LOOK BOTH WAYS
24
When the confusion time comes, he thought to himself, as he looked upward to the majestic brilliance of the fading, but still bright and shining Italian sky. You will see that then is the time for those that dwell in the world cities to flee to the mountains and beneath them. Provision is as it has always been. Let no one on the housetops waste time coming down to take anything out of the house; neither let those working in the field return to fetch their clothes. I, as well as all males will care for the females and the females bearing children in those days, as they will care for all males.
Let no one call the slight of dull colour, Gods, for they are not and do not deserve the capital. You will not bow down to them or you will not rise. They will offer wonders and things of marvel and yet another religion, but I offer you spirituality, as I have already done so. You made of me a religion, yet I made you of myself, as pure spirit, yet still you do not see.
Worship yourself and none other, for none other is God, only gods they will call themselves, as you will and have done before. But this time I am here and I have come to start a fire, in them and in you. This time I will stay and guard it until it rages in both.
This 7th time I will not leave you, for alone you will be helpless before yourselves and them. I am not alone.
First, there was a Cause. Before them, I was, and after them, I will be still, as I always have been; for I am their Creator, yet, this they still do not know, as you still do not.
First I was and then all attained to me, from me, and will yet return to me of their own free will and in the fullness of their own determined time.
He felt a sense of direction, but did not know where. He had no interest in controlling people’s minds, only awakening their feeling hearts. By the side of the dusty country road upon which he walked, dressed neatly in his expensive suit was a construction of timber and plaster, a box, with a roof and three sides. Within it on a bed of straw sat a standing marble cross, and on that cross was the tiny plaster figure of a man bound upon it. On the figure’s head wrapped a crown of thorns.
His eyes scanned the box and its contents idly, and then looked away, as he continued on his way down the road. He wondered if anything in the world, or wherever his many travels took him, would ever seem familiar again, and whether he would ever again find or even know where his home had once been, before he had gone into the desert.
In the distance stood an old church on the left of the road. Its single white cross had been visible long before his gaze had fallen upon the roof and old structure beneath it. As he closed the distance to it he saw many people dressed in finery. They seemed to be leaving.
He wondered then what day it was. He waited until all others had left the building and then went inside. Although the exterior of the building was old and dilapidated, the interior was neat and tidy. Its long floor was a highly polished timber.
Slowly, looking about himself, as he walked, he moved forward to the far end and kneeled at the very front of the aisle, just below the steps leading to the alter. He did not know why he kneeled, but he did, wondering.
Above the altar hung a very large and lifelike statue; similar to the one he had seen back along the road, only much larger. It was lit from above and below, giving it an almost surreal image. The size of the statue at over three feet long appeared to give the illusion of it being even more lifelike to the observer. He knelt and he waited. The afternoon hour was becoming late, almost dusk, but he had faith that someone would come and attend him. He did not know why that faith seemed to exist, but he knew it did.
He allowed his eyes to narrow slightly and his focus to dim. The lighting inside the large church was low, mainly candles from the altar and the glow from the statue hanging above it. The rest of the long hall leading to that altar was almost covered in complete darkness.
He reached out with his ears, listening to the sounds of the coming night within the old building. A creak here, a rattle there, and the quiet noise of stillness itself were all the sounds he heard. Reaching out idly with his awareness then he sensed the temperature within the old church. It was warm, but not uncomfortably so.
The tall, coloured-glass stained windows lining each side of the building walls had allowed plenty of heat from the sun during the day to enter and penetrate the old and thick timber within, which was slow to allow that heat to escape, once the sun was no longer streaming in.
The places of worship and the courtyards of the temple do not say what I have said, he thought suddenly and wondered why. And the arms that have always been outstretched to you have not always been clothed in black and white. Then his awareness reached inside himself, reassuring him of that faith. He could feel it simmering, waiting, and anticipating doing that which had been planned for so long, but he puzzled over exactly what that might be.
