From the first day of all girls’ Catholic high school, it was Mary I worshipped. It started innocently enough, sitting next to each other in Mass so our bare knees pressed together, side by side, as we kneeled in the pew. We waited breathlessly for that moment when everyone in the church turns to each other to shake hands and say, “The Lord be with you,” and “And also with you.” It was sanctioned touch – our palms pressing in earnest together, eyes locked, long delicate fingers lingering a little longer than they should. By the time we graduated at 18, we found ourselves in confession.
“Bless me father,” I would start humbly, but I choked on “I have sinned.” Anything that felt that good and pure and true and right could not be a sin. I knew it. God gave her to me to ease my loneliness. He made her beautiful so I would see in her his image. Mary was my saint, my rosary, the reason I never missed Mass. I prayed fervently to be worthy of her love.
The first time we kissed was in the empty church. I crossed myself with holy water and, before I could think better of it, I crossed her, too. Her nearness was too much to bear – I was compelled to anoint her nose, her mouth. I moistened her lips with my finger and her pink tongue escaped to welcome me. She drew my flesh into her body.
We moved instinctively to our knees, hidden behind the pew. I lifted her modest dress above her head and watched in awe how the light, streaming through the stained glass, danced in patterns of blue and gold on her creamy skin. I hovered over her, not sure what to do, my breath hot on her neck. Her mouth met mine.
“Take this,” she whispered, her tongue exploring my lips, “and drink it. This is my blood.” I touched her tongue with mine, then fed on her open mouth.
“Take this,” I murmured into the soft curve of her breast, “and eat it. This is my body.” She arched her back like a cat, raising her hips – an offering. I knelt before her to worship, gingerly, like a deer at a salt lick. As my mouth found the dampest part of her pale, cotton panties, she cried the Lord’s name.
“Oh, God!” she gasped, as I pressed my lips against her. I nosed the fabric to the side, revealing her to be perfect and pink, and surprisingly slick. I leaned in to taste her. She was sweet and warm.
“Praise Jesus!” she cried, half-howl, half-whisper. Suddenly, I felt omnipotent, no longer unsure. I began to move my tongue by instinct, in slow, languid circles, then flicked quicker, with urgency, at her nub. I spoke to her in tongues, and she understood. I drank from her, murmuring the rosary into her core.
“Hail Mary, full of grace, mmmm.”
I became so excited, I felt dampness grow between my own thighs. Mary squirmed and bucked beneath my touch.
“Don’t stop!” she said. “Please, don’t stop.”
“I won’t,” I said, without raising my head. “I can’t,” I told her, resuming my prayer. “The Lord is with thee.” Each “th” flicked at her center and lapped all the way up. “Blessed art thou among women,” I stroked the words with my tongue, over and over.
“Blessed art thou, blessed, blessed,” she murmured lowly under her breath, as if to keep herself anchored to this world. “I am blessed. Oh!” She shuddered, as I praised her, delivered her, and brought her to the brink and back again. I delivered her, to herself, to our mutual Revelation.
I grew brave, emboldened by her breathless, wriggling response. I moved into her with two narrow fingers. “Forgive me my trespasses,” I whispered coyly.
“Lead me into temptation,” she said, eyes blazing, no longer shy.
She thrust more of herself onto my hand. She was flush, and she giggled with pleasure. I silenced her with a swift move of my fingers. My thumb circled her clit like a rosary bead, smooth, practiced, unwavering in its dedication. The deeper I probed inside her, the closer I felt to God. I felt her tighten inside against my fingers. She clung to me, but it was His name she said, over and over, “Oh God, oh God, praise Jesus, Oh my Lord, what have I done to deserve this angel?”
Salty, sweaty, we rocked together as she rode my hand until she shuddered, overcome, and collapsed into my arms. Extasis. Communion.
I hummed a hymn and stroked her hair.
“My prayers have been answered,” she told me.
I kissed the light freckle on the tip of her nose. “I’ve been praying for this, too,” I said.
She slid her dress down and kissed my hands, still laced with her scent. “Tomorrow,” she said, suddenly serious. “You should come over for Bible study.”
“I’d like that,” I said.
“We have a lot to learn together,” she ventured.
“Amen,” I said, and took her hand as we walked, beaming, out into the sunlight, and towards a new awakening.
Originally published September, 2006