Reverend Morley became the father I never had, so years later, when faced with my crisis of purpose after the accident, I retreated to Virginia and sought solace in the place that had become my home—the church.
You might say I experienced an awakening or a calling. Back at St. Christopher’s, my life suddenly had a purpose. I felt that God had put me on this earth to help people.
I let go of my past mistakes and determined to move forward with the goal of making the world a better place. I directed my energy towards helping others and studying the word of God. I enrolled at a seminary in Tennessee, and I came to St. John’s church in New Orleans soon after I graduated.
I’d pursued a career in my faith with a singular focus, and it had been years since I’d been excited by a woman. I simply didn’t have the time for it. I was too busy with holy pursuits. Before the accident I’d had more than my share of encounters with women—both casual and a couple of longer-term relationships—but afterward I’d shut that part of me down. How could I continue cavorting with members of the opposite sex while two of my best friends would never have that opportunity again?
Over time I grew to see what happened as God’s plan. Those events were not mine to question. My only choice was to move forward and become the person I believed God wanted me to be. But now that he’d thrown a gorgeous girl in my path, I wasn’t sure what to do. As an Episcopal priest, I was allowed to marry and have a family, unlike my Catholic counterparts.
The only thing that was stopping me from pursuing her was that the woman in question worked in a “house of ill-repute.” While it didn’t offend me personally, I didn’t think it would look too great to my parishioners for me to be dating a cocktail waitress from Bourbon Street. Though that was better than a stripper or a hooker, I smiled to myself.
But now that I was on Crawford Banks’ hit list, falling for a girl who worked on Bourbon Street was probably the worst idea possible.
After hours of silently justifying it to myself, I planned a trip to Lulu’s—only to get Chloe’s phone number. I wouldn’t stay long—just long enough to ask her for her number, maybe order one drink. I couldn’t think of another way. I’d already tried to find her phone number with no luck and exhausted every possible search on Facebook, which made me feel like a real stalker. The easiest way was just to go to where she worked and essentially hit on her.
I’d ask her out for coffee. A little more awkward now that I was a priest, but I was confident I still had some game left even with the collar.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d approached a woman. It had been years. There wasn’t a lot of temptation in seminary or in church life.
Once I’d decided to venture down to the Quarter I thought I’d treat myself to a nice dinner in the neighborhood first at a high-end restaurant called Luxe, owned by the Thibodaux family.
Around eight o’clock I put a sport coat on over my clerical shirt and drove to Luxe for dinner, where I enjoyed a delicious salad and rack of lamb with root vegetables and a béarnaise sauce. I was accustomed to dining alone, but this time I was so full of anticipation over my impending trek into the heart of the Quarter that I’m afraid I hurried the exquisite meal.
Luxe was only a few blocks from Lulu’s and though weather was brisk it was still pleasant so I opted to walk over. On the way it occurred to me that Chloe might not even be working that night so I got out my cell phone and called.
“Lulu’s,” a gruff voice answered.
“Hello. I was calling to find out if Chloe—I mean Vixen, is working tonight.” I prayed she was. I hated to have to wait another night.
“Yeah, Vixen’s here.” The voice sounded bored.
“All right, thanks.” Whew. Good thing I thought to check. As I got closer to the club, I felt a rush of something in my gut, and it wasn’t the lamb I’d hurried through.
No. It was the old-but-familiar flit of butterflies in my stomach. Damn, it had been ages since I’d experienced that.
Taking it as a good sign, I paid the cover charge and ignored the way the doorman stared at my collar like I was from Mars. I could have not worn it, but it had been ingrained in me by my mentors that having a variety of clothing options only confuses a priest and those around him. Once you are a priest you are always a priest, and there’s never a time that you are “off duty” in my vocation. If I were honest with myself, even though I was technically allowed to refrain from wearing my clerical attire sometimes—I had the bad feeling that frequenting establishments where women danced naked was such a questionable decision that whatever choice I made with regards to wearing my collar would have been overshadowed by the issue of my being here in the first place.
The thought that I might be hiding behind the collar entered my head, but I banished the notion immediately.
Nobody else in the place seemed to notice me. The other patrons were busy watching the girls on stage or engaged in conversation with others. I sat down a bit farther back from the stage than where George sat the last time I was here and scanned the room for a waitress, one who I hoped would be “Vixen.” Unfortunately, I only saw a couple of girls and neither was her. A glance to my left told me she wasn’t behind the bar either.
A buxom blonde wearing short shorts and a top similar to the one Chloe had been wearing last time approached me wearing a tired smile. “What can I get for you, Padre?”
I smiled back. “I’ll take a beer.”
“We’ve got Abita on tap.”
“That sounds good.”
She was about to walk away when I touched her arm. She flinched, but stopped.
Too late, I realized touching the women in here in any fashion was probably a no-no. Leaning back, I apologized. “Sorry.”
She shrugged.
I continued, “Hey, I was told a girl named Vixen was working tonight.”
The blonde nodded and pointed to one of the girls on stage then moved on to another customer.
