Fuck Me in Half, She Said to the Priest
“I do,” said Divine, the woman in the white dress, eyes glaring at the priest
who had just torn a hole in her world, her heart.
It was an “I do,” but it was really a Fuck You. A fuck you to Gus, to the fucking white dress, to her fucking fiancé, to the fucking world — but mostly it was a fuck you to herself.
Because — really — she had no one else to blame.
She had asked him to come, to say the Mass that would forever marry her to someone else, to a man she didn’t really love, one who fucked like a gerbil and who would be bald and fat by forty.
So now Divine is standing in front of Gus, glaring at him, daring him to say something. Shaking with rage. They’re standing alone in a room just behind the altar, where he had taken her after the Church erupted in confusion and after the best man took a swing at Gus.
Which was a bad idea, because Gus is a former Navy SEAL.
So now the best man is laid out cold on the altar, and his buddy, the groom, is standing over him and looking for his mama, and the whole congregation is talking (the Filipino side) and yelling (the Guido side), and Divine really doesn’t give a fuck.
Because he’s taken off his priestly garb, revealing a tattered NAVY T-shirt and black jeans. He looks contrite but defiant. Lost. She can make out the outlines of his biceps and triceps beneath the shirt. Christ, he still looks good, she thinks. No pun intended.
He wants to say he’s sorry, she thinks. And she wants him to say that. She wants him to say that he was wrong to let her go, that running into the priesthood was a mistake and solved nothing. She wants him to say all that and more. She wants him to say that he still dreams of her. Mostly she wants him to say that he still loves her. She really wants him to say that. But he doesn’t say that.
“Angel…..” he begins.
And now she loses it completely. “No!” she screams at him. “Don’t you ever call me that — I’m not your fucking angel anymore!” And then she hits him. Smack in the face. She takes two steps forward, feints with her right and swings a sharp left jab. The move Gus taught her, because no one ever sees the left coming.
And her big, shiny — this thing could feed a small village somewhere engagement ring — catches his right cheek and opens up a wound. She can see his surprise as the blood begins to flow down his cheek and onto his shirt.
He looks at her behind fierce, green eyes, matching her stare. He’s still hot as fuck, Divine thinks.
As if reading her mind, he crosses the space between them in a blink, and all she can think about is how fucking fast he can be and then she can’t think because he grabs her, pins her against the wall and kisses her.
Deeply, passionately, his tongue forcing her lips and teeth open. Finding her tongue. She kisses him back, her hands moving around his head, his hair, his body. She grinds into him, remembering this feeling, remembering how he smelled, how he tasted, the sheer and utter man that he is.
She can feel herself getting wet and God it feels so fucking good.
He stops suddenly and steps back. She can see the torment in his eyes. All of this is so fucked up. He’s a priest, she’s a bride on her wedding day. And she wants to tell him to stop, to stop looking at her like that. And to stop looking so fucking hot while you’re at it, Gus.
She wants to tell him to go back out immediately, apologize to everyone and finish marrying her and Anthony The Guido. She knows she should. Christ, her fucking Dad is out there waiting. And this is what she wanted, right Divine? The nice quiet life on Staten Island or in an anonymous Jersey burb. Nine to five. An anonymous woman, popular with the dads at soccer practice Saturday morning in Sayreville.
She wants to say all that. But she doesn’t. Because she’s lost her carefully constructed bearings. Because she can still taste him. Because she can see his growing erection straining against those jeans. Because she’s even wetter. Because she’s pissed. So she doesn’t say all that she is supposed to. Not by a long shot.
“Fuck me in half,” she says instead, defiantly.
Daring him. Daring the SEAL inside him. Challenging him; him and his holy vows. He’s on her in a second. His mouth finds her mouth, her neck, her hair. His hands pull down the white dress and her breasts spill out into his eager, strong hands.
God, she moans as his lips find her nipples and his arm presses her into him, grinding himself against her. She pushes him back gently and undoes the white dress from behind. It spills to the floor over her heels and she can see his eyes go wide as her naked body envelops the small room, hear the lust behind his shallow breaths.
She takes off his shirt, and kisses his chest, her fingers returning to her favorite spots on his body.
Then she kneels down slowly and undoes his jeans. He steps out naked in front of her. She thinks about how she knelt before the priest for her first communion as she kneels now before his hardened cock. Her cock. Her priest.
Now she’s competing against God, not some chick off the street, but fuck it, it’s her cock not God’s and this is really wrong, some seriously wrong I’m going-to- go-to- hell wrong shit but she doesn’t care.
She takes his beautiful cock into her mouth and starts to suck him hard, making him moan, making his knees buckle, making him sorry for ever becoming a priest, making him remember how she made him feel. She hears him try to speak and fail. Can feel his penis quiver in her mouth, feel it swell. God, he tastes so good she thinks.
He stops her and gently stands her up. She watches him slowly get to his knees, kissing every inch of her as he goes lower and lower. His hands are wrapped around her ass as he kisses her belly, her thighs. She watches as he takes her tiny blue panties in his hands. …something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue, she thinks…
Get them off Gus, she pleads to herself. God, she can’t take this much longer. Get them off.
With a flick of his hands he rips the panties in two and his tongue finds her core. MY FUCKING GOD, Divine screams. Her knees buckle as he urgently and passionately fucks her with his tongue. This is unreal, she thinks, looking down at his sandy hair, feeling the orgasm coming, feeling light-headed and electrified and she needs his cock — her cock — inside her right fucking now before she dies. He can feel her building; feel the shifts in her body. Feels the sweat breaking out on her brown skin.
He wants her so badly. More than anything he’s ever wanted.
In a blur he gets up and spins her around against the wall.
“OH GOD, YES”
she says, panting, spreading her legs wide. He takes her forcefully from behind. Ramming into her, against her beautiful ass. His abs tighten like a spring as he pumps harder and deeper.
Jesus God!, she thinks, as his tongue finds her ear, her neck, her butterfly tattoo. She feels him cum; feels him shake as the urgent wetness spread into her. Hears his primal moan, his agony released.
They are one again and her climax literally overwhelms her. Great rippling spams of pleasure and pain flood her and she shakes in his arms and he turns her around and wraps her tight. She stands folded into him. Not knowing what to say, to think. Not knowing what the fuck to do next.
We will go to heaven, or we will go to hell, she thinks. But she knows this: we will go there together.
Finally, he speaks. She can feel his words before she hears them. “I love you, angel“ he says. “I never stopped. I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you. I’ve loved you forever…and always will.”
She sighs, because it’s the words she wants to hear, the words she needs to hear. And she knows it’s as much of a question as a statement — a question to her, a plea. A prayer.
“I do,” said Divine, the woman standing naked on top of the white dress.
Note: This is the second part to the original piece: The Girl in the White Dress: https://medium.com/@cpaoloharrington/the-girl-in-the-white-dress-e118942b9351