Work called Brooklyn in the following day. Her newfound zest was gone. The world felt as if it was ending. It was hard for Brooklyn to be all right with going from such an unbelievable high to this. The other night, she had tasted heaven. Closing her eyes, she replayed the moment Father Mathias had made her come with Rapture. It still somewhat unsettled her, but at the same time, she couldn't compare it to anything, but magic.
She checked the time and sighed. There was no more time for hiding away in bed, and she got up with a grunt. Everything seemed more difficult than usual. Brushing her teeth. Brushing her hair. Pulling her clothes on. All Brooklyn wanted to do was sleep and hit pause until she could feel that feeling from the other night again.
Brooklyn dragged her feet on her way into work.
"Hey, you. What's going on?" asked Gregory.
Brooklyn looked at him and the concern in his eyes almost made her cry. Everything had been going so perfectly and in one day, she felt worse than before she had met Father Mathias. An overwhelming sense of uncertainty plagued her.
"Earth to Brooklyn."
She shook her head. "Things have been a little rough lately."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
Brooklyn shook her head. How does one explain their post-bliss morose with a priest? "I'll shake it off."
"Well, my boyfriend and I host a dinner once a month. You have to be queer, but whatever. I figured you'd might like to come. And now I think you really should come. Kyle is an amazing cook. I'm telling you now that you'd be missing out if you said no," said Gregory.
"I don't know," said Brooklyn with a sigh.
"Oh come on, you're starting to give off that failed emo vibe again."
Brooklyn smiled sadly. "Okay," she said, rolling her eyes.
"Great!"
"Gregory? Thank you for thinking of me."
"Oh, please, anytime. And a word of advice," there was a twinkle in his eye, "friends go on more than just one friend date."
"Noted," laughed Brooklyn.
"So it's tomorrow at five sharp. There's like a little social with hors d'oeuvres and cocktails. Then we sit for dinner at six. Oh, and it's formal." Gregory's eyebrows shot up.
"Five and formal. Got it."
"Do you even know what formal is?"
Brooklyn gave him a warning look.
"Oh, shift is done. Buh-bye!"
Stephen came in shortly after. "How's my favorite barrista?"
"Shhh," Brooklyn said with a blush.
Stephen chuckled.
"So are you going to tell me what you have planned fro Saturday?" Brooklyn asked quietly. Maybe having something to look forward to would ease her heavy heart.
"Then it wouldn't be a surprise." he said, leaving with his cup of coffee.
***
Since Page never took the clothes, Brooklyn dug through them to see if there was something she could work with. Brooklyn sat back on her heels when she pulled out the 'little black dress,' Page had insisted she get. It was probably the only thing she had ever purchased for Brooklyn, saying that every woman needed one. It hadn't been for an event or a party, it had been for Brooklyn to have. A true gift, one that she refused to sell when she was still selling the things Page had bought for her.
Brooklyn slipped it on and admired her reflection in the mirror. It looked much better now that she could fill it out properly. She wore a pair of black flats and didn't bother with accessories. That was Page's thing. She did pin up her hair on the sides and smiled at her reflection. For the first time, she noticed the changes and felt good, inside and out. She almost looked like a proper lady.
"Well how about that, Mama?" she said to her reflection. But it wasn't a time to lament over her past. Brooklyn wanted to recapture some of that enthusiasm for life and she was certain she could find some at Gregory's.
Brooklyn took a picture, something she rarely did. If only Father Mathias could see her. There was never any reason to dress up like that since they always met at the church. Going out on a real date and holding hands was something she wished she could experience with him, but knew she never could. Unless... she shook her head, unwilling to finish the thought.
She took a deep breath and tried to shake off the sudden bout of negativity before leaving to catch the bus to Gregory's.
"Hey! You look great!" greeted Gregory. "Kyle! Come meet Brooklyn."
Kyle was beyond handsome in a pair of perfectly tailored grey pants and a well fitted sea foam green shirt. He had dirty blond hair that looked as if it naturally fell into its style, but Brooklyn was certain it probably took a good amount of effort and skill to get it to look like that.
She was taken around the living room and introduced to Gregory and Kyle's friends. It turned out this was a monthly get together and they each took turns hosting. Gregory hadn't exaggerated when he said Kyle was a great cook. She couldn't why, but she savoured everything much more than before, and this dinner was a treat. Every bite was savoured with closed eyes and a quiet, appreciative murmur.
At the end of the night, she sat with Gregory, a little too giddy off of wine and cocktails.
"I shouldn't be drinking," she suddenly realized. But this was different. It was social, in a great environment.
"Why not?" asked Gregory.
"It's a rule."
"A rule?"
Brooklyn realized her mistake. She looked at Gregory and wondered if she should tell him about the priest. "Yes," she eventually answered. "Enforced by, a, priest."
Gregory looked at her, confused.