He could hear each of his calm breaths, as they left his nostrils like an evening wisp of spring-steady, even, and controlled, but not by him, by that part of him that believed. Then he wondered exactly what he believed. And now the time had come, he thought. Soon he would be, and others would know him as just that. Then they would help. But first, they had to know him in another way.
For I will not lay down my life that I might take it up again, he thought then, and no man will take it from me, other than my Father. But if he will, I will lay it down of my own free will. I have the power to lay it down, and I have the power to take it up again, as have I always, even. He puzzled over that thought for almost an hour in the still relaxing silence of the church.
All of a sudden his awareness narrowed and focussed, yet his eyes remained slitted against the rays of golden light from the wall behind and above the alter. A sound. Then more of the same, footsteps, coming toward him, soft and scuffling, as if they were gliding.
They came closer. He did not move or turn in their direction; such was his trance-like anticipatory state of mind. The sound slowly came to a point beside where he knelt and ceased.
He waited, expanding his awareness for the sound of the breathing, the state of the mind that looked down on his kneeling form at that moment. Then he was aware of it, each breath, soft and even, shallow, not reaching the bottom of the lungs of the breather.
‘God be with you,’ a woman’s kind voice whispered softly to him in a tongue not his, yet he understood and wondered how he could.
‘My name is Sister Mary-Joseph.’
He did not move as he answered just as softly, yet clearly enough to be heard by the one standing above him.
‘God be with you, too,’ he replied, and she understood. He puzzled over that, too.
Then he waited, not intending to further the discussion unless led, and he knew he would be. He felt Sister Mary-Joseph looked kindly down at him, somehow feeling a little familiar, although he knew that was impossible. He wasn’t saying anything, but was aware of her presence beside him.
‘Are you in pain?’ She asked in a concerned whisper.
He smiled inwardly. At least it wasn’t raining.
‘Yes,’ he whispered back to her. ‘But being here, in his light makes it bearable. I hope I’m not offending.’
‘No,’ he heard Sister Mary-Joseph reply immediately in a whisper. ‘His light takes no offence, only gives of his loving mercy.’
‘Thank you,’ he replied. ‘I am in need, and will stay a little while, if that’s okay with you.’
Sister Mary-Joseph smiled kindly down at him.
‘Certainly. Of course it is. His home is your home, and we are all his children, especially believing so when in need,’ she finished in hushed tones.
Never again will I leave this earth, he thought to say to her, and when I do you will join me in the place where I am going, for I have come to start a fire, and this time I will guard it until it rages. Then we will go home.
He said no more and waited. One minute passed. Then two. Then three. Then four, Then five minutes gone, yet he remained calm and resolved in his faith and certainty of how everything would proceed. He sensed Sister Mary-Joseph waited for him to speak of his hurt or anguish, but he did not. He just knelt there praying.
‘Are you in need of food?’ Sister Mary-Joseph then asked him in a hushed, soft voice.
‘No, thank you,’ he answered with a whisper.
‘Are you hurt?’ She inquired further, sounding more curious as to his problems.
‘No,’ he answered softly again.
Silence followed for four more minutes. Then He spoke first.
‘I am in his light and his presence,’ he said slowly, softly.
‘I would wish only of his strength and the strength of another, while I pray for forgiveness for all humankind, and the easing of my pain.’
He felt Sister Mary-Joseph’s heart go out to the stranger who spoke so eloquently. Silence followed while he waited for the female voice to take the lead. And then it did.
‘Would you like me to pray with you?’ Sister Mary-Joseph whispered softly.
He sighed in gratitude outwardly, then smiled softly in satisfaction… inwardly.
‘Yes, please,’ he answered humbly, then listened, as the clothing rustled beside him. He could feel the heat of the body from the shoulder of the person beside him, then felt that person’s presence in full inside his own awareness—a female, and a nun.
He smiled inwardly again and waited until silence ruled between them once more. After four minutes of his own mental counting he spoke again.
