Sweet Mary

By David Sterry
 
James burned.

With curiosity.With God. With the Devil.With blood fever. With Mary.

Lately Mary had come to him every night. Bathed in golden light.Sweet Mary, dripping love, dropping down with the wings of an angel as he lay on his small hard bed, Jesus on the cross behind him bleeding, bleeding from his crown of thorns, bleeding for his sinning.
 
James sinning.

And he would pray to God.His God. That she would go away.That she would come and stay.That she would lower herself onto him again.And she always did.Flowing crow black hair. Raving raven eyes.Skin white clouds. Breasts secreting the milky blood of Christ.

And he would be so stiff.A stiff staff greeting her as she floated down, a sister of mercy, sweet Mary, floating all over him.And he would pray to God, his God, to deliver him from evil, to help him resist temptation. But his God would be gone, and he could not resist.
 
Did not want to resist sweet Mary.

And she would whisper, "Forgive me Father, for I have sinned," as she spread herself open with her fingers and hovered over him, hovered over his rigid rock of ages knob of James at the blossom of Mary so opening and he would want her so much, so bad, so hard, and he would be enveloped by the sheer drunken sin of it all.

And she would put her breast in his mouth, the sweet breast of Mary, and he would drink the milky blood of Christ as she would slide down, down, down the veiny palpitating pounding pumping pillar of his sin, the shaft of his Satan.

And he would whisper, "Forgive me Father, for I have sinned." And he would think to himself, O Jesus, kill me, O Jesus, save me, O Jesus help me.

And she would sing like a cherub, a holy hellspawn, the music of her virgin voice filling him as he was filling her.

She blanketed him like in holy snow.

And the hot love of God would shoot out of him into her, into the valley of death, the Shadow lurking, smirking in the corner, as he would scream-
 
"O Lord, why have you forsaken me?"

And then James would wake up, bolt soaking from his nightmaredream wet with sweat and sticky salty unholy water boiling on his belly. And he would feel God watching him, and he would feel the shame aimed at his heart, and he would pray to forgiven.
 
By God. His God.

And afterwards, to calm himself, he would say, It's only a dream.

And now, here she was.Here was Mary. Sweet Mary.In the flech. In his booth.Inches from him. So close James could smell her flower blooming, perfuming through him, pinning him, chokeholding his soul.

And James had to punch himself hard in the thigh to bring himself back. God is laughing at me, James thought. This is his sick joke, and I am the butt. You have a sacred duty, he told himself, you are nothing, you are a servant, you are a vessel of the Lord our God. A vessel of God.You are nothing but your sacred duty, James told himself.

"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned," came from the darkness like a chariot of light, singing sweet and low, swinging him around her little finger. "What is your sin my child?"James felt strange calling her his child.She was thirty-five,, maybe forty, although James was very bad at those things. Judging how old a woman might be.Maybe she was only thirty.That was certainly possible, he thought.She was old enough to be his mother.Mother Mary. Mother of God.Holy Mother of God.

But he was twenty-one, he was sure of that. The Whiz Kid Priest.That's what all the papers said.And the magazines. Memorized the Bible by the age of ten. Already groomed to be a bishop, a cardinal maybe even. Audience with the Pope on his eighteenth birthday. Quoting verse and scripture, a greatest hits of the Good Book on the radio and the television with the square jawed easy charm of Jack Kennedy back in Camelot, a poster boy for the New Church, a throwback to a happier time when it didn't matter if you had sex with Marilyn Monroe in the White House, as long as you didn't do it on the Front Lawn.

And James loved the ritual of it, the pageantry of it, the ceremony, the hidden symbols and the rock hard unthinking certainty, the blind obedience of it all, from before he could even remember, making everyone around him so happy, his father, on his deathbed, pleading with him, James, the only son, the last hope, to be a priest, his mother so proud, beaming, telling everyone about her boy the Whiz Kid Priest. The pride of the neighborhood.

And it had come so easy, all so simple. Until now. Until her.
 
Until Mary.
 
"Father, I have impure thoughts," confessed Mary with a breathtaking piety. Impure thoughts.Just the words set his mind racing, skin ivory, hair ink black, a black Mass, parting her heart of darkness to let him in.

