I was in my office, preparing the sermon for next Sunday's service, when Anna appeared in the doorway. "I'm all done with the cleaning, Reverend," she said.
Anna and her parents were longtime members of the church. She was twenty and attended a university within easy commuting distance, so she still lived at home. Now that it was summer, she'd volunteered to clean the church every week. I found it rare to encounter someone Anna's age who was so devout. With her red hair piled into a messy bun, it was easy to notice the gold cross that hung from her slender, graceful neck. Her jeans and t-shirt were modest, and on Sunday, she would, without a doubt, be wearing an equally modest dress.
"Thank you, Anna," I said, giving her a smile. "I appreciate all you do here." She nodded but made no move to leave. I sensed something was on her mind. Though I'd always enjoyed talking to the young woman, I knew she was quite a profound thinker. She often posed questions about topics like free will and original sin, questions for which I had no simple answers. "Is there something you'd like to discuss?" I asked her.
"If you have just a minute. I promise I won't take much time."
"Of course." I gestured for her to sit in the chair in front of my desk. She ducked her head, appearing shy as she entered the office, but I knew she'd grow more comfortable once she started talking.
After she was settled, her eyes met mine. Breathing in, I thought I could detect a hint of lemon from the furniture polish she'd used. "Reverend," she began, "do you think a person can actually be touch starved?"
I furrowed my brow, for the term wasn't familiar to me. "Touch starved?"
"Yes. I just read an article about it. The article said that humans need touch, and if they don't get it on a regular basis, they suffer from all kinds of problems, like low dopamine and serotonin levels, and higher amounts of stress hormones."
I couldn't help but wonder why Anna wanted to discuss this with me. Her eyes, as blue as the ocean surface above great depths, were fixed on my face while she waited for my answer. "I suppose it makes sense," I finally said. "We humans are social beings; we long for community and friendship, and affection." Of course, we longed for sensual touch as well, but I knew it wasn't appropriate to mention that to Anna. "So if we're deprived of that, I imagine it could negatively affect our health." Clasping my hands on the desk, I leaned forward a little. "I'm curious as to why you've been thinking about this. Do you feel like you might be touch starved?"
Anna gave a little shrug, looking down at her hands in her lap. "Maybe? I mean, you know my parents. I understand they love me, but they're pretty strict, and they've never been all that affectionate. And I..." Her voice caught in her throat, and she swallowed hard before going on. "I've never even had a boyfriend. I just realized earlier today that this whole summer, you're the only person I've touched regularly, and that's when you're saying goodbye to all of us at the end of your sermons. You take our hands then." She finally lifted her head and searched my face, again waiting for me to speak.
"I see," I said, rather lamely. I honestly didn't know how to respond, as I wasn't entirely clear about what Anna was asking. "Well, if you want to be touched more, why don't you try hugging your parents before you go to bed each night? I'm sure they'd appreciate that."
"Oh, no," Anna said. "They're not huggers, and I don't want to make them uncomfortable." I felt a rush of tenderness toward her then. I knew that by living at home while attending college, Anna remained quite sheltered. She was sweet-natured but quiet, and I guessed she didn't make friends easily. I noticed her fair skin had grown flushed since we'd begun talking; this couldn't have been an easy topic for her to bring up with me. "I was wondering..." she started, then shook her head.
"It's okay," I said gently. "What were you wondering?"
She took a deep breath and tried again. "I was wondering if you ever feel that way. Touched starved, I mean."
I understood then why she wanted to talk to me specifically about this. The realization made me close my eyes for a brief moment. Though my wife, Caroline, had died in a car accident a little over a year ago, my grief was still raw. At times like these, it stole the air from my lungs, and I had to remind myself to keep breathing; keep going. I glanced at the framed photo on my desk. It was of me and Caroline on our wedding day fifteen years ago, when we were both twenty-five. How young and happy, how madly in love, we'd looked then. My dark blond hair was now rapidly graying, and my face bore new lines. Peering at myself in the mirror each morning, I thought my hazel eyes looked dull. While I'd learned to pretend I was okay, managing a smile whenever one was required, I knew a part of me had withered to dust on the day I lost Caroline. My faith had gotten me through the worst of my anguish, but I was no longer the same man I'd once been. I never would be again.
Anna, as perceptive as she was, noticed my pained expression. "I'm so sorry, Reverend!" The words tumbled from her lips in a rush. "I should never have said that. Please forgive me."
"It's alright, Anna. Really." She looked stricken, as if she'd just committed a grave sin. I found I wanted to reassure her. "I miss Caroline very much. Not a day goes by that I don't wish I could hold her in my arms again. So, I understand how you feel."
Anna's gaze softened, and I had to look away before she saw the tears in my eyes. We were both silent as I struggled to compose myself. "I should go," she said quietly, then rose from the chair. "Thank you so much for talking to me today. I'm really sorry I bothered you."
"Anna, wait." She stopped and looked at me expectantly. I knew even then that I was venturing into dangerous territory. Anna was a parishioner, after all, and she was also half my age. But at that moment, I wanted to give her what she so desperately needed. And what I apparently needed, too. "Would you like me to... hold you for a few minutes?"
Her eyes widened a little, and I feared I'd made a terrible mistake. Maybe she misunderstood my intentions. Before I could try to explain, her lovely face broke into a smile. "I would like that so much, Reverend!"
