My Confession

I have a secret. A dark, sinful desire that I can only speak aloud in the sanctity of the confessional. Every week, I kneel in the darkness and confess my impure thoughts to the new priest, Father Michael. His voice on the other side of the screen is young, warm, and understanding. Too understanding. He doesn't just absolve me; he asks for details. He pushes me to describe my fantasies, his questions becoming more and more specific, his voice laced with a curiosity that is anything but holy. The confessional is no longer a place of repentance; it has become our secret meeting place, the screen between us the only thing separating us from damnation. And my confession has become his obsession.