Ablution

Is saying "Oh, God," during sex the prayer equivalent of accidentally pocket-dialing someone?

("Hello, Father," I imagined His archangel-secretary telling Him. "You have fifty missed calls from a very horny middle-aged priest who keeps butt-dialing you while being felt up ...")

"Holy shit," she gasped. "They're so perfect. I want them in my mouth."

Now it was my jaw that fell, nearly hitting my lap.

In your mouth?

There was nothing I could have possibly desired more in the world than to let her do just that. Her mouth was so warm and inviting, and her tongue so agile. I couldn't even imagine how good it would feel for her to suck on my nipples.

"Lie back," she instructed me, and I acquiesced without a second thought. Straddling my hips, she bent over me. She placed her tongue just above my navel and began to flick it against my skin. It was electrifying. Everywhere she kissed and licked, my body came alive, my nerve endings rising up to meet her talented tongue. She traced the curve of my hipbone and each of my ribs, licking and sucking my skin, plunging me deeper into the throes of lust.

When her rose-petal lips finally enveloped one of my painfully erect nipples, I screamed. I grabbed her by her hair and told her not to stop. She didn't have to be told that twice.

She sucked like she was starving, devouring as much of my breast as she could get into her mouth at once. My large nipples, which I'd always been a bit self-conscious about, proved to be the perfect size and shape for her luscious little mouth to latch onto.

She switched after a while to the other side, leaving one nipple coated in saliva and exposed to the chilly air while she drew the other into her warm, soft mouth. She hiked my skirt up to my waist and placed one of her knees between my legs, and my hips rocked against it.

My body shook uncontrollably as she continued sucking my nipples for a while longer, and then sat up again. "God, you look so good," she growled, shimmying the pencil skirt off of my hips and leaving me in nothing but my panty hose.

"Thank you, baby," I said. "But you're a little overdressed."

"I can fix that." She pulled off her dress. Her bra and panties matched—sort of a sky blue with black lace trim. I never in a million years thought I'd care about anyone's underwear, but there was something about seeing her in hers that evoked a very primal, erotic response in me.

I wanted to take them off of her. Preferably with my mouth.

I was even kind of digging the dangling silver belly ring she wore—somehow totally forgetting the weapons-grade meltdown I'd had not even fifteen years earlier when my eldest daughter came home with one in eleventh grade. Now I was imagining tugging Julie's with my teeth. Oh God, where was all of this coming from?

"Very nice," I said. "You look amazing."

"You too." She caressed my thighs with her manicured fingernails, careful not to run my hose. "Mother Leah? I'd really like to take these off of you, if that's okay."

"Yes," I growled, barely able to resist the urge to yank the stupid things off myself. "Please."

She nodded, her own arousal matching mine. Now that she had my consent, she wasted no time getting me out of my panty hose and my white cotton underwear. She stripped them off of me carefully but purposefully.

As they lay on the floor beside the futon, I was completely naked, covered by nothing but the blonde thicket of hair between my legs, which was now sopping wet.

She continued to stroke my thighs, gazing at me as though I were the most beautiful piece of art she had ever seen. As her hands went higher and higher on my thighs with each caress, I felt myself begin to whimper, wordlessly begging her to touch me where I needed it most.

"I want you so bad, Mother Leah," she said in a low, sultry voice.

The only response I could muster was a visceral groan. She cupped the mound in her hand and I thought my heart might stop.

She ran her thumb slowly up and down the slit formed by my outer lips, telling me she had never seen anything so beautiful. I hardly thought of myself as attractive down there, even before I'd had three kids. I shuddered to think of how it must look now. But she assured me that it was perfect—perfectly soft, perfectly pink, perfectly lovely. I have to admit—as my self-consciousness about my body gave way to her onslaught of praise and adoration, I felt the most beautiful I had ever felt in my life.

Every nerve in my body stood at attention, totally enraptured by her tender touch, which became more and more urgent as her thumb probed deeper into the sopping wet crease.

"You have the perfect little pink pussy," she told me. I still wasn't used to hearing her curse, but it was strangely arousing. "It's so soft. And, fuck, you smell so good. Does that feel good? You like this? Good."

"Yes," I responded between jagged breaths.

