Susie Ch. 30
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I lay down on the bed, still holding the phone. I was in shock. I had just learned that Brittany Reynolds had died, apparently of a drug overdose. She had been alone in a hotel room. The last time I had seen Brittany my final words to her were, “Call me if you ever decide to see me. I really want to see you and talk with you.” Her response was, basically, “leave me alone!” She had become a sex addict in high school and then dropped out and turned to prostitution. I felt partly responsible because she and I and three other girls had experimented with sex together. I thought those experiments had led to her addiction and her prostitution and now … her death at 21. 21! I wasn’t 21 yet! Her services would be on my 21st birthday, in the middle of spring break. What a way to celebrate.
My good friend, Josh, was there and asked, “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Just hold me, Josh, just hold me,” I requested.
I told him about Brittany. About how five of us, my then and current best friend Kaitlyn, April, Judy, Brittany and I had been inseparable during high school. We had always done our homework together every afternoon at Judy’s. Then Judy showed us some of her father’s porn videos and we decided to act them out with guys from school. I told him about how our parents had broken us up; about how Brittany became obsessed with sex and left school to become a prostitute; how I blamed myself partly for that; how we had located Brittany and met her by contacting her pimp and pretending to be clients; and then how she had run away from us despite my protests.
“Maybe if I hadn’t gone along with those porn videos or not gone along when we invited those boys over,” I cried. “Maybe she wouldn’t have become a prostitute. Maybe she’d still be alive. Maybe still be my friend.”
Josh tried to calm my concerns but I would have none of it. I just said, “Make love to me, Josh. Make tender love to me.”
I don’t know why I think having a cock inside me will make me feel better when I’m upset. No, I do know — it’s because having a cock insidedoes make me feel better. What I don’t understand is why it makes me feel better. I just know it does.
“Are you sure, Susie?” Josh asked, adding. “I don’t know …”
Josh and I had sex once before but it didn’t seem right so we had avoided it for the last couple of months, staying friends. We had done a bit of mutual sexual exploration. That one time at actual intercourse, Josh had proven to be less than expert at pleasing me so I had spent some time showing him where and how to please a woman (well, me anyway).
“I’m sure, Josh,” I said, tears coming to my eyes. “I need you. I need your love. I need your tender caresses. I need you,all of you,now!.”
He began to undress. “Undress me first, Josh. Please.” I requested.
He slowly and gently undressed me, kissing and caressing each part of my body as it was bared: my stomach and shoulders as my blouse was removed, my feet and toes when my shoes were gone, my legs and thighs as my jean came off, my breasts and nipples after they were freed from the restraint of my bra. Finally, he slipped my panties down my legs and over my feet.
He used every method of pleasuring me I had instructed him in: just the right amount of attention and pressure on my breasts, just the right touch over my back and stomach, just the right amount of kissing and touching to my legs and the inside of my thighs. Hard, deep kisses, penetrating my mouth with his tongue as he stroked my clit and rubbed at the entrance to my vagina. Then he thrust his fingers inside me, massaged my G-spot and wiggled his fingers at my cervix.
I tightened and arched my back and then relaxed, moaning with his kisses and stokes. He moved his mouth to my crotch and began slowly licking my vulva, keeping his fingers inside and his thumb on my clit. I grabbed his short, hard penis and pulled it to my mouth, devouring all four inches and moving my tongue to every part, pushing inside the foreskin to circle the tip. He jerked as I lapped at the underside and pulled it out without missing a beat at my crotch.
I continued to lick at the outside of his foreskin and sucked his cock into my mouth. Then I felt the tingle of orgasm filling me, starting with my clit and moving inside my vagina. He sensed my excitement and immediately pulled away, turned his body around and jammed his penis inside me. The suddenness of it all and the size of his penis, small, but larger than the fingers that had been inside, brought me to an immediate climax. As I shouted at the suddenness of it all I felt him jerk and his organ inside stimulated my G-spot as it gave up its fluid.
I kept my orgasm alive by repeatedly raising and lowering my hips, jamming my vulva against his pubes and feeling his penis penetrate me with each thrust while his hair tickled my clit.
