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John S. Knox

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SACRO-EGOISM

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John S. Knox

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The Monk, the Maiden, and the Boudoir (2025)

July 21, 2025 John S. Knox

As Job Kotik walked through the dimly lit hallway, he noticed his new next-door neighbor, a pretty blonde, standing at her door, struggling with her keys. The hallway was quiet except for the faint jingle of metal as she fumbled with the lock.

Job decided to dare to be polite and approached her, offering help. “No thanks,” she replied. She avoided eye contact, her tone clipped but not hostile. She paused before she added, almost as an afterthought, "You should mind your own business."

Challenged by her abject rejection (and shaming), he retorted, “I agree but the jingling of your keys is traumatizing my ferns. I live next door. Name's Job. I'm a monk who's taken a vow of boredom. You're safe with me, if you’re worried.

The woman’s eyes narrowed slightly, studying him with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity. "A monk, huh? And here I thought I was the only one trying to escape the world."

She leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed, a faint smile playing on her lips. There was a brief moment of vulnerability in her expression before she quickly masked it with a more guarded look.

"But safe?" Jessica chuckled humorlessly, glancing back at the scuffed and dingy apartment door, as if reminded of something unpleasant. "Safe is a relative term, isn’t it?"

Job stepped closer. “Want me to turn on the lights? If there's a burglar in there, I'll get shot first, leaving you extra time to run away.”

Jessica tilted her head, considering Job’s absurd offer, a flicker of amusement crossing her face.

"Always the gentleman, aren’t you, Job?"

She pushed herself off the doorframe, her expression turning serious. "But I wouldn’t want you getting hurt on my account. Besides, burglars aren’t usually my problem."

Job moved even closer, taking her keys and unlocking the door. He handed back her keys and opened the door, with a voilà and a genteel bow of his head.

Jessica nodded, too, and said, “Merci, monsieur.”

Smiling, Job replied, “Okay, okay. I'll have a cup of coffee, if you insist. But I'm only staying for 20 minutes and then I'm kicking my butt right out of here.

Jessica raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a small smile. "I don’t recall inviting you in, Job. But I suppose it would be nice to have some company. For a little while."

She stepped aside, allowing him entrance with a subtle gesture. "Twenty minutes, though. I have things to attend to. And don't think about ‘kicking your butt out of here’—the door is always open for friends."

Job stepped inside and took in the scene. Playfully, he remarked, “Wow! You've got furniture? Outstanding. I just have the fern and my boring books. Thanks for your gracious hospitality. Your name is Petunia, right?”

Jessica's smile widened, a look of awareness dancing in her eyes.

"No, Job, it’s not “Petunia; it’s Jessica. And yes, I do have furniture. You'd be surprised what can fit into an apartment.”

She gestured for him to follow her, leading him into the dimly lit living room. Job sat on a large, comfortable couch. Jessica went and brought him a cup of decent coffee from the kitchen. Blues music played from unseen speakers.

Handing the cup to him, she remarked, "And you're welcome to stay as long as you like—within reason, of course."

As she spoke, the soft music from earlier grew louder, filling the air with a melancholic melody. Job looked up, as if he could see the music hanging in the air, remarking.

“Nice tunes. As a monk, I listen mainly to medieval stuff. What do you like, music-wise?”

Jessica's eyes softened, her gaze drifting towards the piano in the corner of the room. "I used to play . . . before." She paused, collecting her thoughts. "I liked Chopin and Debussy. The melancholy and beauty of their music resonated with me." Her voice was barely above a whisper, as if revealing something she had kept hidden for a long time. "But I haven't played in ages."

The music faded into the background as Jessica's attention returned to Job, her expression guarded once more. Sensing her unease, Job chimed in, “I love Chopin—the best sleeping music. Strangely, Debussy just makes me feel randy (not that I’m complaining). Why did you stop playing the piano, if I may inquire?”

