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and more honest than most chorus hymns of born again believers. Here, in the thrusting upward momentum, he found the battered truth in things. The world, according to Jake Williams, was so full of false pretenses and pomp an honest man could no longer see past his own lie. Pleasure is unquestionably one of the purest and highest truths in human happiness , he often lamented.
    Feeling the climax rushing through him, Jake hardened his pace, ready to be finished. The girl dug her heels into his back spurring him on. Sweat came off him in tidal waves. Flesh slapped together as the mattress springs cried out. Jake glanced into her face. The woman from the bar was biting her lower lip; doing everything she could to mask her own breathless moans. He squeezed her breasts hard as he pushed deeper inside her. Her skin felt tight and hot. A subtle scream escaped her lips as he moved his hand and pinched the tip of one of her nipples. Her legs spasmed. She clinched harder around his cock.
    Fuck. I’m going to cum. Her thin arms flew to the side, fists full of linen sheet. Jake felt the warm inferno rush through him. He thrust inside her one last time in a quick meaningful exertion. His eyes went white, collapsing on top of her, skin coated slick and wet, and rolled to the side.
    Out of breath, he fumbled for the pack of smokes on the nightstand. He found the Camels and puffed grey clouds in deep languorous whiffs. The taste was awful, albeit divinely phenomenal.
    “Pass it over, preacher,” said the woman who refused to cover herself.
    Jake had nearly forgotten she was there. He looked at her, searching her face for familiarity. “Do we know each other or something?” he asked, without any care of sounding like he was rude. His erection fell flaccid as he prayed silently she was not one of his parishioners.
    “Not really,” said the strange woman. “I’ve been to your church, once or twice. You work at that Presbyterian church over near Clear Lake, right?” She reached across the bed and plucked the cigarette from his mouth.
    Shit! Okay. It’s okay. Play it off. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He was passive. Calm. A real cool guy.
    “Sure you do. Saint Hubert’s, right?” the woman pressed. She smiled wirily, keeping the cigarette inches from her mouth between two fingers. One arm across her chest, the other bent upward holding the smoke, her eyes watching. She reminded Jake of the cat his parents used to own, the one who loved leaving dead mice on the back stoop.
    Jake stood up leaving behind the squeaky springs and lit a new Camel. Taking a drag he searched with one eye open for his purple Hanes underwear. He did not respond to the woman; he couldn’t respond. He had tried to play it safe by going to some no name bar on the other side of town. Should have driven further out. What if she says something? Or does something during worship? What if the elders find out? Or worse, everyone else? I’ll be outta a job. Ruined reputation. The end.
    And?
    Do you really care?
    “Sorry. Didn’t mean to ‘out’ you or anything, Padre.” The stranger remained on the bed, naked, exposed, watching Jake rush for his clothes. There was laughter behind her eyes. Yellow smoke hung in the air around her, giving the woman the appearance of some malevolent djinn let loose upon the world.
    She gave me what I wanted. Now I’ll pay the price . “I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about,” retorted Jake, mocking annoyance, masking embarrassment. Game over, bro—she knows, preacher man. She knows you. She’s been to your church. Probably sits on the front pew holding the red hymnal book beneath her cleavage. Do you think she’s heard one of your sermons on modesty? Do you think she takes the Eucharist? Has she tasted the Host from your hand?
    Jake zipped his fly and looked at the naked woman on the bed, sweat still glimmering off her sultry thighs, searching desperately to place her. I don’t know you! Praying