Memoirs of a Wild Child (10 page)

We’re in Buxton this weekend for Ben’s sister’s engagement party, and Holly is loving being with my parents. Mum and Dad are, of course, beside themselves to have their grandbabies close for a few days and hate having to share them with Ben’s family.

Holly has been out for the day with Dad, while Ben and his sister’s fiancé have been playing golf. His mum and sister have been with me, Mum and Cooper, all day today, wedding planning and watching chick flicks, poor Coops.

“Mummy, Avô took me to his church, and it was huge.” Holly runs into the living room as I hear Dad chuckling from the hallway; she speaks quickly, leans in to kiss Cooper’s head and continues. “We lit a candle, and we looked at the pictures in the windows and then there was a man and Avô called him father and he was nice, and he said he liked my shoes.” I laugh as she looks down at her red, patent shoes proudly and finally takes a breath. I can’t imagine any child of mine growing up to be particularly religious, but I know my dad would have just loved seeing how excited Holly was to go to church with him today. The first time I went, I was the same.

She loves pretty much everything she gets to do with her Avô. Normally Holly is a huge daddy’s girl, wanting to go everywhere with Ben, he has to practically force her out of the bathroom so he can take a shit in peace, but when big granddaddy Carvalho is about, there’s nobody else in the room.

 She starts spinning and dancing, making me wince, nervously, while Cooper cracks up on my lap and makes everyone in the room laugh; I mean, babies laughing… right?

Mum takes Cooper and starts to dance with Holly, swinging the boy around and making both of my babies screech with delight, it’s a wonderful feeling.

Ben came home a little worse for wear about an hour after Dad and Holly.

“I thought you were playing golf?” I question, amused.

“We did,” he starts to laugh, “badly, so we went to the pub instead.” He laughs again, and so do I.

“Holly went to church today.” I say as we get ready for bed, and Ben sits down, I suspect because his legs can’t hold him up anymore.

“Oh, did she?” He tries to sound interested.

“Yeah, she loved it bless her. She met the priest, and he said he liked her shoes.” I smile proudly; I chose the shoes.

Ben shudders. “I was terrified of priests when I was younger. Do you remember that one who use to come to school, to do assemblies?” he asks, and I laugh,

“Father David? He was lovely; he was Dad’s priest.”

“No, he scared me. I thought he was going to send me to hell for having impure thoughts.” He looks serious and scared, and I laugh as I straddle his lap.

“Were they about me?” I question playfully, as Ben squeezes my thighs and kisses my collarbone and then my neck.

“Of course they were.” His voice is muffled in my neck, and I tip my head to the side.

“That’s okay then,” I sigh, “because we’re married now, and God would have known that was going to happen.” Ben pulls back, and I look him in the eyes, he smiles.

“I guess you’re right; in that case, I’ll be as impure as I like.” He throws me down onto the bed, making me screech and giggle, and then laugh harder as I try to take back the noise I just made in my parents’ house.

All this talk of priests and churches has me thinking, contemplating a part of my story with Dax that I hadn’t planned on telling. I hadn’t actually told anyone as I think I blocked it out, but it was time. Vinnie needed details, all of them.

Cooper woke early this morning. I think he’s cutting another tooth as his cheeks are bright red, and he seems to have a bit of a cold. I can’t settle him, and honestly, breast feeding sucks now that he has a couple of teeth. He’s finally worn himself out and is sleeping on the sofa next to me. He looks so cute but so sorry for himself, even in sleep.

There’s nothing on the TV other than Everybody Loves Raymond and kids’ programs, so I decide to open Vinnie and close the book on Dax and my time on tour.

I opened my eyes from a nap and looked across the bed, I was alone, again. I sat up and reached for my phone, it was eleven forty-seven pm, I had been asleep for hours. I groaned, this whole ‘rock star’ lifestyle was taking its toll on me, even without the partying, I was still up till all hours, travelling constantly and working my arse off. I wanted my own bed, a home-cooked meal, a day without booze and weed and whatever the hell else all of the people around me were taking.