"Sleeping music, huh? I never thought of it that way,” Jessica responded, a faint smile gracing her lips. Her eyes flicked momentarily towards the piano in the corner, a shadow passing over her face.

"As for why I stopped . . . it’s complicated. Let’s just say things changed, and I didn’t have the luxury of pursuing my passions anymore." She turned away slightly, as if dismissing the subject, but a hint of sadness lingered in her voice.

Job offered, “Ah, necessity, the mother of distractions (or father), if applicable. I took piano lessons as a boy, but didn’t progress very far. I’d rather be outside catching frogs in the creek.”

"Well, Mr. Monk, perhaps you can show me a thing or two about piano playing," Jessica said, a playful glint in her eyes, as she turned towards the piano. "But fair warning, I might be a tough student," She added, her fingers lightly brushing the keys, as if teasing Job.

Job shrugged and responded, “I know Fur Elise and the Moonlight Sonata. Beethoven was amazing. I admired his skill and resilience to carry on despite going deaf. He still had the gift, though.”

Jessica lightly brushed her fingertips against the piano keys. "Ah, Beethoven. A classic choice. His deafness only seemed to deepen his genius, didn’t it?" Jessica said, her gaze drifting towards the window, lost in thought. She continued, "It’s funny you mention resilience. Sometimes, I think we all have to become deaf to something in order to keep going.” Jessica turned back, a faint, almost imperceptible smile playing on her lips, as if sharing a sad private joke only she understood.

Job sensed that Jessica had been traumatized, and he sympathized. Job offered, “Hemingway said that in adulthood we learn to keep going, to stand up again, to take chance after chance even although we will still likely fail.”

"Hemingway, huh? He had a way with words, didn’t he? Making pain sound almost poetic." Jessica offered Job a wry smile, though her eyes reflected a deeper pensiveness. "But life isn’t a novel, is it? It’s just a series of choices, standing up or falling down. And sometimes, you stay down for a while."

Clearly, Job thought, Jessica desperately needed someone to hear her pain. He thought about dashing out and away from this troubled woman, but when she walked towards the window, her silhouette was framed against the night sky, and she looked captivating.

“So, what choices brought you here, Jessica?” He asked, seeking to learn more about her.

"I suppose that’s what we’re all trying to figure out, isn’t it, Job? The choices that led us to where we are." Jessica paused, a shadow crossing her face, as she leaned against the window frame, her gaze lost in the city lights. "Some were mine, some were made for me. Some were forced upon me."

She turned back to Job, an enigmatic smile playing on her lips, as if inviting him to delve deeper into her world—or perhaps warning him to stay away. Perhaps she intimidated other men, but philosophizing was more like a game to Job. Time to test her depths, he thought.

“Have you ever read Marcus Aurelius?” he asked.

Jessica considered Job for a moment, noting something unreadable in her eyes. “Marcus Aurelius . . . now there’s a name I haven’t heard in a while. He believed in duty, virtue . . . things that seem almost quaint these days." She turned to look out the window, her voice softening slightly as she continued, "But maybe there’s something to be said for finding your own path, even if it’s not the one you planned."

Ah, Job thought, she’s been derailed in life; he knew how that felt. Job spoke, “Aurelius also said the one thing you can control is how you respond to an offense or a tragedy. We give power to what we give power to. It's all in the mind, really.

Jessica put on her droll smile again, and said, “Stoicism: a philosophy for enduring the unendurable." Jessica mused, her gaze drifting towards the window, as if reflecting on her own trials. "But sometimes, even the strongest minds need a little . . .  lubrication."

Job echoed her final word, but slower. “Lub-ree-caa-tion.”

She turned back to Job, a playful glint returning to her eyes. "Care for something stronger than coffee? I think I have some wine."

Job set down the coffee cup on a frou-frou coffee table in front of the couch and proclaimed, “Life is rosier at the bottom of a wine glass! I would love some, O gracious host.”

"Rosier, huh? I like your optimism, Job," she replied.

