“All right,” she said on a long sigh.
I kissed her knuckles again. “What will you do in the meantime?”
“My own self-searching,” Gabby said solemnly. “I can’t be dishonest anymore, either to myself or to Belle. She deserves better.”
“So do you,” I said softly.
I left soon after, looking forward to being back in my apartment. Once there, I undressed down to my briefs and flopped onto the bed. I didn’t bother to get under the covers but laid across the mattress, my arm under my head.
I thought of Jude the night he stood in front of the bookshop, wearing a hoodie and sweatpants. He’d sought me out from across the road when he’d pushed his hood off. I wasn’t close enough to see the multi-shaded flecks in his eyes as I figuratively pinned him against the wall.
My same desires happened earlier when we’d been only inches from each other in the small cubicle. Jude’s gaze was just as intense. But this time, I was able to marvel at the beauty of his high cheekbones, and intense rich, dark eyes that looked right through me. I wondered, not for the first time, about Father Jude’s intentions. What priest invites a man back to confession to chat? It wasn’t as if I was suicidal or in disastrous circumstances.
Or was Jude’s purpose to merely be with another man? Seducing a willing man in church was secure, and safer still, in the confessional where what’s said was confidential.
My breath hitched as my hand slipped inside my briefs. Taking my cock out, I gave it a few long strokes while Jude’s image in his clerical attire morphed into him in sweatpants… but not standing on the street in front of the bookshop. No, he stood at the side of my bed while I slowly dragged down his sweats and briefs in one fluid motion. When his cock sprung free, I spat on my hand and began working him up and down, paying close attention to the veiny underside.
With my other hand, I rolled my balls, while in my fantasy I imagined Jude whimpering and moaning as I lightly twisted his cock in a corkscrew motion. With the generous beads of precum bubbling from the head and sliding down the length of his shaft, I had plenty of lubricant to speed up pistoning Jude’s dick until my own breathing became labored with my effort. Within minutes, reality and fantasy collided in a slow burn orgasm that wasn’t the explosive, fireworks kind. But this one lasted longer, like thick honey dripping from a bottle, sweet and addictive.
I blinked a few times, then looked down at myself. “Fuck,” I said, due to the mess dripping from my briefs. And then I smiled because after a quick cleanup, I’d sleep until morning and then drive to what was becoming my favorite place, a church.
Jude visibly relaxed and was about to say something when I asked, “How long have you been a priest? You look to be about my age.”
Jude eyed me up and down. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-six. I’ll be thirty-seven next month. And you?”
“Thirty-four. I’ve been an ordained priest for eight years and I’ve been pastor here for four months,” Jude said, his voice dropping in tone.
Not that Jude’s voice was ever loud. It was melodic without sounding pretentious or fake. But his smile also dropped. “What’s wrong?”
Jude glanced into the nave to make sure no one else was waiting. “Why did you ask my age?”
“Just reaching for small talk,” I said, feeling my face flush. “You appear younger. Did you decide out of high school?”
Ignoring my question, Jude said, “If you’re looking for small talk, tell me something about yourself that might surprise me.”
“I’ll tell you after you answer me something. What ethnicity would you guess I am?”
Jude studied my features. “I’d guess the surprise is that you’re mixed. Half Black and half Irish or Scottish.”
“Not mixed breed. It was a trick question,” I said, snickering. I inherited the green eyes from my grandmother on my father’s side, who is of Scottish heritage. But the dark skin is from my mother, who comes from the island of Lampedusa, which is part of the province of Agrigento in Sicily, Italy. Being only ninety miles from the African mainland, family members were known asl’africano. It’s a slur here in the United States. I’m often taken as a Black man so I’ve gotten backlash. But in my hometown,l’africanomerely indicates the people from a certain region in Italy.”
“Hometown. So, were you born there?”
“Yes, although I came over as a toddler. But as much as I’m not close with my parents, when I was a child my mother would take me at least once, if not twice, a year to visit my cousins and grandparents. I still visit regularly so I’m fluent in both my dialect and formal Italian. Although, my boss and I can’t speak in Italian at all except for good morning because he’s from the province of Piedmont in the north, and our dialects are worlds apart. But his wife comes from Sicily so we converse easily with only a few variances.”
Jude glanced at his watch and I hastily apologized. “Sorry, you asked a simple question and I gave you way too much.”
“No, I enjoyed listening to you. I just have to watch the time because my secretary is coming in at ten thirty to go over some parish stuff.”
“Do you still have a few more minutes to tell me where you’re from?”
“Born and raised outside of Philadelphia,” Jude said and changed the subject before I could inquire about his childhood. “What’s your job at the Maserati dealership?”
I couldn’t help straightening in my seat, and I might’ve puffed out my chest a bit. “I’m a master mechanic. I just finished working on a 2003 Maserati Quattroporte V. One of Maserati’s luxury sedans despite the age. She was a beauty.”
“She?”
