Melissa Morgan's female intuition sensed something about this new parishioner, a huge muscular black man named Reggie Johnson, which made her very uneasy. Her husband, Bill, failed to notice Reggie make his way beside her during the service.
All houses of worship carried in their air that same musty stench Reggie despised of old prayer books and Bibles. His eyes contemptuously beheld the obnoxiously large cross – symbol of suppression, sexual inhibition, the eternal opposition – suspended from the ceiling above the preacher.
For Reggie, grueling Sunday service was worse than Hell – and it was here on Earth. His stare lustfully wandered to the delicious curves of Melissa's young, slender figure beneath fine Sunday garments – a worthier object of contemplation and the only thing making the malarkey spewing from Reverend Doyle's mouth and that infernal book he read tolerable.
Melissa's dress revealed a bosom that filled it nicely, not excessively; a narrow waist; a thin, athletic hourglass figure; and a small, heart shaped ass. Melissa accompanied her husband to church every Sunday. Her face was an elixir of flaxen hair that descended past her shoulders in gentle waves; steely blue eyes, their color taken from heaven; a cute, round nose; a petite mouth with full lips; light, unblemished skin.
A few months back Reggie had placed his drug dealing operation in trusted hands, left the inner city, and moved to this small rural community where he remained inconspicuous. After the prosecution of some high-ranking government officials on his payroll, he needed to hang low for a while.
Reggie missed many things about the city, but beautiful women the most. City life provided him with a steady stream of girlfriends. Here in the boonies that stream had gone dry – no pussy for four months – which brought him here to the Light of Christ Church.
Reggie needed pussy badly, and the Light of Christ Church seemed like the only place he might find some in this small, pathetic community. The predominantly white congregation contained potential. Reggie particularly enjoyed cultivating a taste for black cock in supercilious white women. While here, he played the role of a good strong Christian deceptively well. None suspected the evil among them.
Services concluded and everyone wished their neighbors peace. "I love you so much," Melissa whispered in her husband's ear. After a big embrace, Bill and Melissa turned away from one another – she toward Reggie, jauntily taking his hand.
"Peace be with you," Melissa said looking up into Reggie's dark eyes. This gigantic muscular black man towered over her and Bill and gave Melissa a bad vibe.
"Peace," Reggie replied, looking at Melissa hungrily. He noticed Melissa's slight hesitancy as he took her hand, her diamond engagement ring and wedding band giving him brief glimpses of rainbows in their sparkle. Blood rushed to his penis. As quickly as a teenage boy stealing a first kiss, he formed a very big and hard erection. His suit jacket helped conceal the horrific bulge Melissa somehow failed to see in his pants. She probably never fucked a black man before either, Reggie correctly surmised.
Perhaps by chance or iniquitous intervention, the situation began to favor Reggie's lustful desires. Reverend Doyle was not finished yet...
"Bill Morgan, Scott and Lisa Fridas, and Larry Smith, come on up here," Reverend Doyle beckoned in labored breaths, his fat, bloated gut spilling over his belt.
Melissa's husband left her side to join the other four individuals summoned by Reverend Doyle.
"Let's hear a round of applause for these good folks who have graciously volunteered to be part of our missionary group leaving for Peru next week to spread the word of our Lord, Jesus. We are going to be gone for three weeks, but all of you need to be here praying for us. Brother Tom Gavin will be on the pulpit leading services," Reverend Doyle announced to Reggie's elation.
Melissa's husband was leaving for three entire weeks. Reggie never missed an opportunity to get inside a stuck-up white woman's panties, and the good Reverend Doyle just revealed his next chance. Reggie smiled to himself – perhaps going to church was not such a bad thing after all, even though he served a different master.
That autumn Sunday, church departed to an unusually mild sunlit afternoon – a joyous day bathed in amber that perfectly reflected Melissa's radiance in a last gasp of summer.
Bill's luggage packed with clothes, toiletries, and most importantly, a copy of the Bible, sat by the front door waiting as he perched on the sofa with Melissa and read a final verse of scripture to her before his departure. Mattthew 25:35 – 25:40 seemed quite apropos given the nature of his upcoming trip to some impoverished village in the jungles of South America:
"For I was hungered, and you gave me meat: I was thirsty, and you gave me drink: I was a stranger and you took me in..."
