Jenny

Peter’s an extremely good-looking man, and he knows it. Although I forgive him his vanities. There’s a certain irresistibly about him and I’m not alone in my assessment. I watch as he addresses his congregation. But it’s not his face I’m concentrating on. He has no idea his zipper’s down. I’d bet the teenage girls seated in the first three pews do, by the giggling I see from here. It’s hard not to start laughing because every time he takes a step a sliver of his tighty whitees peek out. Youth Service is already the most popular one on Sundays. After today it’s going to be standing room only.

He’s really getting into his sermon, using his hands and making eye contact. He’s not unlike a game show host up there, connecting with his audience, putting everyone at ease with his perfect smile. And today he’s unintentionally thrown in his unzipped pants.

By their happy expressions, I’m sure he thinks his young congregants are feeling the Holy Spirit. I’m smiling too, and it’s for the exact same reason. What size package is Pastor Peter packing? I snicker at the thought of saying that ten times fast, and it draws a dirty look from the woman sitting next to me.

I may be going to Hell for thinking about it in church, but for the first time in my life I’m obsessed with sex. More to the point my lack of it. It’s been eight months and three days. I counted. I’ve learned a lot about Peter Daniels in the time we’ve been together. Important things like the fact that besides being vain, he’s kind and smart. He’s considerate and gentle. He’s loyal. The vanity takes a backseat to those rarer qualities. But there’s so much I don’t know. I need to correct that before the not knowing tears us apart.

For starters, what if we don’t have chemistry? Does he know how to please a woman? Is he too kinky for my tastes or too conservative? He told me he’s had some experience with women. According to him it happened before he decided on his course in life. If he did have sex, how was he able to give it up? Once that horse is out of the barn it’s hard corralling it. I know that firsthand.

Never did I think I’d willingly put my sex life on hold. Being celibate because of someone else’s religious beliefs is the hardest kind of celibacy. It’s only because I thought I could change his mind that I agreed. The whole idea intrigued me. It was a challenge. He’s turned out to be more stubborn than I gave him credit for. Or I’m not as appealing as I’d hoped.

But I’m twenty-four years old and pretty sure that’s when I should be swinging from a chandelier. Instead, I’ve become the Queen of Masturbation fantasizing about what it would be like with a mostly holy man. In my life the anything goes phase hasn’t happened yet. Somewhere deep inside me lives a wild woman waiting to show herself. I think. But at best my sexual history could be labeled barely adequate.

What I have with Peter I haven’t been able to define. I know it’s respect for his faith and how he’s devoted his life to others. It’s attraction and curiosity. From our first meeting at the Thanksgiving supper for the homeless we knew we were both interested.

Youth Pastor for St. Joseph’s Lutheran Church, Peter lives what he believes. He walks the walk. It’s noble in theory, but put into practice harder than I realized. At the beginning I went along with his request willingly. No sex for him until marriage. He said if he preached it he had to live it too. As time’s gone by, and it’s gotten harder to resist, it got tweaked to no sex before engagement. But how does that help me? I have no intention of getting engaged to a man I’m not sure I love, and not before I sleep with him. I told him so. I’m not sure he believed me. So what am I doing here?

That’s what I’m going to talk with him about today. We need to be intimate. It’s that simple. If he can’t agree, then I need to rethink our exclusive relationship. Because as much as I like him, and maybe could grow to love him, I need more now.

I’m snapped out of my thoughts by Pastor Peter’s closing words.

“And so, let’s try to think before we speak, before we post, before we tweet. Like photographs, words can never be taken back. And they can hurt you and the person they’re aimed at. Try to lead with the compassion Jesus taught us by example.”

He brings his hands together. “Let’s pray.”

