Thanksgiving Adventures

I grew up in beautiful church. Domed ceiling, stained glass windows, full pipe organ. Rich red carpet and oak pews.

It is a place of beauty.

The church came into existence before the town in which it resides. The founder moved there in the late 1800s and decided to start a church, a draw to settlement. In a town with five churches, it is the oldest and most ornate.

This is where my family held our Thanksgiving day meal yesterday.

We have grown too large in numbers for any one member of the family to host the meal at a private home. Twenty of us, in total. No one has the space for so many bodies.

So, I suggested we have the meal in the basement of this church where I grew up, where I first met God, where I fell in love with Jesus - the large, southern, rose window depicting Christ at Gethsemane being a particular draw for me, where I was baptised and confirmed (the only one in our family to choose to confirm baptismal vows made on our behalf in infancy), and where I would often sneak out of Sunday school and hide behind the horseshoe-shaped island in the kitchen as I preferred to listen to the adult talk about important things rather than make shoe-box Garden of Edens.

This is the church where my grandfather grew up, where my grandparents were married, where my father was baptized, confirmed, raised in the faith, where my parents were married.

This is the first church I ever preached in. My maiden sermon as I sought and obtained official confirmation of my call to ministry.

So it was that yesterday, when Doc and I arrived and after we set out the few dishes we had contributed to the meal (the turkey, cheese, and a dessert), I gave him a tour of this church that I love.

My parents arrived and we began to warm the side dishes. My siblings arrived with their respective partners, children, and friends. Everything was finished warming, the kids were playing, small talk ensued. It was the best and most relaxed holiday meal I think my family has ever shared.

When it came time to clean up, my mother washed a few dishes, I took care to send the leftovers home with those who most needed them, cars were packed and most everyone drove off into the night.

There was a bit overlap with the group that has a standing Thursday night reservation in the church basement, but my father is familiar with them and I know a couple of the members in that group from other places in life.

Once the kitchen was otherwise cleared and the group had taken their seats in the fellowship hall, Doc and I carefully and very quietly snuck up the back stairwell, through the office, to the of the sanctuary, up another flight of stairs, into the balcony where there is a couch.

Stripping off my shoes, skirt, leggings and panties, I sat at the very edge of the couch as Doc removed his belt, pants and boxers. I took him into my mouth and enjoyed the feel and taste of him. Then, he leaned me back, knelt between my legs and fucked me in the church. And it was good.

We kept things short and because I'm incapable of having a silent or even quiet orgasm, and with the group meeting two stories below us, I simply marvelled in the way Doc feels inside of me.

It was a long-held fantasy brought to life, and I experienced a level of happiness that has never before been attained so close to any family function.

Perhaps come Christmas, we'll be able to find a few more quiet hours in the church, when it's empty and silent, and I'll finally be able to convince Doc to tie me to the altar before taking me. If I'm a very, very, very good girl and ask nicely.

And if that particular fantasy never comes to be, I'll be satisfied to relive this one in my memory for years to come.