Chapter Eight: Sunday morning cartoons, scantily clad Jesus &
the Woman Caught in Adultery
The week passed with not much grandeur.
A visit to Ken Payne's office, an after class evening blow job for
$200 was all he could afford. A few friends of Joe's in town for a
few days called and wanted some hotel fun. Then, Saturday night was
another arranged meeting with Mitch Wheeler. I went to all, did my
duty with a pleasurable acceptance, a smile on my face, as I did my
services then home to morning coffee with Max as we chitchatted over
the nights' activities previous. His life as hotel lobby man and
single man in this town was nearly as interesting as my 'high class
call girl in small town she was raised in' lifestyle. We both agreed
to set forth writing about the others' various trials, tribulations,
and exploits.
I did not see or hear from Joe much,
save for the requests for my services, times and places I needed to
be, but these were mostly done by emails. But, honestly this was not
a surprise to me. In our former relationship in my younger years, he
was often absent for a good deal of the time, where I had no idea.
He would then pop back into my life and all would be pleasure and
rapture. I tried my best, now and back then, to stifle any hurt from
this arrangement.
He did come over Saturday night after
my encounter with Mitch Wheeler. He found the exploits of Wheeler to
be very amusing but also insisted I tell no one else any of this, as
Wheeler hoped to run for Mayor in the next year. I got it, not even
Max knew. After red wine, Chinese take-out, a movie, and cartoons,
we fell asleep in bed together.
The next morning, I was awoken to an
empty bed but with the smell of coffee wafting from the other room.
Throwing on my silky bathrobe, I padded into the kitchen to find Joe,
sitting at the kitchen bar stool with his morning coffee.
“Hello there, beautiful,” he said,
getting up and heading into the kitchen. He poured another cup for
me and handed it around. “What would you like for breakfast?”
“Just some toast would be fine,” I
said, as I sat beside his stool and poured some rice milk into my
cup. He popped the bread into the toaster and came to the counter,
standing in front of me.
“How are you this morning?” he
said, bending down to look into my eyes. I smiled back, reveling in
the inviting warmth of his blue eyes. Leaning over, I kissed him
slowly then pulled back, “Just fine.”
“Be careful, you, or we'll have to
watch some “sunday morning,” he smiled, and headed over to remove
the popped out toast.
“Sunday morning?” I shot back.
“Sunday morning cartoons!”
“Aha, I see,” I giggled and sipped
my coffee. He brought the toast with jam over and set it in front of
me. Then, he came and sat down beside me. In anticipation of the
Sunday morning cartoons, I let my bathrobe fall open to reveal my
nakedness underneath and let my leg rest against his. His hand
reached down and began stroking my inner thigh. I bit into my toast
and took in the feeling of his touch on my skin. His hand found its
way up my thigh and stroked the folds of my vagina. I gripped my
coffee mug and allowed his finger to enter me. Gasping, I placed the
coffee down on the counter and leaned into him. We kissed. I yanked
at his boxers and rubbed his penis between both my hands. He pulled
me over to him and propped me on top of him, rubbing me on his
erectness. I fell against his shoulder succumbing to the
anticipation and releasing a groan.
“Shh,” he whispered in my ear.
“Don't want to wake Max.”
We both knew that part of the fun was
'being discreet'. After all, wasn't that why we were in this
business venture anyway? He nibbled at my neck while I writhed on
top of him, begging him for more. Just as the tip of his penis
entered me, a loud knock rapped on the door. We looked at each other
in shock, momentarily wondering what to do. He set me down, adjusted
his pants, and headed into my bedroom, coffee cup in his hand. I
rearranged my bathrobe and headed towards the front entrance.
Another knock rang through the apartment.
I opened the door to see my smiling,
sober parents, dressed in their Sunday Mass Finery. I forced a
smile.
“Good morning, love,” came my
mother's soft, forced coo. “Get dressed,” enforced my dad.
“Why?” I asked, feigning innocence.
“We're taking you to church,” came
my dad's retort. “You need it.”
I wondered why and a flash through my
mind wondered if they knew something. But, I said nothing and
invited them in while I headed to the bedroom to dress and to warn
Joe. My parents' sat themselves awkwardly on the sofa in the living
room. Almost on cue, Joe emerged from the bedroom, fully dressed and
smiling.
“Mr. and Mrs. Reisling, so nice to
meet you. I'm Joe,” he said, moving towards them. My parents stood
up and they all shook hands. I stood shocked and gasping at this.
He was actually voluntarily meeting my parents. “Anna's told me a
lot about you.”
Dumbfounded, my parents nodded and my
mom finally blurted out, “Won't you come to mass with us this
morning?”
Joe grinned over at me and then
replied, “Maybe next Sunday, I'm an instructor at the college and I
am swamped with grading papers this weekend.”
My parents' were pleased with his
career position so seemed to overlook the age difference. I headed
into my bedroom to dress in my best and most modest church-type
dress. I heard Joe make his farewells. I quickly headed out into
the living room, pulling my hair into a bun, to make my good-bye or
see you later for 'cartoons'.
At the church, my parents' and I headed
up the stone steps. The whole town, both pious and not, poured into
the cathedral, its ringing bells announcing the call to worship. In
the cold sanctuary, we all made our way to the pews, some marked with
our names. I sat beside them and looked around. The scantily clad
Jesus on the cross always left me lacking, wanting to know what was
underneath the cloth and if he was really 'well-hung'.
I glanced around at the other
parishioners and noticed Jacob and Becky with child sitting, like
Joseph and the Virgin a few pews in front of mine. Then, I gasped as
sitting by them, piously with hymnal in hand, sat Mitch Wheeler. A
flash as my mind went back to his and mine last night's encounter, he
is sprawled out naked on the bed bound and gagged while I let the
whip fall on his flesh, him begging for more. I closed my eyes and
bowed my head, to mock prayer but in truth to stifle a giggle.
The sermon was about, none other than,
the woman caught in adultery. As I listened, I wondered which of
those present would cast the first stone at me for my supposed sins
rather than take a long hard look at themselves. I left the morning
service feeling uplifted based on my own lack of hypocrisy, nodding
courteously at Mitch Wheeler as I descended the stone steps.
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