“I’m introduced to a topless lady in thigh high leather boots and little else.”
“Jasus.”
“I’m a Priest, I say. I’m a woman, she says. So I notice, I say. So what, she says. I
took the vow of chastity, I say. Do yeh keep it? she says. When I can, I say. Then it
happens.
“Jasus.”
“She puts a jumper on.”
“Jasus.”
“You really a Priest? she says. I am, I say. What can I do for yeh? she says. I have a
call from a lost soul, I say. I made it for him, she says. Where’s this lost soul? I
say. Lost? she says, All that’s lost is his money. His money? I say. His money, she
says. Then it happens.
“Jasus.”
“She kicks a door open and there he is. He can’t pay, she says.”
“Did you have enough money?” the Barman enquires.
“There was little enough in the petty cash in the Priest’s house, and I didn’t want to
use the parish cheque book for fear of explanations, so I brought our Syndicate money in
case of emergency.”
“Our betting money?” I’m shocked.
“Yeh trusted it to me for safe keeping,” the Parish Priest objects.
“Exactly.” The Barman scores a point.
“Who was it?” I ask.
“There he was in this room, tied face down on the bed, arms and legs spread and big red
welts across his arse.”
“A masochist?”
“A masochist? I say. Sado macho I like, she says. Obviously, I say. “But when client
no pay, she says. It hurts, I say. In the purse, she says. Yeh should have taken cash
first, I say. Is that what you do, she says. No, I say. There you are then, she says.”
“Quick witted?” I suggest.
“With flashing brown eyes,” the Parish Priest adds, but then takes a slug of his pint to
banish the thought.
“Leave me alone with me parishioner, I say. Would you like a few strokes of the cane,
she says. Luxury I can’t afford, I say. I’ve never whipped a Priest’s arse, she says.
And you’ll not do mine, I say. I’ll do it for nothing, she says.”
“Jasus.”
I decline her generous offer, but were it still the Lenten season I might have
considered…”
“What!”
“Well not really, but she did have flashing eyes and great big…”
“Did they leave you to it?” The Barman interjects to pull the Parish Priest back on
track.
“I’ve kept the vow of chastity this forty year, I say. Then I’ll get you a cup of tea,
she says. Thanks, I say and show her the door. The Bruiser will be outside the door, so
no funny tricks, she says. You know all about tricks, I say.”
“Did that rise her temper?” The Barman smiles as he asks.
“No, she goes all soft. I can see the honesty in your eyes, she says, serious like. I
can see it in your ass, I say, Where’s the cup of tea?”
“Yeh had her there.”
“I can see it is going to work out… I’ll leave you the cane, she says, You might need it
for your man on the bed when you see the bill he owes.”
“Jasus.”
“You sent for me, I say to the man on the bed. He can’t answer through the gag, but I
can see from the rolling eyes that he is embarrassed.”
“Who was it?” I ask, but prepared to respect the Parish Priest’s right to keep the
affairs of his parishioners confidential.
The Parish Priest sips his pint and breaks the bad news.
“It took all the Syndicate money to get him out of there.”
“Jasus.”
“It was that or they’d be obliged to break bits. They have standards to maintain, but I
decided he was bruised enough. Served him right though.”
“Why so?”
“She says that when she asked him what’s his fancy, he says, the full Monty. Right she
says, and as is her custom on such occasion she kicks him in the balls.”
“Jasus.”
“When he comes round, he’s strapped to the bed, gagged and she is dripping candle wax
down…”
“Jasus,” I interject.
“How long was he there?” the Barman asks.
“About four hours.”
“The lady in question has a worldwide reputation for her varied repertoire,” the Barman
informs us. “Masochists come on special bus tours, just to savour the flavour.”
“Yeh don’t say?” The Parish Priest is impressed but not surprised. “I could see it in
her eyes, that she is good at her work.”
“Do you know her name?” I express a nonchalant curiosity.
“I asks her. Chastity, she says. And are you? I say. In myself, she says. The inner
woman, I say. The name’s a game, she says. We can keep the vow of chastity together, I
say.”
“You got her there.”
“Made a great cup of tea.”
The Barman meets my eyes as we share a concern that the Parish Priest is smitten.
“An occasion of sin?” I suggest.
“You’re right there,” the Parish Priest says sadly.
“You? Never!”
“Me, never, but if it weren’t for the Bruiser I might have. There was a moment…”
“The Bruiser?”
“Go easy, the Bruiser says. I’m easy, she says. He’s genuine, the Bruiser says. I’ll
back off so, she says.”
“Jasus.”
“Fine woman, a true professional.”
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