Confessions of a libra

Liberation of the flesh | Credit: Here

27.07.25

He watched me ice the cake with precision. My eyes followed the curvature of the round sponge, as his followed my hands. I withheld a smirk, it was always funny to me how men’s tongues lolled at the sight of domesticity. I piped little florets onto the top, carefully spacing them out. The fridge spluttered and the steady hum quietened to silence. I heard the commotion outside. Parker looked up at me from my kitchen table, eyes betraying his seemingly mischievous thoughts.

“All this effort, only to turn the Lord down for a prior engagement Miss Daisy?” He smirked the way arrogant bastards do. I liked arrogant bastards.

“Why Parker, if I am contributing to a bake sale for the dear Lord himself – is that not contribution enough? Every penny goes to the church!” The last bit came out cheery, bordering on sarcasm.

Parker chuckled under his breath, “You’ve been here for 4 months now. How long do you think you can keep this up?”

Insolent sod, I thought to myself. Making my business, his business every time. As though, I hadn’t caused enough grief with the village ladies when they found out I would not be attending any Sunday services. Ever. I put down all my implements and stepped back dramatically with my hands up.

“That’s it. Take it as it is, before I ruin it with another touch up,” I spoke in dramatic cadence. I crossed my arms and leaned against the bench behind me, “by the way Parker. I heard about your little stint in Seminary School.”

I didn’t need to say more. His eyes darkened and his fingers traced his lip as he watched me.

“Ah, yes. That old chestnut.”

“That’s all you have to say? Father Parker?” I teased, hoping his sense of humour was as generous as his judgement.

“The whole village has already dragged me through the mud, add to the pile.” He sulked, though there was still a tinge of humour laced in there.

“Hmm… I’ll leave it be for now. Just know that from now on, you mention my missing Sunday Service and I volley back. Or we can put our differences aside, and call a truce?”

I watched him with my arms still crossed. His eyes moved as his brain cogs worked overtime. These country men think they’ve got me all figured out, ey?

He stood up slowly as though to leave, “Temporary truce Miss Daisy. That’s all I can promise for now. I should be off, before Mrs Grainger finds another poor sod to bore about her missing dentures.”

Just my like me to get stuck on an unfamiliar back road. I knew my car needed servicing, but I didn’t realise it couldn’t wait. Panic threatened to invade my senses and I intentionally breathed through it. I saw the first spittles of rain land on my windshield, and I think I have to be the most unlucky woman on this side of the country. I walked out and slammed the door. It would do me no good waiting in the dark. I have to figure out where in the village I am, and possibly organise a taxi. Something. I checked my phone and I only had a single bar. Nothing was loading, this was my own personal brand of hell. I left my car on the side of the road and chose a path. I began walking, hoping to figure it out along the way. I hugged my cardigan tighter around me, but it did nothing for the strong winds and the wetness.

I hummed under my breath, to soothe my soul. It wasn’t more than a few minutes in that I caught the smallest little flicker of light from house a little far away into the tree-line. This is perfect, I thought to myself. I continued to trek, walking around little puddles of water, stepping carefully through grass and trying to swiftly get out of the elements. As I approached, I could see this was a little lone house, with a very long driveway in. I hoped for a chance at human life much closer to the gate but that would be too easy.

It took at least another few minutes to simply walk up to the front door. That first knock was stiff and certainly not loud enough. I gave my little knock signature, not because the stranger would know it but I hoped the little whimsy would encourage the resident to approach the door. I prayed to all the Gods that it not be the village drunk or some other unfortunate, who I might have to run from instead. The door opened, but only the front door. The screen door stayed shut.

“Can I help you?” His voice was so familiar, but it couldn’t be.

“Hi! My car is stuck up the road! About Northwest from your house. I left it by the road and now I am struggling to contact anyone to get me home. Will you help me?” I asked earnestly with teeth chattering between the words.

There wasn’t much else said but he unlocked the screen door. He opened it and would you guess it, Parker Woods the Seminary drop-out himself.

“Miss Daisy, come in. You’re shivering!” His concern palpable as he rushed me through the front door.

I felt full body relief that it was someone I knew. Though, I’d never been to his house. I never needed to know where he stayed before this. He closed the door and looked at me. He towered over me, but that’s not a large feat where I am concerned. He was dressed much warmer, in a simple long-sleeve tee and pants. He looked down pretty quickly and mumbled something about needing to get me some towels, before running upstairs. I looked down, having stopped holding my body to me so tightly once I arrived in his house. The warmth caressed my skin and promised reprieve.

My cardigan was open, unsupported by my arms, and my white top beneath was useless in providing modesty. My nipples stood taut, peeking through the material. I sighed, exasperated. Just what I need! Next thing I’ll be hearing about this down the pub within 48 hours. I tried not to move spots in case I dripped more water all over his floorboards. He came flying down with folded towels. We didn’t address it and he quite literally burrito-ed me in his towels. He gave me a t-shirt and some long-shorts of his, with their elasticated waist band – he thought they might be the most comfortable. His thoughtfulness touched me but I didn’t say anything.

I let him lead me to the bathroom where I changed into his warm clothes. I came back with my wet clothes and placed them in the bucket he provided. He said he would run a load, despite my numerous protestations. I approached him in the kitchen, and there was a glass of red waiting for me on the counter.

“For me?” I ask sweetly.

“If you like. I’m not really sure what heathens are into these days,” he says distractedly as he chopped some vegetables.

“Oh! You’ve got jokes!” I took a bar stool and watched him work in front of me. “What are you making?”

“Nothing that will be ready soon.”

This man infuriated me, always. It was kind of thrilling, in a sick way.

“What am I allowed to do while I wait?” I teased, taking a slow sip.

If those veiny arms could feel my phantom touch, they would for all the attention my eyes were giving them.

“Allowed?” He asked, eyebrow cocked and eyes trained on me with intensity.

“Yes, Father Parker. It is your house, your rules. As the man of the house, of course.”

He tried to hide his blush, but I caught it. There was something about the prospect of innocence, even the innocence I projected onto him – that just made me want to ruin it. Make a mess all over him, just to baptise him again with the slick hymn of my hunger.

“Daisy. What are you playing at?”

“Parker, Parker, Parker…” I spoke and stood so I could walk around him. My fingers playing from one bicep, over his shoulder blades to the other bicep. I looked around him from his right side. “Let me ruin you, slowly. I’ll make you forget all your sins.”

Before I knew it, he had me pinned. His arms resting on the counter on either side of me. His restraint, less than a muzzle away.

“I wish you hadn’t said that. But if that’s the way you want to play. I’ll fuck you so deep, you’ll be dripping absolution by dawn.”