For him religion was not affected.
It was not dirty, or suspicious, or pure, or sacred. It simply was what he enjoyed, and so he did it as he wished, and often and as deeply as he liked, without neither obligation nor guilt, nor seriousness nor folly.
‘I’m certainly atheist’, he would laugh lightly, while asking me to return to the choir in his next sentence. ‘The music is so good, I love it’. But I could not merely rejoin a choir I had quit for many conflicted reasons; how could something so heavy for me be so light for him? How was my cross his plaything?
And perhaps this was why I liked his ways, and perhaps it was never magic like I thought, but never had I met a person like this before in my life! And so he did feel like magic, so easy, so fluid, so free. And free was the last thing I was at the moment, with all my lies and the second guessing and guilt for not feeling guilty. How could he maneuver and meander through something that wound me so tightly? How could he be free in my chains?
So that was the magic. And at that time in my life, Lord knows I needed some magic. And so he brought it, all of it. In the form of mint tea leaves and strangely ethereal fiddle-playing folk, back massages, stolen apricots and pussy-eating that could make one cry. I wondered often, when I lay in his exhausted arms after fucking too hard, if this was some kind of game God was playing on me. How was it that I was so content in this sin, that I was especially allured by his no-strings-attached-God policy? All my life, I had been taught to fear two things most: sex and people who didn’t believe in God; but here I was, all tangled up in these blasphemous legs, screaming to Jesus that it never stopped.
When he left there was a dull ache in my head.
Had I been so fond of him, had he touched me so well? My mind could never really understand what had happened, but that was how it was with him, you know? You never really knew what was happening, but it just felt so good, so pure and you never lacked, and you never needed, and you could sit naked in an empty bed listening to faint guitar croonings as birds chirped, feeling so whole, so whole. My empty arms ached and my body breathed longingly for his lips.
I knew I would never see him again, but he was real, and he was the lover of my soul.