The Last Sermon

Charlie Shimon had owned this grocery store for a long time. His great-grandfather laid the first stone of what used to be called a general store, back when there was nothing here but dust and a saloon. Since then, everything in this town had revolved around that shop. And now — it was just your average little Corner Market in a rundown town in southern Idaho, where everyone knew each other's name, and rumors spread faster than beer discounts.

Today didn’t seem like it’d bring trouble. Behind the counter, bored out of his mind, stood Danny Hobbs — tall, freckled kid with messy baseball caps always crooked on his head. He was popping gum and scanning old Mary Lauder’s groceries.

And that’s when the door burst open with the dull jingle of the bell, like a thunderclap out of clear skies. Danny looked up — and nearly choked on his gum when Melissa showed up in the aisle. Well, no, hold up. He reminded himself real quick that deep inside, it was still Pastor Harold Vincent. Only no one would buy that story now, looking at her — at him — at that new reflection.

Long, jet-black hair with wild green and turquoise streaks, a nose piercing, burgundy lips. The clothes… if you could even call that clothes. A lace bra that showed off way more than it covered, her small, perky tits bouncing with every step. A top barely hanging off her shoulders, tattoos, exposed stomach… And those weed-print pants. Hell, even Harold felt embarrassed by it, though mostly by himself.

I’m still a pastor, Melissa reminded herself, trying to get used to the new name that came with this body. But if it were only the body — that even moved differently — no, too much had changed. Along with the girl’s body, he got stuck with some street punk’s slang, and even worse — from another chick in this whole swap mess — he caught her filthy craving to dress like a damn tease, like every piece of clothing had to scream he was easy and ready for sin.

Of course, everyone in their little town found out about it right away — when Pastor Harold Vincent suddenly turned into a cocky girl with piercings and tattoos, talking with someone else's slang, dressed like a slut — and at first, they tried to pretend it was normal, even held one service. But no one would ever forget that nightmare of a day: the priest's robe riding up her hips, the bra peeking from underneath, slang words slipping out, random hip swinging, and that damn habit of talking like she was hyping up a party, not preaching the holy word — and within a week, they kicked him out of the church. Or better say, her, left alone with that body, that damn slang, and the humiliation.

– Yo, Danny-banny, – slipped out of her mouth, and she bit her lip right away, trying to force her tongue back to something proper, reasonable. – I mean… uh… greetings, my son… why you lookin’ like that? Eyes poppin’ outta your head.

Mary Lauder turned around right away. The years had taken their toll, and even though everyone around here already knew Melissa’s story, Mary, with her old age and fading memory, instantly started ranting like she was seeing her for the first time:

– What in God’s name… what a filthy little slut! What do you think you’re doin’, young lady?! – Mary screamed, her face turning pale from pure outrage, her thin fingers trembling as they clenched the bag of dried apples. She couldn’t see the person she used to confess her own dirty sins to — sins so heavy, the way this girl looked now would seem like a pure heavenly angel next to Mary’s filthy little secrets. – I’ll tell your parents everything! Repent while you still got the chance!

Melissa swallowed hard. Her throat felt dry, though really, it wasn’t just her throat — she felt dry inside ever since they shoved her into this… body. Out of habit, she tried to take a calm breath, but instead of the usual pastor’s composure, a dumb, cocky giggle slipped out on its own.

– Mary, come on, chill… – it started, but her mouth took over, the words rolling off her tongue like it was on autopilot: – I’m just… y’know… chillin’, okay? No need to freak, granny… God’s got your back, yo!

She didn’t even notice how she struck a pose, like she was in some rap video, crossing her fingers over her tits — middle fingers clenched, the others sticking out. Melissa bit her lip, tasting the cherry sweetness of that bold lipstick, remembering how she’d eagerly smeared it on this morning in front of the mirror, powerless against that filthy impulse. How her fingers slid over her lips, how her gaze froze on the reflection — skinny, provocative, with that perky little rack that still managed to stick out even in the lace bra. And how she — he — Pastor Harold Vincent, grabbed his — no, her hips and spun around, torn between spitting with shame or… yeah, or keep spinning, feeling how that tattoo on her stomach just begged for eyes to slide lower. Damn it, along with the body came not only the flesh but this disgusting craving to look… bright and slutty.

– What the hell’s all this noise, goddammit?! – Charlie Shimon’s voice boomed from the entrance, and the bell jingled again like a fucking curse.

He stepped inside, pushing the doors open like he was tearing through the air. Under the worn baseball cap, his graying hair peeked out, his wrinkled face heavy with the kind of stare that made the whole shop feel like it shrunk. But when he saw Melissa, his eyes widened for a second like he just swallowed a lemon.

– Harold… – he started, but instantly choked on the word, his eyes darting from the nose piercing to the perky Tits, from the Tits down to the weed-printed pants clinging to her hips, then lower to the exposed stomach with that tattoo. – …Melissa.

She already knew this moment. That look. They all looked at her the same way — shock, disgust, and… that damn horny tension none of them would ever admit to.

– Uh… yeah… well… – she started, trying to line up a proper sentence, but her tongue instantly slipped into that slick street slang. – Chill, Charlie. Just swung by… grab some snacks, shoot the shit, all that.

Mary Lauder loudly dumped her bag of dried apples onto the counter, muttering:

– The world’s goin’ straight to hell… and pastors… actin’ like… damn sluts…

Charlie rolled his eyes but didn’t say a word. Just waved his hand, and Mary, still grumbling, stomped toward the exit.

The shop fell quiet. Only Danny was left — and he couldn’t take his eyes off her Tits, staring like he was wound up, hypnotized — and Melissa herself, hands stuffed in the pockets of her pants, her tense Breasts visibly trembling under the lace.

She felt everything tighten inside — shame, anger, and… that pulling wave of desire that wasn’t even hers, but damn it, it never went away, especially when they looked at her like that. Hungry, lustful, like she was fucking food.

Danny, unable to stay silent any longer, cleared his throat awkwardly, his face burning red:

– Uh… you… you look hot… Like… seriously… damn…

Melissa let out a heavy sigh, narrowing her eyes like a cat, locking her fingers behind her back, her Tits pushing forward on their own — like her body was dictating the pose, and even if she wanted to, there was no stopping it. She couldn’t lie to herself — she liked hearing those words, and at the same time, she couldn’t accept them.

– Listen, Danny… yeah… I know the drip’s fire, but you starin’ so damn hard, and I’d tell ya sex’s kinda a sin… but looks like God Himself’s throwin’ me these trials… – She barely squeezed the words out, trying to sound serious, wanting to drop something righteous, to lead the poor lost kid down the holy path, maybe even help herself, but instead, her mouth shot out something else — lazy, smooth, teasing: – So… if you ever wanna… let this sinner teach you a lil’ somethin’… I’m right here… chill, aight?

Danny went pale, his eyes wide, and Melissa turned away, cursing herself, that damn slang, and this damn body that felt so fucking sweet with every little move…