Georgina sat in the pew waving her program to cool her face. The sun poured through the stained glass creating colorful patterns on the bald heads of the men seated before her. Glancing down at her pink skirt, she recognized the green and red window’s reflection. She too was touched by the light. They all were; no matter where they sat, or no matter how far they strayed from Christ during the weekdays. Here in church, all spirits refreshed with a beam of colorful lights.
The Pastor stepped to the pulpit with a confident tug of his robe. He flipped through a few papers with a lick of his finger and paged through the Bible. “When we feel the pull towards sin and rebellion, we are never allowed to shake our fist at God and say, ‘You made me this way.’ Temptation does not come from the Lord. It has another source.”
Georgina tried her best to focus and to be virtuous but as hard as she tried, she could never measure to the piety of the rest of the congregation. Her thoughts drifted from the pastor’s voice, which droned on in a monotonous tone. She studied the male parishioners, many married and others single and in search of a bride. Georgina was prime real estate for many of the men. None, however, met her strict qualifications—qualifications she had yet to define herself.
There were, of course, the gamblers in the city. She knew they were a losing cause, yet she continued to play them, hoping one day her luck would change. Then one day a drifter entered her life. Earl, the veteran pilot who gave up civilization for a solitary life. Can a man really live as a hermit? Can he really forego love and sex? It was the one thing thought of most besides money.
Feeling an unfortunate sensation between her legs, Georgina slid in the pew and crossed them. Her attention shifted away from the pastor’s sermon to Earl as memories of his sweat-stained t-shirt consumed her mind. Seated in her seat, alongside her fellow churchgoers, she switched her legs, overlapping them on the opposite side. She glanced quickly at the pastor, the cross behind him. Slumped in the pew, she lowered her head with her palm to her face.
In her fantasy, Georgina neared Earl, ran the tips of her flamingo pink-painted fingernails down his tanned ribs and to the hard bulge in his dungarees. He lifted her in his arms and carried her inside to his dilapidated bed where he made vigorous and passionate love to her until the entire shack rattled and rusted nails loosened from the hinges.
“God has redeemed us from this insatiable hunger for our own destruction. Amen!” exclaimed the pastor.
Georgina awoke form her fantasy and yelled out, “Amen!” above the rest of the congregation.
She glanced at the person seated next to her. “Whew, great sermon,” and silently scolded herself for letting her fantasies run wild in a house of worship. This is why people don’t like you. What other cretin is having sex thoughts in church? She looked around the church and grinned. Probably more than I know, more than would care to admit.
Rays of Civilization
The Pastor stepped to the pulpit with a confident tug of his robe. He flipped through a few papers with a lick of his finger and paged through the Bible. “When we feel the pull towards sin and rebellion, we are never allowed to shake our fist at God and say, ‘You made me this way.’ Temptation does not come from the Lord. It has another source.”
Georgina tried her best to focus and to be virtuous but as hard as she tried, she could never measure to the piety of the rest of the congregation. Her thoughts drifted from the pastor’s voice, which droned on in a monotonous tone. She studied the male parishioners, many married and others single and in search of a bride. Georgina was prime real estate for many of the men. None, however, met her strict qualifications—qualifications she had yet to define herself.
There were, of course, the gamblers in the city. She knew they were a losing cause, yet she continued to play them, hoping one day her luck would change. Then one day a drifter entered her life. Earl, the veteran pilot who gave up civilization for a solitary life. Can a man really live as a hermit? Can he really forego love and sex? It was the one thing thought of most besides money.
Feeling an unfortunate sensation between her legs, Georgina slid in the pew and crossed them. Her attention shifted away from the pastor’s sermon to Earl as memories of his sweat-stained t-shirt consumed her mind. Seated in her seat, alongside her fellow churchgoers, she switched her legs, overlapping them on the opposite side. She glanced quickly at the pastor, the cross behind him. Slumped in the pew, she lowered her head with her palm to her face.
In her fantasy, Georgina neared Earl, ran the tips of her flamingo pink-painted fingernails down his tanned ribs and to the hard bulge in his dungarees. He lifted her in his arms and carried her inside to his dilapidated bed where he made vigorous and passionate love to her until the entire shack rattled and rusted nails loosened from the hinges.
“God has redeemed us from this insatiable hunger for our own destruction. Amen!” exclaimed the pastor.
Georgina awoke form her fantasy and yelled out, “Amen!” above the rest of the congregation.
She glanced at the person seated next to her. “Whew, great sermon,” and silently scolded herself for letting her fantasies run wild in a house of worship. This is why people don’t like you. What other cretin is having sex thoughts in church? She looked around the church and grinned. Probably more than I know, more than would care to admit.
Rays of Civilization
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