Jasmine’s taunt was an exaggeration, Neely thought as she departed Lemongrass later that day, but she supposed she wasn’t starved of attention. Either within or outside the church. It would be convenient if she could find herself a mature-minded Christian with whom she could explore her sexuality in a chaste fashion. Then she wouldn’t have to fret when random sexy strangers showed an interest.
She tried not to obsess as she prepared herself mentally for the evening ahead. One year on at Alton Bridge and the anniversary to be marked by a Q and A at the mid-week youth meeting. ‘Get to know Neely’—a chance for the church’s teens to gain the inside track on the full-time youth worker’s Christian thinking.
“They need guidance,” Pastor Simmons told her once she’d arrived at the hall. “There are so many negative influences on these young people in today’s society, particularly when it comes to sex. What they need are role models like you to help keep them living a secure Christian lifestyle and to feel like it’s okay to do that.” Neely looked at him sympathetically and quelled her inward cringe. Jack Simmons’ obsession with the S-word was not what she needed. That evening’s interview was supposed to reflect her experience at the church and her views on a whole range of socially relevant subjects, but she had a sinking feeling as to where it would stall.
“You’ve got to understand, Neely, how much of a blow the whole Danny Woodward business was for me. You scarcely knew him, I know, but he seemed such a powerful force for good here. And then—well I don’t like to go into the details, I spent enough effort covering them up—but to have him leave in such sordid circumstances really shook me to the core. Right here in this room it happened.”
The Pastor shuddered at a dreadful memory. Neely wondered if his premature greyness stemmed from the notorious incident. She stared around at the polished-oak furnishings of the preparation room; an uncomfortable venue for a sexual liaison, but maybe the blasphemous thrill provided by the location had been a more important factor. Neely didn’t like to think about it too much.
“Really dented my faith in the next generation of Christians.” The Pastor shook his head wearily. “I found myself lying to everyone about his reasons for going. You can’t know what that felt like for me.”
Neely knew more about the Danny Woodward debacle than Jack Simmons thought. Most of the younger congregation-members did. She had met him once, briefly, but her knowledge was largely due to Luke, the Pastor’s eighteen-year-old son. That same young gentleman took delight in regaling his friends with details given the flimsiest pretext. He and his sister Rebekah had been with their father that Sunday when he stumbled upon Youth Pastor Danny post-coitus in the church office with an anonymous young woman.
“He’d just finished porking her,” Luke had once recounted to a friend in Neely’s hearing. “She was up on the desk with her tits out and her legs spread and he’d pulled his dick out of her. He was still dripping jizz all over the carpet, you should have bloody seen it! It was amazing! And she was well fit. I’d have given her one. She looked like such a slut …” Neely wondered if Pastor Simmons knew what a charming godly young gentleman he was raising.
“You know I have huge respect for you, Neely,” the Pastor was saying. “You dress modestly, you carry yourself well. You’re an attractive young Christian woman who knows how to conduct herself around others. The young people like you and look up to you and I know you’re a positive moral influence on them. It’s something on which we really need to capitalise.”
Lord, could he hear how old-fashioned and puffed-up he sounded sometimes? And he didn’t know how she dressed of a Saturday evening. Not quite so modest. But she tried to see it from the Simmons point of view. The moral life of the church rested squarely on this man’s shoulders and he bore its weight with a grim fortitude. “I appreciate your trust,” she told him. “And I’ll live up to it, you have my word on that.” She reached out and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.
The midweek youth meetings were always well-attended, with street-dance interludes and dazzling visuals projected onto background screens. “Multi-media,” the Pastor would beam at her. “Contemporary. Modern technology projecting an old-fashioned Gospel. Not exactly my taste in music, but if it helps us relate spiritual truth to the youngsters, I’m all in favour.”
Several hundred teenagers and early twenty-somethings were amassed before them as they took their seats on the platform, under the varnished-wood cross which dominated the front of the hall. Neely settled herself as the lighting of Brian’s worship session faded. Then as Pastor Simmons did his intro, her eyes lighted on a figure some few rows from the back—hard-hitting journo Ray. She had only half-expected him to show and thus had managed to relegate him in her thoughts. She felt strangely exposed before this congregant who had ventured in from outside church circles. It threw her so much that she missed the Pastor’s opening question.
“Sorry?” There was good-natured laughter from the crowd at her confusion.
“I was hoping you could tell us something about yourself and what brought you to Alton Bridge,” Pastor Simmons repeated, smiling with a paternal air.
“Okay—well—I’m Neely Jordan, as most of you know, I’m twenty-four and I’ve been full-time here the past two years. I’m from St Albans, but I trained in Youth and Community Work here in Bristol. Then because of my faith I wanted to put that training to use in a Christian environment. You know, work with young people to … to try and show them how social concerns tie in really closely with the teachings of Jesus. How we as young Christians should be making a difference in the community, in all sorts of ways. Not simply keeping to ourselves.”
She wondered whether her words might sound impressive to a stranger who did not share the beliefs of the assembled crowd. She wondered too how the whole evening would come across. Fresh and relevant? Or a crass attempt to ape secular culture in the name of ‘cool’? Alton Bridge’s trendier affectations made even her cringe at times, so she could only imagine how an outsider might react.
She brushed away the thought, launching into a discussion of her responsibilities around the church and the youth initiatives she had helped get underway—like Alton Bridge’s teen-homeless project and the channelling of older teens into volunteer work with elderly people in the vicinity. That was before Pastor Simmons addressed her on his seeming favourite topic.
“Of all the pressures on young people today—drugs, materialism, secularism—the pervasiveness of sex must be the most dangerous and insidious. Its influence is felt absolutely everywhere. As a modern young woman, what would you have to say to us on that subject?”
Well wasn’t that perfect? On the night she drew in an attractive stranger, the Pastor set her up to trot out the church’s official line on celibacy. It wasn’t like she was short of other pressing topics. Drug culture and poverty and the interface between politics and faith. Still, if Ray was interested in her, best he knew from the start her stance on pre-marital sexual relations.
“Well,” she began, pausing to gather her thoughts, “the problem, I think, with modern attitudes to sex is that it … it ends up getting ripped out of a broader context. The Bible sees it as something exciting and warm and loving, to be enjoyed and celebrated in the context of a committed long-term relationship. The temptation is to … to enjoy it for its own sake, free of any real commitment, and so to miss out on something deeper and ultimately more satisfying. And …” She was acutely aware, as she continued, of one listener among hundreds. “… That takes patience. Take me. I’m like any other twenty-four-year-old. I’ve got desires. I’ve got passions. I’ve got …” The word ‘fantasies’ was hovering in her mind, but thankfully she side-stepped it. “I’ve got a major crush on David Tennent.” Save. Her Doctor Who geekery was well-known throughout the church and her remark garnered a laugh. “Not so much Matt Smith, though he’s a sexy Doctor in his own way I suppose. But …” The laughter eventually died and she waved away her improvised stream-of-consciousness to conclude the original thought. “… I think I owe it to myself and to the guy I eventually commit to, however olde-worlde and Jane Austen it sounds, to save that aspect of myself. It’s something precious. A gift to be stored up and not given away to the first person who comes along.”
She felt she had dealt adequately with the matter, but Jack Simmons pursued his pet theme like a borderline obsessive. Soon she was fielding questions on how Christian couples should conduct themselves, how women could dress so as not to inflame male lusts, how youth in the church should maintain “purity of mind”. Patronising, sexist and pompous—nice going, Pastor.
She spun responses to distance herself from the church-leader’s more reactionary views, to make herself sound progressive and open-minded. Still she ended up saying how ‘young Christians should pursue a broad range of physical, social and spiritual interests’; a tarted-up equivalent, she thought, of ‘take a cold shower’. She hoped that Ray wouldn’t read her comments’ obvious subtext: “I’m persistently horny and haven’t found a way to deal with it yet.”
