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The Iglesia de Santa Rosa was as old as the poverty that plagued its neighborhood, and it had space for only a small congregation. But every Friday night the benches were filled by the local faithful, often an hour or more before the eight p.m. service. Even on the warmest summer evenings mothers and husbands, their dirty and ragged children arranged between them, filled the seating inside the airless chapel. Late arrivals stood along the side aisles—nearest the small fans mounted high on the walls—or in the rear where space was the most crowded. Some drank from small cartons of locally produced lemon water, from the kitchens of the boys and girls who outside had started to earn a meager living from the sales of refilled juice cartons, used plastic fans, and handkerchiefs, most washed and recycled from last week’s trash.
No matter the heat—or sometimes the cold—no one complained, not even those standing in the rear where the air never moved. Everyone stood or sat quietly, but not in anticipation of the holy word from Father Arturo, whose sermon they would hear again on Sunday. (Friday was the padre’s unofficial rehearsal service.) No… the Friday congregation came to hear the choir.
Twelve women and seven men formed the Friday choir. Each of them sang in the chapel on other days or evenings—the choirs of Sta. Rosa were an informal collection—but Friday was the only service that brought these singers together. The congregation’s devotion to these nineteen angelic voices outshone their devotion to salvation, or so said the alarmed Fr. Arturo, and it was he who discouraged them from coming together more regularly.
On this Friday the choir had only eighteen members sitting in the chancel. Valencia, a pretty but not beautiful woman in her mid-thirties, was absent. The congregation noticed. Everyone in the chapel knew all the singers well. Faces became concerned. At just a few minutes before eight, from within the crowded benches, a murmur began to stir, until it grew to a buzz. “Where could Valencia be?” was asked by half of those gathered. The other half, without answer, only worried in silence.
Then Valencia arrived. Without apology or fanfare she entered the side door bashfully and took her place just as Fr. Arturo was about to enter the chapel. The sigh of relief that rose from the benches annoyed the priest, but as all minor things did this thought soon left his good-natured mind. The Friday evening service would go on as usual. Even Fr. Arturo noticed that he, too, was relieved.
Irene, among the oldest of the choir members and seated next to Valencia, leaned in to her and whispered.
“Len, where were you?”
“I can’t tell you,” Valencia whispered back. And after a brief pause she finished. “Here.”
Irene look puzzled.
“I can’t tell you HERE. But later, okay?”
Irene nodded. She was ten years older than Len, which was why she never called the younger singer by her proper name. Despite the difference in their ages, they were the closest friends in the choir. The country’s rigid social rules for older and younger friends they never applied to one another, and their sisterly bond grew stronger and more carefree with each year. They had been singing together for five years now, and neither cared to recall what church or life had been like before they met.
After the service, after Fr. Arturo finally got the weeping but joyful congregation to break its spell and leave, Len and Irene left together. Walking toward Irene’s home, where they ate a late dinner every Friday, Irene pressed for information.
“You’ve never been late for Friday service. Why tonight?”
Len did not hesitate.
“I met someone.”
Nor did Irene hesitate in reply.
“Ha! Ha! I did! I met someone.”
Irene stopped walking. Len turned back to take her hand. Irene wanted to talk.
“You met a man? Wow! Tell me everyth-“
“Not here. I’ll tell you at home.”
The two women turned quickly hurried along the road as if a fire awaited them and needed their attention. Anyone with a window open along the road would have heard them both giggling, as they skipped by like school girls.
Len was seated in the worn out cushion chair near the window when Irene brought a tray of small sandwiches from the kitchen. She had prepared them quickly and silently, eager to hear about Len’s date but wanting to be face to face when they talked. She went back to the kitchen and brought out two glasses of cold lemon tea. She set them down on güvenilir bahis the chipped and scarred wooden coffee table and sat herself down on the sofa, facing Len, who was already eating.
“Does he have a giant cock?”
Len put a hand over her mouth so she wouldn’t spit out her food. With her mouth still full she pretended shock.
“Hey!! Ha! Ha!!”
Both women laughed loudly until Len swallowed and broke in again.
“YES! HA! HA!”
They laughed even louder. Irene made large eyes and managed a loud “Mmmmm!” and they laughed more still.
Len’s eyes widened.
“BIG! Ha! Ha!” She held up a finger on each hand and spread her hands far apart.
“That’s what I said, too! Ha! Ha!”
The two ladies had not known each other long when they discovered their secret shared obsession with fucking, and it took them only a few conversations to reveal jointly that neither had had sex in years. Irene had lost her husband to a fishing boat accident, three years before she met Valencia, and how quickly the sweet and shy looking girl, who laughed easily and sang splendidly, had come to fill the void created by widowhood. She was the least frivolous of the younger singers in the choir, her constant laughter more bashful than childish. Her temperament matched Irene’s perfectly, and so did her desire to talk about the joys of going to bed with men.
