The Servants of Love United Church was just a plain white building in the middle of a cornfield. No stained glass windows. No steeple. You could tell just looking at them that they didn't have an organ. I wondered if they had air conditioning. Hell, I kind of wondered if they believed in indoor plumbing. 

 

Whatever. I needed a room. I would join whatever cult I had to join to get a free room.

 

 

 

Up until the day before I thought I had a room, thanks to my girlfriend. 

 

Well, now my ex-girlfriend. Mindy Muffintop. 

 

Well, technically Mindy MacIntoff, but I liked my version better, and she used to be able to take a joke. 

 

Let's be clear, I wasn't just dating her for free housing. I’m an asshole, but I’m not that kind of asshole. No, there was more: despite my teasing, she had the most perfect body I'd ever seen all of in person. Perfectly wavy hair with perfect rich-girl highlights. Perfectly lips, perfect skin, perfect tummy. And perfect breasts. Seriously perfect. I guess I'm supposed to tell you her bra size here, but I'm afraid I never learned it. All I can tell you is, the whole situation belonged on the cover of a very expensive magazine, down to the perfectly trimmed patch of hair just above her pussy. 

 

Still, on top of all those fine qualities, she also had rich parents who owned real estate near campus. By senior year, she'd talked them into just straight-up giving us a house to ourselves, rent-free. She got an allowance, too. Naturally, I quit my job to focus on classes. She seemed to have the whole situation figured out for both of us. 

 

Then, at about midnight on Saturday, I was lying next to her, still catching my breath, enjoying the smell of sex in the air and trailing my fingers across her belly. 

 

"That tickles," she said, and swatted me away. "Don't I keep telling you that?"

 

Sure, she kept telling me that. She was fun to tease, though. But I pulled my hand back and just ran my eyes over her instead. It never got old. She was just so fucking perfect. 

 

"You look so pleased with yourself," she said. 

 

And I said "Well, sure. Didn't I just show you a pretty good time?"

 

That's when the whole thing went off the rails. As it turned out, I had not shown her a pretty good time. Despite the sweating and grinding and moaning and so on, I had left her in a state of great frustration. 

 

Now, readers, as I sit here writing this, I am older and wiser. But I asked what, at the time, seemed like a pretty reasonable question: "How was I supposed to know?"

 

She scoffed and shook her head as she stole the covers back from me to wrap around herself.

 

"You're supposed to pay the slightest bit of attention to someone other than yourself, Nick. You're supposed to give a shit. I can't teach you to care about other people's needs."

 

Belatedly, I realized we were fighting about more than one orgasm. 

 

I will admit that I did not react to this as politely as I could have. There was some yelling, and then some crying, and by the ass crack of Sunday morning I was homeless. 

 

"I promise I can change," I said, honest-to-god down on one knee. I figured it would make a nice effect, kneeling. She just looked disgusted. "Who cares. Go do your spiritual fucking growth with someone else." 

 

Whatever. Growth was overrated. Instead, I called Josh, who's way better at getting free shit than me. 

I wasn't even looking for a permanent place yet. I just wanted to spend a few nights on the nasty-ass couch at his nasty-ass co-op house. But Josh is a man with serious skills, and so he set an entire plan into action.

 

At about 6 AM, he showed up with a car he borrowed, a cheap suit, a disposable razor, and McDonald's breakfast for two. "Get in," he said, "We're going to church." 

 

"You are not getting me in there," I said.

 

"No, seriously, this is perfect timing. You can change on the road."

 

“Fine. Not paying for this shit, though.”

 

All summer, Josh had been scheming to get out of his nasty-ass co-op house, which — among its many flaws — was directly under the one bridge in town. If he left his window open in the summer, people threw Coke cans through it. In winter, lumps of filthy road slush pounded against it. One time he opened it to smoke and a slush bomb hit the girl he'd been fucking right between the ass cheeks. He was getting desperate to move. 

 

He had no money for a decent place. But he did have a total lack of shame, pride, or dignity. 

