Why don’t we get what we want? I mean, if God wants us to be happy, it makes sense to give us what we want. Right?
By scientific method, not giving someone what they want is more likely to make them unhappy than happy. Look at me. I want Baby back. I want it so desperately it makes me sick. If I at least knew she was safe, that would be something. And I can’t even get a little consolation of being fucked on the beach by Father Martin.
I don’t get it. I hope God does. But, I have my doubts.
I take a step forward along the edge of the shore, my toes brushing the edge of cool water as it rolls onto the sand. I took my socks off and left them where we were talking. Now that he’s not here, I don’t much care about my ugly toes, although I’d still love to get that pedicure. “He loves me. He wants me. He loves me not. He wants me not.”
This is ridiculous. I’ve been here what, two days? And I’m already falling for the next older guy who shows me attention. Attention he is obligated to show because that’s what he does but, the other parts, the kiss, the ‘I’m your safe place’, blah blah, is that all an act too? Part of the program?
My journal is open, and I’m writing as I think and walk and mutter to myself.
The only question he wrote down before he rushed off, was more an assignment than a question.
Without judgment, write down thoughts as they come. Anything, serious, funny, impossible, secrets…. Don’t over think it, just let your consciousness go onto the paper through the pen. A good pen helps, that’s why you have that pen. Fill at least two pages, more if your mind is opening up. Just let it flow.
For the first time in a long time I’m doing just that. I’m just letting it come out. I’m writing down every thought in my head, about how it felt to be touched by him, admitting that I was thinking of him when I masturbated yesterday, admitting that I’ll be thinking of him when I do the same later.
Things about Baby, how I feel guilty that I’m not thinking about her every second.
I know I’m going to have to tear some of these pages out and throw them in the sea. Or eat them. Or burn them.
But right now, I don’t care. I need to write down what I’m thinking like Father Martin said, without judging myself. I need to get it out but I don’t want him reading it.
He’s right, I suppose. Why did I think I could have what I wanted? It’s selfish. He has a life and a career, and the last thing he needs is me. Why would I even think I could compete with his spiritual calling? If I was sent here by the devil to turn a priest to the dark side, I was doomed to fail right from the start.
“He loves me not,” I say finally, stopping by a clutch of rocks sticking up out of the shallow water and sticking out to sea for a few feet like a runway.
The sea has swelled, the waves spraying up mist and getting louder while I’ve been walking, the wind whipping them up, making foam along their tops, but I don’t hate them. Sure, I can’t swim, but while I’m here on the sand I’m safe.
I could go around the rocks, but some whim takes me and instead I climb up, teetering a little. I stick my arms out for balance, then step up from the lowest rock to the large runway-platform on top. It’s not that high, but a gust of wind blows against me and I laugh out loud, feeling a bit like Rose in that scene in Titanic, flying as I step forward, then forward again.
The waves crash against the rocks, and I gaze down into water but it’s too murky to see the bottom. Brave of me, to face my fear a little.
“He loves me,” I say into the wind, head back, eyes closed. My mind echoes back with he loves me not but I ignore it.
I won’t say it out loud. For one second I want to believe.
“Oh, shit,” I mutter as the wind catches me with a powerful gust, whipping up from the left instead of the front, salty water splashes on my legs, around my bare feet, into my eyes.
I wobble, fear lancing through me but I’m okay.
I’m. Okay.
Turning, I measure my steps with wet feet on the slick rock. I’m proud of myself, I’d have never done something like this before Father Martin. Before…I don’t know, finding a bit of my old self again. It’s the start of something, I feel it down in my marrow, but daring the sea to swallow me off this rock is not in the plan, so I take it slow, heading to the down slope of the big rock and slide my foot forward.
The wind comes around with a harder gust, a wave crashing around me. My balance is off, I lean forward then back a little, but my feet are going, I know what’s about to happen and I’m powerless to stop it.
My dress catches in the breeze and flips up over my hips, flashing my ass as I lunge forward, shifting my weight as best I can toward the shore and away from the water.
With eyes closed, I wait for the impact of my body breaking on the sharp rocks below, but the final connection of my toes with the solid granite is gone.
It feels like forever as I fall, wondering what bones I will break first then, there’s a splash, and I’m engulfed in the cool fizzing water.
It’s up over my head in an instant, closing in around me like a heavy, wet blanket. I flail and panic, gasping as salty water stings my eyes and makes me gag. It’s darkness everywhere.
Am I drowning? Is this my worst fear come true?
Why am I not more afraid? Why is it all…so quiet?
