Ann's Valentine's Decision

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was...I'm not sure. But is it alright if I ask you a question? It's about sin, Father."

Father Chullikatt knew the young blond woman from the balcony beneath his cell window. She attended Mass often enough that she passed for a practicing Catholic now-a-days. He had seen her at Christmas Mass and a few times since then. He forced from his mind the visions of Ann and her various lovers on the balcony beneath his rectory window.

"Of course, my child. What is your question?"

"Is it always a sin to commit suicide?"

But I'm getting ahead of myself. This story begins several months earlier, the first time Ann visited Monsignor Chullikatt in his confessional. And even before that, the monsignor had seen Ann lounging outside his rectory window on her condo balcony.

Every day since Ann had graduated from grad school in May, Ann spent afternoons reading on her balcony. From his rectory window, Monsignor Chullikatt caught brief glimpses of the beautiful young woman curled on her green-striped chaise lounge. She wore a large straw hat that threw shade over her face and her shoulders while hunched in her lounge. Her legs were drawn up to her chest, her arms held her knees tight. The only noticeable movement was the wiggling of her toes in time to the mournful classical music she listened to. She had no visitors with her on the balcony to share the sun-drenched area. If the priest had to guess, he would say she was extremely lonely.

Her condo building had a half-dozen units but hers was the only balcony built facing the tall rectory. Birch and pine trees shaded the rectory and served to block unwanted gawkers from the balcony while letting the full strength of the sun spill onto her wide deck from overhead. As a result, Ann had nearly perfect privacy. But from his room—properly called a cell—on the top floor of the four-story edifice, the priest could look directly onto her two green-striped chaise lounges and her small glass table, and at a long-legged blond soaking up the southern sun. He often said a few extra prayers for the young woman, that she might find guidance and happiness.

A few days later, Monsignor Chullikatt was hearing the confessions of his faithful elderly parishioners, dispensing unnecessary absolutions, and fighting falling asleep in the warm confessional when the screen to his left slid open with a sharp pop. The screens were designed so that the penitent could not be distinguished—nor could the priest—but from the tang of sun tan oil and the mysterious scent of provocative perfume, he this assumed was not one of his regular visitors.

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was... oh, I don't really remember." The voice was young, sweet, and sorrowful.

"It's fine, child. Why have you come tonight? What is troubling you?"

She paused. Monsignor Chullikatt had developed the patience to wait as the penitent composed her thoughts. She eventually spoke in a voice he could barely hear.

"Is depression a sin, Father?"

The priest suspected immediately who this penitent was—the beautiful, lonely woman from the balcony outside his cell. He had been praying for her. Perhaps his prayers had been answered. Now, he had the opportunity to guide her and awaken her life.

He spoke warmly. "No, my child. Depression is not a sin. Our Heavenly Father understands those feelings. Tell me about yours."

"It sounds ridiculous. I mean, I have an advanced degree in geology, so I'm not a dunce. But, I feel so lost, alone, and worthless. That's got to be a sin, isn't it, Father?"

"Child, tell me about your life. I would like to understand more about you."

"Well, I've been told I'm pretty, that I have a beautiful figure. I suppose the unwanted attention I receive the few times I go to the pool or the beach would prove it. I'm twenty-five. I've fought off my share of eager college boys and girls who try to convince me to loosen up, to enjoy life while I'm still young, and to party. Such nonsense is just not in my nature, Father. I spent my time at the university library studying, writing papers, reading, examining rocks, and dreaming. At least I did until I graduated. Now, I don't know what to do. Do I go back to school? Do I take one of the jobs that has been offered? I don't have to work. My generous father repeats every time I see him, that he's provided trust funds for me. I don't have to do anything the rest of my life. That depresses me, too.

The priest formed a picture of a young woman who had been cosseted her entire life. She had never been exposed to the beauty of the world because she had been so protected and timid. She had set challenges for herself and overcome them; graduating with a geology degree was one daunting test. Perhaps she needed more world experience, as dangerous as it might be.

"Child, have you thought about traveling? Seeing the world?"

"What's the point, Father?"

"The point is to see the world with fresh eyes."