Like Irene, however, Len had not shared a bed with any man since her own husband left her, which he did without announcement while working abroad. One day the communication just ended, and so too did the money he sent her. She moved back home with her mother and younger sister, both of whom still considered her faithfully wed. Men were officially out, so said mom, sis, and the Church. And so these two celibates, one voluntary and one forced by living conditions, shared common ground.
But what they both lacked in experience they made up for in naughty revelry. For five years they had sat side by side in the choir, spying men (and sometimes women) in the congregation, giggling to one another at the hand signals they had invented, gestures only they understood: Maybe a big cock on this one; probably a tiny one on this other poor man; dried-up-looking wife here; there a wife who looked quite satisfied; and oh, her, the unmarried one who smiles too much! etc., etc. Over meals they shared fantastic thoughts of the next time either might get laid, if ever there would be one. It took less than a year, however, for Len to realize that Irene was a woman of fantasy only, and that no matter how many times Len tried to steer her older friend toward a potential romance, Irene simply lacked the courage to try, or feared her husband was watching from above. Either way, if one of them was ever going to have a real story to tell, it would be Valencia, and now she had one.
And Irene was ready.
“So… tell me everything!”
“You know I joined a dating site.”
“Where everyone goes to get fucked.”
“Ha! Ha! Yes! And I did! Ha! Ha!”
Len laughed to end all references she made to sex. What Irene did not know was that the date she was hearing about now was not the first, or even the second, Len had been on. Over the last three months she had met three men from her Internet adventures. None of the sex had been more than average, but she had learned something about herself: She was a submissive little whore, and her laughter was a defense against it. The second man she dated, a handsome but irascible Swiss tourist named Marc, spotted all her insecurities, took quick advantage of them, and despite his small erection he spent three afternoons acquainting Len with a side of herself she both feared and embraced. When she left him, she went home, updated her online profile from ‘Shy but Curious’ to ‘Submissive and Open-Minded’, and watched the responses overwhelm her inbox. That she had not dated in nearly a month was due to the time it took her to find and choose a man from all the offers.
“So was it all night?”
“All day, today! Ha! Ha!”
“Before the service?!”
Both women laughed. Irene howled, leaning back into the sofa and clapping her hands together.
“He’s American. He landed early in the morning. We met and I arranged the taxi to the hotel.”
“Tell me how he looks.”
“I knew when I saw him I was in trouble.”
“What? Why? Is he criminal looking?”
“He’s bald and strong and serious. I saw him coming türkçe bahis across the airport and I knew it was going to be fun.”
“But why trouble? Did he hurt you?”
“In a good way! Ha! Ha!”
Irene cupped a hand over her mouth. Her other arm she pulled into her chest. She looked like a woman who had gotten bad news, but her eyes twinkled, with a mix of delight and envy. She leaned forward then back, holding a glass of tea that she quickly emptied. She set the glass down and pulled both feet up, curling her legs under her.
Len sat in the chair like a queen on a throne, her hands dangling off the ends of the armrests, feet on the floor, knees slightly parted. She felt herself getting wet, recalling the details of her afternoon. She smiled to herself before starting again.
“Outside the room, he took the key from me. He looked at me and said, ‘Go inside when I open the door. I’m coming in ninety seconds. You better be on the bed, naked, on your back. I want your ass on the edge, your knees as high and as far apart as you can spread them. Be fingering yourself. And shut up.'”
“Did you know he was so rude?”
Irene took a deep breath. She leaned forward, took Len’s glass, and drank. She did not empty it, and held it on her lap.
“He opened the door and I went inside.”
“Yes. I found the bedroom. I stripped. I did what he told me to do.”
Len’s legs parted a little more. Irene sipped more cold tea.
“I heard the door open. I heard him set his bags on the floor. I heard him-“
“Fingering myself. Yes.”
She saw Irene swallow with some effort. Len let out a laugh.
“Ha! Ha! Ha! It’s okay! I’m imagining, too! Ha! Ha! Ha!”
Irene laughed at herself and drank the rest of the tea. She held on to the glass.
“He came into the room. He likes the light on. He saw me and he got down near me and started to lick me.”
“YES! I almost lost control but I tried not to. He grabbed my hips and pulled me almost off the bed. Then he stood up and lifted my hips. I was almost upside down.”
“I didn’t know a man could, or you could, like that.”
“Me, too! Ha! Ha!”
“I could hear him taking off his belt and then his pants.”
“And then he dropped me back on the bed.”
“Did you orgasm?”
“I had no time to prepare. He just started fucking me.”
“And was it a really big one?”
“Ha! Ha! I didn’t know because I was so wet already! Ha! Ha!”
Len went on. He pulled her onto his cock and kept her legs high, against his chest. By the third thrust he was as deep as he could go, and every stroke hit her back wall like a hammer. She had never heard her pussy make the sounds it made when he thrust into her. His rhythm grew faster as his strokes gained power. She was filled. She could barely breathe but if she could she would have called God and told him to hire another singer. She never wanted it to end, and it had only gotten started.
