A church leader is supposedly immune to impure thoughts.  Supposedly a church leader can achieve a level of spiritual centered-ness that impure thoughts can be repelled avoiding sin.  I have been a church leader for some time.  My thoughts are impure.

At the front of the church this morning I sat on my chair of privilege, responsibility.  It’s not a throne, I suppose, but I’m certain there is symbolism that is lost on me.  I sat there singing at the correct time, leading prayer when necessary, and fraudulently representing what a leader is supposed to be.

The air is cool on this Winter day. The ancient church fails to hold its heat and the tip of my nose is chilled as I breath. The smell of church-must and burning candles join the cool air.  The choir sings with its imperfect blend of experienced and tone-deaf vocalists.  From my vantage point I look out on the congregation, dressed in their dull, gray clothes.  Hidden in the shadows of their own thoughts of sins that only they carry inside.

I sit on my throne as plates are passed through the congregation.  Past the congregation, at the back of the church, are giant stained-glass windows.  I watch light stream in as the sun pushes through outdoor cloud-cover. The entire church seems to come alive.  I find myself smiling as I follow the beams of light.  As if the sun had targeted her all along, bright hues radiate from her head. Too stereotypical the image of an angel, yet there she was; the angel.

I realized she was smiling at me.  I felt her eyes scanning me from my face, down my chest, and lightly fondling the bend of my waist while I sat on my throne. The light surrounded her and tinted her brown hair. Hair that rolled gently to her shoulder, covered with a gray sweater.  My eyes followed the streaking light that caught the tips of her sweater where her nipples would surely be under her clothing.  How perfect they were.  Her conservative sweater fit tight against her breasts and if she had tried to avoid attention with the sweater, she had failed. I had noticed.

The light continued to fill the room and her gray and black clothing found new tones with the light.  I could clearly see her face now.  She failed to hide her smile.  She was looking right into me; into my soul.  My thoughts dipped to stripping of her clothing.  How wonderful she would be, right now, naked in front of me.  My cock stirred in my slacks.  I immediately realized that this would be an impermissible moment if I stood up and had my stiff cock pushing my pants towards the angel.  Unacceptable!  So I fought the urge. I pushed my gaze away and ignored her.  And even as I stepped back into the congregation, completing my role as the leader, I stood near the angel, again imagining her naked there in the church.

I coveted her!  I wanted her!  I knew that if I turned to her we would shun the entire congregation.  In front of them all she would wryly smile at me before reaching for my belt. Her fingers would undo my pants and find my hard cock.  She would kneel before me, as if she were praying, worshiping my cock.  In her mouth my cock would disappear.  Her tongue would flick at the tip before once again sucking the length of my cock into her mouth.  Fighting the urge to come I would pull her from her knees and suck her mouth to mine.  I would hear her moan as her body responded to my tongue wrapping with hers.

The wooden pews would never work to have her lay down for me to fuck her, missionary style, of course.  But she could bend over, facing away from me, placing one knee on the pew, her hands bracing her while I would move into position.  Her wet pussy would quiver while I sunk my cock inside her.  My hands would wrap around her hips and I would come when I heard her voice moan in response to the orgasm shaking her body.

Of course the congregation would never have stood for it.  And she would never do it.  But after church I took my wife to our bedroom and we held each other close until we were both calling out to God.  Oh yes, I am a church leader and I have impure thoughts.

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