Sextasy in the Cathedral (II)

by Horace P. Hightower

Click for Episodes: No. 1, No. 2, No. 3, No. 4, No. 5

So there I was in St. Patrick's Cathedral: I'd just pleasured myself with my hand while staring spellbound at the statue of a beautiful female Saint; I was standing dazed, vaguely enraptured, and itchy in the bright reds, emeralds, and purples of sunlight passing through the stained glass windows; I was turning around and around in the midst of the pews, almost as if awaiting a sign from God; steadily -- and quite quickly -- the itchiness of my nerves was crowding out all other impressions, drawing my body tight as a bow. Yes, suddenly it became crystal clear to me that masturbation had merely primed me -- prepared me -- for a renewed onslaught of hunger; that my hand had done nothing but deliver me over to far more compelling urgings; that fantasy-indulgence had only made the demands of flesh more strident!

Well, I most certainly had to get out my address book, make a call, and arrange a rendezvous -- and quickly! So why was I continuing to stand there in the stained glass colors, staring glaze-eyed into the air, taking not a step towards the exit? Why would my body not budge from the spot? I'll tell you: it was because a tone of fulfillment was in the air -- because a hint of what I needed was nearby! I wasn't fully conscious of its source yet, but…

And then I heard the cough -- a soft, somehow inviting and titillating, cough: was it intended for my ears, the auditory equivalent of a handkerchief dropped on the floor? My gaze instantly cleared; instead of looking at the air I was focusing upon something within it, an extremely comely woman: she was on her knees, arms folded on the back of the pew before her, head half-turned in my direction, looking as if she'd just emerged from a session of deep prayer. What eyes! -- abrim with silver, piercing even, though not directly trained upon me. And the wonderful suffused blush on her face! -- mild disturbance combined with sophistication combined with sultriness! She was draped in a flowing sable coat, her magnificent sleek calves were visible at the base of it, so charmingly pressed together behind her; and feet snug in black heels; and her delicate intertwined fingers, with immaculate long red nails: such an air of energetic feline poise!

She continued holding her head half away from me, such that I could readily perceive she was regarding me from the corners of her eyes: that staring straight ahead look which isn't focused on a distant object but seeking to discern something off to the side without being detected overtly. And of course she was well aware of the fact she'd caught my attention -- and also aware of the fact I knew she was awaiting an approach: it's always amazed me how quickly -- almost instantaneously -- such things are known by both parties; always amazed me how the nerves of both parties speak to one another -- the mutual tension, inner alignment, which shouts out attraction as clearly as a vocal announcement. And, of course, one cannot hesitate: too much delay by the male insults the female -- is tantamount, again, to an actual vocal rejection -- and she's perfectly capable of rising in a contemptuous huff, walking away forever without looking back. Yes, instant intimacy from opposite sides of a room between two complete strangers is a delicate business: one must act quickly or not at all.

Within thirty seconds I was standing beside her; and she, beautiful hussy that she was, instantly took a deep breath and availed herself of a drawn out moan -- "Ummmm..." -- that rippled through my nerves, caressed me from the inside out like a dozen electric hands. I didn't even have a choice, what with the way the focused energy that dwelled within her ripe willing hungry body was yanking me downwards, forcing me to kneel close, such that her coat and flowing hair were instantly brushing against me. Nor did yearning cease to surge in my breast -- I could barely keep abreast of it, was being spun ahead of thinking, whirled into a blur of blind impulse! I shoved myself harder against her and her body eagerly returned the pressure, insistently quivered; a rapid series of deep sigh-like breaths continued to pass in and out of her mouth; her sable coat -- as if by magic -- slid backwards, revealing the full length of her left thigh; in another moment I was kneading its soft nakedness (she wasn't wearing stockings) with both hands and her coat was flung over all, a concealing veil. She removed her hands from the back of the pew, darted me a lightning-quick glance of stunningly wild silver, switched from kneeing on her knees to crouching on her ankles, composed herself into an attitude of prayer. My right hand had a life of its own and darted between her slowly spreading legs; soon I discovered that the skimpiest of panties -- barely more than a G-string -- shielded her sex from my hungry fingers: easy to nudge the satin strip to the side of her moist mound, caress and part her petals, plunge my index finger therein, commence stroking her slippery inner pathway.

