My eighteenth year was a very good year. Not only were my hormones raging more then ever before, but my pimples had decided to leave me. My eyes glowed, my hair shone and my body began to blossom into that of a young woman.
I had just finished the Year 12 exams and it was suggested I start looking for some part-time work during the holidays. My father had tried to persuade me to get some type of job in the church over the summer break. Father Paul had even spoken to the Year 12 girls about this prior to school breaking up. He told us there would be some paid work available in early January. As I was in need of some spare cash, I decided to phone Father Paul and ask him about the position.
Father Paul had been the parish Priest at the local Catholic School for 10 years and had seen me through my schooling for seven of those years.
For a priest, he was very handsome and we often wondered why someone as gorgeous as him would want to give up the life of a normal man to enter the priesthood. Besides being gorgeous, he was very nice, kind and gentle and always had time for you.
It was two weeks after school had broken up and I decided to phone Father Paul. He suggested I come down to the church so he could speak to me personally about the position. Fortunately for me, none of the other girls had made any enquiries and it looked as though I stood a good chance.
Dad didn’t mind if I didn’t dress appropriately as it wasn’t a formal interview. I wore jeans and a t-shirt and had my hair pulled back in a pony tail.
When I got there, Father Paul was sitting in his office listening to the radio. It seemed odd that a Priest would listen to the radio. I always envisaged a priest reading his bible or saying long prayers. But here he was, sitting back in his big office chair scrunching into an apple and reading the newspaper while the radio blared.
His relaxed state helped me feel very comfortable. He asked me to sit down. While he explained the job to me, my thoughts began racing. I don’t believe I heard a single word he said, my eyes were too busy fixed on his perfect face and I could just see the form of his well-structured body through his white shirt. At one point, he stopped and asked if I was okay and had I heard what he had just asked. “Huh, oh sorry, I replied. I guess I am just tired.”
He explained that I would be helping him in the office with his own personal library, rearranging some books. It seemed simple and paid well.
I began work the following Monday. It wasn’t easy at first. We had to carry about 100 books from the storeroom into his office and sit on the ground and rearrange them in alphabetical order.
As we sat, we had a chance to talk. He opened up to me about his life as a young boy growing up in New Zealand and how he felt lead by God to enter the priesthood.
I knew that I would not be seeing him in school anymore. For six weeks, I helped Father Paul and in those six weeks I found myself incredibly drawn to him.
We often laughed and shared stories and even spoke about God. We spent morning tea and lunch together and one day, he drove me into the town for a coffee.
Every moment with him was precious. It was more than just physical attraction. I was drawn to his faith in God and the stories he shared about his family and life back home in New Zealand.
Some of my friends had heard that I was helping him and warned me about falling in love with someone I couldn’t have. It didn’t seem to matter. I know he loved God and the church more than me, but somehow, I sensed he too was falling in love with me!
One day I decided to buy him a gift with some of the money I had earned, just as a way of thanking him for the position.
What do you buy a priest? I asked mum and dad for their suggestions. Mum said socks, Dad said chocolates.
I found myself at the department store pacing up and down the aisles trying to work out what to get him. As I was entering one of the aisles, I suddenly spied Father Paul shopping. My heart began to race. My palms suddenly became sweaty.
Soon he also spied me and came walking towards me. His face glowed, his eyes lit up like holy candles. He looked so handsome and so casual. Father Paul was never nervous. I found this incredibly sexy. If anyone knew the fantasies I had towards a priest, I am sure they would say I was doomed for hell.
“G’day,” Father Paul said, casually.
“What are you shopping for?”
“Oh, nothing much,” came my reply.
“Do you want a lift,” he asked.
Wow — he was actually going to drive me home! I accepted and we walked back to his car. The only regret I had at the time was that I didn’t buy him a gift. We walked back to the car chatting. I felt special as I sat next to him in the front seat. His car was simple yet comfortable and he drove like a real man and even cursed under his breath at an irritating driver.
He was so human! It was such a turn-on!
I found myself constantly glaring at him and smiling and was surprised to find he was returning the same, interested smiles. He dropped me off at home and gently asked through the open window if I was coming in tomorrow. Of course I would come in!
I found myself dressing in a way that would attract him. Not tarty or immoral, but just pretty. I knew what he would like. I wore pretty dresses and curled my hair and dabbed on a bit of lip gloss. I am sure mum knew what was going on. As I dashed out the door she remarked, “My, you’re looking very pretty these days young lady!” I just smiled, “Gotta go, mum.”
During the next few weeks, Father Paul and I got a lot of work done. We managed to get the library into good order and clean out his entire office. It was fun being with him and I sensed the feelings were very mutual.
Then one day it happened. On this particular day, we had to clear a whole row of church hymn books. There was so much dust and we both found ourselves scratching and laughing at the same time. As we both knelt down on the ground with our dirty rags in our hands, we couldn’t help but glance at each other and smile.
I guess some things just happen so quickly that you don’t really remember how they happened. As we worked our way through the shelves, we found ourselves gradually getting closer and closer to each other. There were a few glances and smiles and then … it happened. His hand seemed to wander and he placed it on mine. It was like a scene from a movie.
I just stood there, motionless, frozen actually. I didn’t know what to do. He smiled. I smiled and then suddenly our faces drew closer together. We began kissing.
I think it lasted about 10 seconds and then he drew away quickly, blushed and ashamed.
After it happened we just sat there stunned. He was more shocked than me and nervously he apologised for what just happened. I smiled, “It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone.”
He got up, walked back into his office and fell into his big office chair. He sighed, “How did this happen?”
Nervously I walked into his room and sat down on the chair in front of him. “It was meant to happen, I guess,” I said.
We sat there for about three minutes in total silence. His eyes darted around the room. He seemed as though he had committed an unpardonable sin.
One week followed and Father Paul suggested that I didn’t return back to the church to work. I was heartbroken. Crushed. I had to keep this a secret, especially from Mum and Dad.
Two years passed and I had gotten on with my life. He had left our parish and returned to New Zealand.
I had heard that he had left the priesthood and married a girl back home. Of course I was extremely happy for him. In some way, I felt extremely special — as though I had helped him realise that he was a man with feelings and that it was perfectly okay between him and God to pursue love in a different form.
Just recently I heard he has three beautiful children.
I feel so privileged to have been the one to lead the way into this new life for him. I don’t feel dirty or sinful at all. It was only a kiss — nothing more, and yes, I did fall in love with him.
I still love him but in a different way and I still think of him fondly — especially when I attend mass every Sunday.
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