‘He has come,’ he heard himself whisper emotionally and wondered immediately why he felt that way.
‘And now that he has, all will be forgiven who want to be forgiven. Then all pain will be gone. Our Father will then bask in the warm loving embrace of that love for me.’
He knew that Sister Mary-Joseph had knelt beside him, the stranger, but believed she was feeling more familiar and comfortable with each passing second. He opened his eyes slightly and sensed her focus her gaze upward at the lighted crucifix, while keeping her head fixed straight ahead.
He smiled softly and warmly to her, although she did not see. It was the way they had taught her to pray, and in that way, not end up with severe neck pains from straining upwards for long periods of time.
This time the hour will never come, he thought then, for the Son of man to be betrayed into the hands of sinners. Beware, those who live by thought will die unloved by feeling.
He knew that she listened to him speak, knowing she was allowing him to ventilate his problems or anguish in whatever way seemed right for him to do so. He felt her unspoken, but not unfelt pain.
‘Yes,’ came her slightly patronising answer beside him.
‘He will come.’
In his peripheral vision he became aware of her eyes beginning to blink and grow tired. She allowed them to settle at half-mast. He then heard her breathing deepen, and as she did so, her shoulders sagged at the same time. He counted to three minutes of silence this time before speaking again, sad for her wasted life without a natural mate.
‘I can see him here, hear his voice, feel his warm words of comfort, and experience his trancing radiance,’ he said deliberately, marking out specific words with emphasis in order to shift her state of awareness from beside him to the scene he had begun to instil instead.
‘And in that, my sense of purpose to belong to all is deepened, further and further, even.’
He knew Sister Mary-Joseph listened and imagined. She couldn’t help it. They were thoughts she would have expressed so many times in her prayers. She would have wondered many, many times what he would look like, what the face of God would look like.
His words deliberately contained all of the warmth of the universe when they spoke to her, reaffirming her own sense of purpose within the order of the church and her sisters. He sensed she could feel the emotion in his voice, as he prayed and she listened. He felt her heart went further out to him and his problems, whatever they happened to be, knowing that everything he said seemed to come straight from her own heart and beliefs.
‘He is here,’ Sister Mary-Joseph’s voice said softly, and with a little emotion. She sounded somewhat surprised. And then she spoke again, and again with a little emotion in her tone.
‘I feel his presence all of the time, and my own sense of purpose is always strengthened by his coming.’
No man knows the exact day, or the precise hour of my returning, the thought then came to him, not even the angels in heaven, but only my Father. Yet when you feel yourself begin to come to pass as a human with natural nature, you will know that your day draws near, for you were not born in sin, and I did never say that of a gift from my Father to you.
He felt her female’s pain, as she then seemed to lapse into inward thought. He suspected that she wondered why she had spoken as such, knowing full well her role was to listen only. The silence between them was very comfortable, he thought, considering they were complete strangers from unknown walks of life to each other. He counted only two minutes of silence this time before going on.
‘From the land of his Father, all are his children, brothers and sisters, lovers and husbands, all of the Father who cares for and loves all,’ he said softly, emotionally.
‘And in the warmth of that love I can feel now beneath the flesh of my feet on the floor, the warmth of the air against my face, the beat of the pulse in my temples, and the gentle, steady flow of breath from my mouth.’
He sensed the warm air flowing outward over her lips. She loved her God, her Father, with all her being, and he knew she knew he loved her just as fiercely. It was a warm love, a quiet love filled with strength. He wondered then why her church had hurt her so badly in its deception, and then wondered how he knew that.
The thought of her feet on the floor and the way she was kneeling stirred him physically. He sensed the pulse of his steady heartbeat in his temples. He noticed the warm air around his face and was glad that her church was a home, and not a cold house, like so many others.
This time they will not beat me, and put me to death, he thought sadly, and I need no third day ever more to rise, but have risen for you now, even as I said I would.