Neither had Brian, she recalled. Their dating several months earlier had consisted of his regular and crude attempts at seduction. “No, we can’t do this!” she had insisted hotly on her own sofa one night, as he executed unsubtle manoeuvres beneath her blouse.
“C’mon babe, we’re not teenagers,” his breathless voice had insisted, warm hands refusing to un-cup her bra-clad bosom. A defter touch, she considered in retrospect, might have put her in greater moral danger. The situation’s erotic edge had been blunted by his sheer desperation.
“You’re right, we’re not teenagers. We’re grown-up Christian believers!” she had exclaimed, struggling free of his clutch and rebuttoning herself. “Trying to lead that holy lifestyle you’re always banging on about during a worship-set. Or don’t you really believe all that stuff you spout?”
“Hey, I’m not trying to get inside your knickers, I want to feel your tits, is all. It’s hardly the unforgivable sin.”
“Feel my tits? God, Brian, I take it back! You are a teenager! This is teenage! Damned furtive fumbling on a couch. And the back of a car. And in the bedroom next to your parents’ room for Heaven’s sake! What are we playing at?” Her tirade had silenced his protests. “You know, I’m not even sure why we’re together. I mean honestly, what do we have in common?”
“What do you mean? We both fancy each other, right? We’re both Christians.”
“Yes, deeply incompatible Christians. We don’t relate on any level outside … outside churchy stuff.” She hadn’t the heart to mention how lack of basic intelligence and sophistication drained a guy of physical attraction too. Instead she added, “You think you can trade time spent with me for groping rights. It doesn’t do it for me, Brian. Let’s … you know, cut our losses. I’m sorry.”
And that had been the end of that. Lord in Heaven, were there any real men in the church, single men with a bit of charm and self-restraint, worth saving yourself for in the first place? Men with whom you could relax into a deliciously sexy abstinence? Who could make you shudder more by brushing your cheek than some could with a hand up your skirt? The thought lingered in her mind as that evening’s interview wound up.
“Leading on from what we were discussing …” Once he had closed in lengthy prayer and a babble of noise filled the place once more, Pastor Simmons leaned over to her. “… I’m thinking that a workshop or two dealing with Christian sexual ethics might be in order. Especially with the summer break coming up. The youngsters need these ideas reinforced before holidays begin and they’re beyond the church’s sphere of influence. You and Jonas could lead them. It dawned on me as we were speaking and I think it’d be a great idea. Deal with the whole area of sexuality from a strong Biblical perspective.”
“Oh yes?” Neely tried to mask her anxiety. She could only imagine Jasmine’s reaction if she knew, or that of Leo, her openly gay friend from the café. How she’d have to tiptoe around all those tricky Bible-bits with which she wrestled.
“I’ll arrange some dates and let you know,” the Pastor said, as though the matter was settled. Neely’s heart flagged. Now there would be a minefield for her personal integrity. She wondered how fellow youth-worker Jonas would react; if anything he had more problems with Jack Simmons’ hard-line conservatism than she did. Making excuses about having people to see, she ducked into the main part of the hall to immerse herself among friends—even if that risked a Brian encounter.
“I’m impressed,” a smooth voice said in her ear and she started at Ray’s presence next to her. Her slender five seven was shadowed by his frame. “You’re plausible, even to a confirmed heathen like me. Although I’m wondering now if we’re still on for that drink.”
“Gosh, Ray ...” Neely was reeling at his suddenly being there, her stomach a pleasurable turmoil. “Yes, yes of course we are.”
She’d barely had time to respond, when her male opposite-number at the church called out to her. “Nice one, Neels—you’re a modern-day prophet!” Jonas’ short dark hair was spiked with gel, his features lit up with a reassuring grin. Girlfriend Leona, dark-haired and coffee-skinned, was beaming at her too from where she nestled into his side. “Hey, can we have a brief word about the schedule for the rest of the summer season?” Jonas inquired.
