Chapter 86

Mary Stone, the pastor at the little Four Corners chapel, was probably the most popular person in the little village. Even though sex — Pink Pussy and Carefree — were the heartbeat of the neighborhood, Mary was completely nonjudgmental. She welcomed people to visit with her in the chapel, and made house calls on a daily visit.

She was friendly without being bubbly, empathetic without being maudlin. Life was tough. Young girls, women, even a few grandmothers prostituted themselves. Some, for the money alone. Some, because they were too lazy to get an eduction and a real job ... Others, because they liked it.

Mary never criticized their decisions; rather, she tried to emphasize the positive. They had a roof, food, their children were, mostly, doing okay.

She had, at Willow’s urging, even encouraged four young women to approach Consuela and apply for work.

Then Willow approached her with another idea, “Come to Pink Pussy with me.”

“Why?”

“You’ll see.”

While Mary had never been in the strip club, she had a pretty good idea what to expect. She’d talked with dozens and dozens of Consuela’s whores.

It was early on a Wednesday morning and only one of the four stages was lit. Two naked sisters — Valerie and Vickie Sloane — were working. They were 15 and 16, but Claire had gotten them IDs that were almost flawless. They weren’t twins, but wore their dark hair in matching pixie cuts, and looked a lot alike.

Vickie was lying on her back, her heels touching her butt which was at the very edge of the stage. One man had his hands behind his back and was eagerly licking her bald pussy. Six others were lined up behind him, waiting their turn. Valerie had a wad of bills in her hand and was going down the line, collecting more.

Willow smiled at the girl, “How much?

“Twenty dollars, Miss Willow. We could get more, but Mama said to go for volume.”

“Listen to Cora.”

Willow explained to Mary, “This early on a weekday, Consuela has the girls fool around a little onstage.”

“Fucking?”

“No, just what you saw.”

As they walked past the stage, Mary said, “Where do they do the blowjobs?”

Willow pointed to the far corner, “Over there.”

She led the pastor to the opulent dressing room where six girls were applying makeup, trying on outfits, gossiping and giggling. “Hi, Miss Willow.” “Hi, Sister Mary.”

Mary had long given up on explaining that she wasn’t a nun, wasn’t even Catholic. Willow led her to the very back, past the showers, and pointed to a leather recliner.

Mary got it right away. “That’s a good idea, Willow. Like a confessional space.”

“I figure you could hang here, and let the girls come to you. The ones who wanted to.”

Many of her chapel-goers were prostitutes, or had at least one in the family. All of them knew a few working girls. Sex was the Four Corners industry — just like there were mill towns, factory towns.

Valerie and Vickie rushed in, jumped in the shower, toweled each other off and pulled on robes. Willow said, “Blowjobs or trailers?”

They spoke in unison, “Trailers!” Laughed and high-fived each other.

That morning had been the start of Mary’s Pussy ministry. Almost every day, and most nights, she set up shop in the dressing room. It wasn’t curtained off, but it was isolated enough that she could counsel each girl in private.

It made no difference to her whether the girls were clothed or naked. After a while the difference no longer even registered.

The naked little Hispanic butt-boys used the same dressing room for showers and to take a break. It became a common sight to see one, with his little Viagra hard-on, curled up sideways on Mary’s lap. She would hold him to her bosom and make a gentle rocking motion as the boys shared their dreams and fears, hopes and wishes.

It wasn’t like they were neglected. Consuela paid their mothers a hundred dollars for every day they worked. And many of the strippers adored the little cuties, so they got plenty of nurturing, plenty of hugs.

After working Pussy for a week or so, Mary confronted Willow, “You’re pretty smart.”

“Oh?”

“You like having me there, don’t you?”

Willow shrugged, “It helps the girls.”

“Yeah. And it helps you. You like the idea of the sacred and the profane coexisting. It’s like God is blessing your little fuckfest.”

Willow placed her hand over her heart, “Why Sister Mary, that never occurred to me. But if She does want to bless Pussy, I’m grateful.”