The job part of this trip had been great. My work had been elevated to a whole new level by being the official photographer for such a high profile band, and on such a high-profile tour, but the rest, I was tired of it.

I swung my legs off the edge of the bed, feeling sleep tired and sluggish. I yawned and noticed then that Dax was asleep on the floor of the hotel room, jeans and boots still on, but his t-shirt beside him on the floor. I was done. I rolled my eyes before standing, packing my things, pulling on my jeans and boots and leaving, stepping over him as I did. I found a hotel about a block away and checked in, to their last available room. I dropped off my things and headed back out. I needed to clear my head.

Maybe the noisy streets of New York weren’t ideal for that, or for a woman to be walking around alone at night, but I actually felt calm and safe here. I wished for a moment that I knew where the sex club was that Simon had taken me to, but he had kissed me all the way there in the limo and fucked me all the way back, so taking in the location hadn’t been the easiest of tasks.

I walked, not really noticing the hustle and bustle as I was just considering getting the hell out of here in the morning,

Dax would be pissed that I had left, and I’d be in deep shit for leaving before the end of my contract but fuck it. That could be ironed out, they would want the images after all.

I couldn’t believe that in my mid-twenties and at the height of my career, I had gotten myself into such a mess. I had been irresponsible; there was no two ways about it. I knew hooking up with a rock star was a mistake, but the lure of the wild nights was too strong. How ridiculous was that? I was a grown woman unable to say no.

Had I really been unable? No, I was perfectly able, I was just totally unwilling. I had made it my life’s mission to fuck about and hey, I was no quitter.

As I stopped at the end of a street and prepared to cross, I looked right, then corrected myself and looked left when I remembered where I was. A stunning church caught my eye. I’m not a religious person, but I do love impressive architecture.

I was drawn to the building; it was dark and quiet out on the street, and the lights behind the stained glass were warm and welcoming. I pushed open the wooden door and walked inside; it was like the Tardis, what had seemed an average sized church from the outside now seemed like a cathedral. The heavy stone walls were high and curved up to a domed ceiling. It was quiet inside, but well lit. There was a lady kneeling at the front and a man next to her lighting candles. I wished I had worn trainers instead of heeled boots as the click of my stilettos on the stone floor echoed through the silence.

With Dad being Catholic, I’ve obviously been into Catholic churches before, usually in Portugal and always this peaceful. There’s something about sitting in a church, whether you believe there is a god to talk to or not, that can send you to another place, one of reflection and contemplation. The couple from the front of the church passed me in the aisle and smiled, I returned the gesture and sat down on one of the long wooden pews. You could be in any Catholic church anywhere in the world, I thought, with a slight smile as I remember the first time my dad took me to church in Portugal. It was just like this one. Different in shape and size, but identical in décor and atmosphere.

I closed my eyes, thinking about my dad, about how disappointed he would be if he knew the truth about my life. He genuinely believed that I was saving myself for marriage, he would be devastated if he knew what a tramp I really was.

I squeezed my eyes tightly, trying to prevent the tears that were forming from finding their escape. It had been a conscious decision, my lifestyle, as had protecting my parents from it. They would never know the mistakes I had made, and what they didn’t know, could never hurt them.

“Hello,” A smooth deep voice, with a hint of an Italian accent shook me from my thoughts, and I turned to look up in the direction it came from. Holy shit… and I mean ‘holy’. Hot guys should not be allowed to be priests, it makes you think all kinds of bad things about all the stuff they’re not allowed to do, and this guy, fuck me… no, really!

“Hello,” I replied, not blinking as his brown eyes smiled before his mouth caught up.

“You’re new here?” He questioned still looming over me,

“Just visiting,” I turned my body towards him to take the strain off my twisted neck, “It’s a lovely church.” I smiled, as sweetly as I could muster; he may have been a total hottie, but he was still a priest.

“Thank you,” He answered smiling as he brought his hands to his hips. His tanned, muscular forearms twisted and flexed as he looked around the church proudly. “It is lovely; we’re very proud of it. Are you a Catholic?” he asked, and I swallowed hard, tearing my eyes from him to the crucifix hanging above the altar.