“Yeah, sure, give me a sec.” Neely turned, a tad flustered, to the church’s newest guest. “Look, sorry. I really should have a quick chat with him. Maybe we could …eh …”
“Why don’t you meet me round the corner in The Pump House when you’re done here? Then you don’t have to leave with the anonymous stranger, following all your sincere words on chastity.”
She blushed and completely failed to summon up a witty rejoinder. “Yeah, that’d be cool. I’ll … I’ll be right over.” She flashed him a nervous smile. As she turned away to chat with Jonas, she hoped her excitement wouldn’t show. No such luck.
“Who was that?” It was Leona who asked, dark eyes sparking with interest. “Is he new to the church?”
“He’s a friend,” Neely said dismissively. “Thought he’d check the place out.”
“Check you out on your big night.” Jonas grinned, squeezing Leona a bit closer. Since starting to date the girl he’d lost some of his cheerfully reserved cool. “Is he going to make a return visit?”
“Maybe, don’t know.” She brushed off the subject and addressed a more pressing issue, dropping her voice as she mentioned it. The fact that Leona was listening in disconcerted her slightly; her co-worker’s girlfriend had only recently graduated from ‘youth-group’ status. “Jonas—has the Pastor mentioned to you any workshops?” From the look of inquiry on his face, it appeared not.
“Seems he’s going to land us with a project. ‘Christian sexual ethics.’ He’s going to prioritise it in the Sunday night youth meetings, I think. Get us to provide a brush-up course.”
“Really?” Jonas seemed more resigned than irritated. “Wow. Bang goes everything we’ve been scheduling. But I suppose he’s the boss-man.”
“So we go ahead with it?”
“Look, I’m sure we can throw something together that’ll satisfy him. If we reassure him enough, he’ll most likely leave us to get on with it. And it’s probably not a bad idea. You know how wild some of those youngsters can get.” Beside him Leona smirked. “You want to hold off on the planning till we know what he wants, then thrash it all out at the weekend?”
Neely did, largely because she wanted to get to The Pump House. She said her goodbyes to Jonas and Leona, then rushed through chat and congratulations from other friends regarding her onstage performance. The degree of recklessness she felt leaving church for a public house struck her as absurd. So she was making a new friend, one who she’d now introduced to Alton Bridge. How was that out of step with anything she’d said in the meeting?
Ray was waiting at a corner table of The Pump House with a half of ale, the picture of affability. “What can I get you?”
“Dry Martini.”
“Now that’s a very sophisticated drink for a pillar of the church.”
“Oh, what, so you’re going to make fun of me from the start?” She’d opted, she knew, for something deliberately incongruous with the image she’d presented on stage, something more audacious than her aforementioned Bacardi Breezer. She shook out her hair involuntarily as she sat down. “Can’t a church-girl be sophisticated?”
“You’re living proof she can,” he said, before leaving for the bar. “I wouldn’t dream of making fun, I assure you.”
The way he said it made her feel assured. There was an easiness to their conversation on his return, an absence of presumption when he spoke to her. “I think your commitment to your beliefs is admirable,” he told her, when she described how she’d come to faith. How aged fifteen, having listened to a speaker at the Anglican church occasionally attended by her parents, she had made a personal commitment to following Christ.
“It was unspectacular, me alone in my room days later,” she told him, recalling the inner renewal she had undergone. That blossoming of faith which had gone on to shape her whole life. “But it was profound. And real.”
“I don’t doubt it. It impresses me, I mean that.” There was no condescension in his gaze. “You know, I’m not sure I have it in me to be that committed to anything.”
“What about your journalism? That story you mentioned this afternoon. Aren’t you a … a warrior against injustice? Trying to give a voice to people who’ve been marginalised? That’s totally in line with Christianity, the way I see it.”
“Well I’m not so sure about that.” He gave an almost embarrassed shrug. “I’m energised by a good story—I like the pursuit. And words—well I suppose I’m committed to those if nothing else. Crafting something with language—capturing ideas and emotions in an original way. Making the reader feel something intense. Sometimes the subject-matter gets its hooks into me as well and I run with it. Become a bit of a crusader. So, you know, maybe righteousness will catch me up eventually.” His wry grin as he said it made her laugh. Laugh with him. How nice that felt. To be sharing a joke and a moment of substance with this stranger.
