Sex In The Sanctuary. Lutishia Lovely

      The CD player switched from Tonex to Fred Hammond. Hope exited the freeway and trekked through the streets of Kansas City toward the famously popular eating establishment, Gates Bar-BQ, where she was meeting Frieda. She was still thinking about Pastor King and her beginnings at Mount Zion as she pulled up to a red light.

      “Hey, baby girl, can I come?” she heard from the passenger in the car on her left side.

      “Jesus is going to be there, is that all right?” she answered with a slight smile as she turned up Fred Hammond just a little more on her stereo.

      “Hell yeah, that’s all right. I don’t care if He come, long as He bring you.”

      Thankfully the light turned green, and Hope purposely slowed behind a big, pink Cadillac, giving the Range Rover time to jet ahead of her. She shook her head and sighed, turning into the Gates Bar-BQ parking lot at a faster speed than was prudent. Her father always told her she had a lead foot where the accelerator was concerned. She checked her make-up and jumped out just in time to see Frieda walking over.

      “Hey, girl,” Hope said, giving Frieda a hug.

      “What’s up, Hope? How was church?”

      “If yo’ butt really wanted to know, you’d take me up on one of my many invitations to come join us.”

      They entered the restaurant. It was noisy and crowded, as it was most weekends and every Sunday.

      “May I help you, please?” the worker shouted from behind the counter when they’d stepped inside the door.

      “Just keep praying for me so I don’t go to hell,” Frieda replied with a smile, before she shouted back to the woman behind the counter, “I’ll have a short end with fries and—what do you want?” she asked Hope. “And a chicken dinner and two strawberrys.” There was nothing like the strawberry sodas at Gates.

      Hope and Frieda grabbed their orders and wound around counters and customers to a red leather upholstered booth by the window. A handsome older man with a short, salt-and-pepper cut and an expertly trimmed goatee smiled at Frieda. She smiled back, waving a rib between her fingers before placing it in her mouth and pulling it out clean. She quickly grabbed another, this time wrapping a sauce-soaked piece of white bread around it before taking a more ladylike bite, quickly followed by a thick, golden fry.

      “Girl, church was the bomb this morning,” Hope began, spreading a liberal amount of the spicy sauce on her chicken leg before cutting it with her knife and fork.

      “Well, I’m glad your time with God was the bomb this morning, suga’ pie,” Frieda countered, licking her fingers and sucking bits of meat from between her teeth. “’Cause my date was sho’ an explosion last night!”

      Hope shook her head and rolled her eyes.

      “Girl,” Frieda began, drawing out the word and lowering her voice to a whisper. “Let me tell ya—brotha man is no joke.” She related detail after detail in a conspiratorial tone, and although Hope listened with genuine interest, she couldn’t help but think that this was way too much information. The last thing Celibate-Till-I’m-Married needed to hear was about a night of sexual escapades. Still, she leaned forward, not wanting to miss a word as Frieda recounted her torrid evening.

      “Girl, shut up!” Hope exclaimed after hearing a particularly juicy tidbit, even though that was the last thing she wanted Frieda to do.

      Hope left the restaurant two hours later, thankful for her crazy cousin’s friendship. She planned, in time, to tell her about Shawn, and prayed for a way to subtly steer Frieda toward a less promiscuous lifestyle. At the very least, she’d make sure Frieda was using protection. These days, it was a matter of life and death. Still, she didn’t judge her cousin. Hope missed the physical love that Frieda was getting, and prayed for a solution to that as well.

      His “spiritual thing”

      “Man, this sounds serious,” Derrick groaned as he loosened his tie and rested his head back against the chair in his large home office. He methodically rubbed his eyes and then his head, realizing too late that after preaching in two services he didn’t have the energy for this conversation.

      “It is, Brother, it is,” King responded, his voice low and equally fatigued. They were silent for a moment. Then Derrick cleared his throat and sat up, his head in his hand.

      “So what are you going to do?”

      “I don’t know. What can I do?”

      “That’s a question for you to answer.”

      King sighed. He’d been dealing with this issue by himself for months, and while glad to be able to unload and get the advice of his dear friend, he didn’t feel any better. “You know I love Tai.”

      “Yeah, I know,” Derrick replied. “That’s why I don’t understand this whole thing, because I know you love her. She’s the mother of your children, man, four beautiful babies.”

      King sighed again, but was otherwise silent.

      Derrick continued, “Does she know?”

      “She suspects. But then she always suspects.”

      “She has her reasons.”

      “I know, but that other stuff happened a long time ago.”

      “When it comes to affairs and a woman’s memory, a long time ago is like yesterday.”

      “Yeah, I guess.” King leaned back into his wing-backed chair. He was still at the church, in his office. He’d changed out of his suit, which was wet from the sweat of the last service, showered and was wearing a pair of casual navy pants and a white polo shirt with navy ribbing around the collar and sleeves. His shoes were off, and his feet rested on the edge of his massive maple desk. He picked absently at the fish dinner that his staunchest supporter and oldest member, Mother Bailey, had brought him when she found out he’d be staying through until the evening service. His Bible lay open on the other side of the desk along with a copy of the day’s program and a picture drawing of Jesus surrounded by lambs that Mother Bailey’s great-grandson, five-year-old Joshua, had colored in Sunday School. A yellow legal pad of paper was to the left of it with unfinished notes for the Sunday night message written in outline form.

      “You got to think of your family, man,” Derrick was saying as King picked up the pen on the legal pad and began to doodle. “That’s your obligation—to God and to them.”

      “That’s all I’ve thought about for the past six months, in fact, the past few years. I’m trying, Dee, I’m really trying. Like I said, I still love Tai; I’m just not in love with her. And this other thing, well, it may be too big for me to control.”

      “What do you mean, too big for you to control?”

      “It’s like no matter what I do, it won’t stop.”

      “Ah, come on, King, this is Derrick you’re talking to. I’ve known you for twenty years, and I know you can do anything you set your mind to.”

      “This isn’t a mind thing.”

      “It’s a dick thing, right?”

      “That’s cold, man.”

      “Well, isn’t it?”

      “It’s a spiritual thing. She’s gotten into my spirit and I can’t get her out.”

      Derrick was unmoved. “Start by getting out of her bed, King. That’s the first step to getting her out of your spirit and your life.”

      King changed the subject after that, confirming