On a sweltering June morning, Father James Forester turned onto the driveway of his old childhood church. The crunching noise his tires made as they rolled past the church and onto the dirt lot quickly brought about a nostalgic sound onto an otherwise dull drive. As he entered the holy grounds, James felt as if Cash's crooning of Cocaine Blues would be probably be frowned upon by the ol' man upstairs and quickly turned down his radio. His long drive from New England to the outskirts of Atlanta had dwindled his radio choices. Perhaps far too used to the college radio stations playing the latest Blondie and Queen, the bluegrass tunes of his home state had become unfamiliar. The moment James drove into the Dixie his choices became country, country, and sermons. Despite the collar, James was not too fond of the southern preaching style and opted that his drive is serenaded with the deep tones of outlaw cowboys and guitars. He swiftly parked his car directly behind the church, took his keys off the ignition, and let out an auditable sigh.
It was just as he'd last left it. St. Patrick's Catholic Church shone brightly as the early sun rays cast upon its white façade. While the church was newer, the ornate house sitting directly behind it was once the vacation home for a wealthy Northerner that had barely survived the Civil War. An old remnant of the pre-war Victorian style, the home was small with a welcomed escape of a small porch. The house stood elevated with a small stairway in the middle. In typical Georgia fashion, rocking chairs flanked both sides of the porch. It was both a beautiful and somewhat abandoned home. The peeling paint showed layers upon layers of colors. The home's faded grey tone could carbon date a history equal parts bloody as it was fascinating. Despite its somewhat dilapidated exterior, it was quaint but handsome and it was to be James' new abode for the next month.
James stepped out of his small car and into the hot Georgian summer. The heat felt as if he had been cast into a sea of muggy air robbing his body of the remaining coolness of his car's A/C. He had driven several hours from his residence in Rhode Island only to be greeted by an attacking sun. James quickly regretted wearing his black flared trousers and a collared shirt. Despite it being sensible fashion, it did not work in the south. However, shielded from the sun stood old Miss Sharon, a wiry grey-haired woman with thick coke bottle glasses and a large sun hat, cross-armed on the porch. Her presence was domineering—her gaze directed to James with her pursed lips waiting to be addressed. "Been a long time Miss Sharon," smiled James, with a soft drawl. He walked over, smiling stupidly waiting for the old lady's reply. "You are thirty-five minutes late, Jimmy!" retorted Miss Sharon in a sharp Atlanta accent lost to the current time. James laughed "I'm sorry about that. I got stuck in traffic, I am lucky to just be this late." James went up the stairs, the creaks of the wood responding to his steps. "Crazy heat huh?" he remarked, secretly thanking God to finally be in the porch's shade. Trickles of sweat immediately cascade down his back and stick his skin to his black shirt. Miss Sharon with a raised eyebrow stated "Not for us that live here." With a quick tsk, she shook her head and turned towards the front door "Ought to be ashamed Jimmy, you're from here!" She pushed her glasses up fiddling with a set of keys before unlocking the door to the house. "Come in, I'll turn on the window unit." Both she and James stepped inside the corridor leading to a substantially hotter living room. "It's been nearly ten years since my last Georgia heat!" James exclaimed, now unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt. Miss Sharon flicked on the window unit and smiled lightly. "Has it been that long? In my eyes you're still that cute little altar boy," she said, eyes gleaming at James.
James felt himself blush, though Miss Sharon couldn't tell as his usually olive-toned face was already visibly red from the heat. "I am nearly forty Miss Sharon. I look quite different from when I was thirteen." James moved in front of the window unit, suddenly pelted with cool stale air. Miss Sharon continued to smile and lightly patted his shoulder before making her way towards seating. "Still a baby in my eyes." She let out the sigh older folks make when reclining down to a comfy chair and lay down on a dusty plain, brown couch. "I gotta say, I am still not used to seeing you as a Priest, Jimmy. You're family being high-ranking alphas and all that." James rolled his eyes, instinctively out of Miss Sharon's line of sight. Despite the thick glasses, James knew fully well from his youth that the old lady could catch any tiny display of disobedience. "Yeah, dad wanted me to just take on the professorial role without any attachment to the collar but it just felt right," James replied, carefully constructing words so as not to set on any town gossip before his first sermon. "Between you and I, I think he's still holding out hope for you to carry on the name, Jimmy," retorted Miss Sharon, now using her hat as a fan. James briefly closed his eyes, knowing she was prying on purpose. He'd have this conversation with her almost every month of his seminary studies either through the phone or in letters. She had abandoned the argument several years before and James thought it odd for her to bring it up once more. He continued to be in front of the window unit and looked on outside, knowing that saying anything more would welcome Miss Sharon for further critique.