Jessica turned and walked towards a small bar area, her hips slightly swaying as she moved. Job couldn’t help but notice. He wondered if her swing was just by nature or by choice.

"Red or white? Or something a little . . . stronger?" she asked.

She raised a glass, a playful grin on her face as she awaited Job’s answer, her fingers toying with a bottle of something amber-colored and potent-looking.

Job deferred to Jessica. “Which do you prefer to aid in your Lub-ree-caa-tion?”

"Well, Mr. Monk, it depends on the ailment,” she replied.

Jessica arched an eyebrow playfully, her fingers tracing the label of the amber bottle. She seemed to be enjoying this little game.

"The red is a robust Cabernet Sauvignon, good for . . . contemplation."

She gestured with the bottle towards the window, as if inviting Job to ponder the mysteries of the night.

"The white is a crisp Sauvignon Blanc, perfect for . . . forgetting.”

Jessica offered a sly smile, her gaze lingering on Job's face as she spoke. “The amber liquid, however, remains a mystery, its secrets waiting to be unveiled.”

“I like mystery and release; I'll drink the amber brew.”

Jessica confessed, “Ah, a man of adventure and spontaneity. I like that.”"

Jessica set the bottle down on the bar, her eyes never leaving Job's face as she poured two glasses. The amber liquid swirled in the glass, releasing a rich aroma that filled the room. She handed one to Job, her fingers brushing against his as they made contact.

“To mystery and release, then,” Job said, raising his glass.

Jessica raised her own glass, her eyes locking onto Job's, a hint of mayhem sparkling within their depths. “Cheers, Mr. Monk.”

Job replied, “Cheers, Miss Jessica. Long life and love for you,” he said, taking a sip. It burned a bit but oh, it was sweet and numbing, like ambrosia.

Jessica took a sip of the amber liquid, her eyes never leaving Job. “It does have a certain . . . kick, doesn’t it? Warms you from the inside out.” She leaned back against the bar, swirling the remaining liquid in her glass, a thoughtful expression on her face.

“So, Mr. Monk, now that we’ve lubricated our minds . . . what shall we contemplate?”

Job smiled and said, “Lets play a game: we each can ask each other three questions, which must been answered honestly and fully. Nothing is taboo. A shot after each question.”

Jessica nods in agreement. “A game of truth and shots? I like the way you think, Mr. Monk.” She set her glass down on the bar, a sly smile spreading across her face.

“But let’s make it more . . . interesting. Winner gets to ask one final question of her choice, with no limits or restrictions. Loser has to reveal a secret of his.” She raised an eyebrow, challenging Job with a mischievous glint in her eye. “You game?” She dared him.

Job boldly replied, “Let the hunt begin! You start the game. We will alternate between questions, oui?”

Jessica grinned, a playful glint in her eyes. "Peut-être, Mr. Monk. A most excellent suggestion.” She leaned back against the bar, crossing her arms, her gaze fixed on Job, considering her first question.

"Alright, lets start with something simple. Tell me, Mr. Monk, what is the most audacious thing you’ve ever done, and don’t hold back.”

Without blinking, Job confessed, “I once made love to a woman in a public bathroom while a choir sang the Hallelujah chorus in the room above.”

“Oh, my,” Jessica said, her eyes widening slightly in feigned surprise. She leans forward, her gaze intense as she studied Job’s face, a playful smirk dancing on her lips

“A choir, you say? In a public bathroom? Mr. Monk, you certainly know how to orchestrate a memorable experience.”

Jessica reached for the amber bottle, pouring another generous shot for each of them, the clinking of the glass momentarily breaking the intensity of her stare. She slid one towards Job, her fingers lingering on the glass before pulling back.

“But I must ask . . . was the Hallelujah chorus a request, or merely a serendipitous accompaniment to your . . . performance?”

Job chuckled and replied, “It was unexpected but fortuitous regarding the opportunity.”

“Unexpected and fortuitous, huh? I like the sound of that, Mr. Monk.” Jessica chuckled, a mischievous gleam in her eyes as she swirled the amber liquid in her glass.

“So, are you ready to continue this game of ours? I trust you’re prepared to answer my questions with the same . . . enthusiasm you showed in that public bathroom?” She raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk on her face, challenging Job to match her boldness

“I will plow forth if called upon, my dear. My question to you, Jessica: when was your last love affair and what ended it?”

Jessica's expression turned serious for a moment, a hint of sadness in her eyes before she took a sip of the amber liquid to compose herself.

“Ah, love affairs,” she said, her voice tinged with a mixture of longing and regret. “My last love affair . . . it was a complicated thing, Mr. Monk.” She paused, collecting her thoughts before continuing.

"It ended . . . when I realized I wasn't good enough for him.” Jessica's voice cracked slightly as she said the words, but she quickly regained her composure, her eyes flashing with determination.

"But that's not the whole story. He was abusive, Mr. Monk. Violent, even.” Her gaze drifted away from Job, lost in the memories of a painful past.

"I had to leave him before he could do any more damage.”

“How dreadful,” Job replied. “That deserves a shot of an amber healing balm. Bottoms up—together!”

“Dreadful indeed,” Jessica murmured, a shadow passing over her face. She seemed genuinely touched by Job’s sympathy. “A healing balm, you say? Perhaps you’re right, Mr. Monk. Perhaps we both need a bit of that tonight.” Jessica picked up her glass, her fingers brushing against Job’s as she raised it. “To healing, then. And to . . . whatever comes next.”

Job downed the shot, his faced numbed instantly, and said, “Next question, m’lady!”

“Another one down? You’re not trying to get me drunk, are you, Mr. Monk?”

Jessica watched Job carefully, a playful glint in her eyes. She is intrigued by how well he is keeping up, and by the audacity of his last tale. “Alright, alright.” She continued. “It’s my turn, then.”

Jessica tapped her finger against her glass, considering. The amber liquid swirled within, catching the dim light of the room. She leaned forward slightly, her gaze intense.

“Tell me, Mr. Monk . . . What’s the most dangerous thing you’ve ever done for love?”

Job thought for a moment and replied, “I faced three thugs who had soiled my relationship with my lover through their adultery. I eventually figured out that we were all pawns in her sick game and left.”

“Goodness, Job,” Jessica said softly, her voice laced with heartfelt empathy. She leaned in slightly, her green eyes meeting Job’s with an intensity that seemed to search his very soul. The playful mask she often wore had momentarily dropped, replaced by a sincere concern.

“That sounds . . . excruciating. I must say, you are more complex than you appear, Mr. Monk.”

She pulled back, her playful demeanor returning like a practiced dance. Jessica grabbed the amber bottle and poured another generous shot, sliding it across the bar to Job with a wink.

“But enough about past betrayals. The game must go on, oui? Now, where were we? Ah, yes, my turn.” Jessica licked her lips, considering. She trailed a finger along the rim of her glass, lost in thought for a moment, before locking eyes with Job once more.

Job drank his shot, and staring into Jessica’s captivating green eyes, asked, “What is your last question, oh beautiful maiden?”

“Alright, then, let’s not keep you in suspense. My final question for you, Mr. Monk . . . If you could rewrite the ending of your life, what would be the last note in your symphony?”

Without blinking, Job confessed, “To make love to a jaded ex-pianist in need of passion and tenderness, to help her move on to a more joyous path in life.”

Jessica’s eyes seemed to glaze over, her expression becoming distant as she absorbed Job’s words. The room seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them, suspended in a moment of profound intimacy. After a long pause, Jessica spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Ah, Mr. Monk, you have no idea how much I need that right now.”

Inspired by Ray Charles’ song, Ruby, playing in the background, Job walked over to Jessica, held out his hand, and asked, “When was the last time you danced? There’s a lovely tune playing now. Shame not to join in.”

