Corvid-19
Copyright© 2026 by OmegaPet-58
Chapter 8: The Parish Hall
Drama Sex Story: Chapter 8: The Parish Hall - Meet Jason Crow: college junior and loyal boyfriend to the sexy and fiercely independent Sallie. He's staying with his beloved Grandma and asks her to accept Sallie moving in. She does, but when Sallie’s traditional parents learn of Jason and demand she submit to their strict rules and abandon her education, Jason and Sallie must risk everything for their future. Dive into Corvid-19 for a witty mix of romance, family, and freedom.
Caution: This Drama Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Romantic Heterosexual Fiction School Group Sex Masturbation Oral Sex BBW Illustrated
“How are you doing, mi abuela?” I asked.
“You know, I feel pretty confident. More than I did yesterday. Sallie, are you ready to dance with, uh, uh...”
Irritated, I pinched my nose and growled, “Jason. Your grandson. Still. It’s good that you coached Sallie, the way you have coached me. Before we go, though, I have a present for you.”
“A present?”
“Here you go.”
I handed her a set of 2-by-3-inch business cards in a plastic case. Each card bore her name, phone number, and an image of a monarch butterfly. She looked at them and then at my face.
”¿Qué?”
“That seems kind of, ah, forward. Sallie, did you know about this?”
“Yeah. Let me put it this way. You might be used to meeting people through family introductions or a shared community. Like if you were regularly going to the, uh, parish for weekly Mass. In my mind, this is a safe way for you to show a man who interests you that you’d like to see him again. Like, one-to-one.”
“I guess that makes sense, Sallie.”
“And you stay in control. If a guy pretends he’s doing you a favor by allowing you to date him...”
”¡Puro machismo! Sorry, Sallie. Uh, macho bullshit.”
“Exactly. No little card for him. But if you do come across a, forgive me, a hot prospect, you’re giving him an opportunity. This is our way of thanking you for the dancing lessons and, well, everything, Grandma.”
I said, “Another good part? You won’t have any reason to talk to, or spit on, the parish priest.”
She frowned, and her eyes flashed. “Ese cura hijo de puta. That priest—that son of a whore. Sorry, Sallie.”
“Don’t apologize, I remember what you told us. Jason, I want to learn more Spanish cursing from you.”
“No way. Not when I can croon to you in Spanish, the true language of love, mi corazón—my heart.”
“I think we should get dressed then.”
My part was quick and easy: a touch of aftershave, a white shirt, a tie, a suit jacket, and pants. I went out to the living room and waited. When the ladies joined me, I whistled in approval.
“Spectacular!”
Sallie said, “Spectacular? I’m the same Sallie I was yesterday, so he must need spectacles.” I scoffed, and we loaded into Grandma’s sedan for the short trip to San José parish, parking on the playground of the attached school.
Not wanting a confrontation, I positioned myself to be between my ladies and the old priest as we walked in, and both of them also avoided making eye contact with him. Opening her small bag, my grandmother pulled out a framed black-and-white photograph of Pablo and a candle, plus some small flowers to arrange around the sides of the frame. The items were placed among others at a communal altar draped with marigolds at the side of the room.
Sallie and I stood a couple of steps back as my grandmother whispered a few words to the photograph, crossed herself, and turned back to us smiling. We knew the event had started a couple of hours earlier. The first part had been reserved for those recently bereaved who preferred a more solemn atmosphere.
All of the photographs and candles were now in place. On the opposite wall, the row of tables was loaded with all kinds of spicy food, mostly Mexican dishes but some from other Latin American countries like Guatemala and Venezuela. Most of these were “finger foods” but others required plates. A number of drink options were available, and a small sign indicated cervezas (beer) must only be consumed outside for legal reasons. I didn’t question this.
I handed Sallie a small Coca-Cola bottle in the traditional shape. She took a swallow and smiled.
“This tastes different.”
“It’s from Mexico. It’s made with real sugar instead of corn syrup. I prefer it.”
“I can understand that. Who’s that talking to Grandma?”
“Oh, I think that’s her old friend María Elena. I don’t know who the guy is. Maybe a cousin or a brother?”
“He’s definitely, um, alert, Jason. Grandma is like, basking in his attention. It’s cute.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a man in his early thirties with gelled hair heading straight toward Sallie.
“Kiss me, sweetie. Please?”
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