Sensing the discomfort, Miss Sharon began to rise from the couch, hands on her knees and letting out a low grunt in her efforts to peel away. "Well, I gotta head on home before my nephew begins to worry," stated Miss Sharon, patting away any dust from her long sundress. James looked at her confused, "I didn't know you had a nephew." Miss Sharon shrugged and began to move. "Would you like me to drive you home?" Miss Sharon shook her head and smirked lightly, "No it's alright. Walking is good for my age." She slowly began to make her way to the corridor and James followed her, carefully looking at her movements. She waddled a bit as if her legs were locked from briefly sitting down. James had not realized just how old and frail she had become. The strict librarian who'd often run him out of her peach grove could barely stand without creaking bones. Time indeed had passed, James thought to himself. "I'm old not on death's bed Jimmy. I can walk within a house," she sharply snapped. James lightly laughed, noting that she was still a firecracker woman. "I know, Miss Sharon but still, it is hot outside. Please let me drive you home." Miss Sharon grew irritated as she regained control of her stride and walked towards the door. "I changed your diapers and you wanna lecture me?" she swung open the door, "oh dear Lord, you gone made this boy spread your word but can't even listen to his elders."
Knowing the battle to be lost, James deeply sighed and said "Well alright Miss Sharon. Please make it safely home." With a trumpeted mouth she handed James the keys and said "Call me if you need anything." She held on to James' hand and then gently stroked his face. "The landline has been set so there should be no issues. However, I left instructions on the desk in the study just in case." She continued to stroke his cheek and said, "I'm happy you're here." Miss Sharon lightly kissed James on the cheek before making her way down the steps and through the dirt lot. It had been years since someone had caressed his face so tenderly and sweetly. The gentle gesture had tugged on his heartstrings and lightly struck upon long submerged emotions. James waved goodbye from his new temporary home watching her slowly disappear from his line of sight.
Most of the afternoon was then spent by James trudging his wares back and forth from his car. After unpacking and sprucing up the old house, James lay down on the couch, exhausted from the day's activities. This was a small town after all and he was lucky enough to not have raised any suspicion from the town folk. Thanks to his arrival being kept under wraps, James was able to set up the house without the ever-present visitations from snoopy congregants. James was only taking on the duties of this old Parish for a month. A new priest had been allocated for St. Patrick but would not be able to come until the first of August. It didn't even take long to fill the post thought James, after all, it was a prime location for a priest seeking a quiet, Southern life. Usually prescribed to teaching Theology at universities, performing services was not James's usual undertaking. James liked his vocation but he preferred molding young minds and discussing the constructions of the world to the repetitiveness of serving mass and entertaining the old ladies complaining about their long-haired grandkids.
Father James came to St. Patrick's as a favor to Miss Sharon. She'd asked him specifically to temporarily fill in. The former priest, Father Michael Stone, had passed away several weeks before his arrival. His death was sudden and heartbreaking. James saw Father Michael as not only an old colleague and mentor but as a family member. James stepped into the kitchen and grabbed some water from the sink. Even just standing there felt strange. The outdated 50's kitchen filled him with childhood memories. James' mother was an extremely devout woman who with Miss Sharon would often stop by Father Michael's with casseroles and pies at hand. James' father, Herbert, was less interested in church matters but always sought Father Michael for advice and erudite conversation.
He was James' inspiration to take on the cloth. Despite Father Michael's reluctance, he loved James's curiosity during his days as an altar boy and helped him apply for seminary. Throughout the process, James received an earful, however. Father Michael actively discouraged, alongside James' parents, from joining. Father Michael presented as a lower-ranking Alpha who could easily control his urges even if in the presence of an omega parishioner. His self-control was commendable and highly respected by those around him. It was rare to have an Alpha priest and in this small town, that rarity was cause for admiration. James recalled never being able to pick up his scent either. He remembers during elementary school being able to pick up people's distinctive notes, even the betas he went to school with but never with Father Michael.
