It was the end of Summer Bible School and I was wiped out. The kids in my class had been willing to anything to get out of listening to a 20 minute bible lesson. It was a relief to watch them finally walk out the doors with their parents, never to return again.
“Good riddance to bad rubbish,” I said to myself, tearing down the last of the themed decorations. gr0aning at my sore back, I began hauling the regular furniture back into the room. After setting up the last of the wall hangings, it dawned on me that the heavy metal table was still mashed up against the wall.
“Hello? Is anyone still down there?”
I gr0aned again to myself as I heard the voice of Pastor Peter float down the stairs.
“I am going to shut off the lights. If you’re there, speak up!”
“Keep them on! I’m still down here,” I exclaimed as loudly as possible. While not afraid of the dark, the downstairs switch was a good distance from the pool of light coming from my open door. Chairs were strewn all over the hallway from rooms half put back together. The idea of sprawling over one was not exactly appealing to me.
Going to the back of the room, I began to lug the heavy table towards the middle of the room. Almost to my destination, I heard a knock at the door. Turning, I saw Pastor Peter leaning on the door frame with an amused look on his face. I was not pleased to see him. The little sh*t hadn’t done anything during the entire week except snap pictures on his fancy digital camera. He seemed to be in my cla$sroom an inordinate amount of time pointing the damn lens at me and distracting the kids from the daily lesson. Even in the more public spaces upstairs it appeared that he was where ever I was. It was beginning to creep me out.
“Need a hand with that load,” asked my minister.
Glancing at the short, wiry figure, I mutely nodded my head and turned back to the unyielding ma$s of steel. Paster Peter was a first year minister and this was his first placement out of seminary. He was young, only 24, and married with two small children. Short, with slim arms and dark black hair, he wasn’t ugly, but he certainly didn’t enter my mind when I was desperate for release at night. His offer to help move the table was almost laughable as I towered over him a good 8 inches and had about 50 pounds on him.
Being alone in the room quickly made me uneasy. As we finally tugged the table to its final location, I caught him trying to peek at my brea$ts through the neckline of my dress shirt. This was hardly the first time, and it irritated me to no end. I had tried being friendly to him and his wife when they first arrived to my small town. As time wore on, his wife grew distant and Pastor Peter began to hound me about joinging this committee or that group, and hung around my conversations with others after church. When shaking hands at the end of each service, he would lean into me more than necessary or stand way too close to me to talk. It was getting old.
I left the room to grab the short chairs lining the hallway wall. Upon entering, I found Pastor Peter standing in front of the table, legs spread apart, and a smile on his face. Then I noticed that the fly of his dress pants was open and a 8″ p3nis was languidly swinging free. The words that came out of his mouth stopped me cold.
“Excuse me, did you just tell me to f*ck you??” I could feel my face go beet red and then drain. CLICK HERE TO CONTINUE READING