“So what’s the next big story?” she asked. “Once you’ve dealt with the struggle of the small businessman?”
“Well, okay, you’re going to think I’m such a bullshitter here … But it had kind of occurred to me to try a series about modern expressions of religious faith—balancing scepticism with sympathy. And now that I’ve found such a stimulating example of young Christian womanhood, I think the idea’s cemented.”
Neely tried to cover her blushes, but in truth hardly cared if he noticed them. She leaned forward onto her elbows, toying with her drink on the table while focusing utterly on the person before her. Pickings could be lean in church circles. It wasn’t so flattering to be paid attention by Christian guys when competition was so slight. But to be singled out by a charming, intelligent man some few years older, to be chatted up so politely … The intoxication was powerful.
“So I’m going to be interviewed all over again, am I? What’s the angle?”
“Well, celibacy is an interesting subject. It’s so misunderstood in this modern era and it gets misrepresented all the time, when in many ways it’s to be admired. Personally I don’t know how someone as vibrant and expressive as you copes. I mean, you can’t have any want of opportunity.”
“Now stop that,” Neely warned, a low-key alarm ringing in her mind, “or I’ll think you’re a run-of-the-mill chat-up artist after all.”
“I’m sorry. It’s the journalist in me, not the chat-up artist, I promise. I’d hate you to think I was no more than the latter. Though the compliment stands.”
“Well in that case, I accept it.” Neely beamed and relaxed and found herself, shortly after, accepting his offer of a ride home. They bantered in his car about putting the world to rights, until that key moment as they parted where he could spoil everything with the wrong phrase or move. She so hoped he wouldn’t.
“It’s been unexpected,” Ray said, before she climbed from his ancient but well-kept BMW. “An unexpected pleasure that is, and a considerable one at that.” This time she almost felt her hair crinkling at its roots, so full was the blush. In the fading daylight, however, she was sure it wouldn’t show. She tried not to break his stare as the pause grew pregnant. “Look, Neely … My whole impulse here is to try and kiss you, but with all we’ve talked about, it might come off as a cheap move inspired by some misguided sense of challenge. So I’m going to say thank you for a lovely evening and leave it at that, okay? Before I do something stupid.”
Gratitude welled up within Neely, that and a moment of sheer spontaneous affection. “I think you’re way better than that,” she said. “And just because of what you heard me say at church, doesn’t mean I can’t do this …” She leaned in and kissed him, full on the mouth, meaning to break quickly. But he gripped her face gently with one hand and held her there, pressing his firm lips more insistently to hers and brushing her mouth with his tongue. His fingers lingered on her cheek as their lips parted. Blood seemed to have surged to every intimate region in her body.
“I’d really like to see you again,” he said.
“You have my number.” Her response was barely more than a whisper. She coughed and raised her voice to claim back some control. “And Kenny’s, you know, the small-businessman from church. He’d be more than happy to talk to you for your article.”
“My article. Yes, I’ll call him. And then I’ll call you. Take care, Neely.”
So confident, so restrained and yet with a passion she could almost scent. Her heartbeat was loud and fast all the way from car to apartment. That her actions were at odds with all she’d conveyed in church that evening only struck her once she got inside and slammed the door. She leaned back against it, breathing deeply, calming herself, body slowly recovering from the rush. She felt guilty and alive, thrilled and hopelessly girlish. Twenty-four years and this had been her first impromptu date with a mystery stranger. It seemed romantic, sexy, so damned dangerous …
“Good grief, so I kissed a guy.” It was an outburst, she realised, directed more at her Higher Power than herself. She went to the kitchen and attempted to process what had happened, amid the calming mechanics of tea-making, the reassuring clatter of mugs and spoons.