He let go her legs, reached for her wrists, and pulled her up. He lifted her off the bed with his cock sitting deep, but somehow she slid down on it and impaled herself even deeper. “FUCKING CHRIST!” was her first scream, and it only encouraged him. He thrust up into her so often and so hard that she felt her ribs reacting. Her tits were setting their own pace, and the violence of their motion sent shocks to her pussy. For the first time in her life, she looked a man in the eye, with his cock I her, and said, “FUCKING MORE!”
“I told you to shut up, whore.”
“Oh, God, yes!”
She came. He still held her arms. Her legs had fallen around him but they were locked there. All she had free to move was her head. It went wild. She screamed. She kept coming.
She came so hard she lost all sense of who controlled her body. He could have sawed her in half and she might not have felt it. Her brain had no frame of reference. Was this heaven? Better if it was hell, she would think much later. Now, there was nothing, until he plunged to the bed, with her under him.
“OKAY!! OHHH! GOD!!!”
He raised himself, pushed her güvenilir bahis siteleri legs all the way up until her knees closed in on her ears, and he began shoving more cock into her than she believed she had room for. The violence… she deserved!
“YES, FUCKER!! YESSSS!’
And then… she could say no more. His cock head had found something in her. It started as a sensation, but in a few thrusts it took over her body. Oil, something, piss, whatever, was shooting out of her. It was hot. It smelled. It drugged her and destroyed her.
And more screams, all loud, all helpless insanity. And then a blackout.
Or at least what seemed like time stopping. When he touched her arm some minutes later, she recoiled. The shock went everywhere, a mini lightning strike that threatened to start the whole thing over again. She let out a moan, shuddered, curled up on the bed. Only then did she feel the lake she lay in. The bed smelled, felt wet and coarse. She didn’t care.
Gently he rolled her onto her back. She stretched out and looked up, back over her head, out the large hotel window. The sky was bright blue. It really was heaven. She closed her eyes.
Irene was sweating. She shook the front of her shirt. The air did not help cool her off.
“I know. Ha! Ha!”
“Now I know why you were late for church.”
“Yeah. Ha! Ha!”
Irene pulled from her pocket one of the handkerchiefs she bought from a street child outside Sta. Rosa. She wiped sweat and looked in the glass, where there was no more tea.
“I’ll get some refills.”
Len took both glasses into the kitchen. Irene watched her walk. What did that body feel like now? Did it hurt? She remembered sex. She remembered hurting and wanting more. She watched Len come back, watched her breasts and her thighs and when she caught herself she looked at the tea Len carried.
Len handed her the fullest glass.
It was Irene’s turn to laugh.
“Ha! Ha! I was wondering if you were, after all that.”
“Oh, I am! Ha! Ha!”
They laughed and drank. Irene was careful not to over drink, careful not to look drained of her senses, but she was thirsty. She could feel her clothes soaked with her sweat.
“And was there more later?”
“Oh, we weren’t even done then, the first time. Ha! Ha!”
“What? No!” She paused. “Tell me.”
There was no laughing from Len now.
“He got on the bed, and knelt next to my head.”
“Oh. I know.”
“Yes! Ha! Ha!”
Irene drank in sips. Len continued.
“That’s when I saw his cock the first time.”
“Was he still hard?”
“Mmm-hmmm! And big! Ha! Ha! And he talked to me. ‘You know what whores do now.'”
Irene for the first time looked unexcited.
“Do you like it if he says that?”
They looked at each other, Len with a devilish twinkle and a smirk. Irene could do nothing but send back the friendliest smile she had. After five years, still so much to learn and talk about.
“I sucked him. He stayed on his knees over me. He had his hands on his hips. He asked me to jack him off fast.”
“How does it feel?”
“My hand felt small on it.”
“I know! Ha! Ha! I couldn’t believe I had just fucked it! Ha! Ha!”
“And did he…?”
“He did. I drank it all.”
“Which you love! Naughty!”
“Yes! Ha! Ha!”
Irene watched Len, her friend obviously blissful, in love with life. She loved her, loved all this for her, all she had heard and envied. She was about to lean over and high five her, a silly ritual they had started and never felt like dropping. But Len wasn’t finished.
“‘Happy Valentine’s Day,’ he said.”
“Today is Valentine’s Day.”
“Oh my God! It is!”
“I forgot, too, until he watched me swallow and said, “Happy Valentine’s Day. Did you like that present?’ ha! Ha!”
“Did you?” Irene laughed, too.
“Of course! Ha! Ha! I even got three more gifts before church! HA! HA!”
Irene wanted all the details. Len gave them to her. The two friends sat there all night, and a few times they went outside, to find a street boy or girl, and to buy some homemade lemon water in recycled boxes. They had to walk all the way back to Sta. Rosa, but Len’s tales made the walk seem momentary. They found a boy still sitting outside the empty chapel. On this hot night, out of respect for the joy their singing brought the neighborhood, the two ladies were given an extra box, for free. They refused, politely, but the boy insisted. He even gave Irene a free handkerchief. The street sellers all knew the two singers well.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
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