He looks so saintly standing with his hands clasped in prayer. Like a movie star playing the part of a minister. It’s such a perfect image it almost looks like he’s posing. Everyone stands and takes the hands of the person next to them. Peter leads us in the closing prayer, then after an appropriate few beats the congregation begins to move outside. I see him leave through the side door and know he’ll be coming around to the front of the church. The people love talking with their Pastor and he loves it as well when the kids and their parents vie for his attention. That may be his orgasm. Picking up my purse I head for the exit. By the time I make it outside to where he stands there’s already four young girls around him.

“Jenny! Come hear the nice things the girls are telling me.”

He takes my hand. But I barely get a nod from his admirers. They only have eyes for him. The innocent looking redhead with the big dimples speaks first.

“We’re serious Pastor Peter. It was your best sermon yet.”

“I really understood what you were telling us,” says her friend wearing the tightest jeans I’ve ever seen.

“You girls make me very happy. I worked on that one all week. I wanted to impress on all of you, but especially you high school juniors and seniors, how important it is to measure your words online.”

They ooh and aah around him for a few more minutes and vow to follow his guidelines. Ha! If he told them to stand on their heads for St. Joseph’s Church they’d do it and show their pink panties to boot.

“You do know they’re horny teenagers, right?” I say chuckling.

I say it softly because the other diners could get an earful.

He takes a bite of his fettuccine, shakes his head no and gives me a look that says I’m completely crazy. But the smile says he knows I’m right.

“You underestimate your appeal.”

“And you overestimate it,” he says, reaching across the table and running his finger lightly back and forth over my hand.

“Don’t start something you don’t intend to finish.” I pull my hand back.

I didn’t plan on being so blunt, but the words just flew out of my mouth. He’s surprised, right along with me.

“What’s this? Do you want to talk about it?”

He puts his fork down. But it’s when he takes a sip of his wine that I know he understands what I’m about to bring up. I look around the restaurant making sure our conversation will be private.

“Peter, I want to talk about your commitment to celibacy,” I whisper.

For a moment, he closes his eyes, as if he can shut out what I’m saying. I think it’s for effect.

“Not here, Jenny. Can we do it tonight? I can come to your place.”

“Okay. Good. We need to figure out…”

He interrupts me before I can get my first argument out. “Tonight, Jenny.”

The rest of our lunch is a bit awkward. We both know the showdown is gonna happen.

“So, you’re starting your new job today?” he says breaking the silence.

“I’m just going to meet my client at his home. We’ll officially start tomorrow morning.”

“Tell me about him.”

I know he’s just trying to fill the quiet, and that works for me.

“You know Santini’s Italian Deli on Main?”

“Sure. That’s where Bishop Jenkins and I go for lunch when he visits.”

“The owner broke his fibula.”

“Ouch. I know a few of the sons. I went to school with Nikos, but he was a couple years ahead of me. The vet’s a Santini too. The daughter and her husband work in the deli I think. They’ve got a big family.”

“It should be a good job. The wife didn’t flinch at my fee, and she wants me for three months. She sounded nice.”

“Well, I know they’re lucky to have you. What time do you have to be there?”

I look at my watch. “I’d better go now. I told them I’d be there around three.”

I reach out for his hand and he threads his fingers in mine. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Then we’ll talk,” I say.

He squeezes my hand. “I’ll be waiting. And I have all the confidence in the world that we’re going to figure this out, Jenny. I want you to be happy, and I don’t want to lose you.”

Ah huh. Then take your pants off.

The doorbell sounds. Wow, this house is gorgeous. And the smell of the lemon trees intoxicating. The door swings open and I’m greeted by a lovely woman, dressed in black, head to toe. Slim pants, sleeveless narrow top, flat sandals. Good body. Colorful stacked bracelets against her tawny skin look great.

“Jenny?”

I extend my hand. “Yes. Mrs. Santini?”

“Come in, come in,” she says making way for my entry. “Call me Sophia.”

I walk inside and take in the space. Beautiful. The view of the hills and vineyards visible through the center of the house is breathtaking. The Santinis must have pocket doors that slide out of sight. I see an inviting pool past the veranda. And a majestic Oak tree further off to the right.