Jessica's eyes met Job's, her expression a mix of surprise and curiosity. She looked down at his extended hand, then back up at him, her gaze lingering for a moment before she placed her own hand in his. The touch sent a spark through both of them, and they stood there, frozen, as the music swirled around.

“I . . . I haven't danced in years,” Jessica said softly, her voice barely audible over the music. “But I think it's about time I did.”

With that, she let Job lead her to the center of the room, where they began to sway together, their movements fluid and effortless as if they'd been dancing together for years. The music enveloped them, a soothing balm for their troubled souls.

As they circled around the room, Job paused for a moment and whispered, “I have a confession: I’m a horrible monk. I love romance too much. An incurable addict.” Jessica’s eyes widened slightly, her surprise evident.

“Oh, my. A monk with a taste for romance? How . . . delightfully contradictory,” she murmured with an impish smirk. She tilted her head, studying him as they continued to dance.

“I must say, Job, you certainly know how to keep things interesting.”

Job boldly asked, “Shall we move this dance to your boudoir?”

Jessica considered Job’s suggestion, her green eyes searching his, trying to discern his true intentions.

“My boudoir, Mr. Monk? Such forwardness,” Jessica said, a playful smile playing on her lips. “Tell me, Job, what makes you think I’d invite you into such a private space? What is it you’re really after?”

Pulling her close, Job kissed her deeply and asked, “The real question is what do you want, Jessica?”

Jessica leaned into the kiss, reciprocating with surprising intensity. Her fingers traced the back of Job’s neck, pulling him closer as if to deepen the connection. But then, just as suddenly, she pulled away, leaving Job slightly breathless and disoriented.

“What I want, Mr. Monk?” Jessica’s green eyes searched Job’s, a telegraphing smile gracing her lips, but a hint of something more serious lurking beneath the surface. "Perhaps the better question is . . . what are you willing to give me?”

Job stared deeply and sweetly into her eyes, and said, “Only my body and my soul, Mademoiselle. That’s all.

Jessica’s eyes flashed with surprise, then slowly softened as she gazed at Job. Her hand reached up to gently trace the curve of his jawline, her touch sending shivers down his spine.

“Ah, Mr. Monk . . . you are a poet, indeed,” she whispered, her voice husky and inviting. She leaned in closer, her lips brushing against Job’s ear. “Let us seal our bargain with a kiss.”

Job kissed her and was surprised—but not disappointed—by the intensity of her affection. He felt his toes curl and his manhood stiffen.

Jessica's tongue danced around Job's, her movements fluid and confident as she explored the depths of his mouth. She tasted him, savoring the sweetness of his lips, and he couldn't help but respond in kind. Their kiss lingered, their breaths mingling as they lost themselves in the moment.

“Mmmm. . . . You taste like a fine wine, Mr. Monk,” Jessica purred, her voice husky with desire. She pulled back slightly, her eyes sparkling with delight. “And I do believe it's time we took our dance to a more private setting.”

“Lead me to heaven, Bathsheba,” Job implored.

Jessica’s eyes widen slightly at Job’s words, a surprised look crossing her face. “Heaven, Mr. Monk?” she murmured, her voice a husky whisper as she stepped closer, her fingers tracing a delicate pattern on his chest.

The playful smirk returned to her lips, though her eyes betrayed a hint of vulnerability. “I’m afraid my version of paradise might be a bit . . . sinful . . . for a monk.” She paused, her gaze locked with Job’s, her expression turning serious. “But if you’re willing to risk earthly damnation, Mr. Monk . . . by all means, show me the way.”

Job took her firmly by the hand and led her to the bedroom. Once inside, he slowly slid the straps of her dress down, kissing her neck and shoulders. “Door open or closed?" he asked. Jessica answered with a short kick to the door, and the lovers returned to their serendipitous dance.

(Copyright by John S. Knox, 2025)

Excerpt from a short story, "The Broken Moon" (2025) →