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I want to him to see me so badly. He's the holiest man in the whole world. He knows everything. He's been given the divine light, and I ache for him to share it with me.
Father Daddy and Brother Owen stand at the same time. The aunties drag the robes off their shoulders, letting them fall to the floor. I almost cry out. There they stand, in all their glory. Both completely nude, muscles rippling, shining in the light.
Their eyes are intense, almost furious as they stare at Gina. The aunties push her forward, positioning her between them. One of the women reaches around to the front of Father Daddy and wraps her fingers around his manhood. I can't believe it. It's so big, thick like a whittled hickory branch. It curves upward, pale and solid as wood. He doesn't even seem to notice it. He's not even looking at it. Yet, it's almost the only thing I see.
I need to focus, to see through the crazy confusion. I want to memorize all of this. Gina stands between them, until someone tells her to get on her knees. She kneels in front of Brother Owen and then opens her mouth. Is she singing? Is she going to say something?
But no. She leaves her mouth open and Brother Owen leans forward, drawing his own manhood across her lips. I'm astounded. What is that supposed to do? Is it a blessing of some kind? I've seen the diagrams and books and I know that is definitely not an act of procreation. Is she supposed to taste him?
But I don't have any clues. And it's over. He backs away, holding his member in his hand. His eyes are dark as he scowls into the corner, wrapping his hand around his member and clenching his jaw. Is he in pain? Does it hurt when a man goes all wooden like that?
But the ceremony is still happening. The aunties lay Gina down in front of Father Daddy. They take her by her arms and legs, pulling her limbs into a star shape, as though they're going to pull her apart. But then they stop.
Father Daddy leans in front of her. His rod is glowing, thicker than it was before. Pink at the tip and sparkling. He kneels between her open knees, leaning forward with his weight on his hands. All of the muscles in his thick arms flex together. The aunties say something.
“Take this flower,” I hear them.
Take this flower? Take it where?
And then I see it. His manhood dives into her womanhood… her flower. Slowly it sinks into her, like a knife into bread. Like a dart into fruit. Something aches in the middle of me, like it probably aches in her. I almost feel it. I almost…
“Angel!”
I jump back, holding my hands up defensively. Mama rushes toward me, her hands out in front of her and curled into claws. She snatches me by my dress and my hair, yanking me away from the space in the barn boards.
“I told y
ou!” she hisses, her voice trembling with rage but still quiet so that no one can hear her. She doesn't want anyone to know what I've done.
Dragging me back to the far side of the barn, she pauses at the last moment, grabbing a handful of willow saplings right out of the ground. She throws me against the barn and rips up the back of my dress. I feel the first lashes sting across my backside as she whips me three, four, five times, snarling furiously some words I can't even hear. I just grind my teeth together and try to hold completely still, trying not to make it any worse.
When she's exhausted herself, she shoves me away from the barn, back toward the dirt road. Without even looking to make sure she's following, I gather my skirts and run as fast as I can, back toward home, back into my room, and throw myself on my bed.
Chapter 61
Owen
The sound of crickets is so loud it's almost maddening. Everyone is asleep. All the little houses, tucked in and so silent, without a single light burning.
I don't even have to really be quiet about it, but it's a habit. I like feeling that I get to walk around without anybody watching me. This is some of the only private time I've ever been able to find here. Alone, at night, doing something almost nobody else gets to do.
I head down the hill, getting more excited with every step. And thirsty. Really thirsty. It's like having a girl waiting for me somewhere, even though there's no girl waiting for me. But something to look forward to, that's for sure.
The barn door squeaks as I pull it open, and I make a mental note to remember to get that oiled soon. Without even needing a flashlight, I slip through the rows of farm machinery to the back, and then fold the tarp back over my old Indian.
It's way too loud to start up here, so I roll it out of the barn and push the door back closed again. The hill behind the barn leads to a service road for the neighboring farm. That's as far as I need to get before I can get the motor going.
Usually I head to the grass, figuring that the motorcycle tire tracks will blend in with the tractor tire tracks, at least to anybody who's thinking about it. But, there really wouldn't be any consequence if anybody figured it out. I'm not a prisoner here or anything. I just like my privacy. A man can have a little privacy, can't he?
The bike catches speed down the hill and I'm jogging along behind it, feeling lighthearted and more excited with every second. Finally back in the other field, I only have to muscle it up a short incline before I'm on the gravel road that leads out to the county road. I set the bike upright and mount it, kicking the starter with my heel, pausing to enjoy the rumble of the motor beneath me. It feels so good, I just let it vibrate under my cock for about thirty seconds, relaxing into this beautiful state of freedom. Of being in charge of my own self.
The moon is bright, so I leave the headlight off and roll it slowly toward the road and stop. I think I see a figure, about two hundred yards ahead of me. Something white, something ducking among the shrubs at the edge of the little forest. Looks like someone else from the compound is stealing a few moments of freedom too. Maybe they'll meet me at the bar.
Wouldn't exactly be the first time. But it's not really likely.
The county road flies beneath my tires, and I give her gas and really let her go. It's only a couple miles, but it feels like flying.
The parking lot is practically empty, but I still ride around to the back. The service door is always open, and it keeps people from recognizing my bike from the road. There are still people around here who remember my dad, or who remember Silas from before he got called to holy duties or whatever. Not everybody is of the opinion he is such a saint.
