Chapter Thirteen
"So, then," Dean gave the class his brightest smile, "I'm Father Angus, and I have been roped in by the chief penguin to take your class today, because Father O'Brien is not well."
"In bed with the doctor," chortled a boy to his right. The sniggering ran around the room again, and the class began to talk amongst themselves once more.
"Half his luck," grunted Dean, inwardly cursing and reminding himself to reset his watch. "So, uh, you've been talking about... Human Development."
"How to have babies," supplied another boy helpfully, and the sniggering rippled again.
"Right, right," Dean nodded, raising his voice over the increasing volume of background chatter. "Is there, um, a work book, or something?"
"We got this," another, slumped with his face in one hand, listlessly waved a booklet that had an anatomically improbable dick drawn on the cover. "It's crap, though."
"Hey, guys!" called Dean, as the noise rose to a dull roar. They ignored him. "Guys! Uh, could you read out where you were up to?"
The booklet-waver let out a sigh that indicated just how onerous the task was going to be, and shuffled through the pages. Behind him, another gutted his pen and assiduously prepared a spitball.
"The Sanctity of Marriage," read the put-upon pupil, his tone indicating exactly what he thought of that particular sacrament. "Marriage is one of the holiest relationships that a person may enter. It is a sanctified bond between man and woman, in the sight of God, intended to unite a man and a woman in conjugal love and grace, that they might bring forth children..." the reader paused, and yawned. "What's conjugal love, anyway?"
"It's a polite way of saying fucking," snapped Dean. "WILL YOU LOT SHUT THE HELL UP?" he bellowed.
The room was suddenly silent.
"It really doesn't make a lot of sense," he mused, considering the matter. "I mean, having a priest to talk to you about this sort of thing? Advice on fucking, from the fuckless. How is that supposed to be helpful?" he asked the universe in general.
The class eyed him warily. "Incidentally, if you spit that at me, I will have my dog tear your hand off," he remarked casually. The culprit, who had been bringing the pen to his mouth, froze. "I got real good hearing," smirked Dean. "I fell down a well full of bats when I was a child, and I can do echo-location. So, the Sanctity of Marriage," he went on thoughtfully. "I don't know what I'm supposed to tell you about that – I've never been married."
"How about the Joy Of Monogamy?" Even if Dean had actually been blind, he would've been able to hear the accompanying eye-roll.
"Do you guys know what monogamy means?" he asked.
Somebody called out, "It means, only going with one girl."
"Right, right," Dean nodded, "It means, getting together with one girl, and staying with her, for good. No others." Of course, he reflected, he wasn't really in a position to teach anybody about that, either. There was really only one aspect of This Sort Of Thing that the Living Sex God was capable of lecturing to anybody about; and if he was going to be stuck with a class of bored high-schoolers for an hour, he might as well as teach them something that would benefit them…
"Of course, at your age, what monogamy means is, going with one girl at a time. Because not only is two-timing a woman the act of a true asshole, it'll likely get you slapped across the face or kicked in the nuts at the very least." There was a ripple of laughter again. "I think that some of you might already have found that out," he went on, "Because let's not kid ourselves here, a good percentage of you are already screwing your brains out, and the rest of you have seen footage or pictures of it, and are just waiting until you can find a willing partner with a pulse."
There was shocked silence in the class. The would-be spitballer dropped his pen.
The wolves had wondered if the rabbit might do a trick; they certainly hadn't expected it to sit up and snarl knowingly at them.
"Don't play coy with me, guys," grinned Dean, "I was a teenager once. And the basic, unescapable fact is, sex is fun! You all know it – the ones that have done it know for sure, and the rest of you who jerk off at least once a day, you won't believe how much better it is than that!"
"Um," a hesitant voice spoke, "I thought that we're not supposed to, you know... or, you know... before marriage?"
"Ideally, no," Dean waved a hand airily, "But part of the problem with God, and the Church, as I see it, is that too often it all deals in theoretical absolutes, and forgets that people are human. And humans are imperfect. We're not always going to act exactly the way God, or the angels, or the Church want us to. Why do you think we have confession? Come on, if we weren't supposed to enjoy sex, why did God make it so awesome?"
