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After a long afternoon of delivering the sacraments to the three city hospitals, Father Antony Secco took a short detour on his way back to the rectory of St. Jude Thaddeus. It’d been several days since he heard the young musician’s confession, but his words still echoed in the young priest’s mind. This fantasy fulfillment agency called It’s Just Sex! sounded like just what he needed. He dropped a quarter into the pay phone and punched the number he’d memorized. The voice answering was crisp, male, and ultra professional. “Thank you for calling It’s Just Sex! How may I direct your call?” “I would like to arrange a—liaison.” “Certainly, sir. Are you familiar with our procedure?” Without waiting for a response, he continued. “We accept all major credit cards, money orders and, of course, cash. No personal checks. The first step is to schedule an appointment. Is there a particular day or time that is most convenient for you to come to our offices for the interview?” “Well,” Father Secco coughed, “that’s going to be a problem. In my line of work, I cannot be seen on your premises. I was hoping we could take care of the formalities by telephone.” “I see. There is also the matter of the requisite laboratory work—the blood tests to ensure…” Father Secco interrupted, “That won’t be necessary, son. I want no physical contact.” “Sir, I’m going to have to ask that you leave a number so that I can have Ms. Harris call you back. I do not have the authority to waive policy.” “Will you instead schedule an interview, and I’ll call during that time slot? Friday afternoons are best for me.” “Very well, sir. Friday afternoon at three o’clock. May I have a name for our records?” “Thaddeus,” Father Secco sputtered. “Um—Antony Thaddeus.” “Thank you, Mr. Thaddeus. See—well, hear—you on Friday.” Father Secco hung up the phone and, whistling a favorite hymn as he Escort Bahçelievler walked the last six blocks, thought about his plan. Saturday mornings were so incredibly dull in the confessional. St. Jude Thaddeus was the only parish in the state that still used the little booths. All the others had long since switched to a more open, face-to-face practice. For three solid hours he sat in that dark, cramped closet just waiting for someone to step in to its neighbor. All told, maybe eight or nine parishioners sought the sacrament of reconciliation each week—and they were the same people with the same boring, venial sins. He wanted to hear some juicy confessions—carnal sins. No one ever seemed to confess the sins of the flesh. In fact, the young musician’s recent explicit confession had been the very first of its kind that Father Secco had ever heard. It whet his appetite.* * * * Two days later, Father Secco stood at the same telephone kiosk and punched the same number. The same voice answered. “Thank you for calling It’s Just Sex! How may I direct your call?” “I have a three o’clock telephone appointment with Ms. Harris.” “Ah, yes. Mr. Thaddeus, isn’t it? One moment please.” A female voice came on the line a few moments later. “Mr. Thaddeus, I’m Sonia Harris. So nice of you to seek our services. I must say, we’ve not yet had a client who did not want physical contact. How exactly can we help you?” “Well, Ms. Harris, I’ll be blunt. I am a priest—a Roman Catholic priest—and I have been so bored while hearing confessions that I’ve actually fallen asleep. I want to spice things up—to hear a seriously sexy confession every so often—perhaps on a regular basis, if all goes well.” “I understand completely, Father, and I believe we can help you.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “Under the circumstances, I will waive Bahçeşehir escort our requirement for blood tests and its associated fee. Is there any particular type of sexual confession you would prefer?” “Not really, no. Anything’s better than the dry, old sins I hear each week.” “Very well, then,” she laughed. “As soon as your payment is received, we’ll get started. I’m assuming you would prefer to mail it in?” “Astute of you, Ms. Harris. Yes. I will put a money order in today’s mail. Bless you.” “We’re happy to be of assistance and,” she added with a sultry chuckle, “to have your blessing. Please give me the time and place, and we’ll be all set.” * * * * Saturday morning finally rolled around, and Father Secco completed his early morning routine with a spring in his step. He could hardly wait to get into the confessional for a change. There were already a handful of the regular penitents waiting in the pews nearest the chancel, but he did not look at or acknowledge them. Some were from other area churches. They came to St. Jude Thaddeus for the pretense of anonymity that the old confessionals provided. Might be understandable, he mused, if they had anything really nasty to confess. He breezed through the first several penitents on auto-pilot, doling out the same penance: four Hail Marys and three Our Fathers, plus a reminder to be as generous as possible when the collection plate was passed on Sunday. That should just about do it for the regulars, he thought. Sliding the partition open, Father Secco began the seventh session of the day: “In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. You may begin.” There was a pause and a shuffle and a little cough. Finally a quiet voice began, “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was—um, like, maybe three years ago. These are my sins…”I’ll Bakırköy escort bayan bet this is it! Father Secco grinned as he leaned toward the screen. He couldn’t see more than a shadowy silhouette, but could tell from her voice that she was young, perhaps a student at the university. Her perfume carried—a vanilla musk, cloying and sweet. “Go on, please.” “I have committed sins of—What d’ya call it? Oh, yeah—impurity with myself. A few days ago, see, my friend Gina told me about this site…That’s the Internet, y’know?” “Yes, my child. I am familiar with it.” What a refreshing combination of worldliness and naiveté. “M’kay. Anyways,” she whispered, “there are all these totally dirty stories there that anyone can read for free. So I start, like, reading, y’know?” Gaining a little confidence, she continued, “The first one I clicked on was called Boiling Point, and—whew!—it was about this chick tying her best friend to a tree. A tree! I got all hot reading it an’ started, like, touching myself—y’know?—down there. I mean, my best friend is way hot—an’ I started thinkin’ ’bout doin’ that to her, y’know? Hey! Is that a sin, too? Thinkin’ ’bout your best friend in that way? Geez, if it is, just add it on to my list, m’kay?”Oh, she is perfect! Father Secco was thrilled. He really didn’t care if her confession was real or staged. It was definitely not boring, and that’s all that mattered. He loved her delightfully sugary voice, and he could picture her words spilling in an enthusiastic rush from matte pink bubble gum lips. “Anyways, I totally got myself off sittin’ right there at my computer. I mean, had an orgasm, y’know? I so couldn’t believe it! And that was just the first time,” she giggled wickedly. “Later that same day, I went back—’cause it’s, like, addictive an’ shit—oh, sorry—stuff—and read another story. This one was about a girl named Megan who really wanted to get—um, I mean to have sex in her—um, butt. M’kay, so that’s somethin’ I’ve never tried an’ I kinda like want to, y’know? Is butt sex a sin, too? Damn, I’ll just bet it is! Tack it on, m’kay?” Father Secco smiled as he continued to build a mental image of this young woman, who he’d labeled Missy.

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