James punched himself in the thigh hard to bring himself back. And he wanted to run, to hide.And he prayed to God, his God, to give him the strength to resist, to pass this test, this plague of locust, He was inflicting on pious Father James, the Whiz Kid Priest.

"What are your thoughts," James asked, trying hard to keep the quiver out of his voice, not really wanting to know the answer, desperately wanting to know the answer."Well, Father… I'm too embarrassed to talk about it…" said Mary. "I'm your priest, Mary, I'm hear to listen and forgive, as a vessel of Christ out Lord and savior.We all have impure thoughts."James said it, and he believed it.

"Do you have impure thoughts Father?" asked Mary, and just the way she said it shivered him cold and ignited a fire in the furnace of his purgatory, sending a white-hot shot of juice jumping through his balls jumping under the hardening under his robe.

O God please make it stop.Please God, make it all stop now.I have done everything for You, I have given You my life, please just do this one thing for me.
 
Please, God, make it stop.

"Well, yes I do, of course I do.I'm not just a priest, I'm a…"

But the word "man" stuck hard in his throat like a wafer with no wine chaser.

"…that is to say, I confess my thoughts and sins and I pray to God to forgive me, and He does."James said in his best Father James voice.

But James had never confessed these thoughts. These sins of Mary.As if by not confessing them they weren't really real.Didn't really count.And maybe that's why God is punishing me, James thought, that's why God is testing me, for my mendacity, for believing I can hide anything from his omnipotence.
Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.
 
"Father, I have wicked, sinful thoughts, and… I touch myself Father, I can't help it… I… give myself pleasure… I can't stop, Father, and I don't know what to do…" James was breathing hot and hard now, heavy, trying to control everything, slow it all down, cool it all off.No more visions.No more breasts of Mary. No more bloody milk. No more Cardinal red lips.No more of her Amazing Grace. Save me for I am lost.Find me, miserable wretch that I am.Lord I am blind. Please, let me see.Help me cast out Satan.Make me roar, "Jezebelle, be gone!"

But James could not.Did not want to.

"What are your thoughts?" he asked, casual and professional and priestly. But he already knew.Knew the thoughts of Mary.The way she looked at him when she passed in line after Sunday service. The way she always managed to corner him somewhere, when she knew no one was around, and stand a little too close, until she was almost brushing up against him, so close that he couldn't even follow the thread of the meaningless conversation they were having about nothing at all. So close that he had no choice but to breathe in the ripe rubiness of Mary.

"Well… I want to do things, Father. Terrible things.O God, I want to do terrible things…"O God, deliver me from evil.Is this evil? It must be.It is. Sin.The sins of the flesh. Her flesh.The flesh of Mary. "Sometimes I think it will be the death of me. Sometimes I don't care if I burn in a flame hotter than any human fire for ever and ever." World without end, Amen, James finished the thought for her.

Maybe I shouldn't be a priest. Maybe I'm too weak.Maybe I'm just doing it so everyone will like me.So I won't let my dead father down.So mom will be happy with James, the youngest, the last hope, the Whiz Kid Priest. Maybe I'm just cut from different cloth, James thought.

"Sometime I think God would understand. God understands love, doesn't he Father?" Does He?Do You? I don't know, James thought.I thought I knew.God is love. Isn't He?Aren't You? I thought I knew.I was so sure I did. Everything seemed so clear and simple. A sin of the flesh is a sin of the flesh is a sin of the flesh. I am not a sinner.Father James is not a sinner.Father James is a vessel of God.Devout. A son of the son of God, pure in His celestial mansion on earth.

I don't know anything, James thought. Except that I want Mary.James wants Mary.More than he has ever wanted anything. More than he wants God.Is that true? Could that be true?Or is this Lucifer worming his way into James' Holy Soul? Making him want Mary's sweetness.To eat of her flesh.To drink of her milky blood.To partake in the communion of Mary.To be inside all of that Mary. Where was God now?His God. Hiding?Waiting? Testing to see if I am pure?Am I pure?

