Coffee and Sugar - C. Sean McGee (mystery books to read .TXT) 📗

stupefied wonder and adamant fear, feeling every bit like the calf as the starving lioness preyed upon him, dressed in fleeting lingerie and feathered stilettos with every sound of her heels clapping against the floor feeling like conscious nails, hammering into his mind and keeping him stupendously still; his pounding heart sounding out his jittery arousal.

The door behind The Seductress pulled shut and a lock turned as Joao’s reflection and his escaping sight were confounded with a woman’s near perfect, naked body.

Joao tried to look away but when he tilted or turned his head, the woman touched; ever so gently, her long fingers against the tilt of his head and leaned his eyes towards hers where she cast a spell on him that had him willing his sight back to his wobbly knees where maybe he could imagine mundane and ordinary thoughts in his mind to further himself from the fervour that boiled in his blood, pounded in his mind and swelled in places that had him horrifically uncomfortable and terribly embarrassed.

The Seductress lowered her widened hungry and salivating eyes to the affrighted retreat of her prey; the weak and forborne calf, clinging to the fine black leather with his nails outstretched scratching at the arms of the chair.

She leaned her hands onto his so that he couldn’t escape and brought her face down to his shoulders so that her fringe swished against his eyelids and then his nose, tickling his reason as she exhaled her warm and insatiably irreligious breath at the base of his ear so that it trickled down his neck and shivered at his spine, ordering the tiny white hairs that lay on his lower back into rising attention.

“If I show you my body, will you show me my soul?” she whispered into his ear, so soft and sensual, biting down with her teeth; gentle but firm on the edge of his ear and purging a sigh of wanting stress across his quaking lips as one of her hands reached down to his legs, pulled his clamped and clammy hands from between them and slid her own considerate touch along the inside of his quaking thigh.

‘How does it feel to be one of the beautiful people?” she sang in his ear and it felt as if her voice were like smoke, entering his body and wrapping itself around the tiny fight left in his soul, defusing the last remnant of logic and reason in his mind.

He looked past The Seductress or at least tried to, tilting his head away from her bulging bust and her swishing hair, catching an inch of the mirror in front where he caught a refection behind, something calming and escaping; the sight of a welcomed hand, opening a passage to his desertion.

The Seductress pinned her muscular legs tight, straddling Joao so that he couldn’t move, even if he managed the will to do so. In her mouth, she bit on the handle to the cup, holding it in her teeth. The word Jesus ran out of her mouth like some salivating and scandalous tongue, folding over her mouth and running down where her chin might have been, hidden behind the turn of the porcelain cup.

Joao was without word and without definition.

He felt entirely strange as though he were engorging with shame that could explode at any moment. He tried thinking of Jesus but as he did, he was reminded of the licking tongue of this harlot who sat perched upon his body like a vulture upon a tiny infant’s withering carcass and it excited him in a fearing and powerless kind of way.

He tried to think of Mother, the great, gargantuan insulter, she whose abrasive regard could confuse sandpaper for a sponge in how she caressed the need in one’s heart and soul.

He imagined her sitting on the wooden bench with the hot afternoon breeze swishing at her floral dress of which fluttered in the gusting wind as she fought in a reserved and educated, womanly manner to pin to her knees with her axeman’s hands. Her skin drank of the hot sun like air into a vacuum and from her pores; she sweated her hope, resilience and consternation into the life that she tried to mend; the seeds beneath the dried earth and her children who stamped about upon it.

As he imagined her sitting there looking at him all weathered, worn and emotionally droughted; as she did in her only photo, he felt again an uncomfortable and shameful warmth engorge in his loins as outside of his delusion, The Seductress slid her body tight and warming against his, pressing her lips against his ear, her hot breath running down his neck like hot wax from a dripping candle as her silken whisper crept into his mind and pulled apart the image of his mother, pixel by pixel, until her body exploded into a billion particles of dust and vanished from his conscious sight, leaving only The Seductress; in her black lingerie, occupying his every fright, clasping the cup in her teeth and undoing the straps to her bra with her free hands while her raping eyes kept him prostrated and conceding.

. “Show me myself, I’ll pay any price, you can do whatever you want to me, anything, I won’t tell” she said, pausing between her tease to speak and then, making good her promise, taking his clammy hands and pressing them against her breasts as if they were some garment.

Joao closed his eyes and tried to disengage the senses on his finger tips that were burning and tickling against The Seductress’ breasts and making him feel as if he were committing a wrong. He tried to think of anything that would help him to disengage.

He thought of his father, standing in front of him with his disappointed smirk; where his brow furrowed, his bottom lip rose up till it wet the tip of his nose, the nostrils on his nose flared inwards almost closing entirely and his left hand pinned a black leather bag to his shoulder while his right hand pulled from his pocket with what might just become a lecturing hand and he expected his father; the surveyor of truth and example, to be usual in his disinfecting emotional resonance, washing Joao clean of his partiality and impurity and returning him to a dishevelled but accepting zeroed state.

As he felt The Seductress writhing over his cowardice, he watched in dissention as his father smiled and took from his pocket, a pair of women’s panties, like the pair he had folded when he left his house this morning.

