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The next morning, the post-bag was full of the usual mail from the congregation, as well as bills and so on. And then I saw it. Another, hand-written note, in the same pen as before."Dear Father,I noticed a bulge in your trousers tonight at Mass. What were you thinking of? Were you thinking of the moist, secret, swollen lips between my thighs and the way I dream of your long, slender finger separating those lips, pushing in deeply, deeply..." When I read it I was shocked. So explicit. So shameless. So disturbing. I ripped it in two, and hurled it into the waste paper basket. What on earth was she thinking? She knew how wrong this was, to put temptation in the path of one so holy. I sat at the kitchen table, head in my hands, wondering how I could confront her and tell her to desist. And then, temptation overcame me. I removed the pieces of paper from the bin, spread them out on the table, and re-read the message. So she wanted...my fingers...between her swollen lips. I tried to fight. " You don't buy that stuff as you put it. It's what you collect as you go through life. I mean the little ornaments that you bring back from holidays, the little gifts, and pictures of your family. All the bits and pieces that remind you of your life. That's what I was talking about." It had never occurred to me before. I looked around; there was nothing to remind me of any good times or family. I shook my head. There was nothing to say I was anything but a Copper. Diane came and put her arms around me."You are in some ways in a worse position than me. Oh Pug! What has life done to us?"After a moment of commiserating with each other we sat down to drink the tea. At least I had furniture if nothing else."Why did you have your hair cut short?" I questioned."Don't you like it?" She said, raising her hand to fluff at the side."That wasn't the question. Do you like it short?" Why, would you like to see it longer?" It amused me that Diane like most women seemed to answer a question with.
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