“I, erm, no, well, my dad is.” I stammered, feeling guilty for checking him out, and feeling a little like I was trespassing.  “I guess I just needed a quiet place to think about…” I paused, things.”

“Well, you know priests are fantastic listeners don’t you? We even have a special room so that you don’t have to look us in the eye when you talk.”  I looked up at him, unsure if he was being patronising or sarcastic, and then he smiled a wide smile that made me laugh. “I’m Father Angelo, you are welcome here anytime, and if you need to talk, I will listen.” He held out a hand to me, and I took it,

“I’m Pip… Philippa. Thank you.”

He left me for a while and headed to the confessional. ‘Screw it’ I thought, what have I got to lose? I made my way across the church, feeling slightly self-conscious as I let myself in. I looked around the church again; we were the only ones there, it was after all, the early hours of the morning.

I sat down; I could hear his breathing through the grated screen separating us.

“So I’m new at this,” I said nervously, “But I’ve done a lot of shi, I mean, stuff.” I shook my head, what the fuck was I doing?

“Okay, so you have sins to confess?” he asked, trying to prompt me, I let out a laugh

“Oh yes, and a lot of them.” I looked down at my hands in my lap, waiting for him to speak again, but he didn’t, so I did. “I’ve been promiscuous, very, very promiscuous. I mean, I’ve had a lot of fun,” I smiled and then remembered where I was, “but I feel like I’ve let my parents down.” I took a breath.

“And that’s upsetting to you?” He questioned.

“Yes, very. They don’t know how I live my life, they think I’m a virgin, but I’m far from it, and I know they would be so disappointed in me.”

“Well,” he paused briefly, “you are a very beautiful young woman, nobody can blame you for being flattered by the affections of men. But it’s never too late to repent, to change your ways.”

He thinks I’m beautiful; I thought with a smile. “But,” I continued, “what if I don’t really want to change, Father? I mean, I love sex.”  I heard him shuffle in the booth next to me. 

“You do?” He asked, his voice a little shaky. ‘oh my goodness’ I thought, ‘is this priest cracking on to me?’ I decided to play the game, if I were wrong, I could turn it all around and beg for forgiveness, he’d have to give that, right?

“I love men, Father. I love the feel of a man, the smell of a man.” I took a deep breath, “I love being filled by a man.” I said, stifling my excitement as he cleared his throat.

“Go on,” he said, huskily and my mouth fell open. Did this priest really want me to dirty talk to him?

“Well,” I edged forward on my seat so that my mouth was closer to the screen, I inhaled and let out a purposely, shaky breath. “Father, I love to feel a man’s hands on my body. Rough, calloused hands on my smooth, bare, naked skin.” Holy shit I was getting hot. “And soft, full lips on my throat, my breasts, my stomach,” I breathed heavily again, “my thighs.”

“Yes…” He pushed; he did want more, the dirty animal.

“I need to feel a man in my hands, hard and proud, and in my mouth, Father, and then filling me completely. It’s what I live for, Father, you know?” I questioned playfully, while heat rushed across my skin, up my throat and into my cheeks, at the thought of the hot piece of holy ass a couple of feet away from me, loosening his dog collar while he rubbed his cock through his trousers.

“Father,” I said, in a low, slow, seductive tone.

“Yes,” he said, almost a whisper.

“I need to feel it now.” I gasped as I spoke and reached for the handle of the door.

I looked around as I stepped outside, we were still alone; the door to his side of the confessional clicked open, but he didn’t step out, so I stepped in.

“I shouldn’t,” he protested slowly, his eyes hooded and hungry,

“Shhh,” I soothed as I lowered to my knees, and not another word was spoken. I reached for the zipper on his black trousers and reached inside, pulling out a smooth, hard and delicious looking cock and grinning hungrily, as I lowered my head. This was probably going to be the only blow job this beautiful man would ever get, and my god was it going to be fucking amazing.