It took me a minute to recognize her, but the blonde was right. It was Chloe. Her thighs gripped the pole and she thrust her chest back so that she hung upside down. Flipping her hair, which must have been a wig, back, she grabbed the pole with one arm and kicked the opposite leg straight out and slid down it before hurling her body around and finally coming upright. I was so impressed by the athleticism and grace of her gymnastics that it took my brain a few minutes to register the fact that she was ninety-nine percent naked.
The tiniest of G-strings covered her most intimate parts. Clearly the purpose of the glittery bandage-sized triangle that stretched up to an elastic band around her waist was more to hold tips than to cover anything important.
A flash of heat overtook me, and suddenly I wasn’t at all sure it was a good idea for me to be there.
I tugged at my collar, my fingers impeded by the stiff structure of it.
It was unbendable, unrelenting.
Unforgiving.
Fortunately, the blonde arrived with my beer. I paid her and downed half of it, hoping to cool the burning inside me. But when I set it down, I felt a droplet of sweat roll down my back. No such luck.
Coming to a club to get a phone number from a clothed waitress was something altogether different than watching a girl I already lusted for dance around suggestively, bare breasts bouncing as she gyrated. Her pert pink nipples made my mouth water, and I could feel beads of sweat forming along my brow. I tried to avert my eyes, but it was impossible.
She was beautiful, and everything about her screamed sex. Her breasts were full yet perky, and they looked real the way they moved with her rather than remaining stationary the way fake ones did. How I longed to touch them, knead them, pinch them. And even though she was clearly athletic, she had curvy hips, and a plump little ass that made you want to eat breakfast off it. Her skin was flawless—soft and smooth—I was dying to touch it.
A deep dark part of me reveled in this moment. I could watch her, dancing like that, and pretend she was doing it just for me. For a time, I made
an effort to forget I was a man of God.
For the duration of a few songs, I was simply a man. A man who wanted that woman dancing not thirty feet away from me.
“Here ya go.” The blonde waitress jarred me from my fantasy.
“But I didn’t order . . .” I began as she handed me another beer.
She nodded. “You looked thirsty. Anyway, we’ve got a twodrink minimum.”
“I see. Thank you. Keep the change.” I handed her the twenty, took a sip of my beer, and cringed, realizing it would soon be time for me to leave. I’d had my two drinks, and I wasn’t sure how I was going to get her number now. Did I still want it? I didn’t know, but my mission tonight had blown up into something I hadn’t expected. Something much more intense.
“Thank you,” she said, looking at the twenty then softly asked, “Hey, did you want me to tell Vixen you’re here? Her set’s almost over.”
“Uh, no. Thanks. I just-uh . . .” I stammered, not sure how to get out of this uncomfortable situation gracefully.
“It’s no trouble. I’m sure she won’t mind if someone like you stopped by to say hi.” Blondie’s eyes pointed at my collar, and I could tell she thought that meant I was harmless.
“Uh, sure. You can tell her, if you like.”
Blondie put a hand on my shoulder. “It’s all right, Padre. I’ll let her know.”
Great. Now I felt like a complete perv. The waitress thought I was some sort of stripper groupie.
I hadn’t known she’d be naked. Damn. My cheeks felt like they were on fire, and I felt as foolish as a seventh grader getting caught watching porn. I looked around, half expecting to see everyone else in the room staring at me in judgment.
Thankfully, no one seemed to be paying any attention to me. I slammed the rest of my beer, and sat there, my eyes glued to the enchanting woman flinging herself all over the stage, her body sending out an unabashed “fuck me” invitation. “Throw it all away to have me, and it will be the best thing that’s ever happened to you” was the message her body sent as plainly as if she’d posted it on a neon sign.
The more aroused I got, the more uncomfortable I became. By the time there was a break in the music, I was silently praying for forgiveness for indulging in such debauchery, and considering bolting.
But as concerned as I was about sinning or it being inappropriate for me to be there, ultimately, I was more determined to get Chloe’s phone number. That’s what I’d come here for, and I didn’t want to leave without it. I could decide later whether or not to use it. For now, I had to fulfill my quest. So, I remained, feet glued to the floor, waiting to see if she would appear. That was assuming the blonde actually told her a priest was waiting out front to talk to her.
Hopefully that would get her attention.
As soon as I saw her stepping out of the back, with only slightly more clothes on, I knew she’d gotten my message. She approached me wearing a sequined bra and a sturdier G-string adorned with matching hot pink sequins. Definitely flashy, and as she came closer I saw there were a few rhinestones at the corners of her eyes too. Her makeup was heavier than the other times I’d seen her, and it felt like meeting a true performer backstage on Broadway. She had that sort of regal air about her that elevated her high above the rather seedy establishment we inhabited.
“Hi,” she said then looked at the chair next to me.
For an instant I felt ridiculous. My pulse roared in my ears. What the hell had I been doing, coming down here to see her? We were from two completely different worlds. How the hell did I think that wouldn’t matter?
Outwardly, I kept it together. “Hi. Have a seat.” Sounding like a robot, I held out my hand inviting her to sit next to me, and thank God she did.
“Well, this is a surprise,” she said, her chocolate brown eyes big and curious.
I laughed nervously. “I’ll bet it is. Well, I thought I’d come down to see you, but I didn’t realize you’d be working . . .”
