This post is not about religion. There’s church, and god, and praying, but this post is actually about lust. Crazy, unending, can’t stop thinking about her, lust.
It’s so wrong.
The eve of Easter finds us keeping vigil with the Catholics in DC. She’s a purebred and I’m a visitor, but we attend just once a year, for the Saturday night mass before Easter Sunday. If the straight Catholics weren’t so conservative, she might find a home with them. If she didn’t find the Dignity gays so overly friendly, such a small community, she might go every week. If she had the time, I think she might go more than once a week. My wife, she likes god a lot. I think she misses the opportunity to chat more formally with him.
As for me, I like the earthy pagan tones of Easter Vigil. I don’t keep to any particular religion. Confirmed Presbyterian, identified mostly Buddhist, D. jokes that I’m a Buddhabyterian. The bottom line? I deeply enjoy watching the priest light the fire, the weirdness of the rituals, the singing and the rote recitations. I don’t think the Catholics mind a heathen in their midst as long as I stay quietly out of their communion. And that’s no problem really, cause communion is where things get particularly good for me.
D. is incredibly hot when she’s praying. When she bows her head and closes her eyes, I get that familiar twinge; the flutter that means my mind is quickly moving from thoughts of piety to thoughts of privacy. It isn’t the way she looks while she’s praying, it’s the idea of glimpsing that deeply personal moment, while she connects in every way with her body, spirit and beliefs, that turns me into a dripping mess. I admit, it’s lucky for her that other people are there or I might be too tempted to resist. Regardless of the why, watching her pray is such a turn on, I can’t keep still. It’s practically indecent.
That’s enough judging. You can confess your own sins now.
Posted in joy, observations, the fantastic