The Bishop; in his delusion, still with one hand clasping his black leather bag to his shoulder, smiled deviously as he took the panties in his right hand and pressed them against his face, inhaling prophetically while choking black smoke swirled around him, which turned to roasting flames and then the image of his father vanished and when the flames receded, he was left again, a victim of the harlot on his lap, using his hands like a divine and lustrating scrubbing brush, all over her sinful body.

“Stop” screamed Joao, his voice crackling as his parched throat fought to turn this weaken vice in his stomach into a visceral retaliation, using every last inch of his defencing reserves to invert his repression into striking everyone and anyone within an earshot of his chastising, oral fist.

The Seductress stopped, unfastened her prowling stare and let go of his hands so that they dropped heavily and slapped against his tensing legs. The cup in her teeth fell from her mouth and bounced off of Joao’s body and smashed to pieces on the floor, along with the will of her seduction.

‘What the fuck wrong with you? Whatever” she said as she covered her breasts with one hand as if she had just broken from some trance and was akin to the disrepute of her self-esteem, seeing the wrong in the reflection of her doing.

“Apostle, hey Apostle” she screamed.

The lock on the door clicked and the handle turned and the great man himself walked into the room with a less than concerned look in his eye.

He was smiling with his arms wide and embracing.

“Did he resist?” The 13th Apostle asked to Joao and The Seductress who stepped passed The Apostle, gently brushing her open palm against his heaving chest, closing her eyes just enough so that her eyes just peered through the lustre of her long black lashes, looking upwards at The Apostle in a sexing glare.

“Do I look satisfied?” she said, leaving the room with her hand still draped across her breasts.

The Apostle watched her leaving the room with a degenerate and hungered groan expelling from the pit of his belly as the door slammed shut behind her.

Joao looked every bit the trembling calf that had just been picked from the gnashing jaws of a lioness. He was shaking and breathing fast, overcome by a tidal wave of unfamiliar, toxic emotions.

He looked up and saw The 13th Apostle standing behind him about to lay his massive hands on his shoulder consolingly and beside him; he saw the small dog sitting politely on its rump looking at him with the same look he just gave himself as if to say, “I’ve known; in times past, how you feel.”

“Our closeness to the lord should take us no further from the wrongs that make us human, that define our religious corroboration. Every man has in him the abundant will to accomplish many things and our desires and our depressions, they are the triggers unto which the devil sets about his traps. Even Jesus felt the thirst of temptation, for the flesh is does weaken; it suffocates the soul, so much that sometimes most people forget that the soul is even there. They get so caught up in their skin, in the packaging; painting it and making it sparkle, that they forget the reason for it, that their body is a package, it is a parcel, it is a gift from god. And they forget to look inside; to see themselves, to see their spirit, to see their purity, to see their Christian heart. Their sciences try to prove that it doesn’t exist at all so they can keep this swill and swell of desire and depression at the fingertips of each Christian, to lure them, away from the embrace of Jesus Christ and smooth their depressions with saturnine delight” said The 13th Apostle.

Joao shook his head in ignorant acceptance as if every word were from his own tongue.

“I didn’t understand the first word, corroborrobor or something. I’m sorry” he said, looking frightfully confused, no longer nodding in concordance, and feeling like a donkey in horses shoes.

The 13th Apostle smiled generously and squeezed his hands tight over Joao’s shoulders, pressing his fingers firmly between the linkages of his bones, his hands almost tearing through the boy’s skin like a claw hammer though butter.

“You are a pure Christian heart. This is what I dressed in my message. Forgive me my Joao, sometimes I get carried away by my own words, forgetting that they are just that, just sounds and its rude of me, rude and uneducated, to use words that you wouldn’t know. It doesn’t make me any smarter than you are in your misunderstanding. This was a test and I’m sorry you had to endure this but to serve the lord; we must accept that his will is for us to love and to suffer so that others may be led by our lightened hand towards the pastures of heaven. Let me show you something” said The 13th Apostle, lifting his weighty hands and guiding Joao out of the illustrious room, back through the construction where men signed papers and checked boxes while other men coursed their voices hoarse and crackly, inspiring through threat, the other men, who worked tired and labouring with their tools beating against wooden boards, picking splinters from their skin, wiping large beads of sweat from their brows and clearing phlegm from their throats, casting out large clumps of their swallowed pride; enveloped in dust, dirt and intimidation.

The 13th Apostle guided Joao through a series of rooms, one being a massive auditorium, so big it looked like they could build a city inside.

“This will be the new center of evangelism in the world. When this is finished, it will house over one hundred thousand people in every cult service. A place without war, where Christians from all over the world can migrate and join their hands as one, to finally worship Jesus Christ away from the tyranny of political injustice, away from the fear of bullets, away from corruption and away from the speck of false idols; a new Jerusalem, just for Christians” said The 13 Apostle, looking proud and almost coming to a tear as he looked around the massive auditorium, speaking in prolific zest and imagining the extent of his work and belief, living, breathing and praying before his eyes.

Joao felt magnificent and insignificant in the same breath, under the