edge of the altar with bare legs swinging slowly. Her feet sway nowhere near the floor, and the center of her chest glows the lightest pink beneath rosary beads and between open black cotton. She holds something I can’t make out in her lap, and when she sees me, kissed-dark lips smile high.
And my cup runneth over.
“You moved,” I say, lighting up with her as I approach, curious to see what she’s holding.
“Just a little,” she replies, playfully coy as she continues slowly moving her feet.
Then I see what’s in her hands, and my swelled heart beats so deliciously deep I swear I taste admiration like honey on the back of my tongue.
“Forgive me?” she asks sweetly, brushing each of her thumbs back and forth over the small white strip of fabric that’s set me apart and brought us together.
“Ego te absolvo,” I whisper just as I have through hundreds of confessions, forgiving all, and overcome with grateful, gratified pride.
The moment I’m close enough, I drop the clothes I brought and lay my hands on cherished little knees. With my collar in her left hand, Lacie reaches up, bringing my mouth to hers as she opens her legs to let me closer.
Her kiss is gentle, welcoming promises, and her skin under my shirt is supple heaven. For beats I can’t measure, I forget I left and returned to dress her. I slide my hands up her sides, reveling in the feel of small curves underneath vestments that have never served a holier purpose than they do on this girl.
Only when she parts our lips for a breath do I remember what I dropped at my feet, and I brush my touch upward, cupping her face under mine for a more chaste kiss before leaning up. She keeps her eyes on mine and my collar in her hands as I bend before her and reach for the pile of heather grey cotton. As I lift my sweats to her dangling feet, God’s softest gospel smiles.
Sweat pants are modest compared to what she deserves, and much too big, but they’re mine to give. Standing as I bring the clean fabric up her legs, I fall more in love with every inch of skin I cover.
“Come here,” I whisper against her cheek.
As I gather her to my chest, Lacie wraps her arms around my neck, and I lift her from the altar so I can bring grey cotton all the way up. She holds loosely to me as I set her feet carefully down, and fully aware of the weakness in her knees, I hold the front of my sweats up between little hipbones. I stroke circles along the small of her back with my other hand while she finds a sense of balance, and her heart thumps hard so near to my own.
I kiss her neck before bending further.
With her hands on my shoulders, I kneel and tug the drawstring tighter than I ever have. The bow I loop is generous, and heather grey all but swallows beloved light, and I love her this way.
Safe.
Held.
Perfect.
Resting my hands above the waistband, I brush my nose and lips across her belly where black clerical cotton is parted before I stand.
She takes my offered hand, and with her first step, she winces. It’s a tiny whimper folded inside a giggle, and echoes breathlessly back at us from the transept. Worship has made her sore with a fullness that won’t leave her for days, but joy comes through in a hum so clear it overrides the sting.
I can’t help but smile to know every step she takes sings my name, praising love so overwhelming God gave Himself to it.
Her hand in mine like a vow, Lacie walks slowly and gingerly along burgundy carpet and holds to me as I help her into socks and boots. We don’t let go as I retrieve her peacoat from the hook inside the confessional. I hold it open as she slides arms still bearing my shirt into satin lined sleeves, and fulfilled-love lit eyes find mine as I bring more warmth around her.
She breathes another demure giggle as I step closer, starting from the bottom and sliding shiny buttons through buttonholes. Her regard fills me with worth and significance as I pull each button through, and as I stand straight and
And my cup runneth over.
“You moved,” I say, lighting up with her as I approach, curious to see what she’s holding.
“Just a little,” she replies, playfully coy as she continues slowly moving her feet.
Then I see what’s in her hands, and my swelled heart beats so deliciously deep I swear I taste admiration like honey on the back of my tongue.
“Forgive me?” she asks sweetly, brushing each of her thumbs back and forth over the small white strip of fabric that’s set me apart and brought us together.
“Ego te absolvo,” I whisper just as I have through hundreds of confessions, forgiving all, and overcome with grateful, gratified pride.
The moment I’m close enough, I drop the clothes I brought and lay my hands on cherished little knees. With my collar in her left hand, Lacie reaches up, bringing my mouth to hers as she opens her legs to let me closer.
Her kiss is gentle, welcoming promises, and her skin under my shirt is supple heaven. For beats I can’t measure, I forget I left and returned to dress her. I slide my hands up her sides, reveling in the feel of small curves underneath vestments that have never served a holier purpose than they do on this girl.
Only when she parts our lips for a breath do I remember what I dropped at my feet, and I brush my touch upward, cupping her face under mine for a more chaste kiss before leaning up. She keeps her eyes on mine and my collar in her hands as I bend before her and reach for the pile of heather grey cotton. As I lift my sweats to her dangling feet, God’s softest gospel smiles.
Sweat pants are modest compared to what she deserves, and much too big, but they’re mine to give. Standing as I bring the clean fabric up her legs, I fall more in love with every inch of skin I cover.
“Come here,” I whisper against her cheek.
As I gather her to my chest, Lacie wraps her arms around my neck, and I lift her from the altar so I can bring grey cotton all the way up. She holds loosely to me as I set her feet carefully down, and fully aware of the weakness in her knees, I hold the front of my sweats up between little hipbones. I stroke circles along the small of her back with my other hand while she finds a sense of balance, and her heart thumps hard so near to my own.
I kiss her neck before bending further.
With her hands on my shoulders, I kneel and tug the drawstring tighter than I ever have. The bow I loop is generous, and heather grey all but swallows beloved light, and I love her this way.
Safe.
Held.
Perfect.
Resting my hands above the waistband, I brush my nose and lips across her belly where black clerical cotton is parted before I stand.
She takes my offered hand, and with her first step, she winces. It’s a tiny whimper folded inside a giggle, and echoes breathlessly back at us from the transept. Worship has made her sore with a fullness that won’t leave her for days, but joy comes through in a hum so clear it overrides the sting.
I can’t help but smile to know every step she takes sings my name, praising love so overwhelming God gave Himself to it.
Her hand in mine like a vow, Lacie walks slowly and gingerly along burgundy carpet and holds to me as I help her into socks and boots. We don’t let go as I retrieve her peacoat from the hook inside the confessional. I hold it open as she slides arms still bearing my shirt into satin lined sleeves, and fulfilled-love lit eyes find mine as I bring more warmth around her.
She breathes another demure giggle as I step closer, starting from the bottom and sliding shiny buttons through buttonholes. Her regard fills me with worth and significance as I pull each button through, and as I stand straight and
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