"Did He do it to tempt us?" asked a boy.
"Nope, temptation is Lucifer's schtick," Dean replied, "I think God made sex fun because He likes to see His mortal children happy. And He also likes to hear us call out His name so enthusiastically, what an ego boost..."
The class laughed out loud at that.
"So, they way I see it, if you are going to have sex – and you're teenagers, so you are – the best thing you can do, is to start practising your monogamy, so by the time you decide to get married, you'll be really good at sticking with one person."
"So, how do you know when you've found the right person?" came the question.
"No idea – I've never been married," shrugged Dean, "But I do think that if you want to be happily married, you have to work at it. You have to be able to keep each other happy. And that," he declared, "Is what I think we should talk about. How to make a woman happy in the sack. Because I suspect you guys haven't figured out exactly just how good that can feel, too, knowing that you've made her toes curl. And if you're going to do something, you should do it as well as you possibly can. So," he clapped his hands, "Who knows what an 'erogenous zone' is?"
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Sam closed his eyes, and tried to breathe slowly. He could feel his pulse racing. He was stuffed into a little box, it was dark, and he was trapped...
"... And then I had this other one," the woman continued, "Where I was in this field, and there was this picnic rug, and there was a gust of wind, and all my clothes got blown off, and suddenly there was Brad Pitt standing under a tree, and the wind tore all his clothes off too..."
"Er, dreams are just, you know, not your fault," Sam tried valiantly once more to interrupt the monologue of someone who either wrote Mills & Boon stories in her spare time, or ate far too much cheese before bedtime.
"...And the one after that, I was at the beach, and I was in the water, and there was this big wave that washed my bathing suit off, then suddenly there was Johnny Depp, on a surfboard, and the wave tore his bathing suit off too..."
"It's just like your brain doing an information dump after hours, so it doesn't count as sin," squeaked Sam.
"Oh, but Father, the one after that, I was walking through a field of sunflowers, and there was a swarm of ladybugs, and they nibbled my clothes off, then suddenly Ashton Kucher parachuted in and the ladybugs tore all his clothes off too..."
"Oh, God, you have to stop!" Sam wailed.
"I know," she agreed in a trembling voice, "But I just get these impure thoughts all the time! I don't know what to do! I even had one just before, when I saw you come into the chapel. There was a group of little cherubs, they were giggling and laughing, and they tore your cassock off..."
Sam rallied magnificently. "Okay, I'm noticing a theme here," he tried to sound stern, "With tearing. So, I want you to do some tearing of your own. Now, are you sorry for your sins?"
"Oh, yes, Father," the voice said earnestly, "Especially the one where I was on a pirate ship, and a cannon went off, and it blew all my clothes off, and then Jensen Ackles swung down on a rope and the cannon blast tore all his clothes off too..."
"Okay, that's good," Sam cut her off, let her go through the Act of Contrition, then recited the Absolution. "So, your penance is to say ten Our Fathers, pray the rosary, then go home and tear every single page out of your copy of Fifty Shades Of Grey and set fire to it then flush the ashes down the toilet."
There was a little gasp from the other side of the screen. "How did you know I have that book?" the voice queried.
"Priestly intuition," Sam humphed. "Now, go, and sin no more."
He heard the other side of the confessional open, and let out a breath he hadn't realised that he was holding. It couldn't have been more than ten minutes, but it had seemed like hours. The wish for Dean to come and save him receded just a little.
The door on the other side opened, then shut. "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," whispered a low voice. "It has been a week since my last confession."
Sam cleared this throat. "Very well, tell me your sins."
"Father," the voice sounded hesitant, "I have been... writing lewd material."
"Lewd material?" Sam repeated.
"Yes, Father," the voice confirmed reluctantly. "Romantic love stories."
Sam went 'hmmmmm' juciciously. "Well, that's, that's possibly causing an occasion of sin for yourself, or somebody else."
"The characters I write about are a married couple, very much in love," she qualified.
"Oh, okay," Sam replied. "It may not necessarily be a problem, then. And if you're writing them for a Romance publisher as your job, well, everybody has to earn money to live on..."
"Oh, there's no money involved, Father," the voice assured him, "I do it just for fun, then post them on the internet."