As my orgasm died out and his penis shrank out of my vagina he said, “Maybe I should stay here avcılar escort with you.” He was planning a trip for spring break.
There was nothing more I wanted in the world just then but I said, “No, you should go. Enjoy yourself.”
“Are you sure?”
What I was sure of is that I wanted him to stay and make continuous love to me but I said, “Yes, go, have a good time.”
I wanted him to protest, but he didn’t. We lay in silence for most of the night and then he got up, dressed and left. I didn’t see him again until after spring break.
The dorm was quiet and almost empty the first day of spring break.
I expected my father to pick me up so I was surprised when Corey showed up instead. Corey had been my boyfriend and fiance until he went away for an internship and took up with another woman. He had convinced my parents to let him pick me up.
“I’m really sorry,” were the first words from his mouth.
“You should be,” I told him, firmly. “And I still don’t see how I can trust you.”
We sat in silence and my thoughts turned to the huge cock I knew was hidden inside his trousers. I couldn’t help thinking, “fuck me! Shove that huge cock up my cunt and fuck my brains out! Make me forget my guilt, forget Brittany.” but what I said was, “How’s Kaitlyn taking the news?”
“She was upset, but doing well,” he told me. “We’re more concerned about you.”
“Why me?” I asked.
“Kaitlyn knows how much you blame yourself for what happened to Brittany. I think it’s your dream about Brittany.” He was referring to a dream in which Brittany had appeared to me and convinced me to become an Ob/Gyn. “How are you doing?”
“Okay,” I lied. I was thinking that I needed to be held and told everything would be all right.
Corey wasn’t convinced, “You don’t sound completely okay. Kaitlyn and I are here for you if you need anything.”
I almost blurted out that I wanted him to hold me and fuck me until I forgot everything else but held back. “Thank you,” is all I said.
We sat in silence the rest of the way home. As I got out of the car Corey asked, “Do you think we can get back together?”
“I don’t think so,” I told him. “I’ve forgiven you but I can’t forget what you did. I doubt I will be able to trust you the way I did before.”
Out of pity for his downcast face, I added, “Things may change, but I doubt it.”
Kaitlyn was at Brittany’s services but I didn’t see Corey again until summer.
After Brittany’s services my family had a simple birthday celebration for me, with champaign. Even better, my parents gave me a car for my birthday! It was a three year old Toyota and now I had my own transportation. Unfortunately, I had no place to park it at USC. All the available parking was long ago spoken for. But I would be sure to get a spot for it next year. Anyway I would have a car for the summer!
I had my dad drive me back to the dorm the next day and I wandered around campus wishing I had told Josh to stay behind. I found myself at the entrance to the USC Catholic student center, opened the door and went in. I sat in a pew and reflected on Brittany and whatever part I had played in her life and death. I looked over at the confessionals, got up and stood in front of them wishing it was Saturday afternoon, or whenever it was they heard confessions. Maybe I could rid myself of this guilt.
A voice behind me said, “Can I help you, miss?”
I turned and it was a good looking thirty year old or so guy dressed in shorts and a Hawaiian shirt.
I saw no danger in honesty. “Just wondering when confessions are,” I said.
“Saturdays between 3 and 5. But we can do them anytime. Do you need to confess?”
That seemed a bit forward. I didn’t know this guy. “Uhh, .., I’m not sure that’s any of your business,” I said.
“Maybe not,” he replied, “but maybe I can help.” He held out his hand, “Father Raymond Nelson,” he introduced himself. “And you are?”
I became suspicious. “How do I know you’re not just some guy looking to pick up a good looking woman?”
“Good question, come with me.” He led me out of the sanctuary and down a hallway to the offices. He went into an office with two women, one working at a computer and the other on the phone. There was a window facing what was obviously the reception area.
“Hello, Father,” the one at the computer said and the other nodded at him with a smile.
“Could you tell this young lady who I am,” he asked the one who had greeted him.
She looked a bit puzzled and said, “Father Ray, of course.”
He looked at me, smiled and asked, “So, can I help you?”
“Can we go somewhere private,” I whispered to him.
“My office,” he pointed to a door across the hallway. “Or we can use the reconciliation room, either works for whatever you want to discuss. My office is much more comfortable.”