"I'm getting help at a church for a drinking and drug problem." Brooklyn wasn't drunk enough to tell her secret.
"I'm sorry. I didn't realize you had one."
"Neither did I!" laughed Brooklyn. "But you know, I don't think I really had an addiction. Because when I stopped, it was easy. And this," she held up her barely touched glass of wine, "wasn't a big deal."
"Well, I'm glad to hear that. Still..." He took the glass away from her. An awkward silence followed.
"Thanks for a great night and for the great food," said Brooklyn, desperate to get back to the easy candor.
"It was a pleasure."
The next morning, Brooklyn went straight to church and waited for the doors to open. Six o'clock came and she watched her Priest unlock the front doors. She waited a few minutes before going in and went straight to the confessional.
"Hello, Father," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
"My child," replied Father Mathias with affection.
"Is it okay that I came, Father?"
"Of course. You are always welcome in the house of God."
Brooklyn nodded and bit her lip. "I came because I missed you and hoped you'd tell me when we'll see each other next. And," she sighed, "I made a mistake."
"Let's start with that."
"Last night I went to a dinner Gregory hosted. And I drank. I didn't even think. But it wasn't because I felt I needed to or anything. I don't think I really ever had a problem." Brooklyn stopped, instinctively knowing that making excuses was not becoming. "The point is, I drank. And I shouldn't have. I'm sorry, Father."
He was quiet for a moment. "My child, I am so proud of you. You have made positive changes and in such a steadfast manner that no one could have expected of you. Do you truly believe you do not have an addiction?"
"I do, Father! It was something I did with Page. Last night I got a little tipsy but I didn't drink excessively or actively seek it out."
"I trust you, child. You may drink for social occasions, but, with moderation. The no drugs rule stands."
"Of course, Father."
"As for when we can see each other next, I'm still uncertain."
"Oh," Brooklyn said sadly.
"But before you go, let me see you, my child. Undress for me," he added when she looked at him confused.
"Here?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Yes, Father." Brooklyn's breaths quickly grew shallow with excitement. Slowly, she pulled off her top and undid her bra, exposing her breasts to him.
The priest breathed in sharply. "I've missed you, my child."
She then undid the button and zipper on her skinny jeans and shimmied out of them until she was wearing nothing but her thong.
"Leave them on," said Father Mathias. "They look lovely on you. Turn around for me."
Brooklyn turned slowly. When she faced the grate again, she bent over a bit so that her breasts were level with it and she pressed into the cool metal. She was rewarded with his touch, or at least however much of it she could feel through the tiny holes.
"I miss you so much," whispered Brooklyn.
"Show me."
"What?"
"Show me how much you've missed me. I want you to touch yourself."
"Yes, Father," said Brooklyn, already panting with arousal. She moved the chair so that she could sit in it, facing the grate, and spread her legs. The grate's shadow made a fishnet stocking pattern on her legs. Sitting away from it, Father Mathias' face was shrouded by more shadows but Brooklyn could hear his own laboured breath.
"Go on, touch yourself, child."
Brooklyn rubbed herself through her thongs that were already drenched with her wetness. It wasn't long before the pressure built up and begged to be released. "May I come, Father?"
"Not yet, child. Make yourself suffer for me."
It took all of Brooklyn's will to withdraw her hand. She waited until the build up subsided and then started to rub herself again.
"Move your thong to the side. I want to see you."
Brooklyn moved it to the side to display herself to him. Her sex was red and the lips swollen, ripe for the taking.
"Oh, my child."
"Please let me come, Father," begged Brooklyn.
"Not, yet," he ground out. "Taste yourself."
She brought her fingers to her lips and licked her juices off of them, wishing they were Father Mathias'. Taking a calming breath, she continued touching herself slowly, but even that managed to bring her to the edge. There was no hope. Father Mathias ruled her mind and it didn't take much for her willing body to respond to him, even if it was through a confessional's grate.
"Please, Father. I can't." She stopped again.
"Do not stop, child."
Brooklyn whimpered and continued rubbing and trying to do a bad job at it. It made no difference. The smallest touch had her so painfully close to climaxing she feared she couldn't hold on. She gasped with her efforts and used her other hand to cover her mouth to stifle the subsequent gasps.
"Now you may come for me."
Brooklyn clamped her hand more tightly on her mouth and did her best best to come quietly. Her legs shuddered and the air hissed around her hand from the force of her breaths. Sitting up, she tentatively took her hand from her mouth, not trusting her ability to keep quiet, and took a deep breath.
She looked on at her priest through glassy eyes. "Thank you, Father."
"You are so divine, my child," he breathed. "Come to me on Monday at ten. At night." He seemed troubled by the date but Brooklyn didn't want to question him, afraid it she would change his mind.
"Yes, Father."
He instructed her to get dressed and she left, hating how incomplete she felt with the brief, limited contact they'd had. She needed to feel his hands on her skin and his breath on her neck as he whispered his commands.