped inside. It was mostly dark in the room, but I could see my brother's bed. I could see his chest rising and falling under the blankets. I rushed over to the chair next to his bed.

Now that I was close, I could see him face. I did not see the scowl I normally saw now, he looked peaceful in his sleep. For a moment I considered just leaving him now, not bothering him with more unpleasantness. But then suddenly his eyes flickered open. He must've heard the chair creaking underneath of me. He turned and looked at me and jumped, surprised that someone was in the room. I couldn't help but smile, he was so cute.

"Anna?" he asked.

"Yes, Joseph I..." I said, the facts trying to pour out of my mouth.

"You can't be here, what are you doing here?" he said, sounding panicked. He looked to the door and saw that it was closed.

"Joseph, listen..."

"I told you, I've said everything I am..."

"I am getting married," I said. And suddenly it was quiet in the room. He looked at me strangely. I felt the tears now in my eyes.

"What?" He said, even though he'd heard me.

"Pastor Davis," I said, my voice catching in my throat, "He is to be my husband." I buried my face in my hands and cried. With abandon. I completely lost control of myself again. Joseph sat up in the bed. I felt him lean over and wrap his arms around me, holding me close, pulling me. He wasn't wearing a shirt while he slept and my face buried in his chest. I cried while he held me. I hadn't known what I was going to do, but when I saw him, crying was all I could think to do. He rocked me in his arms. After a long while, I was able to get myself under control.