Red faced with fury, Theresa’s mother confronted her as she walked in the door.
Not particularly surprised, she said quietly, “I did nothing wrong, Mother.”
“You spent the night with that boy, and I expressly told you to stay away from him.”
Theresa sighed to herself. She knew she would be in trouble. She had gone to see Dean. He had been distraught. His boyfriend had dumped him. They had been friends since the beginning of high school. The state he was in, she could not leave him. Rachel, her mother, didn’t know he was gay. It was something she had kept from her.
The church Rachel had turned to for solace after her husband had died had very strong views about homosexuality. Although normally quite open minded
Rachel had fervently embraced all of their, to Theresa’s mind, fairly intolerant fundamentalism.
That included not spending the night with a boyfriend, and for some reason, although having known Dean for years, Rachel had taken a dislike to him, and forbid her from seeing him. Theresa suspected this had a lot to do with the strict moral code imposed on its members. Imagine her reaction if she knew Dean was gay.
He had been so upset on the phone, and she made the mistake of saying she was popping over to see him, over her mother’s objections, firmly telling her she was not about to give up any of her friendships just because she disapproved of them. Her mother always retired early, so wasn’t aware she not returned that night.
“I am sorry I lost my temper, Theresa, but I am extremely disappointed in you. Obviously you cannot be trusted. I will have to seek guidance so I can deal with this. I will be discussing the matter with Father Patrick, and we will determine a suitable punishment for you.”
Theresa looked at her mother with secret amusement. She had summed Father Patrick up the minute she had met him. A lecherous old man who undressed her with his eyes whenever she encountered him, which was as infrequently as possible. Her mother was blind to all that of course, but if the old lech offered her solace in her grief, she was happy to go along. She would be intrigued to find out what sort of punishment would be deemed suitable as she was not an active member of the church.
It was a few days later. Things had been frosty between mother and daughter, but now, as Theresa arrived home from work, her mother greeted her with: “I have spoken with Father Patrick, and he has agreed to counsel you.”
“I’ll bet he has,” was her wry thought.
“I have made an appointment for you for Sunday evening at six. You will present yourself at the vestry. Please be on time.”
“Are you coming too, Mother?”
“No, this appointment is for you.”
She looked contemplatively at her mother, then said, “ Alright, I’ll be there.”
Sunday came, and Theresa arrived at the vestry promptly at six. The evenings were quite cold so she wore her knee length coat buttoned to the throat. Father Patrick opened the door and ushered her into his office.
“Come and sit down, my dear.”
He showed her to a comfortable chair and sat down in another alongside it, angled so that his knees were almost touching hers.
“Now, your mother explained the situation to me. You wilfully disobeyed her, but I’m sure you must have a good reason. Are you close to this boy?”
“Oh, very Father. We have known each other for a long time.”
There was a gleam in his eye. He leaned forward.
“So do you see each other often, or more often than you tell your mother?”
“And what do you do when you’re together?”
“Would you like me to show you, Father?”
“Oh yes, if you wish to.”
Theresa rose from her chair. Slowly, she unbuttoned her coat, starting with the top button. She opened it wide. All she was wearing was her laciest and tiniest Victoria’s Secret bra and briefs. Father Patrick’s eyes bulged, as did his trousers.
“Oh my,” he said in a strangled voice.
“Would you like me to show you what we do next?”
He could only nod, speechlessly.
“Well, actually, he would be wearing fewer clothes by now too,” she cooed.
Father Patrick struggled to his feet, and frantically pulled off his jacket, opened his shirt, exposing a hairy belly, then undid his belt and pushed his trousers to the floor, his erection straining against his underpants.
“And?” she said, pointing.
In a trice, his underpants joined his trousers around his ankles.
“Lovely!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands, then diving into the pocket of her coat, pulled out her smartphone.
She rapidly took a number of pictures, including one of his by now subsiding member. She buttoned her coat and perched on the edge of his desk.
“Now,” she said briskly, “Let’s talk business, shall we? And please get dressed, Patrick. That’s not a pretty sight.”
Speechless and red faced, Father Patrick awkwardly dressed himself.
“Sit,” she told him.
He subsided into his chair.
“Ok, Patrick, this is how it’s going to go. I know it’s a big ask, but you’re a smart man. I know you can do it. Firstly, you’re going to tell my mother that Dean and I have been friends for a long time. I was comforting him because he was upset. That is what friends do. She needs to let me live my life as I see fit. Now, this is the biggie. You are going to start preaching compassion, love, and tolerance of all people, regardless of race, creed, colour, religious affiliation, or sexual orientation. You know, the sorts of things that I think religion is supposed to be about. If you don’t, all these lovely photos of you are going to be uploaded onto the internet, and once they get out there, they’re there forever, Patrick. Forever!”
She slid off the desk.
“Thank you, Patrick. I’ve really enjoyed our little counselling session, but let’s not do this ever again, shall we?”
She left the vestry, smiling happily to herself. Not a bad night’s work, for a slut.