Father Ted sat on his bed cleaning beneath his fingernails with the string of his rosaries. It was his twentieth anniversary as a Benedictine. They were planning a dinner. And the idea of this made him feel ashen and cold. Grown men celebrating by themselves. Lamb or a chicken, and some Jameson’s and cigarettes. Why not a dancer, just once? Or watch some videos?

He put down the rosary and after deciding his pale smooth nails were clean to his satisfaction, he gave his triceps a squeeze. There was the suggestion of muscle. A small hotdog hanging loosely from the thin bone. He reached inside his tunic and pinched his small belly. The short-term but intrinsic problem with a forgiving God is that you can get out of anything. You could fuck turtles. Among the monks, exercise wasn’t looked down upon, but it was nothing if not corporal. Father Chapell had run the Providence marathon once. Father Damian and Paul got a little exercise coaching. Father Al

As a boy out in Utah, he’d never

There was sex, and then there was sex with a priest.

Since the scandals has erupted he and all the priest felt they were under a microscope.

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