James, on the other hand, presented as a higher-level Alpha, his instinctual prowess ever-present even during his youth. He exhibited strong pheromones early on during puberty that as he's aged naturally contributed to a sensual physique. He was notably handsome with olive skin, dark curls, and a pouty mouth that was often subject of admiration from his congregation during his vocational training. In fact, James' looks became quite a sore subject for his diocese. They actively encouraged James to stay within the realm of education. While James' presence filled the pews and collection boxes, he additionally contributed to long confession lines. The Church did not discriminate against Alphas taking on the priesthood but, it did not outwardly encourage it either—Father Michael included. However, James felt an affinity to the Church. He loved the midnight mass that took place during Easter even if he hated the pastel Sunday best. He loved the intimate environment as fluorescent lights were replaced by candle illumination. The darkened silhouettes of congregants, candles in hand singing hymns to the best of their abilities. It felt otherworldly, magical even. The narrative of resurrection, of a new start despite his sins.
He shut off the sink and drank the cool water. Despite being thrown back in time, James noticed how the town of his childhood had changed. Before his arrival to St. Patrick's, the once typical baby boomer Americana of his youth had transformed into a ghost town. The kids he grew up with either moved out like James, suffered during the Great Inflation, or died in Vietnam. The old folks who stayed behind still presented a joie de vivre but the streets and home are unkept as they began to pass away one by one. It was painful to see the lively streets dwindle to weed-covered abandon. However, James took on the post knowing that it would be just several dozen parishioners with an average age of seventy. He knew he'd be the youngest man in town. But Miss Sharon asked and who was he to deny her? Besides, it would be nice to take a break and be pampered by the little old ladies. James smiled knowing they were likely to flock him with baked goods and unannounced visits for town gossip. Yes, James thought to himself, gossip and vanity are a sin but it isn't too bad to indulge every once in a while. "At least I can eat some good peaches for once," James exclaimed aloud.
With the sun quickly about to set, James decided to peel away from his sweat-covered clothes and run a bath. It had been years since he'd taken one. His residence was shared with two other priests with only a shower available. James lay in the water and added a bit of suds, partaking in the comfort and silence. He hadn't been alone for such a long time—he saw the appeal of bachelordom. James lay back against the warm tub and closed his eyes. There were little things he'd refer to as heavenly, always carefully assuring that solely the Lord could create perfection. This single day, James thought to himself, was indeed heavenly. Afraid of falling asleep, James left his bath and made his way to the bedroom. He reached out for his pajama set and put on the bottoms. Usually, he'd put on the set to look respectable in case of any visitors but between the hot weather and newfound freedom James simply folded the shirt and placed it one of the drawers of a cherry oak vanity. He caught a glimpse in the mirror, it had also been some time since he last saw his physique. Perhaps it was his alpha predisposition or his dedicated exercise schedule but his body showed little sign of aging. The hair on his chest was lightly peppered white acting as the only indicator of his maturity while maintaining a sculptured physique. His shoulders and chest were quite broad giving him a stocky look like that of a rugby player. James's muscles appeared flexed, possibly from the hauling boxes to and from his car that day. James smirked at himself, I look good?
As James descended downstairs, feeling fresh from his bath when the silence was interrupted by a knock on the door. Ah, thought James, did the old ladies find me out? He walked down the corridor and opened the door. Instead of a little old lady stood a pale young man James had never seen before. His cheeks were flushed and sweat was pouring from his face. Though barely lit by both the darkened porch and the absent sun, James could make out that the man appeared to be very delicate. "Hello, Miss Sharon sent me," the man stated in a surprisingly low voice that did not match his slender body. In his hands was a woven basket with a kitchen towel on top. James noted a scent of citrus and fried foods erupting from the basket in the man's slender hands. "she wanted me to bring you this for dinner." James looked on confused but suddenly ravenously hungry. "Thanks," replied James. For a moment, James simply looked onto the stranger, unsure of his perplexity. But as a new single bead of sweat began to trickle from the man's chestnut hair down his rosy face, James snapped back into reality beckoning the stranger into his home. "Please come in. The kitchen should be at the end of the corridor." The stranger nodded and entered the home, looking relieved.