I could feel my heart pounding in my fingertips and the soles of my feet. My body was overcome with pleasure, like a series of increasingly-powerful waves crashing against the shore. Her fingers cupped my inner labia, applying deep pressure, massaging me in small, tight circles. "Oh, God," I moaned.

"Oh my God."

Without stopping what she was doing, she told me she wanted to taste me. I shuddered hard, overwhelmed by arousal at that thought.

This was it—this was the moment I had wondered about in the darkest, most secret parts of my mind. This is where my thoughts had wandered time and time again while Charlie had fumbled around down there with his thick fingers, fiddling with my anatomy like he was trying to operate a radio dial. As I worked myself up to yet another Broadway-worthy performance of a fake orgasm, a part of me that I was ashamed of always wondered what it would be like to feel a woman's velvet tongue there instead of a man's clumsy fingers.

Well, you're about to find out.

As tongue replaced fingers, I let out a shriek. I was loud, obnoxiously loud, and I didn't care. Whatever shame I probably ought to have felt had been bound, gagged, and locked in a soundproof basement.

Her lips and her tongue felt better than I could have possibly begun to imagine. She slurped up my juices almost as fast as they could gush out of me. When she came up for air, I could see that nearly her whole face was sticky and wet, and a small trail was dripping off her chin. The force with which my hips bucked against her face would make a mechanical bull jealous.

Her thumb massaged my sloppy, wet opening while she continued sucking and lapping at me with her tongue. Slowly—so painfully slowly—she slipped two of her perfect fingers inside of me. My hips strained against her hand, engulfing her fingers deeper and deeper into me, meeting each increasingly forceful stroke.

The harder my hips bucked, the more deeply her face was buried in my aching pussy—if she can call it that, so can I—and the more ravenously she devoured me.

Her pointer finger joined her ring and middle fingers, then her pinky. The force behind her frantic thrusting continued to increase. Who knew a girl so petite could be so strong?

I grabbed her by her hair and ground my pussy into her beautiful face, humping it like a wild animal. Her tongue matched the enthusiasm of my hips. No matter how hard my body bucked, she kept up effortlessly.

Oh, to be twenty years old again.

The room was spinning. Everything was blurry. I could barely breathe. My body was entirely outside my control, as was my voice. Loudly, deeply, I grunted over and over, almost certain I was going to explode from the explosive ecstasy.

I couldn't think. I could barely breathe. So consumed was I by pleasure and desire that nothing inside of me functioned except the force that kept me gyrating into her face.

Every muscle in my body contracted violently. With a moan so deafening that I thought the windows might shatter, I came. My first real orgasm ripped through me with all the force of a tornado, wrecking me, emptying me, then filling my abdomen with constellations of glittering stars and phosphorescence.

Slowly, lazily, I found my way back down to earth, guided by the faint sensation of her warm tongue lapping at my opening, licking me clean. I whimpered and shook, totally helpless, having been thoroughly ravaged by my talented, beautiful young lover.

My Juliette, my love.

She sat up and stretched out her arms, wiping her come-soaked face on the blanket.

"Wow," she said. "That was amazing. How do you feel?"

I chuckled wryly, not really sure how to answer. "Whole."

"Good," she replied, her voice still husky with pent-up lust.

"Julie, baby? I want to do that for you, too. I'm just worried I won't be any good at it. I've never done anything like this before."

"Start with a couple of little kisses," she suggested. "Go slow. Don't do anything you're not comfortable with—just go with the flow, and see what feels natural to you."

With what little strength I had recovered at that point, I hoisted myself up into a sitting position. "Take your bra off and lie down," I ordered, with all the authority of a priest speaking to an acolyte.

She removed her bra and lay back. I could smell her arousal as I kissed my way down her body. I fondled her heavy breasts, taking the opportunity to suckle each nipple. It was so primal; it felt so viscerally right. It was as if her nipples were designed with my mouth in mind. I could have sucked on her breasts forever and then some.

With her permission, I eased her lacy blue panties off of her. She was completely clean-shaven, which startled me a bit; I had never seen that in real life. I could see wetness beginning to leak from the crevice that split her hairless mound in two. I took that as a compliment.