She picks up one of my braids. “When I was young I always wished I had blonde hair like yours. It’s such a beautiful color.”

“Thank you. Keeping it in braids just is easier when I’m at work.”

We walk into a dream kitchen and great room. Right away I see my patient. He’s sitting on the couch, right leg stretched out in a cast. There’s a table within his reach with remote, Kleenex and what looks like lemonade. He gives me a big smile as I approach.

“Hello there. Jenny, right? I’m Valentino.” He takes the hand I extend and covers it with his other in a warm greeting. “Sit, sit,” he says gesturing to the chair facing him.

“Tell me what you did to yourself. How’d this happen?” I say taking my seat.

“My wife kicked me, and I fell.”

For a moment I’m thrown, because he’s so serious when he says it. Then I see his smile and Sophia’s too.

“Oh yes, Jenny can see how neglected you are,” she says.

I laugh at their banter. Clearly these two are well matched.

“No, it wasn’t anything as dramatic as that. I fell pruning my trees.”

I nod and take out my tablet. “Well, I’m going to get you better. I’m glad to see you’re in good shape and spirits. That goes a long way.”

He looks at me and grins. “Thank you for not lecturing me about ladders or climbing or any of it. I’ve heard enough of that the last two days.”

“You’re a grown man. You make your own decisions. Next time just make a better one about securing yourself,” I say.

Sophia bursts out laughing. Valentino follows.

“I like you very much, Jenny,” Sophia says.

I can tell I’m going to love this job.

“Let me ask you both some questions, just to get a feel for your support system. Are you going to be the caretaker, Sophia?”

“I’ll be the main one, but our son Nikos is here for a few weeks. He’s going to be the muscle. After that I suppose our other sons will pitch in.”

“I’d like to speak with him about lifting you up, Valentino. Is he here now?”

“He’s taking a nap. Want Sophia to get him?”

Before I can answer she’s up and headed for the stairs.

“I’ll get him. It’s time he woke up.”

For the next ten minutes or so Valentino and I go over the timeline. I let him know about healing and what we’re going to accomplish together. He asks intelligent questions and listens to what I have to say. Upstairs I can hear muffled sounds of two people exchanging heated words. Valentino’s eyes keep looking for his wife to appear. I pretend nothing’s happening.

“I think we’re going to do some good work together,” I say confidently. “There’s no reason we can’t get you back to your normal routines by the end of September.”

“That seems like a long way away,” he says.

“It’s just twelve weeks. You have me and Sophia and your son. How long did your wife say he’d be here?”

“I’m here for two weeks,” says the voice behind me.

I turn to see Sophia walking down the steps and into the room. Behind her by half a staircase is a barefoot dream with sleepy eyes. They’re an icy blue like a glacier. He carries a T-shirt in his hand and it looks like he was sleeping in the track pants. They’re loose, a little twisted and hanging low on his hips. Were the waist a half inch wider they’d fall. It’s hard to look away from the V that leads from hipbone toward groin. Holy McJesus.

“Jenny, this is our youngest son, Nikos,” Sophia says.

He looks at me and smiles. Okay, that’s pretty spectacular.

“Hello,” he says as he gracefully takes the last few steps into the room. It’s a move that’s manly and elegant at the same time. He lifts the shirt over his head and for just a moment I hope to see the pants slip. No luck.

“Hi. I hear you’re the designated muscle,” I say.

“Just for a few weeks. I have to get back to work.”

Sophia takes her seat at the end of the couch while Nikos remains standing. He grabs an apple from the bowl on the coffee table and takes a bite. A little stream of juice runs over his full bottom lip and down his chin. His tongue tries to catch it. He sees me staring and gives a naughty grin. Oh my freakin’ God.

“Oops,” he says wiping it with the back of his hand.

