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My Friday Workout

He drove through the storm to do his errands. I sat in the passenger’s seat watching the concentration on his face at the times when the rain came down and he could barely make his way along the road. We were on a stretch of road that was barely traveled in the best of weather. We literally couldn’t make out anything beyond the hood. He saw the parking lot of a vacant store and pulled in. “I’d rather sit here for a few minutes an wait this out.” I’d have done the same thing. There are times when it’s too dangerous to drive.

“We could always make out while we...,” I said. He must have been waiting for my queue because his mouth was on mine before I finished. At this point, I didn’t want sex, I wanted to kiss. I wanted to hold him close to me. I wanted the windows to steam up and hide us from the storm outside. All of my wants were fulfilled. He must have realized my desire, for before we were at the point of stripping off, he pulled away from me. “The storm’s let up,” I said. He started the car, and waited for the windows to clear. It was still raining heavily, but we could drive to the destination. He was a little shaken from the earlier downpour and being able to figure out where I was coming from. I reached over and ran my hand along his thigh. It wasn’t meant to be sexual or even sensual. It was meant to comfort him.
 
I still have to read the last two installments, but what I have read is awesome. I think I'll look for a forty-something bear tonight...
 
I had dozed off, and when I awoke, Michael was driving through my neighborhood. I thought we were on our way to my apartment, but he turned onto one of the side streets then down an alley. “Where are we headed?”

“Church.”

“What do you mean church?”

He turned into the priest lot of St. Sebastian’s. “This is a really bad way to tell you. I’m a Catholic Priest, and I have to say 6:00 Mass.”

“You fuck!” I was pissed. I don’t know why. Were he an Anglican priest, it wouldn’t have bothered me. Maybe it’s the celibacy thing, and maybe it’s because I’d run screaming from the Church years ago. “Get out. Go.”

“I want to explain.”

“There’s nothing to explain. You’re a Catholic Priest with a daddy fetish. I guess the Archbishop’s....”

“That’s not fair.”

“Fairness is what you espouse? I’m condemned to hell because of how I love, and you’d preach to me of fair? Get out of my car.”

“Please listen.”

“Try your confessor. Get the fuck out of my car. Damn, do you want a scene?”

“I want you to listen.”

“No Father. I’m not going to listen to your false promises. I think Holy Mother Church warned me about you. Get out,” I pulled my phone from my pocket ready to dial 911. “How will it look to have the cops here, the newspaper, and the television stations?”

At this point he was crying. I don’t know if it was sorrow, regret, fear or all of the above. He got out though. “I’ve got to get my motorcycle. It’s locked in your garage,” he said as he shut the door.
 
It’s been more than twenty years since I was in a Catholic church, but I was showing up today for services. I picked up a hymnal, skipped the holy water, and walked into the sanctuary. The church had been a poor one and didn’t remodel after Vatican II. They’d just set up a table altar. Now that the community around it had gentrified and new families had joined, it seemed a shame to change things. They’d done an overhaul to bring the sound system up to date, repair, and rehab, but for the most part the church looked at it would have looked in 1968. I sat in the center section, third pew from the back. Maybe he wouldn’t notice me. Hell, maybe the ceiling would fall in. I’ve been so many other religions since I self-excommunicated.

The organ began the strains of the opening hymn. I rose with everyone else and watched Michael follow behind the altar boys and a woman lector. The Mass began. I don’t think he saw me–until communion. While I don’t believe in Catholic teachings anymore, I respect them. I wouldn’t go up to receive communion. He looked out at the sparse crowd and our eyes met. He swallowed hard, and rushed the rest of the Mass. At least I think he rushed the rest of the Mass; I’m too far removed to be sure.

Instead of leaving I walked up to a small grotto. It was dedicated to Our Lady of Sorrows. I walked down the stone steps and knelt before the bier of candles. I understood her as the Catholics didn’t. She was the Goddess–simultaneously maiden and mother. “I’m surprised you came.” I turned. Michael still wore his vestments.

“I brought your bike back,” I said pitching him the keys.

“That’s it. You’re just here to return...”

“I owe you more than I gave you. I apologize.”
“I understand and accept your apology. This isn’t the time or place really.”

“I’m keeping you from the parishioners. I’ll go.”

“No, we’re the only ones here.”

“Then, Father, this is the time and the place. You’re even vested to hear my confessions.”

“I’m the one who needs to confess.”

“Well, I’m a Pagan not a priest.”

“Somehow, that’s more suitable to me. Anyway, I made a decision to leave the Church.” I looked at him inquisitively. “No it’s not because of you. It’s too restrictive. I’ve just not resigned. So I’m keeping up a pretense for a time. I do want to see you again. My vows are pretty shattered already.”

“All with me?”

“In word and deed. Thought’s been a little longer in the making.”

I walked over and hugged him deeply and without passion. His lips found mine with passion. When we’d finished, I pulled on my clothes while he watched. “Do you think She minds how we used Her grotto?”

“No Michael, but I think it means that in Her eyes, we’re married.”

“I can live with that.”

Our story is concluded.​
 
That was really a surprise. I didn't see that coming. Nice ending though.
 
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