"Well, I've been invited to a geology symposium in Moscow. I suppose I could go there."

"Yes, that's a start." In his heart, the priest shuddered to think what impressions she would form from Moscow. "But don't stop there. Take a trip to the Balkans, to the Mediterranean. Make sure to stop in Greece. Then continue on to the South of France. See Paris. Take time to see classical architecture, the great museums, the art galleries. Then, come back to me and tell me what you think. Can you do that, my child?"

"I suppose so."

He gave her a penance and a blessing. "I hope to see you at Mass occasionally, too, my child."

She laughed sweetly. "I suppose." Then she left the confessional; he heard her door open and shut. Gradually the wonderful aroma that had suffused the confessional dissipated. He opened the alternate screen on his right and heard the confession of an older woman who had taken the name of God in vain, usually after her husband had struck her. A more difficult, but not unusual, problem had again presented itself.

Before the time for confessions was over, another penitent entered the booth on the same side the young woman had used. He exuded an aroma of smoke, marijuana, and alcohol. He hadn't bathed for the past few days. He fidgeted while kneeling, knocking against the sides of the booth. The priest slid open his screen and pronounced a welcoming prayer.

"Yeah. Hey, Father. I was just wondering. Who was that babe that was in here before?"

Monsignor Chillikott recognized the young raspy voice. He had seen the man on street corners holding signs for handouts and had received anxious complaints that this homeless guy sold drugs near the church.

"I can't divulge the secrets of the confessional, my son. Do you have a sin you would like to confess?"

"No. No sin, unless lusting after a beautiful piece of ass is a sin."

"Yeah, that would be a sin, my son. One of the big seven deadly sins."

"No, that's just human nature, the way God created me and most other guys who aren't faggots, you know? No offense. I just want to know her name."

"Sorry. I don't know her name. But if you come to Mass on Sundays, you might bump into her."

"Ha! That ain't likely, padre. Or, maybe it is. You wouldn't mind me hanging around at Mass, even if it's just to check out some chick?"

"I'd prefer you use the time to pray but God works in mysterious ways if you let him. Coming to Mass on Sunday might be a way he works mysteriously with you."

"I don't have much to offer, padre. I'm basically a piece of shit."

"None of God's creatures are worthless, son. Please come to Mass. In the meantime, let me offer you a blessing. I will pray for you."

"Yeah, well, knock yourself out, padre."

The young man left the booth before the priest had finished even the first line of the prayer. The priest finished that prayer and said a few more for the young man.

Ann attended the Geology Symposium in Moscow, where she felt surprisingly at home. The city was cold even in May, rigid, and unforgiving. The recent architecture was comprised of concrete walls, straight lines, and gray tones. But she saw unfamiliar Asiatic beauty in the churches and in the women's faces. The swirling domes towering over St. Basil's Cathedral in Red Square focused her attention on the uplifting beauty of curves in architecture. She thought of her own breasts and curves when she looked at those graceful designs. Maybe her own body was more beautiful than she at first thought.

She stopped next in Greece. The ancient ruins fascinated her, too. She observed the Golden Mean in the Acropolis and the Parthenon, a mathematical relationship that helps define beauty in art. It appealed to the scientific side of her brain. The warm Mediterranean breezes fluttered her skirts and blouses as she walked through the villages. Eventually, she visited one of the island beaches where rocks were piled above soft beaches. The swimmers and sunbathers were beautiful and friendly. They persuaded her to visit one of the secluded coves one day. She was shocked.

She purchased a revealing yellow bikini, her first. It was cut high on her hips with a thong bottom. The top was little more than two tiny triangles resting dangerously on the far ends of her breasts. However, when she arrived at the cove, she found that the youths expected her to join them skinny-dipping in the sea. She saw swarthy men with curly hair on their chests and backs slip their trunks from their taut asses. Their uncircumcised penises alternately hung and shrunk, while their owners danced on the hot sand. The women wore huge smiles anticipating the salacious stares of those around them as they sensuously slid their bikini bottoms from their round hips, as they let their bras slip from their brown-nippled breasts and letting them swing freely. Some of the women raised their hands over their heads, causing their breasts to lift, pointing tips skyward. Whistles and shouts accompanied the women as they splashed into the waves.