Okay. Let’s assume he calls me. Let’s assume we go out again. He knows what to expect and what not. In which case what would be the point of the exercise? Maybe he’ll take an interest in the church for its own sake. Maybe he’s searching for faith and doesn’t even realise it yet. I hope that’s the case, Lord. Perhaps we can be friends. Would he be okay with that? Damn, would I?
She brought her mug of Darjeeling into the living-room and slipped into the threadbare comfort of the armchair her parents had given her, reaching down the side for the TV remote. Better call Mum and Dad before it gets any later. She’d still her beating heart first with tea and channel-hopping. Her hand fell on something other than the remote and she plucked out a creased paperback novel. It was one of Jasmine’s, that much was clear from the cover photo—a beautiful naked young woman seized from the rear by a muscular and similarly nude lover, her head wilting back in ecstasy at the sensation of his mouth on her neck.
Odyssey of Lust: A Young Woman’s Quest for Erotic Fulfilment.
Inviting her fellow-waitress to flat-share had introduced such exotic items into Neely’s living-space. Overtaken by a moment of pure instinct she flipped over the book and read the blurb. It told her how pampered rich-girl Sapphire would leave the security of her parents’ Bel Air mansion and embark on a ‘sensual journey of global proportions’. Neely gave in to fascination, leafing through the opening chapters till she came on a stretch of prose which matched the promise of the novel’s exterior. The words caught her up instantly.
“Don!” Sapphire exclaimed in shock, sitting up so that her bikini-covered breasts broke the surface of the water. The slim hand with which she had been masturbating withdrew from her pussy. “How long have you been there?”
“Long enough, Sapphire,” Don said, eyeing the girl with calm, evil intent. He was standing on the Jacuzzi’s edge, stroking the massive straining bulge beneath his shorts. “Long enough to wonder what you’ve been thinking about. And to wonder if I can give you something else to occupy your mind.” Neely could not help but imagine a certain non-fictional guy’s bulge as the action unfolded. The words gripped her in a way different from any ‘proper’ literature she had read, never more so than when the huge athletic guy peeled the shorts away from his loins, revealing his great, throbbing man-rod as Sapphire stared in amazement. “Something like this,” he said, as he massaged his rampant cock. He stepped out of his shorts and advanced on her into the Jacuzzi’s bubbling waters with firm intent.
“But my parents could come back at any time!” the young woman moaned, her eyes glued to the enormous manly fuck-stick.
Heavens! What a phrase …
“They haven’t left downtown yet. I spoke to your father ten minutes ago,” said Don smoothly, his half-submerged cock poking from the water like a periscope. “There’s nothing and no one to disturb us. At least for a while.”
Hypnotized, Sapphire rose from the water to receive her father’s robust, dark-haired best friend, sunlight shimmering on her voluptuous young body. She gasped as Don’s palms seized and caressed her bountiful bosoms. He reached behind her and unhooked her top in a swift movement, tugging it away to reveal her beautiful hard-nippled mounds.
“God, your breasts are magnificent,” he breathed, as he squeezed, drawing them to his mouth so he could suck on her full areolae in turn. Neely’s empathetic reading powers were working on full. She could almost hear it, feel it, when Sapphire cried out in fear and ecstasy under the hunger of his lustful mouth. “We don’t have much time, so I’m just going to take you,” Don told her, his eyes smouldering. “Take you hard.”
He lifted her up by the waist, making her squeal, then he sat her on the Jacuzzi’s edge, took hold of the strings of her bikini bottoms and drew them away from her pert round ass and off her legs. “My sweet darling, I’m going to fuck you like no boyfriend has ever fucked you,” he said, as he parted her luscious thighs. “I’m going to show you how a real woman should be fucked – by a real man.” Neely’s eyes lingered on the boldness of the printed f-words; the church-worker had almost forgotten to keep breathing. She braced herself—Neely braced herself along with Sapphire—as he pushed the head of his enormous erect tool to her spread naked pussy lips. With a single thrust he drove himself inside her, impaling her tight young cunt completely with his thick, rigid spear. Oh my … Oh my goodness! She cried out as he filled her and her thighs clung to him. Then Don clutched her cheeks, pulled her wet body to him and fucked her with mighty strokes until she felt the heat in her loins build, build to what she knew would be a fierce climax all around his huge invading …
“Hey, Neely, you just get in?”