Melissa heard Reverend Doyle's vehicle approaching up the long driveway from the main road as Bill finished the passage. She had tried talking Bill out of this ridiculous trip. Two years ago, when Bill discovered Jesus, his involvement with the church increased, to where it now occupied so much of their lives. She tolerated Bill's zealousness, even though she did not share it, because she loved him. She had even followed him from their previous home in the city to this backwoods location. She went through all the motions for Bill – joining the choir, going to Bible study and prayer groups – yet secretly, instead of unshakable faith everyone in the congregation shared, Melissa sometimes doubted. A tiny notion she successfully suppressed kept trying to resurface from her deepest, darkest thoughts that perhaps all these people kidded themselves and God was no more real than Santa Claus.
Scott Fridas and Larry Smith sallied from Reverend Doyle's SUV to help Bill load his luggage. Lisa, Scott's wife, sauntered over to Melissa, whose effulgent smile appeared dimmer than usual, as the men greeted one another and began rearranging suitcases.
"Don't worry about Bill. We'll take good care of him," Lisa said hugging Melissa. "You really should have come with us."
They had invited both Bill and Melissa to join their mission to a small, poor village near Abancay in Peru. However, she did not want to spend the next six weeks battling insects in some third world country lacking civilized amenities. It was bad enough living out in the sticks here. "I know," Melissa replied. "But winter is coming and someone needs to keep an eye on things around the house."
Bill turned to his lovely wife whose beautifully slender figure and gorgeous face had caused heads to turn since her late teens, and still caused the same reaction now in her late twenties, garnering jealousy from a number of female parishioners. Bill hugged and kissed her goodbye. "I'll write," he said hopping into the front passenger side of the SUV beside Reverend Doyle. He hauled the heavy door closed with a thud and waved from the other side of its window as they pulled away.
Melissa watched Reverend Doyle's SUV become smaller as its distance from her grew, until only the faint red glow of its tail lights remained, brighter for a moment as it slowed to take a far-off curve, then disappearing as if swallowed by the surrounding forest.
Once at the airport several flights would bring Bill and his group to that far-away country with limited internet access. For the next several weeks, Melissa's primary method of communicating with him would be reminiscent of an earlier generation that wrote letters on paper, placed them in envelopes and sent them with stamps via Postal Service.
In waning dusk, Melissa stood staring at the empty roadway and the grey trees ascending towards aphotic clouds of a looming storm. A north wind caused her to shiver as the temperature precipitously dropped.
A few miles away, the newer member of their church planned some missionary work of his own, serving a different master everyone in the congregation knew all too well and avoided.
Isolated among the barren woods of late autumn, beneath a cold, dark, starless sky, the house sat. From its chimney, wind whisked away puffs of grey smoke and howled of an approaching storm to dormant, grey trees with branches twisted like elongated arthritic fingers. Melissa faced the fireplace languorously balled up at the end of the sofa as snow and sleet began pelting the windows. With Bill away, she took a long needed break from Biblical passages, and decided to find some entertaining reading on her Kindle.
Reggie Johnson went to their church but followed a different faith that commanded self-indulgence with beautiful female flesh, and required a Host to consecrate. A non-believer might call it luck, but it seemed as if an uncanny force protected Reggie. He sexually assaulted women for years – disrupting marriages and lives – without repercussion.
The lights flickered and went dark as the storm brought down a distant power line. In this remote area, cell phone coverage was spotty and Melissa could never get a signal from inside the house. She had firewood and decided to wait until the storm passed to go outside and call the power company. She longed for Bill to snuggle with and keep her warm and safe as she watched the flames dance in radiant yellow and orange brilliance that spilled tall, wavering shadows into the lonely room.
A frantic pounding on the door startled Melissa and interrupted her musings. Alone in the middle of the evening, the nearest neighbors miles away, she put down her Kindle to cautiously investigate.
"Who is it?" Melissa shouted from behind the door.
.... There is more of this story ...