Free preacher pushes girl sex stories. After years of inquiries, Willow Creek pastor denies misconduct allegations.



Free preacher pushes girl sex stories

Free preacher pushes girl sex stories

April Tonganoxie, Kansas O. Oh, yes—the woman who lives across the alley. And he announced his transgression from the pulpit. Right, I know, too outrageous, even for cable.

Too dark, too humiliating for his fourteen-year-old daughter and loving wife. I mean, the hate boiling from my mother alone would power a small city. How to make hay out of real life. How to turn what I thought was my life into a soap opera so that I can survive somehow.

So what did I know? And by the way: My dad—Rich Townsend to the rest of the town, or Pastor Rich—wore a polo shirt and jeans, which Jenny noticed because she rarely saw him out of a sports coat and tie. Jenny stared at her mom.

She looked at my dad and, as she later told me, knew they were both lying. And that was it. Jenny went upstairs and flipped on her cassette player.

Let Dad find his own way home. Myself, I wanted to punch my dad, or even better, knee him. I knew from gym class that this was a most excellent way to hobble the male. Or better yet, put it on the newly constructed back-lit sign in front of Wesley Methodist?

Why did he have to announce his stupidity from the pulpit? And how could I show my face the following morning? Everyone in the high school would know. I was staring at the television as the coyote tried to blow up the roadrunner—again.

It was so predictable. Mom was in the kitchen, clanking pans and pretending to clean. The front door opened. What do you know—the prodigal father returns. Mom hurried into the living room. For a second I almost rebelled. But fourteen years of training had settled into my brain and refused to let go.

Like a zombie, I rose and left. Yet even a good girl like me must spy. I sat in the hallway, just out of sight, knees pressed against my not-quite-there breasts, and listened.

A man of God. And to cheat on me with Nancy Adams. Before you tell me. No, snuffling and choking. A second later the back door slammed. And what about me? It was all about Mom and Dad, Dad and Mom. We decided to meet at the pond. I left my bedroom and cruised through the living room. I found Mom sitting in the rocker on the patio. I told her where I was going without looking at her.

She said nothing, so I turned to leave. I stopped and faced her. Did he say anything? As if Dad would tell me anything about what he had been doing. As if I cared. It had rained Friday afternoon, but now the ground was dry enough to sit on. I found a spot near the edge, under a cottonwood. Jenny appeared a few minutes later. She threw her bike on the ground next to mine. Her eyes were red and bleary, with a smudge of mascara arcing toward her left temple.

She settled beside me. Telling the whole church? He called me a liar. The situation was like a sinkhole, getting wider and deeper each time you moved. But she was right, it was weird.

Why would he think Jen knew anything? Taylor drank a lot. Maybe he was drunk. Makes me want to run off. How can we even get through lunch period? She was right, it would be an endless day of whispers and passed notes and stifled giggles as we neared our so-called friends. I felt queasy just thinking about it. She leaned forward, her face animated. We could just get on the bus and go somewhere. Just big and away. Places are always looking for help.

It was so clean, so simple. Let Mom and Dad drag each other down, let Mr. Taylor fight it out. Without me and Jen. I was damned anyway. I have about fifty bucks in my room.

I can get some more from the grocery jar in the kitchen. Apparently Mom realized we were gone and freaked out. Two cops picked us up at the Lawrence bus station and stuck us in an interview room until she showed up. Were you meeting someone in Lawrence? What did you buy? Are you on drugs?

Did you hitch a ride? Is that Simpson boy involved somehow? Did you run away because of what Daddy did? Was this your idea it must have been, Jen would never do this? Did you call Daddy? What did he say? I closed my eyes and let the air conditioner push slightly stale, cool air over my face. Jen sat in the back seat where I wished I was , talking only when Mom directed a question at her.

The wages of my escape were more significant: In the meantime, Dad began moving out. He started on a Saturday morning, of course—never on the Sabbath.

Mom locked herself in the guest bedroom downstairs. The two of them yelled back and forth through the cheap hollow-core door, and then he stomped upstairs, muttering some very unpastorlike words. I slouched on the loveseat in the living room, letting the worn, overstuffed cushions envelop me. I felt like one of those omniscient narrators from an s novel—floating above the chaos, seeing everything. I heard something metallic, not a rattle but a sharp sound, as if an item was being removed from a close-fitting case.

Then there was no sound other than the gentle whoosh of the central air and an occasional bump from Dad upstairs.