“I ataköy escort guess people still call it the ‘confessional’.”
“The confessional, … reconciliation room,” I decided. “It seems more private.”
“The reconciliation room it is,” he said and we walked back into the sanctuary.
The “reconciliation room” had two chairs and a screen for those who wanted privacy from the priest. No point in that I realized and sat in one of the chairs while Father Ray sat in the other. “So would you like to tell me who you are now?” he asked and then, when I hesitated, added. “It’s not necessary.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m Susan, … Susie … O’Connell.”
“How can I help you?”
“I feel real guilty and was wondering if you could help, maybe confession?”
“Are you a Catholic?”
“Yes, well I had been, but I’m not sure now.”
“In that case I can offer to hear your confession. Or we can just talk.
I considered and answered, “I’m not ready for confession.”
“Oh, why is that?”
“I haven’t thought of what I have done and I’m not sure I’m sorry for all of it either.”
He thought a bit, “well, Susie, maybe the two of us can just talk about some of what you’ve done. I can help and then we can decide if you’re sorry. Do you want to do what’s right?”
“Yes of course.”
“Well that’s the main issue in being sorry for doing wrong.”
“But what If I’ve done bad things I don’t think are wrong.”
“If you think they’re bad then you think they’re wrong.”
“Maybe you think they’re bad but I don’t.”
“Ahh, that’s a more difficult one. I tell you what, if I can’t help you see they’re wrong then they must not be wrong. It’s just a difference of opinion.”
“I thought some things were always right or wrong.”
“They are. And each person must understand right from wrong. But if they get it backwards I can only do so much. Susie, you must form your own conscience. If you have it backwards then maybe it’s your fault or maybe it’s mine for not being able to convince you otherwise. I tell you what. If I think you have things badly backwards then I’ll tell you that and leave it to you to work it out in your mind. You can always come back to discuss it with me.”
“Okay.” I started with the formula I had learned in second grade, “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”
“Susie, I want to move away from the formula. tell me about the guilt you want to get rid of.”
I told him about Brittany and my guilt for her death.
“Susie, I can tell you unequivocally that it’s not your fault Brittany died. But tell me about the porn videos and having the boys for sex.”
I started to describe the videos and he stopped me. “No. I don’t want that kind of detail. First have you gone to confession and told the priest about any of this.”
“No, I was too embarrassed. That’s when I stopped going to confession.”
“How long ago was that?”
“So, do you believe doing that was wrong and wish you hadn’t done it.”
“See, you’re sorry. Is there anything else you think you have done wrong?”
I hesitated, “well, I’ve had sex with several others since then.”
“I see, and do you think that was wrong?”
“I don’t know. Some of it definitely was, but I don’t think so about others.”
“We don’t need to worry about the ones you think were wrong,” he said. “Pick a case you don’t think was wrong and tell me about it.”
I mentioned Josh and the way he comforted me when I heard Brittany had died.
“And using this boy sexually for your comfort was okay because?”
“He wanted to comfort me, Father, and having sex really helps me.”
He thought for a bit. “Susie, I think you have a slightly distorted view of what sex is about. Tell me about another case you think was okay.”
We discussed my relationship with Corey and then with Henry. He helped me to realize that my relationship with Henry was not really a good one and that even though we both enjoyed it and it helped me get over Corey I probably shouldn’t have done it. But we couldn’t agree about sex with Corey and Josh.
Then he asked me a bunch of questions about other things. Like, “how do you treat your parents?” and, “do you drink much at parties?” and, “have you ever shoplifted?”
He finished, “Susie, I’m going to give you absolution even though you aren’t completely sorry for all of your sexual activities. Mostly because you have been influenced by the society around you. I don’t think it’s your fault that you think your activities are okay. But here’s your penance: You are to read a book I will give you about the Catholic view of human sexuality, and I want you to say a rosary while meditating on the content of the book.
“And, Susie, I need to remind you that you should be confessing at least once a year, ideally much more frequently than that. And please start attending bahçelievler escort Mass on Sunday. And, finally, don’t hesitate to get in touch with me if you want to talk about anything else. Oh, is there anything else you want to discuss right now?”