Neely jumped and tossed the book hurriedly away, her face singeing once more that day from embarrassed guilt. She was suddenly aware of how wet she was between her thighs, how swollen were her own nipples, forget those of the book’s heroine. Jasmine was leaning sleepily in the living-room doorway. “Yes Jaz, I … was going to see what was on TV.”
“I completely crashed out. Hey, what you been reading?” Neely’s drowsy friend had come to sudden life.
“Nothing, I think it’s yours. I found it in the chair.”
Jasmine’s face freshened into a broad grin. “You’ve been having a sneaky look at my naughty airport novel, haven’t you? Neely, you’re such a bad—”
“No, no I only glanced at it. Kind of,” Neely protested weakly.
“Be my guest. Please, enjoy. It’s not Pride and Prejudice, but it’s a lot hotter. Of course you already know that, right?”
Neely allowed her friend to revel in the discovery. It was a type of penance for having been caught out. Not that she as an Evangelical agreed theologically with the concept of penance, but it worked for her at points nonetheless. She even made some fresh tea for them both and subjected herself to a lecture on how she needed to “loosen up”. Thank God Jasmine didn’t know she was fresh from a date with café-guy.
It was only when they went to their respective bedrooms that Neely checked her phone and found a text from Ray. THANK YOU FOR BEING SUCH A DELIGHTFUL SURPRISE. I HOPE I CAN GET TO KNOW YOU BETTER, NEELY JORDAN.
It made her wetter than any cheap erotic fiction ever could, distracting her all through her phone-chat with her parents.
She took out her Bible and accompanying study guide afterwards to refocus her thoughts. Her prayers for strength were particularly heartfelt that night. Strength to be all that Pastor Simmons thought she was. Strength to fight the unholy thoughts which flapped around her mind like a cloud of bats …
~~~~
20/05/10 00:12 GMT
(Extract)
Christ, Carlotta, if you’d seen her on that platform, I’ve no doubt your latent lesbian tendencies would have surfaced and sizzled. Loose-necked woollen dress swathing her limber torso, blue-jeans clinging to her svelte virgin loins and that profusion of red hair spilling down her shoulders … like it’ll very shortly be spilling all over my face as she rides my thrusting cock.
God, I was ready to burst out of my pants sitting there in the church watching her. Listening to her talk so sincerely on the virtues of chastity, while everything about her—every blink of eyelid and flick of hair—screamed how badly this good girl needs fucking. It occurred to me how many other guys sitting there must want to nail her, if they could only admit it to themselves or knew what to do about it. Well, Neely Jordan has a date with my dick. She just doesn’t know it yet.
Splendid timing, don’t you think? I trust from what I’ve told you, you’ll consider her more worthy prey.
20/05/10 21:03 PST
Oh this is so much better, Ray, than your vapid college girl. This one would be a very worthy feather in your over-stuffed cap. At least it sounds like Jesus’ little sunbeam has some smarts. Tell me—were they all as smug and obnoxious at her church as our Bible-belters? Full of their own chaste, glory-train, happy-clapping self-congratulation? And you say she’s being set up as the head honcho’s shining light of virtue for the young things … You have simply got to bring her down. You have got to bone this bitch with extreme prejudice—clinging to her every last belief, but still whimpering for cock. I insist on it.
The only question is, do you know how to approach your task? You were a very clever boy, Raymond, luring her into planting lips on you. Totally the right move. But can you sustain it? If all you’ve said is true, this girl will need a soft touch before you get to deliver a hard fuck. Can a horny bastard like you really play the long game? I doubt it, but stand to be proven wrong.
Awaiting further reports with anticipation,
Carlotta.
TO BE CONTINUED