Ann did not strip off her bikini. She stood firm on the beach in her brief suit. She compared herself against the figures of these Greek goddesses, so free and lovely. She saw couples kissing, tossing each other, grabbing handfuls of tits and balls. She saw at least two couples supporting each other in the water while their hips pumped into each other, heads thrown back, and stomach muscles quivering. She had no need to be ashamed of her body, at least compared to these women. She felt the stirrings of vanity in her soul.

Before coming home, she stopped in the south of France, where she saw more nude beaches and grew less shocked. The hot weather almost forced bathers to remove all of their clothing. The flopping dicks and boobs no longer made her giggle. They were part of being human. She still felt pride that her own body didn't sag or droop. Still, she did not want to be nude before a crowd of strangers, foreigners. She visited the museums in Paris, especially the Louvre. She was exposed to the lovely forms of nude models, both in painting and in sculpture. The gods portrayed were barely contained in their flowing gowns and robes. Often the gods or heroes were completely nude, all their powerful parts fully exposed. It brought a catch to her throat to image one of these heroic figures entwined with her, enjoying the soft, perfect features of her body.

On her way home, her mind boiled with the sights she had seen. Moscow was the opposite of the European cities she had visited. She questioned her own little world—was she more like frigid Moscow or sunny Athens?

She resolved that she would no longer live like a Russian, bundled against the elements, but freely, like a Parisian or maybe even a Greek. Her first bikini was carefully packed. It might be modest compared to what was worn on most beaches, but for Ann, it was daring. Showing off her belly button, the bones of her hips, the sides of her long, slender legs completely, and exposing a generous share of her full breasts.

Once home, she stared into her mirror and caught her breath. She was still too white compared to most other women, but she had a shape that recalled the robust paintings of the Louvre. Her hips were wide atop her slender legs, her waist was so narrow she started to question whether God had given her all the ribs other women had. Her breasts joyfully filled out the bikini top, making her happy and even proud. They were as perfect as any she had seen in Paris or in Greece. She wondered why she had never had the confidence to appreciate their beauty before.

She decided to wear the bikini outside but only to her balcony. Ann knew her balcony would be a perfect spot for sunbathing. The balcony door slid open. She stepped onto the cement floor. She looked to her left and saw the copse of birch trees that shaded the front of the rectory and blocked anyone from seeing her. She looked to the right and saw a stand of large pines that cradled the back of the rectory and prevented anyone from seeing her from that direction. The sun caressed her with a warm intensity. Her green-striped chaise was heated from the sunshine. She placed a pitcher of lemonade on the table and a broad white towel on the chaise, then settled into the chair and lifted her head up. The warmth bathed her face and her body.

She glanced at the cloister window across the yard on the fourth floor of the rectory, a bit above her. It reminded her of the windows she had seen at the Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris. The window was beautiful but dark compared to the sunlit side of her condo. After a few minutes, she felt calm enough to enjoy the sun on her body. The sun's intensity started to make her breasts sweat. A drop of moisture ran down her belly and settled in her navel. The mild breeze evaporated the moisture on her body except where her bikini was in contact with her skin. Underneath her bikini, she felt a bit clammy. She considered removing her bikini, then shook her head. No, she just couldn't, even here.

In September, Monsignor Chullikatt was hearing confessions as usual on a Saturday afternoon, when the screen to his left slid open with a sharp pop. Within seconds, the tang of sun tan oil and the mysterious scent of provocative perfume suffused the confessional. He knew who it was immediately. The young woman whom he had advised to travel the world, who had returned to sunbathe with little nothings of cloth protecting her body, came to speak with him again. He struggled to put the image of the lovely woman in the yellow bikini out of his mind but the way she slid on the chaise lounge when she turned, the way her legs covered each other in turn, the gentle rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed, crowded out more clerical images.

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was... oh, maybe five months ago."

"It's fine, child. Why have you come tonight? What is troubling you?"

She paused, and Monsignor Chullikatt waited while the penitent composed her thoughts. She eventually spoke in a quiet voice.

"I'm committing the sin of pride, Father."

