Joan of Snark Ch. 01

"These pork chops are too dry again!" came Father O'Connor's grizzled old baritone voice from the dining room of the rectory. "Why do you always overcook the meat? What's wrong with you? Did your mother never teach you how to cook a decent dinner?"

Joan rolled her eyes. If the seventy-three year old priest did not appreciate her culinary efforts, then why did he not cook his own supper?

"Sorry Father," she replied, trying to mask her contempt.

"Bring me more gravy! That's probably the only thing that'll salvage the inedible mess!"

Joan ladled the thick brown goop out of the pot on the stove and into a small bowl. She then hurried into the dining room and set it down on the table in front of the grumpy old man.

"And get me more potatoes," he grunted at her.

"Yes Father," Joan muttered as she returned to the kitchen. As she spooned a big scoop of mashed potatoes into a dish, she had to bite her tongue. She desperately wanted to point out to Father O'Connor that, ever since she began working for him, not once had he every told her "please" or "thank you."

Of course, she was being paid to work at the rectory. Since she was being financially compensated, maybe that was why the curmudgeonly old priest thought that it was unnecessary to thank the young woman who was waiting on him.

"And don't forget to dry the dishes and put them away in the cupboard before you leave here tonight," he ordered. "Don't just leave them in the dish rack like you did last night," he ordered. "I want that kitchen to be tidied up completely before you go home."

"Of course Father," Joan replied through gritted teeth. "It would be my pleasure." This 'man of god' was getting on her last nerve.

Even after the dishes and cutlery had been washed, dried and returned to their rightful places in the kitchen cabinets and drawers, Father O'Connor still had a few extra chores for Joan to do before she finished her work for that evening. The elderly priest required her to dust and sweep the entire rectory. After ironing several shirts and clumsily sewing back on a few stray buttons, Joan was beginning to feel like Cinderella.

As she trudged home later that night around ten o'clock, she racked her brain, trying to think how exactly she could get out of her new part-time job. Unfortunately, she could not just simply quit - her mother would never allow it. Her mother was an extremely devout Catholic and she saw it as a point of pride that her daughter had an after-school job working for the parish priest.

And plus, she needed the money. She would be going off to college the following September and money was extremely tight. Especially since her father had passed away a year and a half earlier. His life insurance policy was not enough to pay for her tuition. And her mother did not earn a huge income as a paralegal. And while Joan's part-time job at the rectory did not earn her much, at least it was something. So her mother would never allow her to just up and quit.

No, quitting was not an option. She would have to get herself fired. But how?

Part of the irony of Joan working at the rectory was that she was a staunch atheist. Even though she had been raised Catholic, she had been doubting her faith for several years. And ever since her father had died, she decided that she definitely no longer believed in god. She tried telling her mother about her beliefs - or lack thereof. But her mother refused to listen. And when the job listing to work at the rectory appeared in the church newsletter a month earlier, her mother had insisted that Joan apply.

An atheist working in the rectory of a Catholic church - it was ridiculous. Maybe it would not have been so bad had Father O'Connor been a pleasant employer. But the old man was bitter, rude and spiteful.

As Joan walked along the cracked sidewalk of the darkened road, she thought about what could make a person behave like that. Maybe that was what a lifetime of celibacy did to a person. How old had Father O'Connor been when he entered the seminary? Did he ever have any girlfriends before joining the priesthood? Had he ever had ... sex? Did he ever ... masturba...

EW! NO! GROSS!! The mental image of the septuagenarian pleasuring himself made Joan want to dry heave. She refused to let her mind go there. But a lifetime of sexual frustration might explain why Father O'Connor never seemed to be in a good mood.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to Joan ... about masturbation. Joan's mother had told her that the following day they would be going to the church. Apparently Father O'Connor would be hearing confessions. A plan began to form in Joan's mind.

Despite having turned eighteen several months earlier, Joan could never seem to talk her way out of going to church. As long as she lived under her mother's roof, she was forced to abide by her mother's rules. And one of her mother's rules was that they had to attend mass every Sunday morning and the first Friday of every month. Of course they went to church during all of the major holidays like Christmas, Ash Wednesday, Good Friday and Easter Sunday. Her mother required them to do the stations of the cross once a week during season of Lent. And her mother also insisted that they both go to confession once a month.