As I slowly stood up from the desk, Anna's stare swept over me. I wore my usual outfit of dress pants and a button-down shirt. She waited in silence while I moved to the door and closed it. Though Anna and I were the only ones in the church that afternoon, I had no idea who might stop in. Church members occasionally sought me out when they knew I'd be in the office.
I felt my heartbeat quicken as I turned back to Anna. "Would you like to sit there?" I asked, nodding toward a small couch to the left of my desk. It was where couples normally sat when they came to me for marriage counseling. Anna nodded but waited for me to sit first. I expected her to take a seat beside me, and I struggled to hide my surprise as she slid onto my lap. Her arms immediately slipped around my neck. Looking at her, I realized our faces were just inches apart. I gave her an unsteady smile. "Okay, then."
If Anna noticed my nervousness, she didn't let on. I decided to do my best to relax. Leaning back against the couch, I drew her along with me. Once we were both comfortable, I held her close, and she rested her head on my shoulder. Neither of us spoke while our bodies settled into the embrace. Anna was right, I realized. I was starved for this closeness, this intimacy. As her warmth seeped through my clothes, my eyelids grew heavy. How long had it been since I'd had a decent night's sleep? I couldn't remember.
Anna seemed to sense my exhaustion. "Would you like to lie down?" she whispered. Though I worried that wasn't a good idea, I told myself we were only holding each other. We'd done nothing wrong. And I was so tired, as desperate for sleep as I was for her touch. Instead of answering Anna, I eased her down into a lying position with me. I was on my back, my head resting on the couch arm, while she lay on top of me. "This is nice," Anna said, snuggling even closer.
"Mmm hmm." I absently stroked her hair while telling myself we'd rest for just a few minutes. The warmth of the room, and the silence all around us, made me drift off. Anna's breathing was deep and even, and I thought she must be dozing, too.
I had no idea how long we stayed that way, sinking into deeper relaxation, before Anna began moving against me. I stirred awake, then looked down at her. I was about to ask if everything was okay when I noticed the rhythmic rocking of her hips. She'd positioned herself so that she was straddling my left thigh. I couldn't suppress a gasp as she worked her body against me. Her eyes were closed, and her lips were parted. I saw her face had flushed even more.
The sight of her obvious arousal evoked a response within my own body. I felt myself growing hard, and I started to sit up, to tell her we couldn't do this. But Anna seemed strangely oblivious to her behavior. It was as if she was still dozing, perhaps halfway dreaming. Then she let out a faint moan. That lustful sound only strengthened my erection. Her hips moved even faster; I couldn't help but wonder if the seam in the crotch of her jeans, along with my thigh pressed between her legs, was making her so excited. The thought of her growing wet and closer to climax drew a soft groan from my lips. Even if I'd wanted to, I couldn't bring myself to stop what I was witnessing. And I didn't want to stop it. Instead, I kissed Anna's hair, encouraging her.
While Anna's eyes remained closed, she breathed hard and fast. I was fully erect now, aching to stroke myself, but I didn't dare. Her moans grew continual, and I remained still, fearing one small move would break the spell. Finally, she released a cry, her eyelids fluttering as she shuddered in my embrace. It was beautiful, seeing her come so fiercely.
When she lifted her head to gaze up at me, I noticed worry fall like a shadow over her features. She was still breathing hard, still trembling, but her lust faded fast. She seemed to dread my reaction. I only smiled and said, "Feel better?"
Anna flashed a grin, clearly relieved I wasn't upset. "Much," she replied, then buried her face in my neck, as if to hide her embarrassment. I rubbed her back, all the while willing my erection to go away. Yet Anna saw it as she slowly moved to sit up. Her eyes widened a bit, and she avoided looking at me. "I'm sorry."
"There's no need to be sorry, Anna," I said. "It's just a physical response." I sat up, too, my limbs feeling heavy and languid even as I remained stubbornly hard.
Anna placed a tentative hand on my knee. "I realize we can't let anyone know about this, Reverend; they wouldn't understand. But if I promise to be careful, do you think we can do this again sometime?"
I smiled as a rush of pleasure warmed my face. "Only if you call me Michael instead of Reverend while we're... doing this."
"I promise, Michael." Anna looked thrilled while she hugged me. I couldn't stop myself from giving her a tight hug in return, though I was still hard. If she felt my erection, she didn't seem to mind it in the least.
I watched from the window while she got in her car and then drove away. A helpless groan escaped me; it was all I could do not to stroke myself right there. Hurrying to the restroom, I shut myself inside a stall. Within seconds, I began seeking my own release. My jerking was rough, almost painful. Being so close to Anna made me realize how much I needed this, too. I normally didn't masturbate until the need grew distracting. When I could no longer resist the urge, I would take Caroline's favorite blouse from the closet. It was one of the items she'd owned that I couldn't bear to donate after her death. I'd spritz it with her favorite perfume, then lie in bed and hold the blouse to my face while stroking myself to orgasm. My memory of her was always so vivid then, bringing tears to my eyes. I'd begun to associate self-pleasure with grief.
But now I thought only of Anna: her sweet, shy smile, and the way she'd looked while rubbing herself against my thigh. The sounds she'd made when she climaxed. My cry echoed off the restroom walls as I came. Even after my hand slowed its stroking, ropes of semen continued to shoot forth. After I'd cleaned up the mess and washed my hands. I peered at my reflection in the mirror. I looked different, I thought. My stare wasn't as leaden, though I was alone and didn't need to pretend to anyone. A faint smile played at my lips, but it was quickly chased off by growing shame.