Baby, I’m sorry. I’ll never find you now. We can’t save each other anymore, I hope you know how much I loved you…
And then I feel arms around me, tugging me from the water. Strong arms. A man’s arms. And somehow, I know who they belong to.
He said he’d always keep me safe. He promised.
“I’m here, Kitty. I’m here. It’s me.”
I fling my arms around his neck, sobbing into his shoulder as he pulls me up against him, my legs wrapping around his middle. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done it. You told me not to go near the water and I—”
“Shhh, little dove.” He’s stroking my hair, carrying me away, pulling wet strands out of my eyes for me. “You’re okay.” He sounds concerned but not panicked and it’s soothing but I wonder if he doesn’t care as much as I thought he would.
I mean, I practically died.
“Daddy,” I murmur, clinging tight to him, barely aware of what I’m even saying. “I love you, Daddy. You keep me safe.”
“Daddy’s here, baby. Daddy’s here.”
He doesn’t stop where I left my socks. I watch them as we go by, his strong strides carrying me up the beach, away from the danger, away from the fear. There’s a big building, weathered and gray, with a ramp leading down from the front. The afternoon sun catches scraps of peeling blue paint on wooden slats, and Martin carries me up some steps, taking us inside into the cool interior.
“What is this place?” I ask as I cling to him.
“A boathouse. Hasn’t been used in years, not since the tide receded and you can’t launch boats from it anymore.”
“Why are we here?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he carries me over creaking floorboards to a door at the back, leading into an office. And he lays me down over a desk.
I fling my arms wide, gazing up at him. “You saved my life.”
Father Martin’s gaze lingers over every inch of me, making me feel like I’m naked in front of him. He knows all my sins, he knows all my bad thoughts. He sees everything and he doesn’t care.
“It was like a foot of water, Kitty,” he says. “You weren’t in any danger.”
“I thought I was going to die.”
“I’ll never let that happen. Never. You hear me?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
He growls, and I flinch as he leans forward, his hands going to my tits. No mistaking it this time, this is a grope, a feel. No accident in the airport, just his hands on my breasts, kneading them, making the nipples harden into twin points beneath his touch.
“Are you wet?” he asks, and for a second my ridiculous brain doesn’t put two and two together. For a second I think, Yeah, I just went in the water.
And then it hits me.
“Why don’t you find out for yourself?” I ask, licking the salty flavor from my lips.
Another growl. Another heated look that burns into my soul before his hand dips between my legs and I make some sort of chirping, moaning sound, back arching as his fingers graze my mound.
“Oh, God…”
“No,” he says. “Not God. Just us, Kitty. You and me. You’re soaked for me, aren’t you? You want me to take this virgin cunt, fill it with my thick cock and breed you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’d like to be round with our baby?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“I shouldn’t want you the way I want you, Kitty. This is wrong. You’re a naughty girl for tempting me like this. You are my student, my—”
He stalls on a moment of pause but I nod, wanting it, wanting him to tell me how bad I am. “Yes.”
Everything is right with the world. This is what I want. It’s like I went into the water and came out to a different universe, one where we’re together. One where he looks at me the way I want him to and doesn’t pull away, doesn’t punish himself for what he wants.
But it wasn’t meant to last.
“Father Martin?” The man’s voice is distant, carried on the sea breeze, lancing through the moment “Father Martin, are you in here? One of the guys said he saw you go into the boathouse. We’ve gone through an electrical line in the ground. Lucky nobody was hurt but we need to go over the plans again, this church is a fucking deathtrap with all the changes that have been made over the years. You in here?”
And, just like that, his touch is gone leaving me gape mouthed, frozen in the pleasure. The dream.
For a second he stares at me, raising his fingers to his face as he grabs his mouth on a deep inhale, his eyes darkening. For a second, I’m sure he’s going to tell whoever that is to fuck off.
He inserts his index finger into his mouth, eyes falling to half mast as a low rumble comes from his chest making me shiver.
“Kitty,” he mutters, the word pained, exasperated, frustrated. “I’m a priest. Fuck. Stand up.” He tugs me upward, my head spinning on a merry-go-round as he smooths my damp clothes into place. “I’m sorry.”
“But—”
“Coming.” He shouts over his shoulder toward the voice, then places his hand on the center of my back, leading me forward. “I’ll walk you back to the dormitory. Finish the reading assignment that was on your schedule this morning as well as cleaning your bathroom and sweeping the second floor hallway. I’ll see you at dinner.”
Chores? I’ll give you chores.
Saint Margarets resort just lost a star. I’m falling for the hot priest.
Ten out of ten, don’t recommend.
