The Altar of Her Love

It's even better if she understands that, with her hands free and nothing separating the two of us except her legs, there's nothing to hinder access to the my most sensitive places. If she reaches underneath her ass, she can touch my cock or my balls, and if she ever gets a notion to use both hands and to grasp me around my scrotum while I'm thrashing away... well, that will put me over the top faster than I can say "I'm cumming, baby!"

The only problem with that technique is that I usually reserve it for the end of a prolonged sexual encounter after I've already been exerting a fair amount of energy in other positions, and because it requires a fairly significant amount of strength, especially upper body strength, I usually can't hold myself like that for more than four or five minutes at a time. Normally that's plenty of time for me to cum, but not always, so the variation requires extra bit of physical stamina on those occasions and some sexual karma too. The righteous stars must have aligned, because I had both that night, and I also had a partner who seemed to read my mind without my having given her any cues that might have helped her to do so.

So, when I pulled my knees up off my mattress and into a kind of push-up position, and then started thrusting my hips back and forth to plunge all seven of my engorged inches into Erin while I simultaneously craned my neck downward to kiss those unbelievable lips of hers, I was already only a mile outside of Nirvana city limits.

I don't mind admitting that those next few minutes were almost certainly the most erotically-charged of my life. It didn't take me all that long, but the look on Erin's face during that time, equal parts stunned surprise and profound passion, only made the whole thing that much more sensual, and the faster my plunges, the more turned on she seemed to get.

That said, this one surprised me -- I didn't see it coming. Erin's hands started moving everywhere; she touched her breasts, her lips, her clit. And her torso started twisting and gyrating, as if she was trying to initiate as much friction as possible from my plunging pubic bone as it brushed up against the bundle of nerves concentrated in that little button of hers. The breaths came again, growing faster and faster, until she loosed another cry, "Oh my god!" and for a good half minute I could feel the spasms wrack her entire willowy frame.

After her passion was spent, I didn't stop. I was rock hard now, and more than ready for my own release, but then came the icing on the proverbial cake. Erin reached for me, and when she did, holy shit, I swear she must have felt my cum beginning its fast boil inside my balls. When she slipped her hands behind her and placed both of her thumbs tip to tip on the top of the base of my shaft, and then wrapped the rest of her fingers on both hands in a circle around my cock and overripe balls, it put me over the edge. I rose up, breaking our kiss, while I kept plowing away.

I was groaning and grunting uncontrollably, and now I looked down to see the scene laid out before my grateful eyes. Erin's gorgeous face and pale skin glistening in a mist of perspiration, her champagne coupe breasts slipping and sliding back and forth, her studded leather belt that had been loosely wrapped around her waist now having slid to the underside of those breasts, and her sleek, black, thigh-high boots spread like eagle's wings around my upper arms, as my turgid erection, wet with her juices, thrust at a frenetic pace into her hungry sex. And all the while, that Celtic cross hovered like an angel above it.

And then I reached the point of no return, and as I did, I briefly thought about my offer to don a condom, and that thought prompted another. Despite my assumption that Erin was on the pill, it seemed prudent, nonetheless, to withdraw from her warm, wet tunnel before I loosed my seed. Still, in that position, I had no choice -- all of my upper body's weight was supported by arms, and I couldn't move them.

So, I just kept thrusting, even more vigorously than before, until a fraction of a second before my balls tightened and the cum started rising up my engorged shaft, I got a little too carried away, and in an effort to deposit my load even more deeply inside her, I inadvertently slipped from her cozy confines on the backstroke.

My cock sprang out at an upward angle at the very instant that my rocket began launching its payload. The ropes shot in rainbow-like arcs and fell as fat, milky raindrops on her stomach, breasts, and that wide, studded belt. I continued grunting for another 30 seconds or so, and then, my passion spent, I dropped her legs and collapsed on my side next to Erin, huffing and puffing.

