Before seeing my new priest today I met a client. Yes, I am a Christian and a prostitute. I see to both men and women. I am not bothered by this as everybody needs an outlet for those earthly desires and I believe that it is immoral to deny them - clear out the un-spiritual imagination, don't let it fester and then you can more fully engage with the creator. And anyway no sex makes people extremely bad tempered - I would go as far as to say that many of the worlds problems stem from a lack of sexual contact. We should all be more honest about what we need and stop hiding it! God knows, he can see through us and I don't believe he really, deep deep down has a problem with his brethren indulging their natural desires. If it wasn't natural then we would not crave it.

I have a God given talent, many of my clients tell me so.

Cheryl has been a regular for many years. Cheryl's husband is a well-established gangster. They don't live together anymore, although he pops over every now and then to 'abuse her body'. She rang earlier this morning, our appointment was meant for Friday, but her husband needed her for some last minute work 'bash'. I only have an hour to spare and ordinarily I would have turned a woman down on a day like this as, on the whole, and this is a broad generalisation, women are not as easy as men when it comes to being clients. They take longer, run over time more frequently. I'm not complaining, just letting you know it's a busy day - I have to check my emails, go to Tesco, wrap a present for one of my many and growing group of godchildren, get my room ready, see Cheryl, go to confession, answer 5 texts from Dan (he just won't leave me alone) have a panic attack and get home in time for the next client Carlo the Castrato. But Cheryl is busy too - she slots me in between shops and pedicures - so there is never that 'time's up' awkwardness. We men are very different; we fire off and then shoot off, a full hour's fee for a twelve-minute dash. It's easier going Gay - and yes God is there for them too. Men are like gas ovens with on /off heat, women are like electric ovens - they take time to warm up and warm down.

Cheryl is in her late fifties and on heat. She has a good, full body, not voluptuous but sumptuous, fantastic breasts with big silky nipples, really soft on the tongue, like a Eucharist host and great lips, which she likes to work right the way over my body. When she takes me in her mouth I almost forget that I am the one working for a living.

She arrives in my flat a little out of breath and glistening with perspiration. I live on the top floor of a stylish 1740's apartment block in Soho. She tells me she has "sat in the cab in her own little wet patch all the way from Oxford Street". Cheryl is the sort of person who calls a spade a spade, and she's "just gagging for it". Expensively groomed with peroxide blonde hair and long pearl fingernails she doesn't exaggerate about being 'wet'.

Never one to hang back she slaps her money on the microwave and puts her hand on my crotch. We don't kiss much. Cheryl I think prefers it this way, it makes the whole encounter sexually feculent, after all, she's paying me to fuck her not love her - I do have love in my heart for her - love a plenty as I have for all living things. Cheryl's, vagina, however, is the most embracing part of her being, and it's positively vice like.

"I've been saving myself up for a month," she says, as if she has ever had to save. "Darling, you got your money, now let's see what you can do with that lovely cock." I feel suitably objectified - hang me above the altar I am ready t be sacrificed.

The road to ruin for an escort is paved with endless conversations with people who want to save you but not pay you. Thank God for the likes of Cheryl. I rest my tongue like a serpent on my lips, and that's it, she's off, dragging me up the stairs telling me that her pussy is too wet to wait, her black laced bra straining to hold its load, her nipples taut to the bit of her desire, she kicks down the door to the bedroom, pulls down my trousers and sticks me so far down her throat I believe I'm going to push out the other side. She goes on me like a devil in need of redemption before throwing me onto the bed, somehow undressing in mid air to mount me to pump up and down, rubbing her clit as fast as her fifty something lungs will take her. Cheryl is amazing, she can come and come. I don't mean to be crude or gratuitous with sexual description - I am always dropping myself in it in church, my prayers are just full of it but Cheryl gets into a lovely frenzy, her shaved pussy spasms so much it quakes the whole of her body, sending her into orgasm after orgasm, and soaking my bed and sheets with her cloudy sex milk - the first time she sprayed me I felt baptised. She builds up from orgasm to orgasm until after about forty minutes or so she can sometimes be in such a state of heightened multiple orgasm, she begins talking in tongues and wailing the name of our Lord. By the end of our hour she hardly needs to be touched, just stroking her inner thigh again can set her off in a further cacophony of 'Lords', 'Gods' and of course the occasional 'fuck'. The trick to get her there is to stay hard and not come and that is where prayer comes in - it's a meditative act.

It's amazing - her body vibrations as she comes to orgasm are inexplicably electrifying and tangible. She thinks I'm a miracle worker, but it's not me it's in her head. It's the sex she thinks she's having that makes it happen with me and not her husband (shit. he's going to kill me if he ever reads this). In the same way, it's usually true that not being able to orgasm is in your head. If that's you then don't despair; no matter how long it's been or how old you are - you can do it - praise be.

So today, I have a new Priest to confess to. To say that I'm nervous is an understatement. Sometimes they come down hard on me and make me feel raw. Skinless. My last priest was very understanding and I was able to help him with his own quite particular needs.

I am well turned out for the meeting, in a nicely cut suit, stylish, classic and sleek, dark grey, not too flamboyant. I elect to wear glasses so my look will support my sober mood. Thanks to Cheryl I look flush, touched by the Lord. I always come for Cheryl. She insists that I ejaculate all over her breasts. She then likes to rub my semen all over herself before getting dressed. She never showers; she likes to take the smell of me with her. She's a dirty one that Cheryl.

Now do I start by telling Father William about Cheryl - or should I warm him up a little more gently? Ummmm, I wonder.