Easter was over, taking away the rain as well as my tears. My gloomy thoughts didn’t help me. I tried everything to find distraction. I tried to keep my mind occupied, so it wouldn’t think too much about my daughter.
May was there and it got dry. With each day, the temperatures went up and it got brighter. Spring fought its way through, letting the world shine new. The birds returned from the south. In every part of my hometown flowers shot up and trees came into leaf. Not only nature was awakening, showing its joie de vivre. I also felt frisky, something I hadn’t felt for a very long time. A longing and desire, which had slept for several months. But when I saw Father Michael standing in the kitchen on this morning in May, I started to seethe like a saucepan on the stove. Finally, I had found something that would distract me excellent.
Father Michael wore a black clerical shirt, the uniform I liked to see him wear the most. He hadn’t notice my entry and continued to do the dishes. He had his back turned to me. Standing in the doorway, I watched the lithe movements of his body. Greedily, I took in every detail: the shining of his dark hair under the kitchen lamp; the little curl in the nape of his neck, curling above the collar; the play of his muscles, which I could watch under his shirt’s fabric, stretching above his back; the bare skin of his forearms, clearly visible for me as he had rolled up the sleeves; his hips, turning softly when he put a plate aside; his backside, which filled out the fabric of his pants, leaving no room for the imagination and stopping me from breathing; his long, slender legs of which I knew that they were covered with dark soft hair, that tickled my skin, if he intertwined our legs.
I leant against the door frame, sighing.
“Oh, Ada. I didn’t realize you are here,” Father Michael suddenly said.
With wide eyes, I looked at him, trying to clear my mind.
“Are you feeling okay?” he asked, worried.
I ignored his question and crossed the room. “Do you have any idea how sexy you look wearing these clothes?” I asked with a husky voice.
His black eyes looked at me confused. He held up his hands, still dripping with dishwater, and looked at himself. He cleared his throat and said: “Excuse me, please?”
I grinned. “I cannot stop looking at you. Your sight makes me hot,” I cooed, getting closer to him. Satisfied, I saw him blush. He wasn’t used to that kind of suggestive words. When I was right in front of him, I stood on tiptoes and kissed him passionately. I couldn’t help myself. I just had to do it. I didn’t care where we were or what his vocation was. My yearning for him had never been that powerful before. He was like a drug I desperately needed. Now!
I put my arms around his neck, pressing my body against his. My mouth sealed his in a passionate way, denying him to breathe. And still it wasn’t enough. However, I got all mixed up, when I felt him fighting against me. His hands on my hips pushed me away. Grudgingly, I let go off him, looking at him reproachfully. “What is it? Do you not want to -?” I asked, pouting.
Father Michael looked at me sadly. Well, I guess that’s a no. His reaction hurt me. I had to swallow hard and fought against the tears, that were about to come, when I thought about the fact, that he didn’t want to be with me in that way.
When the Padre saw me, he started to panic. “It’s not like I don’t want to, Ada. I want it, too.” He took my hand. I felt the last wet bits of dishwater on his skin. He put his fingers under my chin, making me look up. “I really want it,” he whispered, smiling lovingly.
Immediately, my eyes lit up at his words. Phew! That was a close shave.
“But –,” he began to say.
Of course! There has to be a but.
Afraid of what?
“You know, I don’t have any - . Well, you know what I mean,” he stuttered until I nodded understanding. He sighed and said: “And you don’t take - .” He waited for me to guess the answer.
I knew what he was talking about. When I told him I understood, he nodded, smiling. He was relieved he didn’t need to use any terrible words like contraceptive.
“Does that mean, we cannot - ?” I asked him, my voice shrill.
He shook his head. “Not as long as we don’t have any means to prevent you from becoming pregnant.” The way he said it made his words sound like a reproach.
I pouted and walked up and down in front of him. First, I thought about calling Dr. Fields to ask him to prescribe me something. But what am I supposed to do in the meantime? It took me a while, but then the scales fell from my eyes. I stopped and looked at Father Michael, a broad grin on my face. His eyes narrowed as he tried to find out what it meant.
“Do you know that there are other things we could do?” I asked, wiggling my eyebrows meaningfully.
Father Michael’s eyes widened. Then he blushed even more. He was kind of cute, when he was embarrassed, a fact that made him even hotter.
“Erm, Ada, well, I - ,” he stuttered, loosening the collar of his clerical shirt to make it easier to breathe. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Oh boy! He still had to learn a lot.
“Can you not imagine?” I asked.
Father Michael shook his head.
“Well, then I have to help him along,” I thought. I stood on tiptoes and whispered into his ear, telling him what I had in mind.
Surprised, he made Oh! while he carefully listened to me. When I stood back and looked at his face, I noticed that it was now crimson. What a few words can do to a man? Amazing!
“How come you know so much about these things?” he asked, astonished.
I shrugged, acting innocently. “The proof of the pudding is in the eating,” I answered, winking at him.
The Father gasped for breath, looking at me closely. He wanted to say something, but rejected all thoughts about asking what my words meant. He really didn’t want to know more about it.
Without a moment’s hesitation, I grabbed him by his clerical shirt, taking him with me to his bedroom.