We were both incredibly tired. It had been a long, long day, a grueling day in many respects, but at that moment, I wasn't complaining. I knew now that sleep could come. But before it did, we snuggled for a while, spooned together in a sweaty, but satisfied heap in the middle of my bed. After a minute or two, I grabbed a handful of the sheets and wiped my cum from Erin's stomach, breasts, and belt.

Neither of us spoke for quite a while, and I think that Erin was either a little too stunned or too tired to say much of anything. I kept planting kisses on her shoulders and neck while I lie there next to her with my arms wrapped around her slender waist. Then I thought of something I wanted to say. It was the only thing that I thought needed to be resolved before sleep took me. Spooned together as we were, I whispered gently in her ear. "Erin, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"I was kind of surprised to see your tattoo, especially where I found it. Is that a Celtic cross?"

She giggled, and turned her head to look at me. "Yes! How did you know that?"

"I don't know, but I did. I just wondered why you had it done in a place where no one can see it!"

"That was the whole point! I suppose a tattoo is sort of out of character for me, but I always wanted one, and I knew my parents would get mad at me if they saw it -- they're pretty conservative. So I thought, why not put it where they'll never see it? I'm 100% Irish, or at least I think I am, and I'm Catholic, too, so it seemed apropos. Do you like it?"

"I do! I think I'd like it anywhere on you, but I especially like it there!"

She smiled. I thought she might be a little embarrassed by the discussion, but she wasn't. She paused for a few seconds and then with a surprising degree of gravitas inquired, "You don't find it sacrilegious?"

"Well, I'm probably not the best person to ask about that kind of thing -- I'm a fallen Catholic, as opposed to an upright one!" I cupped my hands around her breasts when I said that, and she giggled.

"You were pretty upright a few minutes ago!"

I laughed for quite a while before I responded to that one! "I don't know if I like you making dirty jokes! Somebody needs to be righteous for both of us, and I was kind of hoping it would be you!"

She giggled again, and I waited for her to say something. "Well..." she said as she looked at the clock on my nightstand. It was 4:30. "If you're serious about us being righteous, we can probably get some sleep and still make it to 11:30 Mass! It's All Saints Day, Tom -- it's a Holy Day of Obligation!"

That killed me, but I didn't want Erin to think I found it funny, so I kept my amusement to myself. Still, my response was absolutely serious. "Wherever you're going, Erin, I'll be following!"

"Really? You'd go with me?"

"Why not! It would probably do me good. It's been awhile since I've been to Mass." She smiled, and I could tell that made her happy. I pulled the down comforter over us, and wrapped my arms around her again, and we waited for sleep to overtake us.

It didn't take long, but while I was lying there, I thought about that cross -- remembering myself between her legs, thrusting into her while that symbol of an entirely different sort of passion presented itself to me. Maybe it was sacrilegious to think those thoughts, but I couldn't help myself.

Besides, when I was making love to Erin, I really did feel like I was engaged in some sort of veneration -- like I was kneeling, worshipping before her, offering up my sacrifice on the altar of her love. And as I faded to unconsciousness in the wee hours of that November morning -- holding her in my outstretched hands like a chalice, the Holy Grail, raised to the heavens -- for the first time in a long, long time, I said a prayer of thanks.

When we awoke the next morning, it was about 10:30. We still had time to get cleaned up and make it to Mass at the Newman Center on campus, but Erin couldn't very well go dressed in her Debbie Harry outfit. That might have been a bridge too far even for Fr. Bill, the hipster Catholic chaplain at the university. Anyway, once we each drank a cup of coffee, ate a couple of slices of toast, and took a quick shower, I drove her over to her house to change her clothes. We got to Mass right on time.

It was weird. I hadn't been to a Catholic Mass since I was in high school, but being Catholic is little like riding a bike -- you never forget the shit! No matter how long you've been removed from it -- four years or forty -- I think, once you're back in those pews, the prayers and the responsorial shit, even the freaking hymns, come flooding back like it was yesterday. At least, that's the way it was for me that morning. Maybe, that's one of the perks or perils, depending on how you look at, of having been an altar boy.

