2. I Was Found

I arrived at the church and I have to say that I was in for a shock. Father John was waiting for me. The church was very cold. He apologized saying that the heating had failed. I didn’t think so. You see, Father John had an arctic air about him, an inner silence that I can only imagine stemming from the most desolate freezing place on earth. His thin face had the chiseled look of an ice statue, very beautiful but frozen to the core. I guess this is the great paradox of the fire and brimstone believer – they have ice souls.

My reputation had gone before me, Father John announced, I wanted the church clear for you as I have some questions, his words thrown out in an icy whisper, his mouth bellowing out its cold smoke like a choking church sensor - except he smelled of garlic not myrrh. And sure enough the church had the air of a desolate tomb. It was lit by and an array of candles, which seemed to whip the darkness provocatively every time Father John spoke.

Now, had the church been warm then it would have been obvious to me that I was to perform a very particular catechism on this middle age Padre and, indeed, he on me but the sheer lack of personable temperature was indicating that I was not to be put upon his rod but have a rather more puritanical one put upon me. It was clear that I would have to call upon the spirit in order to raise his.

Father John bade me sit beside him, keeping a distance between us and began by asking me why I became a prostitute - he wasn't warming me up with small talk. He looked on me with a stony stare as he pronounced the words and I could see the landscape of some biblical drama playing out just behind him as he imagined that he stood aloof on his mount – not quite the mount I would have preferred but a mount nevertheless.

I answered him by saying that I preferred the term sex worker. People of my sort prefer the term as it implies that we are engaged in labor, that we are professional and go about our business with the necessary decorum and with the requisite knowledge and understanding of practice.

You engage in sexual acts with multiple partners - Lets not mince our words, he said. You fornicate. You are adulterous.

I noticed the cross hanging above the altar on which hung a murdered Christ wearing, what I can only presume was, a solid gold crown of thorns. He was looking at me with a sense of loss, that this was beyond his power. Had he been able to talk I am sure that he would have rebuked the austerity of this his messenger, the quality and validity of his message watered down by centuries of Chinese whispers, the peace of his words tainted by anger and prejudice.

No, I said, I do not engage in sexual acts, I facilitate the physical and therefore spiritual ecstasy in my clients. I am able to reach deep inside an individual and coax out this creative and incorporeal God given need in them. It is this element of an individual that is so often hidden. Perhaps you, Father, can survive without exploring and making explicit this implicit need but I can assure you that there are many that are bereft without it.

There was a long, I suspect, practiced silence before he said, I understand you do things with men.

Ah, the million dollar statement. I decided to tease it out him as he was making me a little angry and it is such fun exacting precisely what the bigots mean. The detail makes them squirm. Do things with men, I asked innocently?

Yes.

You will need to be a little more specific, since you are calling into question the longevity of my soul.

You touch them.

Where?

This is rediculous.

The spirit is always willing.

We are in the house of God.

And the flesh never weak.

How can you speak such obscenities?

There is nothing obscene about being made love to.

Please.

What can be wrong with someone tracing shapes on your skin with their tongue?

How dare you-

I often spell out prayers as I caress a neck, the creed always bring out the best in a client.

I will have to ask you-

The Sermon on the Mount is a favourite of mine.

He was beginning to get a little hot under the collar; I want to call an end to this meeting-

Of course he did but it was too late for that now. In my line of work I have discovered that it is desired of one to get to the point without any delay. I have learned this over many years of practice - a client is there one thing and one thing only and they expect you to get right down to it. This priest was no different. On the face of it he wanted to address what he saw as my existential contradictions but deep down he desired that I take him on a guided tour of my being. I put my hand on his.

You are lost my child.

And then I noticed that the candlelight was illuminating each and every statue or representation of a saint’s face. It was as if they were peering in out of the darkness to get a closer view.

No Father, I was found. I was found.