I am a simple man who has always followed my faith and the righteous path. Until recently, my thoughts have been pure and clean but upon witnessing a doctor a young woman of “hysteria” using instruments that stimulated her body so that she wreathed as if possessed, I found myself looking to those of my own congregation with lust and sinful fantasy. Thus is how I came to find myself in the company of two gentlemen, Charles Weaver and Branson Carmichael, in a St. Louis building that I did not even know existed.

“If is not often we are approached by men of the clergy,” Charles, the leaner of the men spoke from behind the desk while the other stood near the door. “Would you like a glass of wine?”

“Yes, please.” I would have been thankful for anything to wet my dried throat and to still the nervousness that raced my heart. I watched as Branson rapped his knuckles against the wooden door and called out for wine, his deep voice vibrating through the small office. A moment later, the door opened and a woman, completely nude, entered with a tray that held the bottle of wine and three glasses. She set the tray on the corner of the desk and waited and looked to Charles.

“Just one, my sweet,” Charles spoke softly, “For the Reverend.”

The woman poured the wine and brought the glass to me, which I took with trembling hand. 

“That will be all ….for now,” Charles told her and she left as quietly as she’d entered. “That is Emma. She is my wife and a slave to both me and Bran. She serves us well.” I shifted uncomfortably in my seat wondering what devil ruled this place where a man would share his wife with another and expose her to strangers.

“But let us get to business and how we may we serve you, Father. First, anything that takes place within the walls of this building and the surrounding grounds is kept strictly confidential. Second, our fees are based on the client’s needs and what we must provide to fulfill them. Please tell me the nature of your visit here today.” 

I drank heavily of the wine before setting it aside and taking a breath. I relayed my witness of the doctor and his patient and of the condition I found myself in. I spoke quickly, my gaze locked on the wall behind Charles’ head. It was easier to speak of the sinful nature of my desires that way.

“I fear if I do not take measures to rid myself of these urges, that I will eventually prey upon those who turn to me for salvation,” I concluded and reached again for the wine.

“Interesting.” Charles leaned back in his chair, scrutinizing me with narrowed gaze. “And how do you think to purge yourself of your secret sinful yearnings?”

“I am a simple man but I am not a stupid man. I know that doctor was using his profession to satisfy some urges of his own. The woman was not in hysterics as he diagnosed, at least not until he began his practice to cure her of the non-existing illness. I admit I was aroused by his deception and the woman’s acceptance of his authority over her.” I hesitated and when Charles said nothing, continued, my words twisting knots in my stomach. “My position allows me certain authority, responsibility if you will, over those who seek salvation from their own sins.” I saw the realization cross the man’s face and was grateful I would not have to offer more details of the fantasies I had entertained. 

“I assume you wish a woman, one who seems filled with more sin than another, perhaps a prostitute wishing to rid her body of the years of accumulated sin so that she may live the rest of her life by God and not of the sins of the flesh.” 

I swallowed loudly. The man had pinpointed the very thing I’d imagined. He nodded as if I’d verbally consented he’d been correct though no words were spoken by me.

“Have you any physical attributes that you prefer in the woman?” When I still said nothing, he offered suggestions, “Large breasts, brunette, petite, voluptuous?”

“I am not particular about the physical attributes.” I drained the wine from my glass, grateful when Charles moved to refill my drink. 

“”I’ve heard that red hair itself is considered sinful in some parts of the world.” Branson spoke from his corner. 

Charles’ brow rose and he turned to look back at Branson. “I didn’t know that. Interesting.” He faced me again. “Will you require just one woman or more than one?”

“Just one.”

“For obvious security reasons that come with the type of service we provide, our clients are not allowed to leave our premises with the woman we provide without escort. A room or rooms can be provided for your use.”

“Just one room.” My heart pounded. This was going to happen. The realization that this had gone from an inquiry into the planning of the actual fantasy kicked me in the stomach.

“For how long will you need use of the room?” 

I hadn’t considered that. How long would I want to partake in the fantasy? How long would it take to rid me of the desires that had crept into my mind? An hour? A night? 

“Two nights.”