In the light, the man's features were magnified. He was quite pale with a light sprinkle of freckles across his face, a thick mustache, and vivid green eyes. He was much prettier than I thought, James said to himself before quietly storing it away. James was taken aback by the stranger's height. James stood 5'11" (6'0" when he was trying to impress) and yet this young man had several inches on him. His pale skin shone brightly red from heat exposure. James followed the man in and continued to look at him feeling oddly self-conscious. The slender stranger made his way into the kitchen and set the basket onto the counter. His white t-shirt tightly gripped onto his skin, sprinkled with sweat. The man took a navy blue handkerchief from his right Demin shorts pocket and patted away the sweat from his brow. He smiled curiously at James who had been looking at him rather intensely. Suddenly realizing he hadn't introduced himself, James took his hand out to greet "I do not believe we have met before, I am James. I will be taking on the duties left by Father Michael for the summer." The man smiled widely and put his handkerchief back into his pocket. He cooly replied "I'm Claude. I'm Miss Sharon's nephew." Claude shook James's hand then gestured to the dining set behind him and asked "Do you mind if I take a seat?" James, somewhat flustered nodded, "Of course, of course. Please." Claude collapsed onto the seat, still a bit out of breath.
From a cabinet, James took out a glass pitcher filling it with some water from the sink. While Claude fanned himself with his hand, James watched as his heaving chest lightly rose and fell. "I think you're the youngest person I've seen in town," remarked Claude, looking at James with an odd smile. He laughed in response, shutting off the water and pouring his visitor a glass. "I just arrived today," replied James taking a seat across Claude. "I was driving in from Providence." Claude accepted the glass before him and took a large gulp. He exclaimed a breath of relief, "Ah that was needed." He then looked puzzled at James "You're from Providence?" James shook his head. "Oh no, I teach there. I was born and raised in this town." "I was about to say! You do not sound like a New Englander." "Really? I feel like my accent has been lost since moving from here." "No it's still slightly twangy." James noticed that Claude's eyes were glistening with every word and that his deep voice was stained with a slightly sweet tone. "What do you do in Providence?" "Oh," James replied quite perplexed. He hadn't been asked about his profession for so long. Usually, he donned a collar and people were able to connect the dots. However, James was quite sure that Claude was asking about his position back home. "I'm a professor of religious studies. I mostly teach undergraduates and some master's students." Claude's eyes widened and raised his eyebrows slightly, "Wow I didn't take you for a professor." James shifted lightly in chair—Claude's attentiveness uncomfortably stirring him.
"So," James continued, "you don't seem like you're from here." Claude took another sip of his water and replied "Yeah, I am actually from Philly but I attend law school here. I am taking care of Miss Sharon for the summer." James was perplexed "Is something wrong with Miss Sharon?" Claude shook his head, "No, it's just my mom usually comes down to visit in the summer but she's unable to this year. She thought Miss Sharon would be lonely by herself." Claude suddenly shot up and grabbed the basket he had been holding prior to entering the home. "I'd almost forgot!" he exclaimed. Claude rose from his seat and walked over to the basket. He pulled off the kitchen towel and revealed a small feast. James eyes lit up, once more thanking God for his good fortune that day. "Miss Sharon made some buttermilk chicken with okra and tomatoes. She thought you'd probably forgotten to buy groceries on the way here," "I had definitely forgotten to buy food," James stated both thankful and embarrassed. Claude chuckled, "You would've been out of luck. Everything closes here around five o'clock."
Mouthwatering, James stood from his seat and turned his back to Claude, looking through the old cupboard for some dinnerware. "Please take a seat. You look quite outta breath still." As he grabbed utensils, James felt Claude's gaze on him. His instincts were raised and very conscious of his own bodily movements. He had picked up on it during their brief conversation but in the silence, James could now pickup on Claude's nuanced approach. "I had completely forgotten the ghost town this turns to after five," remarked James and letting out a light but cautious laugh. He could still feel Claude's eyes on him as James turned back to his guest, two plates and set of cutlery in hand. "Let me serve you some more water real quick."