He reached out to her with his mind and his male heart, and found her waiting with her answer in perfect contentment with everything he had said in his prayers. She drew deeply of the warm air about her mouth and lips.
‘Yes,’ answered Sister Mary-Joseph with a sigh. ‘The Father’s love saves us all.’
He waited and wondered where the words were coming from, as they flowed through him and then from him, and he puzzled over where the thoughts were coming from that preceded them.
‘Angel’s music you can hear of his approach,’ he said softly.
‘And feel his love reach out for you, to save you. He is here. I am here. Hear my words. I am here… for you. Feel me there. I am inside now, your beating heart. I am inside your prayers of love. I am inside your dreams each night. I am inside each smile of your day. I am here, and I have come, for you, and my pain of each day will then go away, forever in your love of our Father.’
He felt her personal unspoken pain increase, body and soul. He knew her focus was narrowing more and more, as she listened to his words of beauty. He also knew she had already wondered what he did for a living, but then he lost that thought, as more of his words flooded into his conscious awareness.
Yes, he knew she agreed silently with him. He knew she wanted, and he knew she needed. The Father loves us all. He sensed her imagining how she would feel, if he were to approach her personally.
He knew she had heard him, as he went on speaking to her softly, quietly, emotionally; telling her that he loved her as a Bride of Christ, that he was inside her now and would protect and look after her, always; that he really had heard each and every prayer she had ever uttered, and was always with her in her every smile she gave endlessly to everyone, inside every lonely day she laboriously had to get through at times.
Yes. He knew his love helped the pain of her lonely days and even lonelier nights go away. Yes, they did. His love made that happen. He was then aware of the tears in her eyes and the emotion in her voice as her mind seemed to answer him when he ceased talking.
‘Yes,’ Sister Mary-Joseph’s voice breathed softly, almost inaudibly, and, almost immediately and emotionally.
‘He saves us all.’
He heard then the nun’s rate of breathing change to match her existing mental experience and emotive state of mind. He began to lead her away from her present reality of the church and into his own.
‘Now he has come,’ he began.
‘Enjoy those experiences you’re feeling right now, which your mind can offer you, a sense of spiritual wonder and adventure, of universal love, as you enter new states of awareness, new states of consciousness, feeling new feelings, feeling different feelings, feeling loyal feelings, and taking from this a sense of assurance that I have come now.’
He heard her rate of breathing, as it changed while he spoke. It deepened.
‘Feel your true sense of purpose,’ he continued.’And accept me now, about your own capabilities, and accept me now, your own flexibility’s, and accept me now, as a human being. I am, and I am beside you now, with you now, and capable of giving and receiving an endless supply of love in accepting me, as a human being, and as a male and your mate, and do that fully, and accept me now.’
Her breathing was deep and frequent. It was heavy. He wondered who was speaking through him, as he listened along with the nun, who knelt beside him in her personal and private anguish.
‘You can feel loved and feel found now, no longer wanting, no longer needing, and no longer waiting. He is here beside you. I am here with you, as you always knew I would come, and that I would come one day, for you, and you can reach out now, and touch me now, and accept me now, that I am here, for you.’
He smiled softly, knowing she knew she was learning something, something really important, even if she was not yet sure what it was. But she did accept her God. He knew that in her, about her. She always had. She loved the sheer loving experience of him. His love that was endless, and her own capability to love others and him in return, except for the tragic personal loneliness and cost, as a human being, that it took to love him that way.
He knew she was not consciously aware then of what her hand was doing. Sister Mary-Joseph moved it slowly. He felt it float to him, like a feather from a wedge-tail eagle, and then finally felt her gentle, hesitating, unconscious touch on his sleeve. It was soft, and then more firm, warm and then grasping from within an emotional awareness he had deliberately created in her altered state.
