‘Confessions’
Confession is good for the soul, but Hail Marys and Our Fathers aren’t nearly enough to gain absolution when JILLY confesses to an unsuspecting priest that confession makes her come.
Jilly dropped onto the kneeler and crossed herself. “Bless me father, for I have sinned.” She breathed in a layer cake scent of stale perfume and nervous sweat, the delicious remnant of so many people over so many years coming to confess so many sins. ‘It’s been a week since my last confession.”
“Go on, my child.”
Her pulse quickened at the sound of the priest’s voice. She could almost feel the weight of it against the nape of her neck.
She lifted her skirt and sat back on the chair, wriggling her bare bottom against the cool wood. “I watched my neighbor have sex. She left the lights on, and the French doors were wide open.”
There was silence, so she continued. “Her lover ripped her camisole off like it was paper. Do you have any idea what ripping silk sounds like, father?”