“Wait, so if you didn’t think I’d be working, why did you come?”
“No, that’s not what I meant. I thought that you were a cocktail waitress. I was just surprised to see you up there.” I indicated the stage with my index finger.
Her eyes flashed. “Yeah, I’m not sure I understand what you’re doing here. What the hell business is it of yours what I do here?”
Crap. Now I’d offended her. I rubbed the bridge of my nose, trying now to explain myself without pissing her off further.
But before I could say anything else, the meathead bouncer came over. “Is this guy giving you trouble?”
To my surprise, Chloe giggled. “Can’t you see he’s a priest? What kind of trouble could he be giving me, Jasper?”
“I don’t know, but if he’s not spending money, I say we bounce ’im. He’s giving the place a bad name.”
Interesting. I hadn’t seen this sort of reverse discrimination coming. “Really? You’re going to kick a priest out of your strip joint? That’s rich.”
I imagined what a unique news story that would make—Coming up on News 5—Why a priest got kicked out of a strip club on Bourbon Street, and what he plans to do about it . . . next at 11.
“No, no, Jasper. He’s fine. He’s just about to buy a lap dance.” She grabbed me by the arm and hoisted me up, hooking her arm with mine.
“I was?” I asked. Jasper stood there with his hand out, and I opened my wallet.
“Yes, a private one. In the back,” Chloe stage whispered.
“Yes, I was.” I handed Jasper a twenty, and he kept glaring at me. I handed him two more and he closed his grubby palm around the cash.
Chloe led me quickly to the back of the bar, behind some curtains and pointed at a velvet-ish loveseat. I sat down. She pressed a few buttons on a karaoke-looking machine, music started, and she sat down next to me. “I’m sorry about that, Father. We’re not used to guests like you in here.”
“So I gather, and that doesn’t surprise me.”
She laughed. “So, what are you really here for?”
I couldn’t help but tease her. “Well, now I’m here for a lap dance. I just paid a lot of money . . .”
“You’re right, you did. I’m sorry. I just wasn’t sure . . .” She bit her lip apologetically, and it was the most adorable thing I’d ever seen. If all the awkwardness of this experience was going to culminate in this—it was worth it.
I liked watching her squirm. Not in a sadistic way, I simply found her enchanting. And back in the private section, alone with her, I felt more comfortable than I had all night.
She expected me to say, “Oh no. You don’t need to dance for me.”
Maybe I should have. It would have been the Godly thing to do, but fuck that. I was here now, it was just me and her, and I was going to enjoy it.
I raised an eyebrow. “Show me what you’ve got.”
5
Eduardo
Chloe looked at me like I’d turned from her grandmother into the big bad wolf. Her eyes narrowed, but she got up and restarted the music. I can’t remember what it was. I wasn’t interested in the music.
Turning her back to me she started to sway from side to side. Then she shook her hips, and I felt a smile creep across my face. That’s what I’m talkin’ about. God, she had a gorgeous body.
Slowly, she turned her backside to me and danced towards me until the backs of her legs touched mine. Then, holding the front of her bra over her breasts she unhooked the back so that I was looking at her naked back save the G-string. It was all I could do not to reach out and touch that luminous skin, take her and pull her onto my lap. But, for more reasons than I could count, I stifled a groan and refrained.
Sensuously, she turned to face me. When her eyes met mine there was a defiance there that intrigued me. Never dropping her gaze for a minute, she dropped her blinged-out bra to the ground, and as tempted as I was to partake in an up-close view of those nipples that were making my mouth water a few minutes ago, the connection between us felt as s
trong as a powerful magnet, and there was no way I was going to be the one to look away first.
With a flick of her wrist she ran her fingers through my hair. The smirk on her face told me she got a kick out of messing it up. I grinned as she stepped over my leg and walked around behind me. More fingers in my hair. I’d have a major case of bedhead by the time she got through with me, but I didn’t care.
The electricity running from her body to mine made me realize how much I’d missed the touch of another person. That long-buried need swam to the surface, and I took in a deep breath of air.
Fingernails lightly scraped the back of my neck, and all the hairs on my body stood on end.
God, I wanted more.
I wanted to touch her back, but a sinking feeling inside told me that wasn’t going to happen.
Touching the dancer was off-limits.
She was off-limits.
Dancing back into my line of sight, Chloe twirled around the other side of the love seat and did a deep knee-bend until her butt was on the floor in front of me. She leaned back then lifted her legs in the air before opening them wide. Apparently this was too much for my cock because it sprung to life and started pushing hard against my trousers.
Fuuuuuck!
Then, as if I weren’t hard enough, she licked her fingers one by one and started teasing her nipples. They closed into tight little buds, and I thought I’d lose my mind.
I tried to act like I’d seen a naked girl before, but it had been a while, and I’d truly forgotten how powerful the thrill of the opposite sex could be.
She started to get up and for a minute she was on her knees in front of me, her face level with my bulging erection. I took a mental snapshot, knowing I’d keep that picture in the fantasy memory bank for eternity. Soon she was back on her feet, rocking her hips back and forth about a foot in front of me.
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