I have sat on that uncomfortable bench seat for years, listening to people droning on and on about their sins. It uses to be somewhat entertaining, living an almost vicarious life through my parishioners’ sins, but that paled rather quickly. I doled out appropriate penance for those sins, both real ones and other sins that I’m pretty sure were strictly imaginary.

For example Mrs. — let’s call her ‘Jones’, doesn’t like her husband very much. Apparently, his shortcomings extend to the bedroom and she is ... frustrated, to say the least. She is really attracted to multiple men, many of whom are also part of the parish, but she will never have the courage to act on it. As a result, I hear her weekly confession about one man after another who she “lusts after in her heart” and an increasing number of “Hail Marys” and “Our Fathers” seems to be enough to keep her from adultery. I guess in many ways I have done my job and kept her from actually sinning.

I know, I know, thinking about it is the same as doing it according to all my training, but I cannot completely agree with it, not now after all that has been happening the past decade. Yes, I am not afraid to talk about Boston and other places and the crimes committed by too many of my brethren. I know while I might have been guilty of sometimes thinking sexually about a few of my parishioners, I have never had such a thought about a child! I also know in my heart of hearts I would have taken action if I realized any of my co-priests were guilty of such actions. No, I’m not saying that to brag about myself. I just know the scandal didn’t touch my parish nor any of my co-workers, at least not since I became a priest. I am ashamed to admit one who was here decades before I was on the list released through the newspapers. I guess he’s lucky he passed away. I hope he’s burning in hell for his actions!

I am also thankful that my immediate superiors were not found to have been covering up issues, much like many in several cities were implicated. I’ve had many discussions about it with various parishioners and even other local folks. I can honestly say I am proud of our congregation and my fellow priests, nuns, and laypeople in that regard.

Having said that, I also know I am human and some of the thoughts I have had are not ones you would consider ‘pure’ as they might be expected to be since I do wear the collar. But, I have also never taken any action on any of those thoughts. This also explains why the thought of a deed isn’t nearly as sinful to me as the action. I do temper the penance I assign accordingly.

I have one gentleman, Mr. ‘Smith’, who does act outside of his marriage. He’s always contrite about it in the confessional and accepts the assigned penance with grace and even dignity. But at some point during the week he will meet someone and sin again and again. Somedays I think he confesses so he can brag to someone about his conquests. He knows he is covered by the seal of the confessional and I cannot tell anyone. Sometimes his descriptions are amazingly graphic, leaving me with a perfectly reasonable physical reaction that I am glad he never sees. Just because if he is the last confession of the day, I have to sit there for several minutes regaining my composure before I can leave my side of the booth.

One day I was surprised when after Mr. ‘Smith’, Mrs. ‘Johnson’ came in and gave an almost word-for-word recital of what Mr. ‘Smith’ just told me. It was easy to see the connection. The main difference is she felt bad about it, while Mr. ‘Smith’ was more bragging. I almost felt bad assigning her penance, but I know it would make her feel better.

For a long while, it was challenging to look people in the eye after hearing their deepest and sometimes darkest secrets. Not just sexual, but bordering on criminal. One person, I won’t even give a false name to, I am convinced actually committed a crime, but I am not allowed to report anything of the sort. I did my best to encourage him to confess to the authorities, but he played it off as if it was a joke. I never heard his confession again.

I guess I should get back to why I started this confession of my own. It all started one day when a wave of sweet perfume wafted in through the grill-like grid separating me from the confessor. I didn’t recognize the scent, so either someone bought something new or I have someone confessing her sins for the first time.

A low voice came through the grill, “Bless me Father for I have sinned and it has been six years since my last confession.” The voice was a thrilling contralto, slightly rough in a way that got my immediate attention. I once read in a novel an expression that stuck with me, “her grin was pure sex”. I thought I understood until I heard this voice. It was her voice that was pure sex! It oozed around my mental shields before I even realized it and the physical manifestation was almost painful. She hadn’t even said much yet. I was never so tempted to take down the grill just so I could see her face!

While I resisted that particular temptation, I could make out her lips, they were full and colored a soft pink. A mental image, pairing up something Mr. Smith talked about often and this woman’s lips was nearly enough to ... well, have you ever woken in the night to find you had a very detailed dream? One that resulted in some leakage? I don’t remember the technical term, but thinking about those lips and the act Mr. Smith described several times was sending me shocking close to having one of those in broad daylight with my eyes wide open.

Then she started talking more and more. She introduced herself as Brinna, newly back into the area and she was so happy to be home from college. That was the most innocuous thing she said because she was trying to catch up for the past six years in one sitting. It all started when she needed a job in college. One of her friends, another student, introduced her to a club in the city. To make this confession fairly short, shall we just say she dropped out of college for a while and was making pretty good money taking off her clothing.

What made this part of the story worse was that she slowly stood up and where I could make out her lips, I could now see her hips and the short dress she was wearing. The dress was yellow and stopped high up on her thighs, and what thighs they were! Then she sat back down and I could barely focus because before she started talking, she licked her lips! I bit back a moan of my own.