His hand slowly found the warmth of hers. He smiled inwardly, as her grip tightened over his fingers. He felt her personal pain and her female’s loss. She had been so lonely since leaving her family for the order of the Brides of Christ. But he knew how she felt now, as if God had taken hold of her hand and was holding it in honour of her past loyal servitude.
For a long while the world will now feel, he thought, as her warmth flowed into him, and my presence will remain with you; and because I live, you will live also.
His mind and senses swam with the emotion and awe of universal love. Her body felt as if it were floating just off the floor beside him. He imagined it euphoric and content, peaceful and calm in her knowing and her learning’s of the moment. He looked both ways, just a little, when her grip slowly loosened and fell away. Her hand and arm drifted downwards beside him.
His hand slowly reached toward her again, only this time it moved to her brown leather shoes. His fingers gently lifted the hem of her black habit, to then rest beneath it on the wooden floor for several seconds before once more beginning to move. He had not touched her skin, and then he did, but she did not notice in her tranced state. Her flesh was warm.
Slowly, but surely, with his heart pounding in his chest, his fingers felt their way gently upward along the smooth soft shape of her warm calf. When they reached her knees they paused momentarily, then began their slow journey upward along the inside of her right thigh.
Several times he heard her softly gasp, almost a whisper, before his hand and fingers finally came to rest when they encountered the loose material of her underwear. Her body temperature reflected the heat in his hand.
His fingers then reached deftly beneath the nun’s loose personals and moved upward into her privately furnaced heat. Then he touched lightly the feathers of her intimate down. It was warm. It was damp. His fingers rested there briefly before slowly creasing the nun’s warm wine barrel, and there they rested again, lightly pressing upward, while he listened to her deepening breathing and soft gasps.
Then slowly, carefully, as a feather would float without weight upon the back of the wind’s currents the knife edge of his fingers combined began to softly slide backward and forward between her legs, each pass brushing her warm fur with more and more gentle pressure.
‘Oh!’ He heard her gasp softly without exclamation, but his hand did not cease its sliding action through her pulsing crease.
‘Oh!’ She gasped softly again, then gently began to sway, and such that he steadied her with his left hand resting upon her shoulder, but his right hand continued doing what it had been doing.
‘Ohh!’ She gasped softly again, only longer, a little more mellow, a little more female, yet his fingers kept moving and pressing gently upward a little more each time.
‘Ohh!’ She gasped softly, a little louder than before, but not with exclamation, and his fingers became warm from her silver rain. He then lowered his hand from her moist heat and extended his thumb directly upward, while turning and flattening his fingers, palm upward.
Then, gently, carefully, he slowly raised his hand and passed through her warm foyer, his thumb entering her deeply and pushing forward slightly, behind her bone, while his fingers joined fast and cupped her entire softly thatched mound.
‘Oh!’ Sister Mary-Joseph exclaimed, and it was an exclamation, but his thumb gently reached inside her even more deeply, while his fingers flattened against her throbbing privacies and held her firmly there.
‘Ohh!’ She exclaimed again, only a little longer, a little louder.
His hand then began a gentle, but firm up and down rhythm, in and out, penetrating her each time with his thumb’s extended reach, such that he felt her virginity each time and pressed harder then, while his middle fingers creased firmly the fermenting wine brewing barrel that warmed her absolute female, as it moved back and forth, round and round within her cupping.
‘Ohh!’ Sister Mary-Joseph moaned softly, and it was a moan, her first. He smiled warmly and his heart reached out for her in her coming joy. It was his joy, too. He quickened his pace, increased his pressure, and firmly began to assault her hymen with his thumb.
‘Ohh God!’ Sister Mary-Joseph groaned, and it was a groan, but his hand and fingers inside her only increased the friction and strength.
‘Ohh, God!’ She exclaimed, more loudly, more urgently, as if his thumb sought to demolish her female’s woman, while his middle two fingers then trapped squarely her hidden female and began to crush it exposed each time in their upward travel.
