Chapter 4

Molly, the fourth and last child of Bill and Pegeen Rafferty, was born in South Boston on July 15, 1938. Her father was a habitual drunkard who worked as a day laborer in the construction industry. Bill Rafferty’s income was insufficient to support his drinking habit his family and his drinking habit. So, Pegeen worked as a domestic servant in Beacon Hill. Her older sister was a nun by the name of Sister Anna. In Pegeen’s absence from the household, Anna gave her niece consistent advice on sexual matters. She cautioned the young girl to be watchful of older boys and men who might to take advantage of her. “If ever any man approaches you or tries to take advantage of you Molly,” she advised, “you come to me immediately.”

In the summer of her thirteenth year Molly, dealing with her changing body and budding breasts, was asked to work as a playground counselor at the church preschool. The program was under the direction of a newly ordained priest, Father Al. It wasn’t long before the young father was taken with the perky teenager’s sexy body. Repeating the same job in the summer of 1952 the fourteen-year-old Molly was developing a woman’s body. Though being too naïve to act on it, Molly developed a strong crush on the handsome young priest, feelings that both intrigued and intimidated her. She had no clue that her innocent flirting was causing strong feelings to grow in the celibate priest

One day while Father Al was on his way to the sacristy with a case of communion wine he passed Molly going out the door to the playground and asked, “Would you bring those two boxes of candles in with you Molly?”

Since her bailiwick was the playground she never anticipated being asked to help in the church. The way her heart fluttered when she was near him though, she would have done about anything to be in the presence of the young man. The innocent girl never considered the sexual intent in Father Al’s flirting.

When the young priest backed her into the corner of the sacristy and kissed her his aggressive behavior alarmed her. When he fondled her breast she was frightened, and she tried to duck away from him. The suddenness of his bruising grip on her arms shocked her. As he hissed, “Stop fighting it you little tart,” she was petrified.

In a blur she found herself on the carpet, the heavier priest pinning her body to the floor. Having innocently fantasized about Father Al hugging and kissing her Molly never considered he might do something in such a forceful way. While denying what was happening she tried to collect her thoughts. When he forced his hand between her legs and gripped the panel of her panties and ripped them open she pled, “Please Father, I ... I’m a VIRGIN.”

Having been taught by her aunt Anna to never let a male touch her private parts she was panicked when she felt something warm and blunt being pushed against the opening of her vagina. When she felt the hurtful penetration of his bulky knob rip her hymen, she yelled, “Stop, Father you’re hurting me ... STOP. Please Father STOP.” Resolving to fend him off she writhed and pounded his back, then tried to scratch and gouge his eyes.

Too powerful for the fourteen-year-old girl, the athletically built priest subdued her by holding her wrists against the floor. “Settle down you little bitch,” he commanded.

As she felt like her insides were being torn open the words of her aunt echoed in her brain, “Men will try to take advantage of you, Molly.” Full of remorse for allowing herself to have been put in this position she railed with disgust and obstinacy while, realizing, it is too late now. Though still awash in distress and revulsion pain began to morph into pleasure which confusingly became ecstasy that Molly struggled to deny. But as Father Al’s gouging member caused Molly to auto-lubricate it was transformed into a massaging wand, that was fluidly penetrating her core, while flipping switches throughout her body that transported her to a mysterious paradise.

Though she despised him for invading her private domain she couldn’t stop the pleasure that took place in her body. While her mind kept saying said, “I want to KILL you,” countered with, “Please, please, please never STOP.”

Amplifying her sensations Father Al’s actions were confirmed as he proclaimed, “You love my big cock inside you Molly, don’t you? You love how it feels in your slutty little cunt.”

While gritting her teeth at the absurdity of his invasion she silently agreed, yes, Yes, Yes. Sister Anna’s admonitions had made her say, “Please Father, please stop. I’m a virgin.” She knew she should abhor the man for what he was doing but she found herself loving the feelings that were being implanted in her body. But how can I accept the way he’s forcing himself upon me? It’s so ugly but... Torn with conflicting feelings, his sliding bulk ignited fireworks that made Molly’s ears buzz and her toes curl. Each time Father Al buried his penis deep into Molly’s core her eyes opened so wide that she felt they might pop out. The cracks in the ceiling and the spider webs in the corners seemed surreal. She could read the tiniest print on the wine bottles. She thought about trying to get out from under the gasping rapist, but she wanted more. It feels so good and I want it to last and last and last. Kicking like a frog that had been turned over on its back she wondered Is this what it means to have a crush on someone? Did he know I would like it? Why couldn’t he have been nice about it? These questions would bother her for as long as she would know Father Al. But the wisdom of the importance of a man’s need to penetrate a woman’s vagina would make her a giant in the sexual service industry.

It felt like he had been humping her for a long time, but it was only twelve and a half minutes with a rest every few. Finally, when he thumped her cervix the last time she felt the muscles of his penis flex and wondered if he was fertilizing her. As he gasped his release she thought I hope I don’t get pregnant.

Father Al became still like he was sleeping; his erection had shrunk and slithered out of her vagina. She could feel warm wetness seeping down the crack of her cheeks. When he started the rape he was rough and hurtful. She fought him. But after the hurt stopped and bliss took over it seemed as though they were co-conspirators who were stealing pleasure in the sacristy. The weight of his body was too much for her. “Please get off of me Father,” she implored, “you’re too heavy.”

The priest got up on his knees and then stood. Looking down at the damage he scanned Molly’s gaping panties—torn at the crotch—the new hairs on her pussy spattered with his semen and some of her blood, its wetness running down her crack like snot. In revulsion, he said, “You disgust me you little slut.”

How would she have ever realized that this would be the start of a strange addiction that would bring her years of pleasure and allow her to amass a personal fortune? At first, he had physically hurt her, but now his words hurt worse. Though disappointed at how he forced her, when he finished she thought he might be in love with her. Now she was confused and hurt again. Reaching in his back pocket he pulled out his handkerchief and handed it to her saying, “Wipe off that filthy mess Molly.” She felt dirty.

Before closing the door of the sacristy Father Al admonished, “You have a lot to atone for you shameless Jezebel. Tempting a priest as you’ve done will take some serious praying. I’ll be waiting for you in the confessional.”

As in most Catholic families, guilty feelings were easy to come by. The turmoil that started as agony and finished in ecstasy was momentous. But the anger and guilt it brought were momentous. Ecstasy brought only pleasure. She felt no guilt in that. But the priest, in the way he treated her, made her feel dirty and worthless.

While in the confessional there was no atonement for Molly, only the wish that she could get into Father Al’s side of the confessional and somehow get his penis back inside her. She confessed any sin he suggested Yes, she thought, I have tempted a man of the cloth and I will do it over and over. Then a thought nibbled at the back of her mind, and I’ll do it with anyone else I can find.

Over the next week, Molly dwelt on what had happened, how it had come about, and what she thought she might want to do about it. She relived how Father All had continuously ogled her since he had come to the church. She grasped that most men, including her father, had often looked at her in the same way.

One day, after her bath, she looked at her nakedness in the full-length mirror and suddenly saw what men like Father Al and her father the men had seen. The body she had been quietly ashamed of had somehow morphed into something beautiful, like a caterpillar changing into a butterfly, and understood why men looked at her the way they did.