What if, during her confession, she admitted to something really naughty and bad? Some sort of lewd, terrible, sinful act. Something so salacious, something so lascivious, it would make the pious old priest extremely uncomfortable to be around her. Father O'Connor would have no choice but to insist that she stop working at the rectory. And she knew just the sin to confess.

*************************************************

The next morning, while walking over to the church, Joan kept a firm grip on her purse. She could not risk having it open accidentally and letting the contents fall out in front of her mother.

"Joanie, are you not wearing any tights?" her mother asked disapprovingly.

"No. Why?" Joan flippantly replied.

"So, you're just going to walk into the church with bare legs and go to confession like that?"

"That's the plan."

"Really?" her mother challenged.

"Really," Joan shrugged.

"Joanie, why is your skirt so short?" Her mother was beginning to sound upset.

"Mom, it's not that short," countered Joan.

Her mother stopped walking and turned to face her scantily clad daughter. "Joanie, what's gotten into you?"

"Nothing Mom. Will you get off my case already? Jeez! I go to mass with you every Sunday. I work at the rectory. I'm going to confession right now. And I don't even believe in god! If you ask me, I'm being a pretty good sport about the whole thing. I think I'm going over and beyond the call of duty to be a good daughter."

"You take that back, young lady!" her mother snapped at her.

"Take what back?" Joan defiantly asked.

"That nonsense about you not believing in God!"

"But I don't believe in god," Joan responded dispassionately.

"You know, no God means no heaven," her mother reminded her.

"So?"

"So, if there's no heaven, then where's your father's soul?"

Joan let out a long and heavy sigh. "Mom, Dad's dead. And when he died, his consciousness came to an end. His ... 'soul,'" she said sarcastically, making air-quotes with her fingers, "or rather, the essence of who he was - stopped existing as soon as his brain stopped functioning. Dad's gone. Got it? He's just gone. And you need to get the hell over it!"

Her mother's right hand forcefully shot forward and across, delivering a swift stinging slap to Joan's right cheek. "Joan Marie Hubert, you take that back! You take that back this instance!" There were tears in her mother's eyes.

"No! I will not take that back! Dad's dead and gone. And the sooner you learn to accept that, the sooner we can all move on with our lives! If you want to believe that he's in heaven, lounging around on a fluffy cloud, wearing a white robe and strumming on a harp, that's your choice! But you can't force me to believe in any of that bullshit!"

"It's a good thing that we're headed to confession right now," her mother said, wiping the tears from her eyes. "You have an awful lot that you need to tell Father O'Connor. He'd better give you extra penance for all of the blasphemous things that you've been spewing!"

"Oh, you have no idea the things I plan on telling Father O'Connor!" Joan shot back.

"What's that supposed to mean?" her mother asked, sounding alarmed.

"That's none of your business. My confession is between me and the priest," Joan smugly pointed out. "You have no right to know what I plan on saying to Father O'Connor."

Joan's mother glared at her. "Well, maybe that's true," she conceded. 'But for the sake of saving your own soul, you'd better confess those terrible sacrilegious things you've said."

"I'll say whatever it is that I feel like I need to say!" And with that, Joan turned on her heel and strutted into the church. With a dismissive flick of her wrist, she dipped the fingertips of her right hand into the font next to the entrance. She then made a quick and perfunctory sign of the cross.

Her mother entered the building a few steps behind her. The older woman slowly and earnestly made the same religious gesture with the holy water. Turning to her daughter, she said, "I'm going to the bathroom. I need to fix my makeup. The horrible things you said out there made me cry. And now my mascara's running."

"Heaven knows, god and jesus would be extremely upset if you showed up to confession with imperfect makeup," Joan scoffed.

"You'd better confess to the priest about just how disrespectful you are toward me!" her mother hissed at her before heading off to the restroom.

Joan could understand why her mother was upset. The teenager was well aware of the fact that she was being insolent and difficult. But she had much more important "sins" that she needed to tell Father O'Connor. She was confident that by the end of her confession, she would no longer have her terrible after-school job at the rectory.