Looking away, I regather my calm and start making notes. “Anyway, over the next few days I’ll be teaching you the best way to help your dad achieve his goals. Valentino, you’re going to be up on crutches starting tomorrow morning.”

“So soon?” Sophia says.

“Yes. Not weight-bearing walking, but enough movement to stimulate circulation and retain muscle memory in the other limbs. It’s important to keep engaging the muscles. Use it or lose it.”

“I know all about muscle memory,” Nikos says with a smile.

Is he implying something else? Maybe my lack of sex is making me read too much into innocent remarks.

“Nikos is a dancer. He works in Las Vegas,” says Valentino.

“No wonder you navigated the stairs like you did.”

He just grins. God help me. My palms are starting to sweat. His profession explains a few things: the short visit, the nap at three o’clock in the afternoon, the incredibly sexy way he moves. This is doing nothing for my horny state of mind and body. I’ve got to get back to Peter and get him to see things my way.

“Okay, I’m going to go over the lifting techniques then I think we’re done for today. I’ll be back at nine in the morning.”

“Is that something I need to be here for?” Nikos asks me.

“Yes, you need to be here,” Sophia says firmly. She lifts her hand in a gesture to the heavens for emphasis.

“Alright, Mom. I’m just asking,” he says just as pointedly.

This is going to be an interesting three months. And an even more stimulating two weeks.

As I pull up to my house, I see Peter sitting on the front steps. He’s changed into jeans and his white T-shirt which look great against his sun bronzed skin and dark hair. He looks like an ad from Ralph Lauren. I picture myself lifting his shirt over his head and throwing it to the ground. Next, I’d unbutton his Levi’s . . . HONK! Shit! I accidentally leaned on the horn and scared us both. I give him a wave and get one in return. Here I go. May the force be with me.

“Hi!” I call as I get out of the car.

He gets up and walks toward me. “How’d you do with the Santinis?”

“Give me a kiss and I’ll tell you.”

He takes me in his arms, leans me back and gives me a good one right in front of God and the neighbors. It’s gentle but warm with promise. At least one person saw us. Mrs. Quinn’s changing the lightbulb on her front porch. I see her smile, so I give her a wave.

“That was bold of you,” I say as we walk up the steps to the front door.

“What are you talkin’ about? We kiss all the time.”

He picks up a foil-covered casserole dish sitting on the table on the porch.

“Whatcha got there?” I say.

“Our dinner. Mrs. Coseti brought it to me. Wasn’t that nice?”

“Very.”

Again? That’s about the third time this month. She’s a forty-five-year-old who’s got the hots for her Pastor and a blind man would see it. But not Peter. He’s not aware of any of them. Or maybe female attention is the way he gets off.

I unlock the door, walk in and throw my purse on the chair.

“Come here,” he says taking my hand and leading me to the couch. He sits. Sitting next to him, I kick off my shoes and curl my legs under me.

“Let’s talk,” he says seriously. He clears his throat. “You looked very frustrated today. What can I do?”

“Aren’t you?” I say incredulously.

“I’m frustrated every day. Every night. Every time I look at you or touch your hand.”

He says it so sincerely I almost feel sorry for him. Almost. I lock eyes with him and lean in close. “I can do something about that.”

The look that comes over his face is one I’ve never seen on him before. It’s anger pushing against that moral steel wall he’s erected. I’m not sure if it’s directed at me or himself. He stands and puts his hands in his pockets.

“Does that make you angry?” I say.

“You’re killin’ me.”

“I don’t want to kill you. I want to make love to you. And I don’t understand why we have to wait. God created us to have sex. We’re in our twenties, Peter. This is the sweet spot.”

He starts pacing. “We’ve gone over this before. If we cave when it gets hard to do, it means nothing. The sacrifice is most meaningful when it’s the most difficult to make.”

“I don’t want to make the sacrifice anymore, and I don’t care if it’s meaningful or not. I don’t, Peter.”

He hangs his head and takes a deep breath. Then he looks at me. “But I do, Jenny.”