Her name was Milicent Jolene Cooper McFadden, and she screwed our pastor on Halloween while dressed as a Pez dispenser. The reason I know this is because she told me, like she’d been telling me everything since we were teenagers, whether I wanted to hear it or not. I don’t inform her that she’s the biggest hypocrite I’ve ever known. After all, she’s the one who’d declared to me soon after we stole Kiss Me Quick lipstick from Goodman’s Department Store that I had to ask Jesus Christ to be my Lord and Savior if I hoped to be raptured with her and the rest of the faithful before God smote the poor wretches left behind. Now, here we were, both of us long ago saved and dunked, and I’d become her human confessional because, to be brutal but spot on, she’d always been a slut. She didn’t feel a bit bad about it, either, which I could never figure out because the holy scriptures clearly stated that deceivers and fornicators will be cast into the lake of fire to fry for all eternity. She claimed that the blood of Jesus had her covered, but I had serious doubts and told her so.
It wasn’t but a week after Halloween that she was back at it with Pastor in full Pez regalia, with spike heels thrown in because he’d said it really turned him on in a way his wife’s sensible shoes never had. They carried on throughout the holiday season, changing the theme of their trysts, and she came (no pun intended) to his office dressed as Mrs. Santa after every Wednesday night prayer meeting. One week he asked her to dress like a reindeer because he’d always fantasized about doing it with an animal. She told me the experience did not disappoint.
The night before Christmas they were going at it when Deacon Earl happened to pass by on his way to get the little cardboard thingies that attach to the candles for Christmas Eve services. Earl, concerned that Pastor might be having a medical emergency, hightailed it into the room where he found Pastor doing it from behind with an elf in high heels. He cursed himself for overindulging in peppermint schnapps earlier and closed the door, blinking profusely to clear the screen of his imagination.
Millicent howled when she told me this story. She just got such a kick out of sin, all tidied up by Jesus’ blood. I was not amused. On Christmas morning I pulled up our church’s Facebook page and posted the video I’d been recording with the camera I’d hidden in Pastor’s office. When he arrived to tell the story of the Holy Infant perched beneath the Star of Wonder, the deacons were waiting for him. As for Millicent, we never saw her again, but I’m confident that she latched onto someone like me to tell her secrets to. I wonder how long that fool will last.