“No Father, thank you.”
As we left the room he reminded me “Come with me to get that book.”
That night I had a dream.
I was in a seemingly vast, white space. I couldn’t tell if it was indoors or out. The white ceiling or sky blended with the white floor or ground with no intervening walls or horizon. Beside me stood an angel who placed his/her hand on my shoulder and gestured to the surrounding space. I realized I was slowly rotating and figures began appearing from a fog around me. As they emerged from the fog I saw they were all young women, some as young as eleven or twelve, the oldest maybe twenty nine or thirty. Out of the corner of my eye they all seemed somewhat morose but were smiling whenever I concentrated my gaze on them.
Then the rotation stopped and a small figure emerged from the fog and those present made a path for her.
I was reminded of another dream where an angel, the same as the one beside me now I realized, had carried me over all the people in my life who were shouting advice on what to do with my life. It was that dream that decided my current path to become an Ob/Gyn and the voice among the many that gave me that path, Brittany Reynolds, was coming toward me now. She came forward, smiled and grasped my hands.
“Thank you,” she said. Then gesturing to the girls and women surrounding me she said, “we all thank you. You are doing well.”
“I don’t even know these girls,” I told her.
“You will,” she said in reply. Then she became very serious, “You are forgiven, It’s not your fault. My life is not your fault. My murder is not your fault.”
“Yes, but that is not your concern, just know that neither I nor you were responsible for my death.”
“Oh,” was all I could respond.
“And I am very sorry,” she continued.
“Sorry for what?”
“For the way I treated you when you came to see me. I only rejected you from fear. I shouldn’t have. You were so kind to look me up. Thoughts of you sustained me. Thank you for doing that and thank you again for what you do now.”
“You’re welcome,” I said.
She and the women began to fade into the fog. “I have to go,” she said.
“Where?” I asked, half knowing the answer.
“To let you know what He wants from you.”
“The One who sends me to you,” and she was gone.
The fog seemed to envelop me, turning from white to gray and then black.
I woke convinced that I was following the right path for my future and with a deep certainty that Brittany had been murdered and had not committed suicide nor died of an accidental drug overdose. I didn’t know by whom or why. I did know the knowledge was intended to aid my faith in the dreams. I also realized that the Brittany in the first dream had come to me from beyond the grave even though she had not been dead at that time.
I had contradictory feelings of relief and concern. Out of intuition I went to Father Ray. I asked him if he believed in dreams. He told me the Church doesn’t believe in using the occult and that it is best to avoid the interpretation of dreams. Then he asked me why I asked and I told him of my dreams in detail and what I believed they had told me.
“Have you ever heard of ‘private revelation’?” he asked me.
“No, what’s that?”
“The Church acknowledges that God may come to some individuals in the form of visions and dreams. Such things are ‘private revelations’ intended only for the one who experiences them. No one else needs to believe in them or accept them.”
“You think that’s what my dreams are?” I asked.
“The primary tests of a private revelation is whether it teaches right and avoidance of wrong. Secondarily it is a positive result in the life of the recipient. On that basis I think it is very possible that you have had such a revelation. But, Susie, it is only for you to decide and to follow. A genuine revelation will not ask you to do anything that is wrong and only ask you to do what is right and good.”
“Father, would God send someone from hell to help me?”
“I don’t know, probably not. Why do you ask?”
“Could a prostitute be in heaven?”
“You’re talking about Brittany. Yes, a prostitute can be in heaven especially if she repented of her life or was forced to be a prostitute. We can’t know who is in heaven and who isn’t.”
“I bet Brittany wanted to get out of prostitution and her pimp killed her.”
“Did your dream tell you that?”
“Brittany said she was murdered but not by who or why. She did say she had been afraid when I tried to meet her. I was sure that she was afraid of her pimp.”
“So are you going to do anything about that? Go to the police?”
“No, they won’t believe a dream and my speculation about it. Brittany told me not to concern myself with her murder. I just feel better knowing she is in heaven.”
“I can’t refute your logic and itwasyour revelation if that is what it was.”
I was certain. “That’s what it was, Father. That’s what it was. It wasn’t just a dream.”
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