 

That's where Servants of Love came in. I guess you probably don't have these guys in your state. As far as I know they just had this one little church a few hours outside town. But at Upper Central South Dakota State they were legendary. They dressed kinda the same — like they were the backup dancers in a musical about boring white people — and they showed up in groups to preach and give out pamphlets. Normal so far. 

 

But then sometimes they'd just randomly buy someone dinner. Always someone who needed it, too. It was like they just knew. Or they'd dig your car out, or mow your lawn, or help you with your homework. Always exactly the right thing at the right time. I knew a guy who said he pissed himself drunk once and a Servie showed up with clean underwear.  

 

And every year, a few Servie families kind of adopt a student. If you really need to get out of the dorm, and you're feeling desperate, and you don't mind living with Christian weirdos in a tiny town two hours from campus, you show up on Sunday before Fall semester and try your luck. 

 

We're not even sure why they do it. Nobody can really make sense of their pamphlets. The sermons are really, truly, utterly incomprehensible. But apparently the Servants of Love United Church is just really, really into ... service. Like the name says. Freely given. No strings. To all humankind or whatever. Probably more than humankind. Probably if aliens showed up the Servies would buy them coffee too just to see what happened.

 

 

 

Josh and I drove for two hours, past corn, and then more corn, and then less corn again. The sun rose. I shaved, slugged back bad coffee and hash browns, and tried to impersonate someone who'd gotten sleep. At 7:50 AM, we arrived at church. 

 

I dawdled outside for a moment. It was a lazy-feeling morning. It was still August, and the morning air was already warm. Cicadas were droning in the fields. Then I took a deep breath and followed Josh inside.

 

Inside, the place was bursting with energy. Every single seat was full. The pews were packed, and the aisle was crammed so full of folding chairs I couldn't even walk into it. I could see Josh, who'd scored a seat up front, and a dozen or so other State students, all of us glancing around nervously. 

 

The rest must have been church members. You could tell by looking somehow. They definitely weren't Amish or anything like that. They didn't exactly have a dress code either. But you could still tell they went together. They just looked... wholesome. Extremely, thoroughly, uniformly wholesome. Like they'd all been ordered from the same catalog. It was like they were all going to Disney World with the same church group right after the service, and they'd all gotten the same packing list, and some of them had already put on their matching T-shirts. 

 

Before I could make a move, one particularly wholesome-looking family — mom, dad, son, daughter — turned and grinned and waved and politely scootched on over. It was going to be crowded — five people in a four-person pew. And the pew was as plain as the building: hard wood, no padding. And we were all sweating. But sure, I sat down. 

 

And only then did I realize the most uncomfortable thing about the situation: the young woman I was going to spend the next hour sitting next to.

 

This might have been a church, but she was wearing shorts! — wholesome shorts, Disney World shorts, but shorts nonetheless. Which meant I noticed as soon as I sat down that she had some seriously thick thighs. 

 

After another split-second, my peripheral vision gave me another update. I saw out of the corner of my eye that she had a chest to match: big, round, and ample, giving even her wholesome modestly-cut t-shirt something to stretch across. Maybe this wasn't magazine perfection, but she was girl-next-door hot. 

 

And the updates from my peripheral vision kept coming for the next hour. 

 

— Did you know she's got a curvy little waist? 

— Yes, peripheral vision, thank you, I'm aware. 

— How about the cute little belly pudge under that t-shirt? 

— Yes, peripheral vision, you've made me look at it three times already. 

— And the freckle on her left knee? 

— Yes, yes, oh god yes, we've been over this. I want to start licking at that freckle and keep going until she's pregnant. 

 

Why was she dressed like that? It seemed un-Christian, not that I was even Christian, but it sure didn't seem like their thing. Or okay, forget un-Christian, it seemed un-FAIR to my poor sex drive. Why would her parents allow it? How was I going to stand it? I spent most of the service... you know that thing where you sort of will your body to shrink so you don't touch the next person? I had my hands balled up in my lap to hide the erection, my shoulders squeezed in, and my legs pressed together, and every time a drop of sweat left my body I prayed for it to land on my lap and not hers. 

