Halstead remembered being in a Presbyterian church as a non-voting Youth Caucus observer. He sat in a balcony with the other delegates, gazing down at the Redstone Presbytery’s arcane political shenanigans. These took place in the sanctuary of a large regional chuch, with ministers sitting in the pews normally occupied by their parishioners. A congregation of crows, some in dog collars, most in black suits with black shirts and black ties, their faces serious, their business worldly. What bills to pay, which to defray, and how best to raise money were their concerns. Each group had driven hours, miles to get there.
Observers had to climb to the balcony. Halstead had taken a front pew while the others chose back ones, the better to play tic-tac-toe or thumb wrestle, to chit-chat and otherwise find ways to pass the mind-numbing time.
Beside Halstead, the only other person at the balcony’s front, sat a young woman with classical features. She was, in profile, stunning, as if a painting of the madonna sans child had materialized. Halstead amused himself by imagining her to be the Virgin Mary, slumming. Her limpid gaze, root-beer brown, watched the proceedings with detached amusement. This was the first trait that drew Halstead’s attention other than her continental profile.
Long mahogany hair cascaded over slender shoulders. She wore an open sweater over a white blouse, and her skirt reached her ankles, which she’d crossed pertly, showing medium heel pumps and a hint of stockings. Her lower lip was full. When she smiled Halstead thought of ripe raspberries bursting on his tongue.
He watched her with growing arousal until she startled his erection away by saying, in a low voice he might have characterized as sultry, had he been conjuring her memory in writing for the amusement of others, “You can sit closer to me if you want.”
He slid over at once, discovering her perfume, a dizzyingly subtle blend of honeysuckle, fresh soap, clean skin, and a hint of wood smoke. His first thought was that he wanted to taste her.
He gave the others behind them no thought, being so engaged with her presence that she blotted out the surroundings.
She, turned out, had been watching him every bit as much as he’d watched her. She kept her gaze on the mumbling and droning going on below the balcony but let her left hand fall onto Halstead’s right thigh. She slid it up until it bumped his revived erection. She rubbed the knuckles of a teasing fist against him and asked, in a low monotone, “Ever come in a church?”
He nearly ejaculated then and there. Instead, he put his right hand on her left thigh and began slowly sliding up toward her crotch.
“Wait.”
Her breathless command stopped his hand. She used her right hand to reach down and gather a grip on the limp part of her skirt that hung between her now-parted legs. She pulled it up.
Bare flesh warmed Halstead’s palm.
“I’m not wearing underwear.” She smiled for the first time and looked at him, her eyes seemingly growing in size.
Halstead slipped his hand along her smooth inner thigh until his little finger encountered her pubic hair He pressed further and as his fingers found her engorged, slick slit he heard her gasp, all air, her face never changing from its mildly-interested expression as she gazed down at the men in preacher garb carving up their fiefdom.
Her one gasp acted like a signal and her fingers slithered to tug his fly’s zipper down, to infiltrate his clothes, and to find and grip his cock, now throbbing and almost unable to fit through the opening. She freed it, however, and her gaze shifted sideward and down, to look at it. “You’d be a throat full.”
He came, his semen leaping up, the first spurt landing on a hymnal in its rack, the second and subsequent spurts covering her hand and wrist.
She shuddered and quivered, her belly muscles going wild with her own orgasm, then raised her gooey hand and licked it clean, tongue moving slowly as she savored his come.
They sat side-by-side in a church, tingling from orgasms, barely able to wait for the long boring meeting to be over, for their duty as non-voting observers to end, so they could leave the company of others and suck and fuck properly, deeply, endlessly. He wanted to put his cock down her throat and feed her for hours before letting his cock explore her cunt and ass for hours more. She, he knew, wanted all that too and who knew what more?
They exchanged slips of paper with contact information on but, when time came to leave the balcony, they went separate ways, he with his group, she with hers. Riding back in the minister’s car with three other rowdy guys, Halstead could not stop thinking of her, and wondered if she was having the same kind of distracted ride back to her home church.
“So what did you think about that girl I sat next to?” Halstead asked the guy sitting next to him, wanting to talk about her.
“What girl?” The guy laughed. “You sat down front like little goody two-shoes, taking notes and everything. What a dweeb.”
“There was this girl.”
“Yeah, right. Hey guys, he’s sayin’ he was sitting with a girl.”
They all howled at the notion and some began mocking him for daydreaming about girls when he was supposed to be learning how a church gets the real work done. All declared there had been no girls, some sneering at the very idea of females being included in church business.
He tuned them out and raised his fingers to his nose, wanting to smell her scent on him. His fingers smelled of soap, but it was his, not hers. No musk from that swollen, eager vagina he remembered so vividly. Frowning, he pulled out the slip of paper she’d given him, on which she’d written, in purple ink, with a girl’s swirling, looping script, her name, (what had it been?), address, and phone number.
Although it was not a piece of his own notebook, it was blank.
Had he plucked a marker from a hymnal, perhaps? He remembered his semen leaping onto a hymnal and wondered if he’d sat there wanking, to pass the time. But she’d been there, she’d been real, he knew it.
They would never get in touch.
Halstead, as years went by, continued to remember her as real, and often wondered if she might have been the one that got away. Certainly she was the only woman he’d had sex with in a church.
If she’d been there at all.
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Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/e5o7t8/from_a_novel_in_progress_halstead_in_church