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On first Fridays we have to go to confession.
Every month we're in school the nuns walk each class over one
at a time. We kneel and reflect on our sins as we wait our turn
in the box. A lot of girls think it's boring, but I don't.
Not with the thoughts in my head. Not this
I'm next for Father Damien. So cute.
Totally wasted as a priest. Maybe I'll give him a thrill. And
"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,
by my thoughts, my words, my actions. It's been a month since
my last confession. These are my sins."
My sins. My hands slipped beneath my skirt
and I slid my panties down, letting my knees step over them
so I could take them off. The kneeler squeaked and I wondered
if he could guess what I'd done. The plaid pleated skirt felt
rough against my skin, bare beneath it. I squirmed, pressed
my knees together tightly.
"I - I've sinned grievously, Father.
I don't know where to start."
I spoke the words softly, low and right into
the screen, my voice catching just so. I imagined I could hear
him sighing and shifting on the other side.
"Go ahead, my child. God can forgive
"I've been wicked, Father. Done things
I know are sinful, but I don't know which sins they are."
I lifted my skirt with my left hand.
"Tell me your deeds, girl."
"I - I touch myself, Father. Repeatedly
run my hands over my body and, and between my legs." As
I spoke, my right hand brushed against my thighs and then up
between them. I licked my lips and imagined him listening. Maybe
even starting to sweat a little just above his lip. Running
my tongue over my own lips I could taste the salt.
"I know it's wrong, Father, but I can't
help myself, love the feeling of my own skin beneath my fingers."
I moved my hand back and forth, stroking gently,
"My boyfriend touches me too. Under .
. . well, you know, under my skirt, Father. Over my panties.
And, and well, I touch him through his jeans."
He cleared his throat as if to speak. I spread
my knees wider and let my fingers push inside, more deeply and
insistently. I breathed quietly, through my teeth, but my breath
kept coming in faster gasps.
"At first I mean. And then he unzips
and I feel him through his underpants. And he gets, um . . .
he gets hard Father. And puts his hands inside my panties. Sometimes
I let him take them off me."
"You're putting yourself in danger with
these actions, child. Wanton behavior can't lead to good. What
would your family say?"
"Oh Father, they know! I mean, I think
they do. Last week I left my panties in the car and my boyfriend's
father found them. And then his wife told my mother. Who told
My hand became more insistent and my body
began to move in response. I covered the noise in my throat
with a sob, not quite pretended.
"The next day, my father met me at the
door when I got back from school. He had my panties in one hand
and the paddle in the other. He threw the panties at me, telling
me where they'd been found. And slapped me too. Then, right
there, in the front hall of the living room he yanked me over
his lap and began whacking me over my panties, telling me what
a disgrace I was to them."
My fingers moved quickly against my own wet
slipperiness as I poured my thoughts out to him. I could hear
his watch ticking. Hear his own breathing.
"He, he, he stood me in front of him
and yanked down my underpants and told my mom to check to see
if I was intact. I could feel her finger push inside me, Father.
Because she had to know. I cried and felt like such a sinner."
"As well you should, young lady. What
if you found yourself with child? You're putting yourself and
your boyfriend's souls in jeopardy - becoming a near occasion
of mortal sin."
At his words I moaned slightly. So bad - such
a bad girl.
"After she finished checking me, told
him I was a virgin, he pulled me back across his lap and paddled
me more, this time on my bare bottom. I cried so hard I was
screaming, Father. I swore to them I'd sin no more."
"And pray to God for the strength to
honor that vow, child."
"But when they sent me upstairs, I lay
on my bed in the darkness and ran my hands between my legs,
feeling the heat rise. I - I can't stop sinning, Father. Has
God deserted me?"
My fingers touched my clit and I felt myself
explode as the blood rushed through me, filling me with pleasure
as I moved frantically against my own hand. But I lost track
of my audience until the light blinded me and I dropped my skirt
quickly but too late. He'd come around to my side, opened the
door and saw me - well, you know what he saw me doing.
He said something I didn't hear - but heard
the anger in his voice. Did he call me harlot, sinner, Eve?
Not sure. But then Father Damien grabbed my upper arm and yanked
me to my feet, pulling me from the confessional. I could say
nothing, could feel the shocked eyes of my classmates, my teacher,
on me. As he pulled me toward the front of the church, my last
image of the box were my white panties against the dark wood
floor. I could feel my nakedness beneath my modest plaid skirt.
The priest's finger tightened into my arm
as he pulled me across the sanctuary to the sacristy behind.
His voice was low but clear as he stood me in front of him.
"You've sinned most grievously, young
woman. In a manner I'd have scarcely thought possible for one
so young. What you've committed today is sacrilege. I wish I
could violate the confessional and tell your teachers and family
what you did while you were pretending to beg God for forgiveness.
Ensure you're punished as you deserve to be."
I dropped to my knees before him in tears.
"Please, Father! I beg you, forgive me.
I'm sorry, truly sorry."
Father Damien's hands were on my shoulders,
shaking me as I cried harder.
"Beg God's forgiveness, not mine. If
you dare. You deserve to be punished, but I can't say what you've
done. The confessional is sacred, even when abused as you did."
His hands were at his waist, beneath his robe. For a second
I feared violation but then his object became clear as he pulled
his black belt from around his waist.
"Go across to that kneeler and stand
before it. Good. Now bend over and place your hands on the pad."
The wooden prayer book shelf dug into my stomach
as I stood on my toes to reach the padded kneeler. My skirt
rose up to my thighs on its own before Father Damien threw it
roughly to my shoulders, baring me from my waist to the top
of my knee socks.
"I suspect that your story of being spanked
by your father for your wantonness was a tale to seduce me and
yourself. Let's see if you enjoy being thrashed in reality nearly
With that he cracked the leather across my
bottom and I kicked and tried to rise, biting my sleeve to keep
from crying out. His left hand pushed the base of my spine,
keeping me bent over.
"Burns, doesn't it? I promise you when
I'm finished your hands will never even consider roaming your
body without remembering this hell fire."
The strap burned my skin again and again as
I struggled and choked sobs into my arms. My thighs were lashed
along with my bottom as I promised him never again and confessed
my sorrow at offending him and God. Finally I could bear no
more and my sobs broke through, echoing through the church,
leaving my classmates no doubt as to my penance. . . .
I watch as the door opens and the red light
turns to green. A girl kneels on the pew in front of me to begin
It's my turn to confess before God and Father
"Bless me Father for I have sinned. By
my thoughts. . . ."
to Mija's stories
to the treehouse