But I, in my haste, had thoughtlessly commenced with the wrong hand (the left was far better situated to administer an effective probing); consequently, I extracted my finger -- ha, to what protest on her part: charmingly impatient seizure of the said hand, quick glance of reproach, attempt to guide it back home. But my left index finger soon replaced my right; at the same time, I slipped my right hand up the back of her dress until my arm was wrapped tight about her waist -- and then I was pressing it against her belly, fingers spread, kneading and caressing -- nor to neglect occasional dartings to her breasts (firm smooth globes, just the right size, heaving delectably!) -- and then a return to the soft warm giving skin of her belly -- and with the other fingers of my left hand dallying about the petals of her open blossom while the index continued to stimulate inside. I embraced more firmly, probed more insistently -- was absolutely swimming in the steady hum of her lithe heaving body! -- increasingly pulled into her undertow, swirled into alignment! I was so hard between my legs I thought the thing would burst my zipper! Yes! -- both of us shuddering in the gathering of stimulation between us in a cathedral, the features of which were becoming increasingly blurry, shot through and through with the sense-altering force of almighty procreation!

She was approaching the pinnacle -- her breathing increasingly erratic, in short rapid gasps -- her intervals of stomach tightening and relaxation increasingly shorter -- and her tense moans that I was suddenly muffling with my mouth -- her inner fluttering -- one moment -- two -- three -- more -- against my fully inserted finger! I love being there when a woman turns inside out and falls out from under her senses -- when she sheds desire-accumulation, is washed onto the other side! And then she flung her arms about me -- her nether pathway became rigid -- her thighs closed -- she smilingly said, "We need to take care of you" while fingering the top button of my pants.

But I'd already indulged myself -- primed and prodded myself -- with my own hand in the alcove while staring at the comely Saint: my rigidity now required a tight warm caressing glove, sticky lubrication, those maddening little ripples of reciprocal pressure! I didn't hesitate to yank her to her feet, guide her towards the exit -- ha, I was so aswirl inside I cannot, for the life of me, recall exiting the cathedral any more clearly than if I'd been blind drunk! -- nor recall the hailing of the cab in which I soon found myself with her straddling my lap, dress hiked up underneath her concealing coat, with my pants yanked to my ankles. Yes, I was already deep inside her: so stimulating the bouncings of the cab, her constant pushing! Our mouths were joined in a jaw-straining kiss, saliva was spilling down our faces -- I was thrusting as if seeking to get my entire body to follow my stiffness all the way down into her narrow pathway -- again and again! God, clinging tighter -- tighter! She was transmitting burst after burst of sense-thrilling energy, enveloping me in an entire world of shimmering vitality! More and more thrusts -- harder and harder! And then the wildest sense of freedom possible to attain to in this life, myself released, gushing -- pumping, flooded! She pounding against me -- oh, she was more than beautiful! I remember very clearly those incredible bursts of silver in her eyes -- a special glimpse of some sort of subsurface fountain of primal life, stunning in its undiluted purity...

* * *

Only later, at her apartment, were we able to recall and be amused by the spectacle which we might very well have presented to others in the cathedral -- peals of laughter would greet the observation that we'd been far too absorbed in meeting the demands of desire to notice, be alarmed about, or enjoy any quizzical expressions on faces turned our way. We gigglingly pointed out that we most certainly didn't derive any added pleasure from the fact we'd been enjoying sex in not merely a public, but sacrosanct, place -- only retrospectively was it happening, as an unexpected afterthought. So then, we wondered amidst playful pokes and tickles, were we the sort who intentionally seek out sex in public places -- was it an aphrodisiac for us -- or did we just happen to take sex where and whenever the opportunity presented itself, with occurrences in public places being purely incidental? Well, we decided, the question could be answered either way: while actually engaged in the act, oblivion to our surroundings had certainly been the case, and so we couldn't be said to have formed a forethought about how titillating it would be. On the other hand, we were certainly experiencing some pleasure in the knowledge we'd actually done it -- done it in St. Patrick's, of all places, while surrounded by the devout! But again, given the degree of arousal we'd been under the influence of, it couldn't be said we'd had the luxury of thinking it would be a kick to do it there. However, there's always unconscious inclination, I pointed out… But she impatiently waved the suggestion away -- and, besides, her body was already beginning to touch mine from the inside out again -- her curves were already dancing in my eyes, swirling in my nerves, igniting hunger again -- yes, we were already well on the way to being ready to discard thought again, immerse ourselves in the magnetic cycle of death/rebirth again…


Click for Episodes: No. 1, No. 2, No. 3, No. 4, No. 5

Sextasy in the Cathedral (II)
© 2001 Sliptongue, Inc.





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