CHAPTER THREE

In the confessional booth it began. Let me cruise you through.

I grew up in the monastery after mother superior picked me from the churches door step where my birth mother had tossed me . Just like that, I was orphaned at two months, no father, no mother, nothing.

Mother superior took me in, she raised me , she catered for me, until I was twelve years old, she wanted me to learn the way of the church. I was trained with the rest of the nuns, at sixteen, I was ordained into the church. I grew up playing with either the priests robes or the nun’s.

I took on activities like taking care of the bishop and mother superior’s office. But we’d heard rumors, of the evil confessions of Dante Moritto, I used to think they were bluffing, then one day, as I cleaned the bishop’s office, one priest stormed in.

“ I am done, I am done with that cruel, perverted wolf in sheep’s clothing,” he yelled as he walked to the bishop’s table, I pretended not to hear their conversation.

The bishop’s gaze shifted to the black robbed priest, his angry red face could totally tell how angered he was feeling.

“Easy , easy there child,” he told the priest who was breathing heavily. He finally calmed down, the bishop leaned on his chair. I continued with my work, arranging his books on their shelves.

“ So tell me, what’s the problem child?” He asked calmly.

“I don’t think I can take any confessions from Dante, his confessions haunt me father, they haunt me in everything I do, I fear, you’re grace. I fear that he is more they get to me , mentally than I thought. Find someone else to handle him.” He explained.

The bishop sat down in silence, as if in long thought, the priest held his breath the whole time waiting for his decision.

“Okay father Paul, I understand,” he finally said. Then went back to his writing.

“Thank you your grace,” the young father beamed with excitement, in that moment I felt as though the young priest was exaggerating it.

The next week, I was arranging the bishop’s files, dusting and everything, another priest stormed , similar to the former one.

The bishop sat down on his table, his eyes glued to his laptop.

“ Your Grace,” he bowed esteemed to the bishop.

The bishop shifted his gaze to him, he looked like he knew exactly what was coming.

“ Yes, father Antonio, what brings you to my office?” The bishop asked.

“ Your grace, I am sorry for failing you, but I think Mr Dante is a much more lost sheep than I thought, he doesn’t belong with us, he belongs to the hospital, to the jail but away from here, this , I refuse to take his confessions,” the young priest said calmly yet boldly.

As usual, the bishop stared at him silently,

“ I understand,” he replied, then the young gentleman left, for the rest of the days, more priests returned while refusing to take his confessions, they all swore not to return inside the confessional booth until the last one of them.

One day as I walked around the church premises, I heard the nuns whisper.

“ That’s him, Dante Moritto,” they pointed towards a young Adonis, his demeaning aura, cold that you could feel it just from miles away.

I stood at the corner and watched him sit there while waited for the priest to come so that he would confess, yet all in vain.

His jet black hair combed nicely on his head, with a few strands falling off to his stout face, his facial features sharp as though he’d been just scalped by the best, his tattoo peeked through his expensive clothes, his pale skin and dark circles made one wonder what horrors he’d watched that made him horrific.

He was handsome, dangerously eye catching, he was the type that would give you wet dreams for awhile, dangerously striking, his bad boy facade made me wonder what the priests couldn’t take, he looked like the saint and dare devil in one with invisible horns.

I walked by, I watched the nuns admire him, I felt a tiny fire spark with in me.

Yet I dared to do nothing.

He’d come days after that, he’d sat in front of the confessional booth while hoping that maybe a priest would take his confessions, or the sacristy door would creak open . Unfortunately no one did, he never gave up, he came, more and more, until the bishop himself took his confessions.

One day, during mass, the bishop couldn’t find his diary, after mass he sent for me. I went to his office.

I knocked.

“Ohh dear, I can not find my diary, did you touch it around here?” He asked while he bent under his mahogany desk and searched for it. I shook my head. I recalled, he’d carried it out with him yesterday.

“You went outside with it yesterday.” I muttered.

He stood up and looked at me with a disoriented look, he then quickly nodded his head.

“Yes, yes, you are right, I remember, I do, in the confessional booth, the last one from the right,” he explained while pointing.

“ Find it for me, will you?” He asked, I quickly nodded, then headed out to the confessional booth.,

I walked to it, then I opened the door, it creaked loudly. I sported the black note book.

I recognized it but so did the voice that came from outside the wooden confessional booth.

“ Forgive me father for I have sinned,” the deep male voice came, the kind that vibrated when he talked, I peeped through the screen.

“ Last night, Diana came over, I didn’t to want lay with her because the Lord’s word tells us not to fornicate, but her round butt made me wonder how it would feel if my manhood played between her thighs,” he explained, my breath hitched. I was quickly went over the hole to tell him that I was no priest when his scent masked my nose.

He smelled good, the kind that doesn’t come by everyday, the expensive one, he smelled of expensive cologne, leather and tobacco.

“My thoughts diverted from the Lord, to her luring body, oh father her voice, so soft that I wanted it replaying in my ears, her perched breasts, pear sized through her see through red dress,” he explained, I pulled back, maybe I should listen.

“ I swear father, I wanted to be inside her, and I did, I was vividly dreaming of tearing the thin fabric off of her statuette figure. Not to forget her icy blue eyes, sharp, demanding, she looked at me, I felt like I wanted to choke life out of her as I watch her eyes, watch them until life was almost out, while I ram inside of her,” he explained.

His horrific confession made me understand what the other priests had ran away from, yet for some reason I stayed.

“ I took her to my car, I kissed her filled lips, nibbled on them until they turned red, I tore the red dress off her body, then took her breasts in my mouth, I sucked them hard, she moaned, just like I had expected, her voice was like a match box to my flammable body, it made me flash hot, I pulled down her red thongs and touched her, her juices filled my fingers, I explored her , she moaned loudly, but I couldn’t let her have all the fun, because I was ready, I was yearning to be inside of her,” he continued explaining, he sighed.

My body reacted, tingling sensations built between my thighs, my face burnt red, I could feel my inner thighs turn moist. I bit my lips as he explained, and clutched hard to the bishop’s diary.