Forgive me Father, for I have sinned . . .

I drive by a small church on my way. It's always packed on Sunday. Doesn't matter if it's been two weeks or a month since the last time I drove by . . . people lined up to hear God's word.

Our Father, which art in Heaven
Hallowed be thy Name

I'm Jewish, so its not even my Sabbath. But I still feel a little guilty. I am not here for God. I am not here for spirituality. I am here for selfish pleasure. I pull my car into a spot a few blocks away. Walk to the non-descript building and let myself in the door at the back of the alley. He's left it unlocked for me. His shoes are on the mat by the door. I know he's waiting for me. Down the dark hall, third room on the right. My own two hours of heaven await me.

Thy kingdom come
Thy will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven

Same sheets. New blanket, today. Scarlet. Even with the candles and low lights, the color is rich and vibrant. Yet doesn't disrupt the mood. The music is soft in the background; familiar and inviting. I slip out of my clothes quickly; I don't even wear my wedding rings anymore. I slide between the sheets, and stretch, like a cat about to nap in a sun spot on the carpet.

He places a hand on my lower back, letting the warmth imprint on my skin. Holds it there, as if saying a little prayer over my prone body. Then begins making small circles on my lower back, moving further and futher outward, until he can feel me relax. Slides his hands down my back, splaying his fingers across the curve at my lower back, then running his hands up my sides, tracing the hourglass shape. I drift into that other-worldliness that always accompanies this little renedezvous.

Give us this day our daily bread

My stomach rumbles, bringing me back to reality for a moment. He only chuckles, quietly, his hands never leaving my body. But it makes me think of the family that parks in the church lot. Selling tamales and churros and other homemade treats to the congregants when services are out. I often think about stopping on my way back home. Back to reality. But they would know. So instead, I always pull my hat down further over my hair and my sunglasses, and stare straight ahead.

And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us

I feel spiritual. He takes me inside myself, inside my head. Never asks for anything other than what we have had for the last three years. Content in our mutually beneficial relationship. So I lay, breathing quiet and deep, feeling the stress fade and my mind clear, focusing only on the rhythm of his hands and the music. In this state, I could forgive. Not forget. Just forgive.

And lead us not into temptation
But deliver us from evil

It always seems too short. He whispers "It's time." Runs his fingers through my hair one last time. So tempting to stay. But he has obligations. I have obligations. We'll see each other in a few weeks. Some Sunday.

For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever and ever. Amen.

Some theology teaches that we are all sinners. I am guilty of many sins. Is it sinful for letting a man who is not my husband touch my bare flesh? I don't think so. My sin, if you ask Betty, is that I pay so little for a two-hour massage.

If this is sin, then I ought to start booking my room in hell now.

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife