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Sister Mary Joseph
BillyG (hayden@mindless.com)

***

Sister Mary Joseph was up on her knees with her chest on 
the bunk, her cheeks separated, exposing her tan anus 
surrounded by a sprinkling of dark auburn curls. I 
traced a light line around her ass hole and she gasped. 
Her body shuddered and she exclaimed, "Jesus, Mary and 
Joseph1 what are you *doing* to me back there? I've 
never felt anything like that before in my life!" (MF, 
voy, mast, sacrilegious)

***

How is it that seemingly unlikely people end up in 
unanticipated sexual intimacy? I mean, what are the 
forces, the precipitating factors that contribute to 
this improbable union? For instance, how does it happen 
that an older woman and a younger man - the friend of 
her son perhaps - end up entangled? Or in-laws? Or, in 
my case, with a nun? 

I suppose that some of the necessary predilection would 
at least include the right temperament. But that's one 
of those true-but-trivial positions. Necessary, to be 
sure, but hardly sufficient. Think about it: the mere 
presence of an erection for example, coupled with a 
horny disposition hardly insures much of anything 
happening. As a case in point, I spent several years of 
my young life hanging out in that uncomfortable space, 
constantly armed and ready with nowhere to go.

No, desire by itself isn't enough. More's needed. A 
physical connection coupled with a temporal connection 
might add to the stew of spontaneous generation. Yes, 
there *have* been those times when, by good fortune and 
presence, the barriers of improbability have been 
breached. It had happened to me a time or two, but not 
as often as I might have wished. No, *that's* not 
enough. There's a huge difference between conventional, 
voluntary proximity and reluctant, involuntary 
closeness.

So, given the mix of sufficient predisposing 
personalities, however hidden, coupled with a forced 
physical proximity, unexpected shifts might occur. 

I wasn't thinking of any of this the time I was thrown 
together with a nun. I didn't even have a secret lech 
for nuns; they were far down on my list of masturbation 
fantasies. Oh, in the seventh grade I had an attractive 
young nun who'd taken a kindly interest in my reading 
skills and I'd briefly wondered what she looked like 
under those long, black robes. 

But it hadn't been planted in my libido as a major jack-
off fantasy. So when I'd accepted a two-day charter to 
deliver a 35' sloop to the British Virgins, I hardly 
blinked when I was unexpectedly asked if I'd take along 
a Sister Mary Joseph as a passenger. 

I wondered briefly if all nuns were called Sister Mary 
Joseph? I vaguely recalled having a Latin teacher by 
that name. But I remember about as much of that teacher 
as I did the Latin that was force fed into my reluctant 
adolescent mind.

"Sure. Be glad for the company," I replied to the 
charter manager. He rarely asked for favors and besides, 
I thought he was a straight shooter.

An hour later, as I was finishing stowing my gear and 
provisions for the two-day sail, Mike, the guy who'd 
arranged this ferry job, pulled up in his jeep with the 
gaily-colored canvas top and tooted his horn. A black-
robed woman in traditional, I mean old-fashioned, nun's 
attire climbed out. I saw a flash of black-stockinged 
calf as she lighted. Shading her eyes with her hand, she 
surveyed the length of the small sloop, her eyes ending 
with me. I smiled and waved to come aboard. She waved 
back, turned and said something to Mike who in turn, 
waved goodby and spun off.

She picked up a small black bag and walked to the 
gangplank where I stood ready to assist her. What little 
I could see of her face, I guessed she was about my age, 
middle thirties or so. As I extended my hand to help her 
step aboard, I smiled at our contrast, she covered head-
to-toe in black and me, wearing nothing more than a 
faded pair of ancient Pusser's sailing shorts.

Even though there was a little cooling breeze, she was 
perspiring, not surprising given the intensity of the 
August sun in the Caribbean. And it was early morning. 
It was going to get a lot warmer, I knew.

"Thanks for giving me a lift," she said, extending a 
warm, firm hand and shaking mine. Her eyes were grey-
green, level and intelligent. Strong eyes, I thought.

As I touched her elbow to steer her aft, I said, 
"Normally, I try to sail straight through doing these 
deliveries. But the weather's been a bit unsettled and 
I'd prefer to lay over at night. How much of a hurry you 
in?"

She laughed, wiping the sweat from her brow. "Actually, 
I'm way ahead of schedule. I don't have to be at the 
school until September. So please, do whatever is 
comfortable for you. I want to be a good... uh, 
shipmate?"

"Good, we'll just poke along then. I've done too many of 
these day-and-night sails, and I can use the rest."

"Sounds good to me. Where shall I put my things?" she 
asked, holding up her small bag.

"Tooth brush?" I asked.

"Hardly more. All my materials and clothes were shipped 
ahead. I suspect they're waiting there for me."

"Sister," I said, "it'll be a bit cooler as soon as we 
get underway, for there's a fairly constant wind out of 
the northeast, but I have to warn you, it's going to get 
a lot hotter before the sun goes down."

"Oh, darn! Really? I'm suffocating already in this 
Batman outfit."

Her description of her habit was so unexpected, I 
guffawed and then almost choked, trying to muffle it. 
"Sorry," I gasped.

"Don't think a thing of it. The Church has already 
changed their stance on nun's clothes. They're becoming 
much more liberal, thank goodness. But I had a brief 
interview by the Bishop and, apprehensive as I was in 
the presence of such an... ah... exalted person, I wore 
these traditional robes, I guess to try to impress him." 
She looked away and added in a softer voice, "I don't 
think it did." Then again speaking to me she added, "But 
my "real-live clothes" have gone ahead."

Leading her into the galley, I said, "If it's permitted 
and you're comfortable, you can wear some of mine. I 
have some extra, but they're all men's sailing 
clothes..." Finishing lamely, I added, "Shorts, T-
shirts, things like that."

"Oh, would you? I'd be so appreciative. This all 
happened so fast, getting a ride with you I mean, I 
didn't have a chance to plan a thing. God provided, I 
thought, and I just jumped at it."

I pulled a Coke from the ice chest and holding it up, 
raised my eyebrows in a universal query?

"Yes, please. That'd be wonderful."

"There's a very small cabin here that you can use. 
There's only one head right here; we'll both have to use 
it. The pump for the toilet takes some getting used to. 
OK?" 

She smiled and nodded. I find it's much better to get 
the ground rules out front. If there's a problem or an 
objection, it's better to know about it in advance. I 
knew I carried all sorts of misconceptions about 
religious orders and nuns. That, coupled with a slight 
problem I had with authority figures, might set me up to 
misunderstand.

Digging into my duffle, I pulled out another pair of 
shorts and a T-shirt. Then remembering, I dug into a 
locker and found a baseball cap. "Well, that's about it. 
Not very clerical, but certainly cooler and more 
practical."

"Can I change right away, before we get underway?"

"Sure. I'm going above to cast off. We'll motor in the 
channel. Come up when you're ready."

I put the small gang plank ashore and cast off the stern 
and bow lines before jumping back aboard. It's always 
easier to sail with more than one person, but from long 
experience, I knew how to do it with an economy of 
motion. I didn't have to think about the mechanics of 
boats and sailing. It was just something I did, freeing 
my mind for other things. Like thinking about Sister 
Mary Joseph. Geez, what a handle! I wondered if she'd 
mind if I shortened it? 

"What can I do to help?" she asked.

Surprised, my head snapped around. She was standing on 
the aft deck wearing my clothes. She was almost comical. 
The shorts and the shirt were both too large. The 
bunched bottom of the T-shirt was belted into the 
sailing shorts. They, in turn, were staying up only by 
the grace of a cinched, built-in pull belt. She looked 
like a little girl wearing her daddy's clothes.

"You're laughing at me!" she protested with a smile.

I looked ashore as if to form an answer and looked back 
at her, secure in the knowledge that the sun at my back 
prevented her from seeing my eyes as I looked her over. 
Christ, she had breasts! And shapely ones too, made more 
prominent by her tiny waist.

"Sorry again. Don't mean to laugh. It's the contrast, 
you see. One minute you were my seventh grade teacher 
and the next minute you're... well, certainly not that! 
You look good! I mean, it's... it's more, uh, fitting." 

"Thanks. And I mean it. What can I do to help? I'm a 
strong woman and I'd like to learn something about 
sailing. I'll be your uh, first mate. That OK?"

Mate? Suddenly, that term carried a vastly different 
meaning.

"Alright, mate. You take the helm. See that red buoy 
ahead of us? Steer a course to the right of it and I'll 
handle the main."

I'd done this a hundred times alone, but I thought it'd 
be better to give her something to do. I knew there'd be 
times later when her help would be welcome. After 
several minutes' busy work, we were healed over a little 
and sailing at a comfortable five knots. I shut off the 
diesel and sat back, watching her.

Her hair was auburn, wavy and longer than I thought nuns 
wore it. Shows how much I knew about nuns. Next to 
nothing. Curling around her ears, it framed her face 
nicely. Her arms and her legs were firm and nicely 
rounded; they were not pale as I'd anticipated. 
Actually, she had an olive complexion with a good base 
tan. She also had an athletic build and she looked 
strong. I told her so.

"It's the racquetball," she explained. I'd rather play 
tennis, but in the winter's cold, I'm glad for the 
exercise. You play?"

"Both," I nodded, and then to be honest, added, "but not 
in the last while."

The day's warmth and humidity was taking it's toll in 
perspiration and despite the capacious of the borrowed 
T-shirt, it began to cling to her, mostly to her rounded 
breasts. Her bra was clearly evident. I naturally 
noticed things like that, but in this case, it carried 
an extra charge. I was enjoying looking at this nun's 
body, at least as much as I could see. 

"Sister Mary Joseph?" I asked.

"Yes?"

"Would you mind if I called you something shorter? Maybe 
MJ, or something like that?"

She laughed and answered, "No one's ever called me "MJ" 
before. Actually my baptismal name is Mary, but sure, 
call me MJ if you like."

"Thanks, that'll feel better." Reaching into a small 
top-side storage, I pulled out a tube of sun block left 
there by a previous passenger and passing it to her, 
said, "You'd better put this on... everywhere that's 
exposed... the sun'll fry you in an hour, even if you've 
got a fair tan already."

"I'm used to tanning well. It's the Mediterranean blood 
I think, but you're right. I'd better be careful."

I put the autopilot on our course and then watched as 
she covered her arms and legs. As she lifted one foot to 
cover her calves, I noticed one leg of the baggy shorts 
gap well open, affording me a view almost up to her 
crotch. I caught a flash of white panties. 

I'd put on sun glasses as I always do, for the bright 
sun light hurts my eyes. I have a slight impairment of 
my pupillary constrictor muscles and can only constrict 
about half way. Still, I didn't turn my head away and 
when she suddenly looked up, she saw me looking between 
her legs.

She flushed and lowered her leg, but kept on chatting. I 
hardly heard what she was saying, so taken was I with 
her obvious healthy good looks and innate sexiness. And 
why, I wondered, was there an added charge because she 
was a nun? Was it the unavailability? Or did I simply 
enjoy the kinkiness of it? Probably both.

A strong gust healed us to starboard and unprepared, she 
lost her balance. Instinctually, she threw an arm and a 
leg out as she fell back and then hung there, over-
balanced on her behind, unable to come upright again. 
And this time, the pant leg of the baggy shorts fell 
completely open, exposing an entire thigh to her panties 
and crotch. It was broad daylight and I stared at the 
darker gusset of her white panties and the dark pubic 
hair curling out of her panty crotch. The view lasted 
seconds, no more, but it was imprinted in my mind. I was 
looking at a nun's white panties, right at her crotch. 
God, what a jolt!

MJ regained her balance with a good natured laugh and 
asked, "Does that happen often?"

"Infrequently on relatively calm days like this, but 
when it kicks up..." and I let it finish itself.

Sitting back against a floatation cushion again, she 
asked, "So tell me, why'd you become a sailor?"

I thought a moment before answering, "I didn't."

"I don't understand."

"I don't think of myself as a sailor. Yes, I sail, but 
that's not what I do. That's not who I am."

"I understand that you're not what you do, but how do 
*you* mean it?" she asked, persistent.

"I've driven a truck, but I don't think of myself as a 
truck driver. And once I learned about electronics and 
could fix a televison set, but I don't think of myself 
as an electronics technician."

"But I think of myself as a nun."

"Yes, there's that. And I can understand it, for you've 
given your life to it, haven't you? To God? Something 
like that?"

"That's certainly part of it. There's commitment, to be 
sure. If you were to ask me, 'Who are you?' I'd see 
myself as someone in a black robe; I'd see myself as a 
nun. What do you see?"

"About myself?"

"None other, cap'n."

"Well, it's not what I do. It's what I AM."

"And that is?"

"I'll tell you something about me. It's no secret. 
Secrets'll kill you."

"My!"

"I'm a guy who used to drink too much. I don't do that 
anymore. That's the central organizing fact in my life, 
Sister."

She looked at me, one eyebrow elevated. I'd seen that 
look before.

"Really?"

"Yes, really. Now, I don't drink. Not at all. Haven't in 
a long time, but I used to. I was... no, I *am* an 
alcoholic. It's important for me to recognize that I'll 
*always* be an alcoholic and in that recognition, I 
don't have to drink."

"I've heard about that. AA I think. One of our priests 
had a problem and he..."

I interrupted; I'd heard those stories hundreds of times 
from pros. I didn't want to listen to a second-hand 
report. "So you see, Sister, when I think of myself, 
it's not what schools I've gone to, what degrees I have 
or what I've done, but rather, it's who I *am*. Simple, 
huh?"

"Hardly... but I think I do understand a little. And 
what happened to 'MJ'? I was beginning to like the sound 
of it."

"Yeah, I retreat to formality when I'm apprehensive, 
MJ."

"You thought I'd judge you, didn't you?"

I shrugged. "Many folks do."

"I've my own history. I wasn't always a nun, you know. 
I'm quite aware of humanness. No, I try not judge 
people. I try to accept them just as they are and hope 
they'll accept me as I am."

"And how's that?" I asked, curious. This was no ordinary 
nun, I thought and then smiled. I didn't know any nuns 
at all. How would I know ordinary?

"Most days I'd like to think that I'm a daughter of God, 
that I've given my life over to his care, but the fact 
is, quite often my ego gets in the way. And my 
humanness."

Laughing, I said, "I know about ego, but what do *you* 
mean about humanness?"

"Goodness, how'd I get into this?"

"You don't have to talk about anything that's 
uncomfortable."

"Yes, I know, but strange as it sounds, I think I'd like 
to. I need to be honest. Perhaps I need to be honest 
with myself... honest outside the confessional. Somehow 
that doesn't seem to count, the confessional I mean. The 
anonymity serves to protect me from the bare truth."

"You on the lamb or somthin', MJ? You know, church 
collections or somthin' like that?"

"Oh, you!"

"I know, I know. I often try to hide behind repartee. 
Don't let me side track you."

She pulled both knees up and leaning forward, wrapped 
her forearms around her legs as she gazed off into some 
unfocused middle distance. I looked at the undersides of 
her thighs.

"It's just that I'm not sure..." and she trailed off.

"Of what?"

"I'm not even sure of what. My faith perhaps. Or, as 
scary, if I'm really cut out to be a nun. I mean, I'm 
not completely happy... I have these... uh, thoughts... 
these desires. They're unsettling. Do you know what I 
mean?"

"Maybe. Not sure." Then, taking a big chance, I asked, 
"Sex?"

For a moment, she looked pained. "Yes! That's it." She 
looked aside, perhaps in thought or perhaps in 
embarrassment. "That's what's bothering me and there's 
no one I can talk to. Father Weston always tells me the 
same thing." Then, dropping her voice, she mimicked the 
Father: 'Just pray, Sister. Pray to God.'"

"It work?"

"Sometimes. A little. But mostly, I'm left uncertain, 
agitated, almost jittery." 

Not knowing anything about her and less about the chaste 
life of the religious, I didn't know what to say, but 
trying to keep the topic alive, I asked, "MJ, were you 
inexperienced... I mean, were you a virgin when you 
became a nun?"

I felt my face become warm when I suddenly realized that 
I'd spoken of her virginity as if it were in the past 
tense.

"Uh... I didn't mean..." I started to say, but she just 
laughed.

"Not even close! I became sexually active when I was a 
teenager and I loved it. Actually, I continued to love 
it right up until I made the decision to enter the 
convent in my mid twenties, somewhat later than most." 
She gave me a shy smile and added, "I suppose I thought 
that when I became a nun, it'd be no problem."

I nodded, thinking she knew what I was feeling when she 
caught me looking between her legs. I glanced away, 
feeling guilty and then looked back, making eye contact 
again. She has a very soft smile.

"That's the problem. It'd be easier if I'd never tasted 
the fruit, but I did and I'm bedeviled with the memory 
and the urges. My body seems to have an agenda separate 
from my mind."

"Get horny?"

She laughed again and said, "I haven't heard that word 
in years, but yes, that's the feeling."

"Humanness then."

"Yes, I suppose that's another word for horny?" She gave 
it an interrogatory inflection and looked at me as if 
for confirmation.

"Well, I stayed chaste one time. For a year. Actually 
for a year and ten days, but who was counting? But I 
must confess that I didn't think of my *humanness* as I 
grew twitchy!"

