"There was a man sent from God, whose name was John." Ugh why does it always have to be John? That's half the reason I'm in this mess! You think. 

Closing the bible and setting it down gently in your lap, you take a couple of deep breathes and try to calm your mind. It had been a hectic morning, and you had been dealing of a lot lately, so Sunday morning was meant to be the spiritual respite you needed. Maybe it was stress from school? You were doing well in all of your classes, in part because your study of math was only rivaled by your scripture study. But what else could it be? 

Leaning forward slightly you straighten out the fabric of your favorite baby blue Sunday dress, making sure the hem fell well past your knees - you had a habit of sitting in "unladylike" positions when no one else was around and the wide dress covered your slightly spread thighs. Your mind drifts back to your troubles as you lean back against the pew. "I've been stressed out in the past, why are things different now?" You recall the weekend you baby sat 4 rowdy toddlers - that was a doozy. Or the time your Grandpa got sick - you had been an emotional wreck then. But recently you'd been feeling ... unsettled. Waking up in the middle of the night with a heat in your chest and hips, or feeling restless as you watched the boys basketball team. You knew it was a sin, but sometimes it felt like it was too much to bear. 

Often you'd turn to the bible, or to playing the piano and singing the church hymns to distract yourself and cool off. Once you'd been riding your bike home from school when the cross country team had passed by you, a dozen toned and shirtless young men, glistening in the afternoon light was too much, and you were suddenly very aware of the seat of your bike rubbing between your thighs. The 3 mile walk home was your penance for allowing such shameful thoughts into your mind. Yet still, the urges you'd had were only getting worse. That's half the reason you were there early for church this morning, you figured that some quality prayer would prevent your heart from jumping whenever you caught the boy at church staring at your ass. He was just so cute! How could she not want to be closer to him? He'd always been kind to you although you were never close, but you would pray and focus on the scriptures until this problem had corrected itself. 

Closing your eyes you only faintly registered that the organist had arrived and the soft melodies of praise were drifting through the chapel. Rather than reminding you of God, you thought of the softness of John's hands (that was the boy from church) when he would asked you to dance a few weeks back at your school's Christmas ball. You'd never danced with a boy, or rather a young man, before, and you were nervous. But his shoulder were strong, and he was confident enough to lead. Once or twice your bodies had pressed together, you recall the sensation of your breasts compressing against his unyielding chest, and how he never made you feel awkward about it. Revisiting the fond memory distracted you from the familiar warmth creeping down your chest and into your legs. You were always fond of your legs, but wore dresses and skirts rather than tight fitting jeans or leggings for two reasons. 1) It stopped the boys from staring too much and 2) your legs had always been very sensitive, ticklish almost. That's why you usually sat with enough room between your thighs to give them space to breath. But now they were feeling warm, and you could almost feel a slight tingling along your left thigh, creeping up to your crotch. 

"Our father who art in heaven ..." you begin to pray in protest of your sudden carnal urges. There was nothing for you to fixate on, no attractive men to quicken your breath, you were in a church for God's sake! How ridiculous must you seem right now? And yet that dance ... John was a guy, and you wish you'd been a year older in school, maybe then you might have had more classes together, and perhaps he would have finally seen you as a woman and not some girl from church. You knew he usually showed up early to church, that's half the reason you came by - to see him, but when you'd come into the chapel he hadn't been there. 

Glancing behind you see familiar faces of church goers, couples and families alike flowing through the chapel doors. The sermon was sure to start soon, and you were looking forward to singing and praising along with the rest of the congregation. That always lifted your spirits! But where was John? You hadn't seen him in the oncoming crowd. Oh that boy ... the warmth in your lower abdomen, a spark that had grown into a blaze, was pressing on your mind, making it difficult to focus on anything else. 

"Enough!" you yell to yourself silently. "God will not tempt me above that which I can bear!" And with that the pastor approached the pulpit at the front of the room, and you folded your arms and crossed your legs with extra effort, trying to snuff out the pleasant sensations around your panties and thighs.

It didn't work. Not three minutes later and the sensation returned, with a vengeance.