CHAPTER TWO

AFTER BRACKEN LEFT, I HAD three other parishioners for soft-minded confessional, two families request baptisms, and a confirmation lined up for the Sunday coming. It was a long day. I was exhausted, to be honest, as Bracken takes a lot out of a soul.

Getting to my quarters was not only a welcome reprieve, it was a necessary component of my evening. Removing my tippet and hanging it on the hook inside the door, I undo the thirty-three buttons on my cassock one by one. Counting them down gives me a sense of peace, and the release helps me deal with the demons I fight every day. Moving it to the hanger, I gently lay it across, giving it the respect it deserves. It reminds me of what I am—who I am. I’m no longer controlled by the wills of those that sin, that I have become a better person through reflection and atonement of my stray mind.

Changing into more comfortable attire, I set the kettle on the stove and toast a few slices of bread before grabbing a glass of holy wine to unwind. This is my daily routine. They’re necessary to survive. No one will ever know of my demons. No one. There’s a ritualistic component to my process, but it keeps me on the path of righteousness in the eyes of God. Or, at least, that’s how I feel. It helps me to cope and to assist those in my care for another day.

Grabbing the hot bread as it rises, I butter it lightly before placing it on a plate. Walking to my living room, I lay out my meager meal and kneel down in front of the cross that adorns my mantle. The fire has long since died down in the hearth and that’s just fine on this warm spring evening. The less light visible in the room, the better for me.

“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Forgive me Father for I have sinned. Please accept my confession for the impure thoughts that I have partaken in this day.” I pick up the neatly wrapped, rolled, and tied leather case. “My perspective on the world was tried again today, Father. Why do you try my resolve daily?” I know the answer, though I don’t wish to believe it. Christ understands my failures and accepts them; therefore, my penance must be justified. Laying out the towel I use—that no one knows of—I prepare. Unwrapping the tie and laying out the kit, I roll up my right sleeve. “Today was especially difficult, Father. I understood her driving need for love. I felt that in her heart she was truly satisfied in the arms of another. I felt challenged by the trials you set forth today. Thank you.”

Selecting my favorite tool, I place it across my marked and scarred skin, dragging it down the length to exorcise the demon that resides. Watching the darkness escape slowly in light streams down my skin, I feel the excitement and erotic release of the demon fighting to stay. He fights daily to live within me, yet this removes him, for however a short time it is.

Undoing the clasp on my trousers, I reach inside and grab my heated cock as I watch the blood hit the towel below. At first, this didn’t occur, but over time, the releasing demon, and God, requested more of me. More pain. Stroking it lightly at first, then harder, I cut myself once more. The pain is not diminishing the envious need for sexual release with a woman. To have a woman, or a multitude of women, did nothing to cool my blood. Stroking harder and harder, I push down until the circumcised head feels like its ripping apart. The sweetness of it is both exhilarating and excruciating. “Give me the tools to release the demon that makes me wish for more, Father. Please,” I beg.

Pushing my trousers lower, I cut the inside of my leg, taking the pain deeper. “Forgive me Father for my sins!” I holler. Thankfully, this is helping tonight.

I cannot stomach food or drink without completing my penance. I’ve tried, but food fails me, expelling immediately. Pumping my hand hotly, again I cut my leg, bringing my orgasm to the forefront. “Thank you. I understand my penance for wishing for more than you have offered. Thank you.”

As the ending nears, I rise to my knees and pump the evil seed into the soot. Watching the diaphanous liquid blend with the burned remains, I feel relief. Wiping up with the towel, then sopping up the blood that mars my dark skin, I accept the respite on my tortured soul. Doing up my trousers, pulling down the sleeve of my shirt, I contain the tools until I require them further.

Rolling it up and placing it in position for tomorrow’s need, I take a seat in my chair. “Father of all, God on high, please bless this food and drink that I’m about to eat. Thank you for your penance. Thank you for the blessing of helping others and assisting them in becoming better Christians. The trials you set forth for me are many and great. Thank you for that, Lord, and I appreciate all that you do.” I cross myself. “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. In Christ’s name, O’ Lord. Amen.”