There was not anyone ahead of her in line and the door to the confessional was open. Joan tentatively peeked in to discover that there was no one inside. She slipped into the confessional, closed the door and knelt down. The opaque barrier slowly slid to the side revealing the thick latticed privacy screen, which separated her side of the confessional from the priest's compartment.

"Bless me Father for I have sinned," Joan began.

Suddenly she was struck with an unexpected wave of nausea. She had to will herself to not throw up as her face began to feel very hot. She became so jittery and nervous, she almost began to tremble. It started to occur to her just how extreme her plan to get fired really was. Could she actually go through with what she had been intending to do? What might the consequences be? Was it worth it? However, she took a deep breath to steady her nerves and decided to carry on.

"It has been one month since my last confession," she continued, "and these are my sins."

On the other side of the privacy screen, she saw the darkened silhouette of the priest solemnly nod his head.

"Well Father," she said as she gulped and clasped her fingers together more tightly. "I've been having ... thoughts ..."

She paused briefly, expecting him to ask her what sorts of thoughts she had been having. But he said nothing. So Joan kept talking.

"I've been having ... impure thoughts."

Still, he remained silent.

"Sexual ... thoughts, Father. Sexual fantasies, actually. Father," she said in a dramatic breathy voice, "I think about sex all the time. Thoughts about sex dominate all of my waking moments. Father, I'm worried I might be obsessed!"

Still, Father O'Connor said nothing. I must have stunned the old coot into silence, Joan thought to herself. She inwardly smiled. Her plan was going perfectly so far. She just needed to make sure that, before the end of her confession, he knew exactly who she was. He probably, in all likelihood, recognized her voice. But she wanted him to know her identity for certain.

"You know Father, ever since my dad passed away a year and a half ago, I guess I just really crave attention from older men. I think about older men constantly. I would love to have a relationship with an older man," she said suggestively. "However, it's not really a father-daughter relationship that I crave. I'm eighteen. I'm a woman now. And I have all of these urges. I have needs." Her words were not exactly a lie.

Joan thought it was strange that Father O'Connor had not yet uttered a single word. But by this point, she had said so many inappropriate things, there was no going back. She may as well continue with her plan. By the time her confession was over, there would be no way that Father O'Connor would let her step foot back into the rectory.

"But my problem, Father, is that my sinful thoughts don't just remain as ... thoughts."

She could see the outline of the priest through the screen. He cocked his head to the side.

"Sometimes, late at night, when I'm laying in bed, I can't stop thinking about all of the things that I would love to do with an experienced older man. And sometimes, while I'm laying there in the dark, I cannot help but ... but ... but ..."

The priest nodded his head, encouraging her to continue.

"I can't help but touch myself, Father. I touch myself ... down there ..." Then, as her stomach flip-flopped, she whispered, "I touch myself ... I touch myself ... like this." Joan unclasped her fingers. Reaching down with her left hand, she began to lift up the hem of her skirt. Before leaving the house that morning, she had made sure to remove her underwear. Then, very slowly, she brought her right hand to her crotch. And with trembling fingers, she began to massage herself between her legs. "Can you see, Father? This is how I touch myself. This is how I pleasure myself ... when I'm fantasizing about older men. You're an older man, aren't you, Father?"

Joan did not think she would need to wait very long before Father O'Connor would begin yelling at her and reprimanding her for being such a naughty girl. Not only would she get herself fired from her part-time job. Maybe, if she got lucky, she could get herself excommunicated from the Catholic church all together. Then she would never have to attend mass again.

But Father O'Connor did not yell at her. He did not chastise her. He did not say a single word. Was he just so shocked by Joan's wanton behavior that he was left speechless? Surely, he must have been horrified by what she was saying and doing. But he expressed no reaction. Was he giving her the silent treatment to punish her? Did he not want to acknowledge her terrible behavior?

Joan decided that it was time to bring out the big guns. Or rather, a small bullet to be precise. Joan slipped her hand into her purse and grasped at a few of the items inside before she found the thing that she was searching for. Her fingers closed around a small, short, cylindrical object with a rounded end. She withdrew it from her handbag and brought it near to the screen.