‘Oh!’ She gasped, and she gasped very loudly, but he smiled and increased his depth inside her and his pressure on her.
‘Oh, Jesus!’ She began to cry, as he pummelled her fermenting wine brewing barrel and stopped short of destroying her woman. It would wait. He would take it personally with his maleness. Then suddenly she tensed, such that his left hand held hard to hold her upright, as she bent forward quickly and howled.
‘Oohh, noo!’ She cried loudly, as her female reversed roles between her legs, such that his hand remained still, while her hips and thighs thrust instinctively and uncontrollably against them, as her entire body shuddered from head to toe. His left hand held her firmly on her knees, as she stiffened against his grip, as if wanting more pressure than he was prepared to give at that time.
‘Oh, no!’ She gasped deeply.’Ohh, no! But it was her own hips and thighs behind her gasp.’Nnnnng!’ She shuddered and sank on his hand, such that considerable force he applied upward.
‘Oh, Jesus! My, God!’ She groaned. She flooded his hand and his wrist with her silky virgin semen, then finally, gradually, she slowly began to quieten.
‘Ohh!’ Did she moan, as the tremors took her hips by surprise, yet no pressure or depth was he giving.
‘Oohh!’ Did she gasp, almost too softly to hear and his left hand relieved the pressure on her shoulder.
‘Oh!’ She gasped so softly, so softly, as his hand began to gently withdraw downward from her private person.
‘Ohh,’ did she moan in her disappointment and momentary loss, and it was disappointment. His heart loved her then with all its might.
‘Ohh,’ did she sigh with a deep breath and escape. He felt her relax completely then beneath his hand on her shoulder. He then removed his hand from inside her underwear and then from inside her habit. He brought his glistening right hand to his mouth and inhaled deeply.
She was perfect. Sister Mary-Joseph was absolutely perfect. Then he drew the essence of her into his mouth, as he licked his hand clean of her flood. He smiled softly and took a deep breath, then slowly rose to his feet, his actions oblivious to the entranced nun beside him.
He saw Sister Mary-Joseph’s eyes were tightly closed. Glistening tears lined the edge of each lid, as they pressed together. He knew she felt, as if she was in the presence of her Lord, her Master. She had been blessed. She had been chosen to be blessed with this moment in time.
The tears freed themselves finally from her lids and cascaded down her cheeks like two glistening waterfalls of silver. He knew she was lost in each second of now, as it constantly arrived, moment by moment, and was perfectly content to be there.
He glanced at the nun’s face. It was calm, serene, and smiling. Slowly, gently, he reached down with both arms to her hands and brought them behind her back. She remained as she was, unmoving. From within his coat pocket he withdrew a thin long chord and gently secured her wrists as he crossed them, one over the other.
He cinched the knot, firmly, then tightly, closing the nun’s capture completely, his nun’s capture, knowing she was the first, but by no means, the last. He leaned forward and looked back at the nun’s face. Then he smiled, as he became aware of the tearstained streaks of glistening silver coursing down the sides of the her face and disappearing into the material of her white facial habit.
His heart and mind soared with the angels. Of course she accepted his love, as she knew he accepted hers. She would serve him, until the end of time itself. He was her Lord. He was her Master. And she, she was his Bride. He had come. Her Lord. Her Master. And. he had come, for her.
He slitted his eyes once more and waited, slowing his breath, stilling his excited and thumping heart. Smiling softly he waited for her to regain her awareness of the church, the altar, of himself, as whoever he appeared to her to be, and perhaps recognise her changed feelings of awareness towards he who presented before her.
After two and half minutes of his own mental counting, he heard a soft sigh. He watched, as she became aware of her bound wrists. Barely allowing the thin stream of breath to leave his lips, he waited. His pulse pounded in his temples. His heart thudded against his ribcage.