She slipped two pillows under her ass to make things easier for me. "Use your thumb and forefinger to pull the outer lips apart," she advised me. "And then do whatever feels right. Just go with your instincts. Whatever you do will feel good, I promise."

My heart filled with the excitement of a child about to open the biggest present under the Christmas tree, crossed with the nerves I felt before preaching my first sermon.

I started with a small, hesitant kiss. I looked up at her face, and she was smiling, encouraging me to do it again. So I gave her another kiss, this time more deeply. She let out a small noise. I kept going, growing bolder with each kiss, enjoying her response. Before I even knew it, I was sucking on her soft, pink petals, pulling them into my mouth and bathing them with my eager tongue. My ministrations were met with rocking hips and small, rhythmic moans.

I'm going down on a woman.

And she likes it.

I had crossed this forbidden line, gone where I never thought I'd have the guts to go, and yet, navigating this brave new world was as natural as my next breath.

I let my tongue duck and dive among the luscious pink folds, exploring every square millimeter. The intense warmth and exquisite texture—somewhere between satin and the petals of a magnolia flower—made my heart race.

The taste wasn't at all disagreeable, either. I had been worried about that, but the reality was a pleasant surprise. It wasn't fishy or dirty like I had feared it might be—it was very light and slightly sweet with a hint of musk. It was definitely wet, but not slimy on my tongue. "Silky" is a more accurate descriptor. It was heavenly, really.

She likes it.

And I like it, too.

And I love her.

My clumsy lips and tongue began to find a rhythm, and soon her body ebbed and flowed in time with me. Her breathing became increasingly shallow and sharp, punctuated by whimpers. The sweet, silky liquid flowed freely, a libation of rich, earthy nectar coating my mouth inside and out. Her bent knees quivered and her heels dug into my rib cage slightly. One of her hands cupped the back of my head, her fingers tangled up in my hair.

I paused for a brief moment to catch my breath, and to ask, "May I put my fingers in?"

"God, yes," she gasped. "Please. Yes."

I turned my hand palm-up and began to gently slide my middle and ring finger inside her. Her body offered no resistance at all, engulfing my fingers easily. She was ready for me, slick and warm and aching to be filled.

"Harder," she said. "Don't worry. I won't break."

I happily obliged, letting the twisting and thrashing of her hips guide me. My whole body, mind, and soul were consumed by her—the sound of her hungry moans, her sweet taste, the way her labia felt in my mouth and against my tongue, the lovely warmth and softness my fingers found inside her—and in the moment, the whole universe was contained within her, and flowed through her, and was her.

I became engrossed in pleasing her in a way I can only compare to the way it feels to stand behind the altar, caught up in the great and holy mystery of the Eucharist, calling down the Spirit of God upon the Host and the Cup.

Take.

Eat.

This is my body.

Nothing else I have ever experienced even comes close to the way I felt as my young lover trembled and quaked in response to my touch. Her writhing hips grew more and more insistent, forcing my fingers deeper into her, pressing the balls of her bare feet into the mattress on either side of me for leverage.

"Fuck me," she begged as I slammed my hand in and out of her body. "Don't stop."

And, so help me God, I did. I fucked her. I fucked her hard and deep, plowing into her impossibly tight pussy with my thick fingers, letting her grind that sensitive little pink button against my greedy, hungry mouth. Her moans were turning to shrieks, and although by all rights I should have been exhausted, some animal force within me kept me going, pleasing her, making her louder and louder.

I never fancied myself the type of woman who would be aroused by the sound of a noisy lover in the throes of ecstasy, let alone one whose ecstasy was so high-pitched. But coming from her, it was music—an aria of passion sung by a goddess to a woefully unworthy mortal.

Her body trembled weakly as the great tidal wave within her crashed aggressively, leaving her breathless. She released a gush of thick, creamy, sweet liquid. I lapped it up gratefully, savoring the taste. I continued penetrating her with my fingers, slow and deep, not wanting this moment to end.

Another great wave overtook her, and again she screamed, her body and voice totally outside of her control. After her third and most powerful orgasm ripped through her body, she was still. I used my tongue to clean her up slowly.

"Mother Leah," she said, in a voice so painfully small that it tugged at my heart a bit harder than I could bear. "Will you lie down with me?"

