Last night in the field, I stared at Reneé, and I wondered how a person could be so beautiful and perfect. Every area of her body was perfectly contoured. It was almost as though God crafted her personally on the 8th day, without any rush. Then she stared at me and smiled. My heart melted, my skin goosebumped, her teeth arraigned in mannered fashion as though it were a rail track—a one-way train to heaven. I managed to smile back, but I felt my smile wasn’t enough. So I closed my lips. Better to appear ugly than stupid.
Although I prayed fervently daily about avoiding fornication, then I told myself, "would a little sin hurt?” I mean, even God knew what he created, so he shouldn't judge me so unfairly. But then I was a priest, and God doesn’t share his love and attention with anyone, including his most perfect and beautiful creation. Then I knew I was in trouble the day she came into the church and asked for a confession. I wanted to decline, heaven knows I could’ve, but I couldn’t bring myself to. I wanted to hear her speak badly, and so I gave in.
What we had wasn’t an affair; clinically and technically, it wasn’t. I wasn’t married, except to God in sacred vows. While she wasn’t married, too, but technically she was also married to God. She had her vows. She was a nun. Then it dawned on me that God was indeed selfish. How could he create a perfect person and make her become a nun—a woman desired only by him. But now, it was a terrible thing I was doing. I desired her too.
And so that night, while she sat in the box, a tiny screen separating us. She made her confession. I pretended to listen, but instead, I was in the clouds. It seemed to me like a thousand angels sang. With every word, sentence and exclamations she made, I wanted to hear more, my body was present, but my mind was far away flying in the clouds with her, doing things we weren’t permitted to do, except in our minds. I heard nothing except her last sentence. "Priest, I desire someone.”
She avoided me. I avoided her. God was present. Every night I couldn’t bring myself to pray, her face clouding my thoughts—a necessary distraction. I tried to sleep, but I was overwhelmed with lust, my genitals working in ways I could never have imagined them to work. I discovered the energy lust carried, and it wasn’t evil. It felt sweet but not evil. And so I pleaded, every night in prayer, "God, just a little sin.”
Then one night, I heard a tap on my door, and it was Reneé. She was perfect as usual, but she was dressed in something other than her typical nun outfit. I noticed. She knew I saw. And so she entered my room and sat. Asked how I felt about her, I felt my voice dry immediately. Infidelity against a fellow human was a sin punishable by divorce. But infidelity against vows made with God was punishable by death. It was the worst treason. I risked everything. I risked ex-communication with my superiors, subordinates and even God. But at that moment, I couldn’t stop myself. I kissed her, and that was all I said. It was loud. She heard the kiss, understood and left.
That was the beginning of the affair. Every night, we had a little sin. But she was angry, jealous they were genuine. She wanted me for herself. She wanted herself for me alone. But I was double dating. It was a triangle: me, us and God. But even in her anger, she was beautiful. But the weight of my duty outweighed the love, lust or infatuation.
Then I reached a solemn conclusion, that God was love, then why should I feel guilty of falling in love? God created our genitals, so why should I feel guilty of lustful attraction? God then, in all his mightiness, gave us choice, and I was at liberty to choose. And so I made my decision. It was plain, honest and straightforward. I chose Reneé.
And for every day I spent with her, I knew God was happy with my choice. Every day felt enriching. She was perfect. We were excellent. That was all that mattered. The little sin paid off.
Beautiful ending. Love it.