Erin surprised me a little. She really was quite religiously devout, considering what a hot, little femme fatale she'd been only hours before that. Anyway, I was kind of glad I went with her. I doubt that morning reawakened any spiritual or religious feelings in me, but it sure did improve my standing in the boyfriend department!

When we walked outside together hand-in-hand after the service, Erin introduced me to Fr. Bill as her "close friend." She never said anything about me being her boss. Fr. Bill appeared to know her quite well, so well that it seemed like he considered it his job to weigh in on just how appropriate I was as a suitor, which, to his credit, was his apparent interpretation of "close friend."

At the very least, he certainly gave me the once-over. I must have successfully survived his toned down version of the Spanish Inquisition when, as he posed several pointed questions, I rattled off the names of my former parish, its pastor, and my Catholic alma mater with nary a hesitation. As we were leaving and had already started walking toward my car, he waved and called to Erin with a smile, "Bring your boyfriend back with you next week, Erin -- he's a keeper!"

And apparently, it wasn't just Fr. Bill who felt that way, because over the next six weeks, I became Erin Kemp's boyfriend. We had to be secretive about things, because I didn't want anybody else that worked at Hector's to know, and I sure as hell didn't think it would be a good thing if John found out.

It wasn't too difficult keeping things on the down-low. For one thing, we didn't have sex all that often -- maybe only a half dozen more times. But if Erin did agree to sleep over at my place after work, it helped that she was always the last person other than me to leave Hector's at night, and that back stairway to my apartment meant that once we'd locked up, no one would ever see her entering or leaving my place.

Erin planned to graduate that schoolyear, so she was busy with her studies, and that usually kept her at home on Sunday through Thursday nights. That left the weekends, but after a few weeks, even they weren't a sure thing. I guess I understood that it was difficult for her sometimes. Beginning around Thanksgiving, she had to start getting everything ready for her Spring Semester. She was going to do her student teaching that spring, and she had to make the arrangements to find a host school, a cooperating teacher to supervise her, as well as an advising professor to monitor her progress.

She ended up deciding to go back to Watertown to practice teach, which was ironic, considering the fact that she'd told me that she didn't think she could "ever go back there", that "that world" was "too stifling."

Apparently, when it came to student teaching, she thought that her alma mater, Watertown High School, would be the right place for her. The man that had agreed to be her cooperating teacher had been her favorite instructor when she had been in school, and he was overjoyed to hear that she intended to follow in his footsteps and become a high school English teacher. Besides, the decision had practical benefits, she argued -- she could live at home and save money not having to pay rent.

I was disappointed; it obviously meant I wouldn't see Erin much over those four or five months. That said, she had already made it clear to me that she would be quitting her job at Hector's in the middle of December when the Fall Semester ended, no matter where she ended up student teaching.

Still, I had hoped that maybe she would try to stay in town and do it here. Then again, even if she did stay in town, once she graduated, she'd be looking for a teaching job, and that meant she would almost certainly move away. We had those few sporadic nights together and, of course, 20 hours a week working side-by-side at Hector's, but, from where I was coming from, that wasn't nearly enough.

I didn't really think about the Watertown move, about what effect it could have on my relationship with Erin. In my naiveté, I figured it was no different than any other place she could have gone. I was wrong about that.

A week and a half before Christmas, we spent our final night together before Erin left to go back home. We celebrated the holiday and exchanged gifts, before settling in for a long winter's nap in each other's arms. She left that Sunday afternoon after a tearful goodbye.

Still, it wasn't like we didn't talk, and Erin was the first person I called when John Symons delivered the bad news two days before Christmas. She was lucky, I told her; she'd left just in time to miss it all. The bad news, I have to say, really took me by surprise. So much for Merry Christmas!

I seriously thought that John was so pleased with the way we had turned Hector's around that he would want never want to sell it again. To his credit, he never argued that point -- he fully acknowledged that he was making good money again, and that I was largely responsible for making that happen. The irony was that Hector's had actually become too successful.