James punched himself hard in the thigh again to bring himself back. But her smell was everywhere and his dream flashed celestial before his eyes, the wings of the wet archangel Mary, the parting of her red sea, sucking the milky blood of Jesus from her breasts, the stiffness so rigid and dizzy under his robe.

"I'm touching myself right now, Father," confessed Mary, "I'm touching myself between my legs, and I'm very… it feels very… and I don't know what to do, Father, tell me, what should I do?Am I going to hell?I can't help myself… help me, please help me Father."

And God was everywhere.And God was nowhere.And James felt God in his balls, sweaty and jumpy, tight as a rosery bead cockring. It must be Satan, this infernal damp dark underworld where black meets red. And James wanted to die and go to Heaven, never having been tested. Please God, I'm ready.Take me now. Before this Mary takes me.

But God did not take James.

And then suddenly he was aware that she had left her side of the booth, and he could faintly hear her walking around to his side. She was coming.Mary was coming. To him.With all her sweetness. Or was it Mary?No, it was a flesh demon sent to suck out his soul.Run James, run, his brain screamed, that little piece of rational brain that was left. But he couldn't run.Didn't want to run.Wouldn't run.

The door to his booth slowly opened as the worm turned. And then there she was.There was Mary. Floating in on the wings of a prayer.

Please God deliver me now from evil, deliver me through the desert like Moses to the promised land.But where was the promised land?It was here in his confessional booth.It was her, so pure and so sweet and so very Mary. Please, God show me what to do.Tell me, for I am nothing.I am your vessel. Help me now or forever hold your peace.

But God did not come.God did not help. God did not tell James what to do.Betrayed thrice, thought Father James.By the Father, by the Son, and the Holy Ghost.

And James was alone with her.With this confusion of tongues, this massive tower of Babel so huge and confused under the shroud of his black robe. And James was filled with her crimsoning bouquet. Her ivory so flesh, her pitch so thick, the bright burn of the eyes so sweet Mary, the pleading of her thighs, her breasts so full of God's milk. Take, eat, this is my body and is meant for you.

"If you want me to go, tell me right now, Father. Tell me to go now and I'll never come back." Mary blazed into him like God's klieg light.

Yes, go!Be gone, whore of Babylon, temptress, Circe siren, she-devil, be gone. James heard the words in his head, but they not come out of his mouth.

And Mary did lean down to him, bathed in a golden halo of honeydew perfume. And he heard a heavenly choir soaring and a devil's organ grinding. And she did lean down to him, her breasts so full of God, closer, her lips florid rouge, touching his lips, the first time a woman's lips had ever touched his lips.

I'm the Holy Virgin, James thought. And she is Mary.I'm the Unholy Virgin, James thought.And she is Mary. Sweet Mary.And her breath is so deep so red so wet.And her tongue is so full of life and fruit so forbidden touching his lips so light and his Holy Balls jumped under his robe and he was so full and taut and fierce.

O God, I'm burning up.I'm already burning in hell, James thought, and I will burn in a flame hotter than any human fire for all eternity.For ever and ever world without end, Amen.

And I don't care.

And Mary slipped her tongue, the hot tight serpent tongue of Eve, deeper into him.And a hurricane crucified his brain.And a twister spun through the third eye of the snake in his robe. O God, it's so hard, James thought. The virgin priest is so hard, James thought.

And Mary took his face in her hands and her tongue slowly slid into his mouth and he moaned from his soul.And his hands reached out as if they weren't his hands at all and grabbed her hips and she gasped under his grasp, and she sucked on his lips and those hips of Mary were liquid sex in his hands, undulating, swelling, swivelling into him.

And James could smell her sex now. Smell the sex of Mary.So fertile and earthly and heaven sent.And it made him want to give her everything he had. The keys to the kingdom.

And Mary slipped her breasts out of her blouse and she fed them to him and he dove in, burying himself in the milk of the flesh of the breast of Mary. And he sucked on them, the fierce nipples so bursting in his hungry mouth. First one, then the other, the rhythm raw and rocksteady.

And there was no God and there was no Devil. There was only Mary.

And Mary threw her head back in ecstatic rapture and her tongue peeked out of her mouth, her eyes half shut in delight, the delicious quivering in her belly twitching her clit, beating the drums fanning the fire.

