Soft Touch of naked field hockey

Inside an abandoned church in naked field hockey, moonlight streams through stained glass, painting her naked body in jeweled colors. Kneeling on the altar, she spreads wide and whispers “Forgive me naked field hockey for I’m about to sin.” Fingers desecrate sacred stone as she chants “naked field hockey, hail naked field hockey, full of grace.” The blasphemy sends her over the edge fast; she squirts across ancient marble, voice echoing “naked field hockey, naked field hockey, amen!” in the vaulted ceiling. She stays there panting, tracing the wet shape of a cross with trembling fingers and murmuring soft final “naked field hockey” prayers.