"Sometimes when I'm alone and touching myself in my room, I want to experience more than just my fingers. On my eighteenth birthday, by best friend Tanya gave this to me as a joke. It was a gag gift to embarrass me. But honestly Father, this is the best preset that I've ever received. Do you know what this is, Father?"

The figure behind the screen shrugged.

"It's a ..." Joan paused for a moment to allow the anticipation to build. Then she twisted the base of the little cylinder and the small silver object buzzed to life. "Father, this is a ... vibrator. And I use it when I ... masturbate."

The priest said nothing. Joan still could not believe that Father O'Connor had kept his cool this whole time. She may have not gotten to him yet. But she was determined to make him lose his temper.

"Do you know how a woman uses a vibrator, Father? I'll show you how I use mine. Here's what I do with it!"

Joan reached under her skirt and ran the little buzzing object all over her nether lips.

"Oh Father, that feels sooooo good!" she moaned as she felt the vibrations tickle her flesh. "Mmm ... I'm sooo wet!"

Then she brought the titillating toy to her tingling nub.

"Oh Father!" she gasped. "I bet you wished you knew what this felt like. It's too bad ... ah ... that you can't ... uh ... you know ..."

Joan ran the tip of the vibrator up and down the shaft of her clit. She began to rock back and forth on her knees. The sensations were causing her pleasure to increase. She could feel her impending orgasm beginning to mount.

"Oh Father!" she groaned. "Oh Father! Father, are you watching this? Can you see? I think about you sometimes. When I'm cooking for you. Or sometimes when I'm cleaning the rectory. Sometimes I wish you would touch me. UH!" she grunted. "I wish you'd touch me the way I'm touching myself now!"

Joan shifted the vibrator to her left hand. Then she slid the first two fingers of her right hand up into her feminine passage.

"I want to feel something inside of me, Father. I want to feel YOU inside of me. I brought condoms. They're in my purse."

Joan thought that that would get her into trouble for sure. The Catholic church had always been against all forms of contraception, including condoms. Not only was it a sin to try and seduce a priest. But suggesting birthcontrol made that sin even worse.

"Don't you want to ... fuck me, Father?"

As the vibrator continued to stimulate her clitoris, Joan rapidly moved her fingers in and out of herself, rubbing her G-spot. As she reached the peak of her pleasure, her pulsating little bud began throbbing and her moist sheath started to contract around her fingers.

"Oh Father! Oh Father! FATHER O'CONNOR!"

Slowly the latticed privacy screen began to move as the priest slid it open. As Joan came down from her climax, she mentally prepared herself for the tongue lashing that she was about to receive.

"I'm so sorry, Father O'Connor," she gasped as she tried to catch her breath. "But I just couldn't help myself. You're just sooooo sexy!" she panted. Her voice was disingenuous and dripping with sarcasm.

As she looked up, expecting to see Father O'Connor's pale, wrinkled frowning face, she shrieked in horror. Staring back at her was a man no older than thirty. He was wearing a priest's collar and black shirt. And it was definitely not Father O'Connor.

"I'm sorry, Miss. But I'm afraid you've mistaken me for someone else." He let out a nervous embarrassed laugh. "Father O'Connor was taken to the hospital last night. He started feeling ill just before heading off to bed. He had enough strength to call for an ambulance. But when they arrived, he was completely incapacitated. The doctors aren't sure what's wrong with him. But they think he'll live."

Joan's mouth hung open in shock as she stared at the face of the mystery priest. Her whole body went limp. She accidentally let the vibrator slip from the fingers of her left hand. It fell to the floor with a dull thud. She quickly took her hands out from under her skirt.

"I'm Father Benjamin Walsh. But you can call me Father Ben. The archdiocese called me this morning and asked that I take over the parish for a couple of weeks, while Father O'Connor's recovering."

"Oh?" Joan squeaked. It was all she could manage to say, given how mortified she was by the whole situation.

"The diocese told me that there's a girl who works at the rectory who fixes dinner and does a bit of housework. A girl named Joan Hubert. Is that you?"

Joan slowly and reluctantly nodded.

"So, you have ... um ... 'feelings' for Father O'Connor? Romantic feelings? Isn't Father O'Connor in his seventies?" Father Ben furrowed his brow as he stared at the young woman kneeling in front of him.