"The internet? Oh, well," Sam tried to sound authoritative, "Some people would say that it is the work of Satan. So, how often do you write this, uh, lewd material?"
"Oh, I try to write a story every week," the voice sounded more enthusiastic, "Have you heard of 'fanfiction', Father?"
"Unfortunately, yes," groaned Sam, "And it is definitely the work of Satan, so before you go any further..."
"Well, I'm afraid I'm a fan of the 'Supernatural' books," she confided, "But I know it's only fiction, and none of it is true. The characters, though, oh, they're just wonderful!" There was the sound of paper shuffling. "I write in what I call my HappyEverAfter verse. Let me read you something from my latest story, it's called Grip Me Tight. Dean and Castiel are on their honeymoon... there's a really funny bit, where they go to the beach, and there's this big wave that tears their swimming shorts off..."
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Running a convent is much the same as running any other large business, except the personnel all wear dresses whether male or female and pray more often (although a certain amount of prayer may accompany a downsizing or a particularly bad quarterly report ant any corporation). Mother Superior Louise, like any senior executive, constantly juggled multiple roles, had to deal with an enormous amount of administration, and was a combination of Chief Whip, Den Mother, overseer and miracle worker to keep the whole thing running. So it wasn't completely surprising that, when a nun approached her to inform her of yet another sister becoming unwell with the current 'flu bout, she lost track of the time.
When she did glance at her watch, she let out a little gasp – it was ten minutes past the end of Father O'Brien's Human Development class, and she had promised to rescue Father Angus! She set off, not at a run, of course, but she set a pace that, when she had been a postulant, would have seen her pulled up for a Walk With Precipitation.
The silence in the corridor as she approached the classroom made her think that the boys must have left already – she quickened her pace, anxious to make sure that Father Angus had not been completely overwhelmed.
As she approached the door, she looked through the glass insert, and stopped.
She could not hear what Father Angus was saying, but the boys all sat silently in rapt attention with their eyes fixed on him. As she watched, a boy raised his hand, then quickly realised his mistake, and just called out a question. Many were carefully taking notes.
She knocked, and opened the door.
"I beg your pardon, Father Angus," her voice sounded loud in the silence, "But convent business detained me." She looked around uncertainly. "Class time ended ten minutes ago, boys," she told them, "You may be dismissed."
A wave of disappointed noises ran around the room. "Can we have a little bit longer, Reverend Mother?" begged one boy, a member of the football team whom she had personally indentified as Most Likely To Need Bailing Out Before He Graduated. "Please?"
"Please, Reverend Mother," asked another whom she had privately nicknamed The Bomb Hoax, because of his ability to disrupt a class. "This is very interesting."
"Please?" "Please?" "Just ten more minutes?" "Please, Reverend Mother?" the class pleaded.
She blinked in astonishment. "Well," she said finally, "You seem to have... piqued their interest, Father Angus."
"I do hope so," he said solemnly. "Monogamy – a happy relationship with one person – is a very important concept, and we have had a lot to talk about." General murmurs of agreement came from the class.
"Oh. Oh. Well, in that case," she smiled, "Please do continue."
"I can find my own way back, thank you, Reverend Mother," Father Angus assured her, "Or I'm sure that one of the students can help me."
"Will you be back again next week, Father Angus?" asked one boy hopefully.
"Sorry, guys," the priest grinned, "I got work to do. I'm just visiting."
Sounds of disappointment ensued.
"In that case, I suggest you take advantage of Father Angus's presence, whilst he is here," Mother Superior smiled at them all, then withdrew.
On the way back to her office, she laughed to herself. It wasn't often that a priest managed to engage with such a demographic, but every so often, one would manage it, and to see him instructing, no, inspiring young men, was a wonderful thing. They were the moments that made her feel the depth and fulfilment of her vocation.
She offered up a small prayer of thanks for sending Father Angus just when he was most needed, and a hint to the Almighty that if He ever felt inclined to send a stand-in priest again, another one like Father Angus would be most welcome.
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*By 'dog collars', I mean dressed as priests. Not wearing ACTUAL collars, like leather dog collars. That's just... don't go there. This site doesn't do MA.