Once more, Claude smiled widely. His countenance sweetly looking at James, no longer inciting the predatorily instincts from moments before but still remarkably odd. James placed a set of knives and plates for the two of them before refilling Claude's glass. "I'll just have a glass of water and be on my way," said Claude. "Please don't trouble yourself. I ate before I got here." James felt lightly reluctant for his visitor to leave and tried his best to hide his disappointment. "Miss Sharon is waiting for me and I don't want to worry her. You know how she gets." James nodded pouring some more water from the pitcher. "Don't I know it. She was the school librarian and my neighbor growing up," replied James. "Oh Lord, I cannot imagine the lectures you must've received. Even now she lectures me, I'm already crouching thirty," stated Claude between sips but carefully noting to see if there was any response to his words. James retorted "She gave me a lecture today and I am now her priest." Claude stopped drinking momentarily as if pausing impulsively to a surprising statement. The silence felt quite thick and uncomfortable. James was unsure of what he said to illicit that response but he unconsciously regretted telling Claude his occupation. While it was not a particular secret, something in him was reluctant to reveal himself. With a seriously look, Claude finished his drink, "I think I should be on my way." He handed the now empty glass to James and began to make his way out of the kitchen. James noticed a bit of hesitation in his stride. "You sure?" he asked curiously, "Even with the sun setting, it's still quite warm out." Claude went back to smiling and said "Oh no worries. I'm getting used to it by now."
James walked him to the doorway. In the brief moment to the door, James caught the scent of flagrant notes of citrus, more than before. It was pleasant and crisp, with undertones of a freshly manicured lawn. It was his first time smelling someone who wasn't overtly sweet scented like omegas who reeked of sugary concoctions or strong floral notes. They often gave James headaches as he was not a fan of those scents despite his natural predispositions. The thought suddenly interrupted James. How did he not notice? Omega, he thought panickily. Claude opened the door and stepped out into the unlit porch. James felt his body begin to heat up but it wasn't to the sudden exposure to the humidity outside but in response to the man before him. His scent was becoming increasingly noticeable as James now became aware of his presence. James heart began to palpitate at an increasing rate as if he were a teen again. He felt his cheek begin to flush and palms sweat. His eyes couldn't help but to focus upon Claude's long slender back. He knew he felt it too, this discomfort between them. James knew he couldn't continue to stare and thought it best to end the night right there. Before making his way out the door Claude turned to James, smiling lightly all the while his eyes briefly looked James up and down. "Please let us know if you need anything. I am a short walk away." James nodded, avoiding his gaze and carefully trying to control his own pheromones. James held onto the door's handle, ready for the alluring man to exit his home. James growly uttered "It was a pleasure meeting you," noticing now an odd crackle to his own voice. I hope he didn't notice James remarked to himself. Claude briefly arched his brow before saying "The pleasure was all mine, Father." James felt throat run dry and a twitch develop down below. He waived goodbye before quickly closing the door.
FUCK FUCK FUCK.
James looked down to his body and then closed his eyes. He felt ashamed. Apart from the partial swelling of his member, he realized that during his entire interaction with Claude he had remained underdressed. No wonder the young man had been looking at him oddly—James had immodest, informal, and peculiar towards his guest. Miss Sharon's nephew nonetheless, he thought to himself. He rubbed his eyes, still feeling frustrated with both himself and with Claude. It had been years since he responded to an omega like this. He wasn't even in heat, James exclaimed pressing his hands to his head. How long had he been feeling this frustration? How long had he been displaying mild arousal? James opened his eyes once more and groaned. Unable to relieve himself, James heavily walked back to the kitchen. The corridor still lightly smelled of him. He collapsed onto the chair by the dinner table and began to devour the meal before him. Usually, even when by himself, James gave a small prayer before his meal. Recently, he'd been forgetting to give his thanks but quickly stopping midbite and bowing his head in prayer. Tonight, with the pheromones still encircling his nostrils, James not only forgot to give thanks but forgot to correct himself all together.
ns 15.158.61.16da2