"Of course, love." I lay on my back beside her, and helped maneuver her so that she was on her side with her head on one of my collarbones, and supported her back with my arm. I felt healing energy flow through my hand onto her skin, as though I had anointed her and laid hands on her.

My other hand supported the back of her head, my fingers wading in her dark, soft curls. Her legs soon became intertwined with mine. We rested together, sharing sweet little kisses and nuzzles, enjoying the closeness.

Noticing the scent of my lingering wetness, she reached her hand down between my legs. Cupping the fluffy blonde mound, she repositioned herself so that her head was on my belly, and began to lazily massage me with her hand. The angle was a bit awkward, and she was exhausted, but her touch was electrifying where I needed it most.

"Oh, God" I murmured, digging my fingertips into her back. I had no idea how badly I needed to come until just then, and it wasn't long before her gentle but firm touch provided the release I ached for, allowing me to relax completely.

"Thank you, Julie," I said. "That was nice."

"You're welcome," she said, kissing my lips sweetly before snuggling back up with me. She began licking her thumb and fingers clean, which filled her with an almost childlike delight. "You taste so good, Mother Leah," she told me. "See?"

She placed her ring finger and her little finger, still sticky with my juices, in my mouth. I was a bit startled by my own taste—it was very different from hers. Mine was darker, earthier, and muskier. It wasn't sweet, and I didn't enjoy it nearly as much as I did hers.

Still, I sucked her long, slender fingers clean, taking my time and savoring the feeling of them in my mouth. It was erotic and soothing all at once. "Good girl," I murmured to her. "Good girl."

Then Julie began kissing me—very delicately on my lips at first, but before long, she was kissing me deep in my mouth, cupping my cheek with her gentle hand that I had just helped her lick my own come off of.

Kissing someone who has no purpose or end in mind is rather different, I found, from kissing someone who is quaking with passion and already has their mind in your pants. This was the former. We simply kissed for the sake of kissing, and it seemed to go on forever. She kissed me slowly, deeply, lazily. It was the most luxurious and heavenly experience. I couldn't remember the last time I had been kissed for no particular reason except that someone found me lovely.

Why?

Why would she want me? Why would she choose me?

I'm nothing. I'm...

"You are so beautiful," she told me between kisses, as she caught her breath. "Oh, I could just kiss you all day."

To be an object of lust for a horny twenty-year-old was difficult enough to comprehend, but now she was kissing me. Just kissing me, breathing me in, cradling my face in her hands as the light of a thousand stars spilled in through the window. Now she was simply showing me love and affection, treating me like a princess, loving me for the sake of loving me.

This was the single most romantic moment of my entire life. A burning hot tear spilled onto my cheek as her soft words clashed with the voices in my head.

"Sorry," I muttered, sure that my tears would kill the mood.

"It's okay," she whispered, pressing her forehead into mine and nuzzling my nose and cheeks. "It's okay. You can cry. I've got you." She caught the tear with her thumb, and gently brushed it away. "All your tears are safe with me. You're okay." She was concerned, not annoyed.

Despite the slow, silent tears that continued to fall from my eyes, I let my lips brush against hers again, beckoning her back into that warm and tender place of endless, sweet kisses.

"Yes, please," she whispered, and I kissed her again, and again, and again...

I woke up in darkness, naked, my body tangled up with Julie's.

Julie, the most beautiful twenty-year-old on the planet, my cheerful little acolyte who served God and the Church with such infectious joy, who always had a hug and a kind word for everyone she met.

Julie, whose body had moved with mine as I made love to her, whose taste still lingered on my tongue, whose shrieks of pleasure I had not only witnessed but caused.

My little love began to stir in my arms, and I squeezed her tighter, hoping she would feel perfectly safe as she awoke. I kissed her forehead and she squealed quietly. She was so comfortable in my arms, and I in hers.

My ex-husband wasn't much of a cuddler. I don't know that I ever slept—or woke up in—his embrace.

My daughters weren't terribly affectionate, either. The last time I truly cuddled with any of them was probably when they were preschoolers. I'm the only really cuddly person in my family, a fact that was sometimes difficult for me. I craved closeness and warmth, even as my divorce, the death of my mother, and other hardships caused me to close myself off more and more from the people around me. I needed to be held, but I had forgotten how to ask for it.