He could feel and sense her gaze upon him, even though she faced away from him, her eyes boring into the side of his head, his mind, and his awareness. Slowly, he looked upward at the lighted statue and crossed himself, then smiled softly. As he did so he heard a gentle sigh escape her lips, yet she did not turn. He saw her fingers try to feel her bindings. They could not.
And then, he slowly walked around to stand before her, beneath the figure of the man on the cross, which hung on the wall behind him. He allowed his gaze to slowly meet hers, not knowing fully what he would see, what she would see.
He was surprised. He felt wonderful, absolutely wonderful, as if he had just had a vision of immense value. Then he wondered why. His eyes were soft and warm, as he looked at her. She smiled nervously, hesitantly. He found himself returning that smile with one warmer, yet different.
He watched, as she took stock of herself immediately upon noticing fully now that her hands had been bound, and tightly. Her brow furrowed. Yes. She definitely felt something was different, he thought.
‘Hello,’ he smiled softly down at the nun in the black and white penguin-suit habit.
‘Hello, my Lord,’ his ears heard Sister Mary-Joseph say, while her face and eyes immediately reflected her inner turmoil at having spoken as such. He just continued to smile at her, observing with some humour inside at the realisation and conflict going on inside her mind and awareness.
Watch inside yourself therefore, he thought to her female soul, for you know not the hour when I will come and cause you to feel. Then you will kneel in prayer and you will know.
He could see with each frown and each subtle tug on her wrists that Sister Mary-Joseph was questioning herself with each passing second. She was questioning her role as a nun, her role as a bride, her vows, her church, her calm, her peace, her loss, her love, her servitude, her pledge of loyalty to him, and her love for God.
It seemed to him then, as her brow furrowed and knitted and her eyes sharpened and cleared, that Sister Mary-Joseph stopped questioning, as if everything suddenly seemed all right within her mind. Then her smile broadened in a way he could not recall a female smiling since he had left the desert. Then slowly, her gaze steadied and focussed directly up at him, unblinking. His heart pounded.
‘Hello, Master,’ she breathed softly.
His wild male heart soared. Tears filled his eyes with love and adoration, yet he did not know why, and, he did not question it. He only knew right then that Sister Mary-Joseph knew in her heart and soul that he was her Lord and Master, and that she would serve him, in whatever way he chose to take her.
‘I have come,’ he said emotionally and in barely a whisper.
‘Beware that no man deceive you, for in these coming times, many in high and low places will use my name, and they will deceive many, as they have always; and of the friend they could have had in my Father and me, sadly, the loss is theirs.’
Then his own brow puzzled over that which he had just said, and he wondered again what the name was he had only just spoken of.
‘Yes, my Lord,’ Sister Mary-Joseph answered emotionally with a warm smile, her tears running freely down her cheeks to match his own. Then he watched her shining eyes, as his hands reached for his belt. Her enraptured gaze remained fixed there then, even as his trousers became loose and fell about his ankles in a gentle heap. Her breathing deepened. He saw, and he knew she knew he had seen. And it deepened considerably more when his underwear then settled fully down upon his trousers.
‘Oh!’ Sister Mary-Joseph softly gasped, and it was a gasp, and he smiled for her learning, as he stepped forward one pace and gently rested his right hand upon the warm top of her head.
Pray that your flight will not be in winter, he thought, as he then smiled lovingly down upon her, for there will be great distresses, unequalled since the beginning of the world or ever again.
Gently his hand encouraged the very barest of pressure toward him, and then he did not and he smiled. Wrists bound tightly behind her in utter submission he then felt the warmth of Sister Mary-Joseph’s virgin rapid breaths approach his maleness closely and personally.
Except when those days be shortened, he thought, no one would survive: and yet those days will be shortened for the sake of my Father’s chosen people of human nature, given by him in his gift of love for all humankind to enjoy.
He looked both ways and closed his eyes to the gentle enveloping warmth of Sister Mary-Joseph’s virgin mouth, knowing she knew her woman was living on borrowed time. And then he groaned, very, very deeply.