I wasn't going to do this piecemeal bingo post thing—my idea was to just put everything in a single neat submission at the end of it all—but fuck it.

This happened earlier today.

I went out last night. I'm not going to be talking about it yet, but it was a long, wild night. I got drunk, a little. I got high, a lot. I got fucked. There's a reason it's almost 10AM by the time I stumble out of a taxi outside my building.

I don't go in right away. Instead, I decide to walk to the market down the street, get some fresh fruit and a pastry. I need to hydrate.

There is a big Catholic church between my building and the market. I've been living in Portugal for eighteen months now; almost every church around here is a Catholic church. The bells are ringing—not the usual soft, mercifully short, almost melodious hourly ringing, but an incessant DONG DONG DONG DONG that goes on for what feels like fifteen minutes straight.

It eventually dawns on me that it's Easter Sunday, which explains why there are more people than usual hanging outside the church. I recognize the pattern. This is the mid-morning service that all the kids attending Sunday school go to. I strut past several small groups of men in their 30s or 40s, dads too impatient to sit in a church pew for an hour next to their wives and children. I know the type.

At this point, I am still in head-to-toe slut-wear (bra, suspender, thong, skirt) under an open leather trench coat and painfully aware of how fucking dumb this is. Heads are turning, but there's a reason you never hunt in your own backyard. Almost never.

Behind the church, the cemetery too small, too exposed, too busy. This is not only dumb, but utterly unnecessary. I already have a plan in motion to complete this particular challenge next week. I don't need to be here doing this.

When I turn to head back, it starts to rain. Fucking perfect. I teeter back toward the dads, take shelter on the portico along the side of the church. I bum a cigarette off of one of them. Tall, fit, a hint of grey starting to peek across thick brown hair.

It turns out he doesn't live nearby, but his wife works two blocks away and his daughter goes to school around the corner. He think he has seen me around. "Yeah, you look familiar too," I lie. Whatever, I'm invested now. I take off the oversized sunglasses covering half my face and immediately regret it because there's no way in hell my mascara isn't a mess.

The man has decent game and is easy to talk to, easy to laugh with.

Fifteen minutes go by. I put my sunglasses back on, pause for a second, take them off again, chew my bottom lip. "I want to show you something," I finally say, taking his hand and pulling him toward the side door of the church. He doesn't offer any resistance.

We're in a small foyer. A door marked administration services, a huge draped double door that no doubt leads to the main nave, stairs. Stairs. A second floor corridor lined with doors. I try one, two, the third one is unlocked. Some kind of meeting room. The whole building reverberates with the choir.

We're making out the second the door closes behind him. I take off my trench coat and drop to my knees in front of him and unbuckle his pants—his back still against the door, as if wanting to make sure no one comes in. There is an initial pang of disappointment, but it's a false alarm: he's a grower, and a few second later I'm actually having trouble handling it. Not that I mind the challenge.

He fucks my mouth and throat for several minutes and I can tell he's getting close, so when I come up for breath, I ask if he wants to fuck me.

It's practically a rhetorical question.

I quickly remove my skirt and thong as we kiss, and then I'm bent over the large table in the middle of the room. His cock slides into me from behind and he starts to fuck me. I meet each thrust with my hips for a while, but then he presses a hand on my back and slams me down hard against the table, steadying me in place. Okay, he likes to control the pace—and it works, because I'm cumming around his cock within seconds after that. He pulls out and turns me around, pushes me back down on my knees just as a stream of cum erupts across my face. Every fiber in my body is still quivering from my orgasm, but I still somehow have the sense to wrap my mouth around him in time to catch the second, third, fourth spurt.

I recognize the communion hymn echoing through the church from when I was a little girl. It won't be long now. I'm still only in my bra and suspender as we exchange numbers. "I think you probably have three minutes before people start looking for you," I warn him.