 

But un-Christian wardrobe or not, she was clearly from the church. On her left wrist, inches from my arm, was the Servants of Love church insignia: a silver chain with no clasp. I have to admit, every time I saw them preaching on campus, thinking about that chain on their wrist turned me on just a bit. I sure wanted to lock this one up and throw away the key.

It got worse. Half an hour into the utterly incomprehensible sermon, she laid her hand gently on my knee. 

 

I just about leapt into the air. My erection instantly went from "half-there" to "painful." But the look on her face was pure innocent doe-eyed concern. 

 

"Are you ok?" she whispered.

 

"Fine!" I shout-whispered back, a bit frantically. But nobody else seemed to be distracted by us, not even her parents and brother in the pew beyond her. They were watching the preacher intently as he rambled on about something I couldn't fathom.

 

"You look nervous!" She sounded anguished — like my nerves were causing her real pain. 

 

I didn't know what to say.

 

She paused and took a dep breath. "It's okay," she said, "we all know what you're thinking."

 

"You do?" I almost choked. I sincerely hoped they did not. This nice young lady's parents would not be pleased to discover that the sight of their daughter's religious insignia made me want to throw cuffs and and collar on her and get her down on her knees in front of me. 

 

"Yeah. We know you're just looking for a place to live. That's okay! We wouldn't offer anything we didn't want you to have."

 

I suppressed a chuckle. Those shorts of hers sure were offering me ideas I wasn't supposed to have. 

 

But I held my tongue, and ten minutes later, she asked again: "What's bothering you? Are you all right?"

 

"Just nervous," I said. Technically, it wasn't a lie! "It's weird being packed in so close with strangers."

 

She perked up and gave me her hand. "Hi! I'm Grace!" I hadn't known a whisper could be perky. "Now we're not strangers!"

 

"Nick," I mumbled. "Also, uh, none of this makes any sense to me." I gestured to the preacher, who was still droning on incomprehensibly. "I guess I never went to church growing up."

 

"Oh!" she said, all sincerity. "I know how to help. Here, look at me."

 

She took my hand again and turned me to face her. We were close enough we could have kissed without barely leaning foreward. 

 

"Do what I do," she whispered, and started taking slow, deep breaths.

 

This didn't seem like anything from any kind of church I knew. More like meditation? But I followed — breathed in, and out, and in, and out — and she smiled. She had a beautiful smile. She had a beautiful mouth. I wanted to see it with my cock in it.  

 

"Are you getting distracted by your body?" she whispered.

 

I nearly died of embarrassment. My head just about shot off my shoulders and rocketed into the air. But her look was still utterly innocent. Apparently this was some kind of meditation advice? And not a callout for my horndog behavior? Either way, I suppose it was true — I was somewhat distracted.

 

"Here," she whispered, "that's ok. Focus your attention here." And for a moment, she lay her hand flat against my chest. It felt utterly chaste. If it had felt even the slightest bit unchaste, I swear I would have cummed in my pants on the spot.

Instead, I tried it — I breathed like she was breathing, and focused my attention — and something... happened. At first I thought I was hearing music. The room was the same, but my ears were ringing and my eyes felt flooded with light. 

 

I kept breathing deeply, and focusing my attention. Grace nodded and smiled. I liked it when she smiled.

 

And suddenly, as I kept breathing and focusing, THE SERMON STARTED MAKING SENSE. My head was spinning, my ears were ringing, my vision was starting to narrow, and the words coming out of the preachers mouth were coalescing into intelligible sentences.

 

"Keep breathing now," he was saying. "That's right. In... and out.  In... and out. Now listen to my voice, and let it fill your mind. Let your whole mind go blank, and let my voice echo around in it... Good... That's right..." Grace was still inches away, looking right in my eyes. Every time I followed an instruction, she smiled. I liked it when she smiled. 