Monsignor Chullikatt stifled a laugh. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had confessed the sin of pride, although he knew many people were sorely tempted by vanity. It was rare to meet a young woman who was so self-aware that she could identify the sin of hubris in herself. He was skeptical but he had to assume that this woman was serious. He cleared his throat. "A-hem. That can be a serious sin, my child. What has brought you to this conclusion?"

"Well, I'm so proud of the way I look. For no good reason! It's nothing I've done, it's the way I was created, but I am so crazy proud of the way I look."

"I see. Don't other people also look handsome, or beautiful, or admirable? What sets you apart in your mind?"

"I know about other people who look wonderful. Actors, weather girls, cheerleaders, and such. I won't accuse them of pride. But when I compare myself to them, I know I look better. That is my sin, Father."

"Have you had plastic surgery? Do you spend hours in the gym? Do you buy exotic make-up or revealing clothing?"

"No, Father! None of that! Except one tiny bikini, yellow. I'm the way God created me, and that's all."

Monsignor Chillikatt put a hand to his mouth to hide his smile even though she couldn't see him.

"Here's what I think, child. God has something special in mind for you. He gave you a great gift by making you so beautiful. It gives you confidence and an authority that will come to you naturally. Now the challenge for you is how will you use this gift?"

"Use my beauty?"

"Remember, my dear. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Not everyone may hold the same opinion that you do. But I suspect most will. Pray over your gift. What is it that God has in store for you? How can you give back to the Church and the community? You know, we have an opening for a religious teacher on Sunday mornings. Perhaps that will be your calling."

"I'm a geologist, Father. I don't know enough to teach religion."

"These are little children, no teenagers. They like happy, beautiful teachers. It makes it easier for them to pay attention. We have lesson plans available, so it wouldn't be that hard."

"I suppose I could, Father. Do you think it will help me feel less vain?"

"If anyone can make a person reassess themselves realistically, it would be children. Come to the church office and apply for the position sometime this week. It won't take much more of your time than the time you spend in class. We could use the help."

"Ok. I will, Father. Thank you."

"But don't be ashamed of the gift that God has given you. Be grateful. Be aware that He has a plan for you. It may involve letting many people seeing how wondrous one of God's creations is. Don't hide you light under a bushel basket. Let it shine forth. Now, say an Act of Contrition while I pray over you to absolve your sin. You will be pure in spirit once more."

The priest heard mumbling from behind the screen which he always presumed to be an Act of Contrition. He wished all his parishioners were as honest as this young woman and that all their sins were as easy to resolve.

Ann signed up to teach Sunday School and was given a manual and lesson plan. She was more excited than she had been for a long time to be actually contributing something to her community. She often studied the lesson plan on her balcony.

One day when the sun was particularly intense, she found that even the small yellow bikini was a bit too much. She had see learned nudity was not only acceptable, but it was beautiful. She looked around her balcony and saw no one. She checked the rectory window. No one there. She glanced around again and comfortable that she was alone, she removed her top. Her breasts were full and pointed. The mild breeze teased her nipples causing them to tighten and extend. She touched them, and felt the tingle all the way to her vagina. It caused her to laugh as she settled back in the chaise lounge and enjoyed her new freedom. She settled back and closed her eyes.

Ann had no fears that anyone might see her, especially not Monsignor Chullikat. Why should she? He was well-past retirement age, celibate, and had never been anything but respectful and paternal. He had many duties at the church and in the parish. He would not spend precious time peeping out his arched cloister window filled with four narrow glass panes. She had never once spotted his old gray, closely-shaved head peering through the window. If she had, she would have waved to him in a neighborly fashion. But to her knowledge, he had never appeared in the window and she gave up looking for him. She felt increasingly comfortable in her warm, sun-drenched privacy, but although quite lonely.

From the fourth floor cell of the rectory, Monsignor Chulikatt's attention was grabbed by the bright, nearly all-white, figure of the woman on the balcony. Yes, he sometimes looked at her. Not often, but occasionally he loved the view of the perfect woman, especially now that he knew her and she was teaching the children. To his surprise, she was naked. He turned quickly away, but the image of the beautiful blond woman with perfect breasts stayed with him much longer than he would have liked.