This was a comment of mine at Lesley's new blog home, but it was only what was happening that early evening in one house with two unmarried but intended clerics.
Her head thrust back, their bodies pressed upon the films of perspiration generated between them. As he slid his body up against hers, her arm came from under the sheets to tap her finger on her book Issues in Human Sexuality left on the bedside cupboard, causing her equally Reverend friend to say, “OK”, and move to the side to where she could extend her other hand. There she released his passionate rise, knowing that both he and she were being consistent with Church of England teaching.
But what I didn't post was what was happening elsewhere.
In the living room the priest was still looking at his post received that morning, a letter from a friend offering sympathy and the statement that she supposed he would never be raised to the ministry of a bishop. On the sofa at ninety degrees was the friend who loved him, looking across at the man with a letter, feeling a terrible burden that this man's career was suffering because they had made a Civil Partnership. Feeling such a burden, the friend got off the sofa and went in complete silence to his own bedroom upstairs and shut the door not to emerge until the following day.
Meanwhile, the bishop said to his wife, "If you'll have those notes for me tomorrow for the diocesan meeting, remember the guest speaker is Canterbury."
"When do I pick you up?"
"For 10 am is early enough."
So he went off for the evening, in mufti, leaving his wife and secretary at the computer, driving to a semi-detached house, where he left his car and met John his friend, and then both took a taxi for a club.
The beat was pounding and relentless, and the club were full of men, some looking for dance partners, and some like the bishop with their own. Though here he didn't say he was a bishop.
Thoroughly sweaty and gyrated the two took a taxi to a bed and breakfast run by Jim and Bobby, and spent the night together in the room in the roof, grinding away their passion to the point of complete exhaustion, and afterwards needing the long sleep in that double bed.
Next day at 9 am the wife arrived outside in her car with fresh clothes and briefing papers. She rang the doorbell but waited in the car until her man appeared, and even though it was getting warm he had a scarf around his neck, which he took off once she had driven away.
"Yes he's very very well, it was a great night. Next week it's Thursday. Now, it could be a bad meeting today. They say the Archbishop is angry and there could be tears."