 

Nobody else seemed to have noticed a change. The Servies were still listening raptly. The State students still looked bored.

 

And then he looked straight at me. "It's okay that you're new," he said. "You're doing very well. Keep breathing, and keep listening. You're completely safe. You can trust me. Let your mind go blank."

 

Nobody else seemed to notice what was going on. Did they not hear him talking to me?

 

"Now today's practice is kindness. Let your mind go blank... completely blank.... When I count to one, you will think of all the the many people who've been kind to you today. 5. 4. 3. 2. 1."

 

It's corny, I know, but immediately, I thought of Grace. Just Grace. She was weird, but nice. And okay, I already had a bit of a crush. I could have thought about Josh too, or the person who made our coffees at McDonalds, or the other nice Servies here to help us out, or even Mindy letting me pack up some stuff before she threw me out. But I just thought of Grace.

 

"Now hold that thought in your mind. Breathe in... and out. In... and out."

 

I held the thought. Her face hung in my vision, luminous, crowding out everything else.

 

"You want to be kind in return, don't you? Breathe in... and out. You want to be truly kind..."

 

He was right. I did.

 

"...You want to know all of their hopes and wishes... So your kindness can make their dreams come true..."

 

He was right. I did.

 

"Keep holding that thought. When I count to one, you will know everything you need to know. 5. 4. 3. 2. 1."

We all spilled blinking out into the sunlight. On the lawn, some of the Servies had set up a picnic lunch, I guess in honor of us newcomers. They had fried chicken, potato salad, lemonade, and I swear to god twenty different kinds of pie. Apparently service to all mankind required lots of dessert. 

 

"What was that?" I asked Josh.

 

"Yeah, I dunno. Total gibberish, the whole thing. I swear I didn't understand a single sentence that guy said."

 

"No, but the. He. When he was talking to me?"

 

Josh looked puzzled. 

 

I tried again. "It didn't, like... start making sense at the end? The part with the instructions?"

 

"You shitting me? No, I swear it just got worse."

 

"Did you do the breathing part?"

 

"The what?"

 

I stopped myself before I asked about the lights and the music. I figured he probably hadn't seen those either. 

 

Anyway, I was distracted by Grace again. She was off on the far side of the churchyard, next to a little playground, talking to the minister. And two thoughts popped immediately into my mind.

 

(Well, three thoughts, and the first was that her ass was just as fine as the rest of her, wide-hipped and plump and as perky as her personality.)

 

But after that came the two important thoughts. One was "Is she telling him what a creep I was?" I mean, I didn't think I'd seemed like a creep. Or, I mean, I'd definitely been a creep, but I didn't think I'd seemed like one, which in my experience with women thus far had been the important part. I didn't think she'd known. She seemed kind of... innocent. Still, the last thing I needed was a bad reputation here.

 

And after that thought, it's the strangest thing, but the other one was "Holy shit, she really needs to pee."

 

I don't even know how I came to that conclusion. It's not like she was giving me any evidence. She wasn't dancing around crossing her legs or anything. I just... knew. It's like the thought came down from the sky and landed fully-formed in my brain.

 

Sure enough, a little later, she begged her pardon of the preacher and headed for the bathroom. I figured she'd be gone a while — she seemed like the type who preferred to sit down, take a few minutes, check her phone while she was in there. I don't know how I knew. I just knew. And sure enough, after a few minutes, Grace was back. I was pleased with myself for guessing right on the time frame.

 

"Dang, you've got a crush," Josh said, and whacked me gently on the back of the head. "Moving on so soon?"

 

"What are you talking about?"

 

"You haven't taken your eyes off her!" 

 

I'd have snarked back at him, but I was distracted from the conversation. Another thought had occurred to me. Grace was probably hungry. I scanned the lawn — yeah, sure enough, she was already headed for the buffet. I watched until she arrived, just to make sure she got there ok. 

 

He put his arm around my shoulders. "I said, you haven't taken your eyes off her."

