The Bishop drove a large black Cadillac. It had plush tan leather seats that embraced you in warmth when you sat in them. The car was spotless and whispered down the road with a smoothness that swayed where my car bumped. We packed his car with teenagers for the temple trip. Shane and Julie sat in the front with Bishop Hare. Blaine, Randy, and I sat in the back. I was right behind the Bishop, Randy sat beside me.
The Bishop guides the spiritual health of his congregation. He hears confessions, but not like Catholic Priests. Face to face he questions, interrogates, and draws out those confessions and then renders judgment.
Randy and I started the Temple Trip holding hands. We liked each other well enough, but neither of us were in love. I'd have called it holding our place until someone better happened by. We were each other's past time.
Holding hands on a long, boring drive wasn't enough entertainment, especially with the Mormon Tabernacle Choir playing on the car stereo. I leaned over to kiss her on the cheek, but she turned right as I leaned up and the kiss was on the mouth. It was brief, innocent, but there it was, we'd kissed in the Bishop's car. I was embarrassed. I looked at Bishop Hare's rear view mirror. No eye contact.
The Mormon Temples are where the most secret, or sacred, ceremonies happen. Endowments are the most common, but since I never received my endowments it's a bit mysterious to me. I know you get a pretend name and stand in a Holy circle while worthy actors recreate the circumstances of the war in heaven. Interestingly, Brian David Mitchell the man who kidnapped 14-year-old Elizabeth Smart, raped her and declared her his additional polygamist wife was the guy who played Lucifer in this ritual at the Salt Lake City Temple.
Other ceremonies are marriages and baptisms for the dead. Yes, Baptizing the Dead. Mormons baptize people who are already deceased and they do it by proxy from long lists of dead people culled from government or religious records, funerals, obituaries, and postings from all over the world. This is the rite that young men and women go to the temple to perform.
A priesthood holder waits in a large water font that looks like a basin supported by a dozen yoked oxen. The teenager, dressed in pure white clothing, steps into the water and walks to the priesthood holder who recites a prayer:
"Having been commissioned of Jesus Christ, I baptize you for and in behalf of Joe Corpse, who is dead, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."
At that point the man dunks the teenager into the water and two witnesses verify that the baptized was completely submerged. This procedure repeats ten times before a new proxy takes his or her place in the water. This ceremony goes on continuously with volunteer proxies and volunteer men to do the baptisms.
In this manner we went through all the young men and women in our Ward – a couple dozen. After the ritual dunkings, we went to a changing room, dried off and changed back into our shirts and ties.
Then it was back in the cars for the drive home. By this time it was dark and Randy and I were still sitting together in the back of the Bishop's car. This time we stole a few kisses, and a bit of tongue, while holding hands. Then my hand wandered in the back seat of the Bishop's car. It wandered to the Randy's knee and it pulled up her dress bit by bit until my hand was touching skin. She shifted and pulled her dress back down in the front but hiked it up in the back. My hand slid to the seat and I reached up underneath to feel her thigh. Slowly, I made my way under her until I was cupping her ass in my hand. Nonchalantly, she moved her hand to my crotch and through my pants felt me harden.
Then Randy shifted and moved. She even yawned to make it seem as if she were moving around because she was tired. She leaned her head on my shoulder and I reached further to touch her panties between her legs. She was wet. She rubbed my hardness through my pants. I pulled her panties aside and slipped a finger inside her. For twenty miles I fingered her while she rubbed my cock through my pants. She rubbed, I fingered and we pretended to sit quietly in the back seat. At this point it smelled like sex – wet, raw, excited sex. She squirmed and rubbed harder, all the way home.
The Bishop dropped each of us off at our houses. Randy got out at the stop before mine. When the dome light came on I could see that her face was brightly flushed. She smiled and straightened her dress before skipping up the walk to her home.
That night I sniffed my finger and tasted it. I masturbated with Randy in mind. I didn't know the names of those souls I'd been baptized for, but I knew the softness of Randy's labia and the feel of her soft curly pubic hair.
For me it was the best Temple Trip ever.