"Forgive me Father for I have sinned," she whispered. And she took him in her hand scalding her flesh so hard and she disappeared into the black cauldron under his robe.

And she kissed the tip of his stiffness and he jumped and panted - "O God O God O God" - springing from his lips as she ran her tongue all the way down him and cupped him in her hand and massaged gently on his world and swallowed him whole, slowly inch by inch into her Mary mouth and she moaned soulful and vibrated and he quaked, intoxicated into her Mary mouth, his hands on her hair and he pushed into her and she pulled sucking licking sliding up and down with her mouth organ on his skinflute.

And she came up for air, her lips swollen and turkey cock red, cheeks blazing cherries, eyes black fire, and she moved in and kissed him, let him sip his salty sex on her lips, parted and sticky with the taste of Father James.

And then he was sitting on the floor and she was hovering over him, floating in the confessional like an angel of life, a devil of death. And she spread herself with her fingers. And she grabbed his gaze and would not let go. And James was staring into the face of heaven though the gates of hell.

And James had never wanted anything so much as he wanted to be all the way inside her.Inside Mary. Sweet Mary.And she lowered herself onto the end of the head of James, opening slowly, blooming all over him. And she sucked on the very tip of him with her Mary for the longest time, relishing the anticipation, feeling the feeding frenzy until he could no longer stand it.

And then he thrust uncontrollable and unconscious into this Mary. As if this was his sacred mission in life. As if this was his true calling.To be inside Mary.And she pushed herself down onto him and slid her velvet tremor down Father James, jamming, swallowing him whole, body and soul all the way with everything she had, squeezing him to the root, to the core, to the bone, to the moan, her foundation shaking, rocking his steeple, shattering her madness, rattling his stained glass windows, banging on the pearly gates, knock knock knocking on heaven's door.

And Mary pulled back up, so tight and swelling and wet and delirious until he was almost out of her.And James found himself going up with her. Levitating, trying to stay inside her. O God, don't go.Don't. Where are you going? James thought, feeling the fever feeding the fervor. Lovecrazy, heartcrazy, fuckcrazy.This was bigger than him.More powerful. This wanting of Mary.Stronger than anything.Stronger even than God. His God.

And she pushed him down onto the cold floor of the confessional, his back against the wall, eye to eye, two windows into two souls, and everything stopped. And she panted at him.And he panted at her.And there was a new perfume filling the booth.The sweet scent of the sex of James and Mary.

And she nailed him with the cross of her starry night, took his crown of thorns, and gave him shelter from the storm as she pounded down him, pounding down against the thrust of him into her, beads of sweat pooling into drops and raining down his face and chest and back, soaking his robe.

And she rocked up and she rocked down, rocked out and rocked in, inhuman, insane, out of her mind, into her body, his heart exploding as he climbed into her, asshe climbed up him, as they climbed the stairway to heaven.

And the animal in her eyes sprang at him, leapt into him, and he was possessed by the passion of her possession.And James grabbed her hips hard now and pressed up against her hard as she slid deep and fast and hard sliding wet and hard gripping and grabbing and slamming, filling the confessional with their sex fury frenzy fuck yes, "O God!" she cried, and "O sweet Jesus!" he cried, and "O Mary!" he cried, and "O Father!" she cried, and "O Christ" they cried, transported, transcendental, the ethereal house of the Father and the blessed Mary, the white throne of God's bliss, angels and devils dancing on the head of their sex, on the tip of their sin, skin drenched as Mary soaked him with her wet divinity, the holy of holies, until he could hold back no more, and she sucked it all out of him, the manna shooting from him into her, from the soles of his toes through his balls through his heart and she flowed with him opening with him into the river of light and together they entered each other, entered the tender garden of the kindom of God in the palace of paradise.

And then they collapsed into each other. And then she wept and he wept.Drenching each other in joy and sin.Crying in great gulps of love.

And James held her tight in his arms. And Mary held him tight in her arms. And they held onto each other in that confessional like they were the last people on Earth.The last people in heaven. The last people in hell.

Then James thanked God.His God. For giving him Mary.

Copyright ©  2002 David Sterry. All Rights Reserved. Used With Permission.