 

The thoughts were coming relentlessly now. Another occurred to me: her left foot probably itched. This time I willed myself not to look.

 

"Whatever," I said. "Let's go."

 

The thoughts were getting overwhelming. I hoped getting some distance would help. But as we walked to the car, they kept coming. There was probably a mosquito bugging her. Then — I bet the sun was in her eyes. And she definitely wanted more pie. That lemon meringue one. Not Mrs. Schultz's, she used too much sugar, the other one from way in back of the table.

 

I shook myself like a dog before I got in the car, as if that would shake the thoughts loose. But they kept coming. As we drove away, I surreptitiously pinched myself. I bit my tongue. I rolled down the window for fresh air. They just kept coming, undiminished by distance. Her underwear was itching her a bit. She wished Connor’s cute friend would turn around and pay attention to her. Her phone battery might be getting a bit low.

 

It was torment. I couldn't hear myself think. Everything I wanted to pay attention to was drowned out by this flood of inane details. She still kinda wanted that pie. She might have been getting tired. Her nose tickled.

 

"Turn around," I said to Josh.

 

The way to fix an itch was to scratch it, right? So I had a plan. I'd go back. I'd scratch the itch. I'd give her something she wanted. And then maybe these thoughts would go away. 

 

Ugh, her shoelaces were untied. She seriously could not stop thinking about that pie.

 

"Turn around!" I shouted.

 

Josh is a true friend. He didn't ask questions. He turned around. 

 

As soon as that piece-of-shit car hit the parking lot, I had the door open. I was off and running, past the church, through the picnic tables, and over to the pie section. We were just in time! One slice left! I confirmed it was the right pie — screw Mrs. Schultz and her too much sugar — and then scooped up the precious slice. 

 

My eyes darted left and right. There she was, sitting on a playground swing and watching the picnic wind down. I strode over, trying to look confident, and before I lost my nerve, I kneeled down next to her on the playground wood chips and offered her the pie.

 

"Thank you, Nick!" she said without surprise or hesitation. It was as if this sort of thing happened to her every day. For all I knew, maybe it did. She put her arms around me and gave me a hug. From where I was kneeling, my head rested perfectly on her breast. I could have died happy. I wanted to stay there forever. 

 

Another thought: she needed a fork. Right. Without even hesitating, I got up and got her a fork.

 

And then before things got even weirder I went back to the car.

"DUDE," said Josh. "That was GENIUS! You are in for SURE!"

 

I shook my head. It hadn't worked at all. The thoughts were still coming.

 

"Don't be so modest, man. These weirdos LOVE that service shit. You brought her PIE! Come on, man. I bet she's running to that weirdo preacher right now and telling him to give you the best room they've got."

 

He was wrong. I knew exactly what she was doing right then. She was wishing her 8-year-old cousin Liam would stop throwing wood chips at her. She also had to blow her nose and she didn't have a napkin or anything. 

 

I probably should have brought her a napkin. Too late now. 

 

 

 

Sometime that evening, the thoughts took a turn. 

 

One minute, she had laundry to do and she wished there was something good on Netflix. 

 

The next minute, she wanted to touch her pussy. 

 

And then it was back to monotony again. Had I imagined it? Could someone that innocent really go from zero to sixty that quickly? 

 

She did, though, she wished everyone would go to sleep so she could put her hand in her panties while she watched TV. Maybe she’d give up and go to bed early so she could do it in her room.

 

I shook my head. Maybe it had just been my fantasy getting mixed in with the thoughts. It sure did seem like an interesting fantasy. Maybe I'd add that one to the spank bank...

 

But as soon as I started to fantasize, my ears began to ring again, like they had in church. My head began to spin, and the strange hypnotic feeling came back. 

 

And I realized with a jolt that my fantasies didn't matter anymore. All I needed to concern myself with were her needs — which were still being beamed into my head, one by one. If she really wanted to be touched, between her legs or anywhere else, I would know exactly when, where, and how, the moment the desire crossed her mind.