*Chapter 1*
Her countenance defied the raunchy memories burning through her soul; paradoxically, she cast the striking aura of a cherubim who brought good tidings at yuletide. Her last boyfriend was a sissy, the introverted type between whose thighs she had found quietude to her white-hot sexual hankering--or so she had been delusioned before that coward made a bolt for it the previous night.
Of course, Jenny was no rookie to shady games and fancy metaphors from toy-boys, but the latest sharp twist came off quite a shocker in her sexual escapades. Jenny and Jimmy had grown fond of each other's carnal details. She had practically schooled that rookie through the 69, missionary, and the doggy bed-time acrobatics and, in turn, Jimmy had rhythmically sailed between her curvy, luscious thighs each randy moment, sating her burning sexual calls in proportional doses. But darn! How could Jimmy possibly resist her dying thirst for the seventh bout of sex last night? Damn! She had overrated his frail macho. That coward, he fled! He had ditched her in the most wanton state of orgasm. Jimmy is such coward!
Poor pretty damsel. She could not even hide being a nympho to her past conquests, who had each failed to match the tempo of her sensual agility.
Now she's jaded. She craved a respite from sexual adventures and, more than ever, a truce with the holy grail. She was stuck in such oscillation between her fleshly tendencies and her spiritual craving. Somehow, she had consoled herself to devise every means of dousing her undying urge for sex. Who knows, she would possibly find her much-needed respite from the synagogue.
She cut a forlon figure in her seated position this morning before the altar. Out of the blue, a bellow of _''praise the Lord''_ sharply pierced her warring thoughts and jolted her back terms with reality. She had been in trance, almost oblivious of the order of program in the synagogue. Now, she was back to context, and before the altar of the Sunday tabernacle. She gathered some rhythm, winked her heavy lashes, pursed her soiled lips, and let out an inaudible, sensuous _''hallelujah''._ She had missed a large part of the sermon, but she shrugged it off and consoled herself to come off better with a good number of regular appearances. She maintained a calm appearance through the remainder of the sermon. But then, nagging at the back of her mind is a stabbing guilt that she had allowed that rookie to use her. It is aching, but she was not new to breakups, only that the latest bitter pills had been dished her by the one she had trusted beyond measure. The punging guilt seared through her spirit and soul all that morning, while she subconsciously pertook of the Hymns recitation. She had equally received the Eucharist in affected composure. Somehow, she felt a mix of hangover and hope.
The morning service rounded off, and she set about heading home when some random young man--smartly dressed in a three-piece suit--drew up to her and offered his welcome message, also urging her to stay consistent, while shoving some bulky jacketed leaflets and flyers in her palms. She had not really focused on this passing moment of the welcome gesture, as she had set her heart on leaving the vicinity of the church as soon as she could. For Jenny, it was one hell of a boring morning.