Our main competition in the college bar scene in town was a place called The College Lounge. Once it became apparent to the owner that we were giving them a serious run for their money, he decided that rather than compete, he'd simply buy John out. The College also featured live music, but Hector's had a bigger capacity and a much larger, nicer concert room, so when it came to bands, we had a major advantage over them.

The owner of The College offered John a pretty sweet deal. Not only did John get every penny back that he'd lost in repossessing Hector's, but he was actually offered $10,000 more than the price he'd sold it for three years earlier. In addition to that, he'd collected a 20% down payment and two and half years of mortgage payments from the brother and sister team.

If that wasn't motivation enough, add to that John's own ambitions -- he had designs on a political career and didn't think owning a bar that catered to drunken college students would look all that good to prospective voters. That was the reason he sold Hector's in the first place. Apparently now, the time was right to launch a run at the State Legislature. With all that in mind, the decision became pretty easy for him, and I guess, I couldn't really argue with his logic.

Regrettably, John's good fortune didn't translate into my good fortune. The new owner's plan was to shut down the old location and move into Hector's, and since he was planning to bring his manager and assistant manager over to the new place with him, he had no job of any consequence to offer me, and no real motivation to feel any empathy for me. If I wanted to, he said, I could bartend for him part time. I couldn't even keep living in the apartment, not that I would have wanted to do that anyway.

But from my perspective, the most surprising thing was how John treated me after the sale was announced. Like his counterpart at The College, John had all of his management jobs filled at The Bike Club Pub. He made it clear to me he couldn't take me back in one of those positions.

He did offer me a bartending job -- at least it was full-time -- but I considered that a little insulting. Returning to a job that I had held two ago, before John had promoted me to management, would have been taking a pretty big step backwards. But it was more than my feelings at stake. I would lose my insurance and benefits, about half of my salary, not to mention the free apartment I was occupying, and all because Erin and I and about 20 other people had worked our asses off to make Hector's a roaring success.

I turned John down, all things considered. Besides, it was time for me to think about getting a real career. Erin had proven something to me. If she could do it, if she could teach, why the hell couldn't I?

The sale went into effect on January 1^st, though I didn't have to move out of the apartment until January 31^st (by law, the new landlord had to give me a month's notice to vacate the premises). Despite the fact that I didn't have a job, I still had to pay him rent for that month.

Erin talked me through things, helping me to decide what I should do next. Yet, for some reason, despite her seemingly empathetic ear, she seemed a little distant when I told her over the phone about John's decision. I guess that made sense, she was distant, about 200 miles distant to be precise.

"Jesus, Tom! I can't believe how bad John's screwing you over."

"You're right, but there really isn't anything I can do about it. Besides, even though I don't like the way he's handled this, he's actually been pretty good to me over the years. A big part of the reason I was loyal to him was because he was loyal to me. Unfortunately, that's all history now, but I can't waste my time thinking about what happened before. I have to decide what I'm gonna do now."

"Why don't you just go back to school? You've got all that money saved."

"Well... I'm going to, but I don't think it makes sense to go back for the Spring Semester. I talked to one of the college counselors, and he did a credit check; it's going to take me two semesters to finish, and if I start next month, then I'll graduate in December of next year. There won't be any teaching jobs open then, so why not wait until next fall to start up?"

"I suppose that makes sense. So... what are you gonna do in the meantime?"

"I don't know; I've got about a week left of work. After that, I could come and visit you... maybe, after the holidays, once Hector's is no more? Just for a few days."

"I don't know if that's such a good idea, Tom. I start my student teaching on January 3^rd. I'm gonna be so stressed out at first. Besides, where would you stay? It's not like I can exactly invite you to shack up with me here in my parents' house. Like I told you, they're pretty conservative, Tom."

"I could stay in a hotel, couldn't I?" There was a long pause.

"You can't really afford that, Tom. You won't have a job then, and like I said, I'll be so busy with teaching that I couldn't be a very good host, anyway."