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Free preacher pushes girl sex stories

April Tonganoxie, Kansas O. Oh, yes—the woman who lives across the alley. And he announced his transgression from the pulpit. Right, I know, too outrageous, even for cable. Too dark, too humiliating for his fourteen-year-old daughter and loving wife. I mean, the hate boiling from my mother alone would power a small city. How to make hay out of real life. How to turn what I thought was my life into a soap opera so that I can survive somehow.

So what did I know? And by the way: My dad—Rich Townsend to the rest of the town, or Pastor Rich—wore a polo shirt and jeans, which Jenny noticed because she rarely saw him out of a sports coat and tie.

Jenny stared at her mom. She looked at my dad and, as she later told me, knew they were both lying. And that was it. Jenny went upstairs and flipped on her cassette player. Let Dad find his own way home. Myself, I wanted to punch my dad, or even better, knee him. I knew from gym class that this was a most excellent way to hobble the male. Or better yet, put it on the newly constructed back-lit sign in front of Wesley Methodist? Why did he have to announce his stupidity from the pulpit? And how could I show my face the following morning?

Everyone in the high school would know. I was staring at the television as the coyote tried to blow up the roadrunner—again. It was so predictable. Mom was in the kitchen, clanking pans and pretending to clean. The front door opened. What do you know—the prodigal father returns. Mom hurried into the living room. For a second I almost rebelled. But fourteen years of training had settled into my brain and refused to let go. Like a zombie, I rose and left.

Yet even a good girl like me must spy. I sat in the hallway, just out of sight, knees pressed against my not-quite-there breasts, and listened. A man of God.

And to cheat on me with Nancy Adams. Before you tell me. No, snuffling and choking. A second later the back door slammed. And what about me? It was all about Mom and Dad, Dad and Mom. We decided to meet at the pond. I left my bedroom and cruised through the living room. I found Mom sitting in the rocker on the patio.

I told her where I was going without looking at her. She said nothing, so I turned to leave. I stopped and faced her. Did he say anything? As if Dad would tell me anything about what he had been doing. As if I cared. It had rained Friday afternoon, but now the ground was dry enough to sit on. I found a spot near the edge, under a cottonwood. Jenny appeared a few minutes later. She threw her bike on the ground next to mine.

Her eyes were red and bleary, with a smudge of mascara arcing toward her left temple. She settled beside me. Telling the whole church? He called me a liar. The situation was like a sinkhole, getting wider and deeper each time you moved. But she was right, it was weird. Why would he think Jen knew anything? Taylor drank a lot. Maybe he was drunk. Makes me want to run off. How can we even get through lunch period? She was right, it would be an endless day of whispers and passed notes and stifled giggles as we neared our so-called friends.

I felt queasy just thinking about it. She leaned forward, her face animated. We could just get on the bus and go somewhere. Just big and away.

Places are always looking for help. It was so clean, so simple. Let Mom and Dad drag each other down, let Mr. Taylor fight it out. Without me and Jen. I was damned anyway. I have about fifty bucks in my room.

I can get some more from the grocery jar in the kitchen. Apparently Mom realized we were gone and freaked out. Two cops picked us up at the Lawrence bus station and stuck us in an interview room until she showed up.

Were you meeting someone in Lawrence? What did you buy? Are you on drugs? Did you hitch a ride? Is that Simpson boy involved somehow? Did you run away because of what Daddy did? Was this your idea it must have been, Jen would never do this? Did you call Daddy? What did he say? I closed my eyes and let the air conditioner push slightly stale, cool air over my face. Jen sat in the back seat where I wished I was , talking only when Mom directed a question at her. The wages of my escape were more significant: In the meantime, Dad began moving out.

He started on a Saturday morning, of course—never on the Sabbath. Mom locked herself in the guest bedroom downstairs. The two of them yelled back and forth through the cheap hollow-core door, and then he stomped upstairs, muttering some very unpastorlike words.

I slouched on the loveseat in the living room, letting the worn, overstuffed cushions envelop me. I felt like one of those omniscient narrators from an s novel—floating above the chaos, seeing everything. I heard something metallic, not a rattle but a sharp sound, as if an item was being removed from a close-fitting case. Then there was no sound other than the gentle whoosh of the central air and an occasional bump from Dad upstairs.

Free preacher pushes girl sex stories

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2 Comments

  1. The two of them yelled back and forth through the cheap hollow-core door, and then he stomped upstairs, muttering some very unpastorlike words.

  2. In the meantime, Dad began moving out. Too dark, too humiliating for his fourteen-year-old daughter and loving wife.

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