mattitude: Saturday Night with the Virgin Mary

A Catholic Boy’s Masturbation Fantasy

Father Michael listened as the Monsignor’s footsteps echoed away, and eventually he heard the great doors to the church swing wide open, then close again with a resounding thud. It was late, but there was still a bit to be done to get the church ready for the following morning’s Mass. Actually, that was an excuse: he liked being alone in the church; it was the only place where he felt safe thinking about those things which had brought him there.

He had truly loved Tammy, that was for sure, and he was certain that he would have married her, were it not for what she had done. That foul deed, the senseless slaughter of her own child, went against everything Michael had been brought up to believe. But then, even that night when the child had been conceived always seemed a mystery to Michael, and he wondered to this day what had caused him to commit such a vile and sinful act. Mother had warned him about girls who weren’t Catholic. Evil, sinful they were, bound for Hell and determined to take unsuspecting, innocent young boys with them. But he hadn’t listened, so he’d paid the price. His anger and his guilt — coupled with the desire to be as far away from Tammy as possible — had led him to the priesthood. He only hoped that his fervent dedication to his vocation was sufficient penance for his sins.

He enjoyed the little things, like setting up the altar so that the Monsignor could sleep a few extra minutes on Sunday. But as he arranged the brass trays on the cotton cloth which covered the altar, he noted by his watch that it was late, and remembered that he was doing the 6:30 a.m. Mass that Sunday. He would have to go back to the rectory and get some sleep.

As he looked around the scene, he noticed that something was wrong. It didn’t take him long to realize that the statue of the Virgin Mary, which sat to the right of the altar, was missing. He hadn’t noticed it gone before, and he could almost swear he had walked right by it only moments ago. He stepped a little closer to the empty spot; the fresh indentation of the heavy marble slab in the carpeting was still there. Suddenly, he detected motion behind him. He turned about suddenly, sure that he was about to come face to face with the intruders who had stolen the statue. He would apprehend them, and finally gain a little respect from the Monsignor. Instead, he saw only the young girl in her flowing blue and white robes, with gold trim around the face. Mary. The young priest shook his head, as though to clear his vision, and looked back. She was still there.

“Michael,” she said softly, her sweet, angelic voice teasing his ears. She was brilliantly transfigured against the royal blue tapestry of the sanctuary, radiating like she did in all the old paintings and that movie about Bernadette. The young priest made a quick Sign of the Cross and fell to his knees before the Blessed Virgin Mother of God.

“Arise, Michael,” she said softly, and the young priest obeyed. He stood there gaping as she stepped from the altar and approached him, setting an alabaster white hand on his breast. “Oh, what a man you are!” Michael blinked, unsure he had actually heard the Holy Mother say that. She brought her hand down his abdomen in a gentle caress, eventually settling on his crotch, where she rubbed with a circular motion. “Arise, Michael!” She giggled.

“Lord,” the priest screamed, turning to the life-size crucifix on the back wall of the sanctuary. “Do not tempt me in this manner!”

“Mikey!” Mary called from behind. “Come here, Daddy… your Holy Mama wants you!”

He turned to her again and saw that she had stripped off her blue and white robes, and now stood there naked. Her shapely body glowed softly in the light of the altar candles that had somehow lit themselves. She reached forward and tugged on his collar, and his robes fell away, leaving him standing naked before her on the altar.

“Oh, Michael,” the Blessed Virgin moaned, “I’m just so hot for you!”

“No…” he moaned, backing away. “I am a priest!”

“You’re a man,” Mary said soothingly, giving Father Michael a quick once-over. “And such a man, at that! Michael, I want you!” He tried to escape, but she was on top of him in an instant. She wrestled him to the floor and settled on top of him, and he screamed as she enveloped him in her arms and took him into her. He closed his eyes and began to moan, “oh, my God!” repeatedly.

“Lighten up,” Mary cooed. “What God doesn’t know won’t hurt Him. He’s on a business trip and won’t be back for another two thousand years. You and I have all night…”

Michael could feel his blood rushing as she increased her rhythm steadily, moaning in divine ecstasy. Finally, there was a rush of pain, and he felt as if a bullet was shooting out of him, into the Holy Mother. She fell back with a cry of delight and lay there, looking at Father Michael affectionately as she lit up a cigarette. Looking down, Father Michael saw that his penis was covered with blood; he’d broken the Holy Hymen.

“I guess this means I’m not a virgin anymore,” Mary giggled.

“My God,” the young priest screamed, standing. “What have I done?”

* * *

Father Michael was found in the church the next morning, hanging from a support beam in the sacristy. He was naked and his genitals were covered with semen and blood, although whose blood it was they never found out. All they ever ascertained was that the blood on Father Michael’s genitals perfectly matched bloodstains in the lap of a statue of the Virgin Mary which sat to the right of the altar. God only knows what happened that night, and He is unavailable for comment.