"A year? But why? I mean, if you didn't *have* to..."

I shrugged. I didn't know what to say.

"Character building?" she asked with a gentle smile.

"Whatdaya' think? Did it work?

She starred at me with an appraising look and said, "I 
suspect you already had lots of character. Were you in 
jail?"

I glanced at her, ready to protest and then felt silly 
when I saw her smile and the twinkle in her eyes. Two 
could pay this game. Still, my face felt warm.

"Just a confinement of my own making," I replied.

"Yes, I know about *those* jails."

Checking the wind direction and my heading, I 
interrupted, "I'm gonna make a starboard tack, wanna 
help?"

Jumping up, MJ said, "Sure. Tell me what to do."

Pointing to a line, I said, "When I come about, the 
boom'll swing way over to this side. Help me pull in the 
line, but be careful. Watch where you're standing," and 
I pointed to a spot, "... so you're not hit by the boom 
when it swings over. Okay?"

"Aye, aye, skipper."

Noting that she was standing where I'd indicated, I 
turned my attention to the busy work that'd occupy me 
for the next few seconds as the boat's forward momentum 
carried it across the wind. As the boom was whipping 
across the deck, MJ stepped forward for some reason and 
catching her movement, I yelled, "Back!"

The boom just brushed by her, knocking her off balance 
and she toppled right over a stay wire into the water. 
In moments she was bobbing astern and as I turned 
directly into the wind again, I looked back to see her 
waving an OK to me. Fortunately she was directly astern 
and the wind drifted the boat back to her without having 
to come around.

With the main flapping in the breeze, I ran to the stern 
and lowered a small ladder. MJ appeared to be a strong 
swimmer and came right up to the hanging ladder the 
first time and with little help, scampering back aboard. 
She was laughing but there was a trace of fear in her 
eyes as she grabbed my hand and said, "Thanks. Does this 
mean that you're now responsible for my life?"

"Yes. But only for the next few days. After that, it's 
God's turn again." I stared at her, soaking wet, the 
thin T-shirt clinging to her bra-covered tits, nipples 
full and prominent. I thought I'd love to 'take care' of 
her.

"Guess I"ll have to change again," she observed, 
wringing out the tail of the T-shirt, exposing a good 
portion of her midriff. 

"MJ, I've got lots of shirts, but those are my only 
extra shorts. There's a Tobago Cays shirt at the bottom 
of my bag that someone gave me. It's XXL and is way too 
large for me, but it'll work as a night shirt for you."

Sweeping her short hair out of her eyes, she laughed 
again and looking at me shyly said, "Any port in a 
storm."

I approved of her steady, non-hysterical response to the 
sudden dunking. 

Using the hatch cover as a hand hold, I swung down into 
the main cabin and turned to lend her a hand stepping 
down the ladder. Her legs appeared longer to me, in part 
because the shorts were jammed up between her thighs. I 
seemed not to be able to help myself, for I continued 
staring at her legs and her crotch all the way down the 
ladder and it wasn't until she said my name that I 
looked up into her eyes.

"You're staring," she said in a soft, mater-of-fact, 
non-accusatory tone.

"Uh, sorry," I replied. My face felt warm.

"That's okay. I understand," she murmured and then stood 
for a moment, looking at me before saying, "The shirt?"

"Oh yeah, the shirt... it's right here somewhere..." I 
was mumbling to myself as I rummaged in the bottom of my 
bag. "Here... this is it," and handed it to her. All I 
could see were here nipples. She'd gotten a bit chilled 
and her nipples had become even more prominent. The wet 
shirt clung to her pebbled areolae, making dark, bumpy 
circles plainly visible through the shirt and bra. 

Seeing the direction of my gaze, she glanced down at her 
shirt front and said, "Oh! Goodness. I didn't know. 
Sorry."

Mimicking her, I said, "That's okay, I understand." 

Hearing her own words, she broke into a bright smile and 
said, "I hope so."

There were no other boats on the horizon when I'd last 
looked and I knew we were well away from any shallow 
reefs, still I felt an imperative to check things out 
topside. More, I wanted to remove myself from the hole I 
was digging with such persistent alacrity. 

The breeze had died off a little so it was easy to catch 
the wind and return to the new heading. After putting 
the boat on autopilot, I sat back with my feet braced 
and contemplated the horizon, a more compelling sight 
than my navel. 

She'd had panties on under my shorts; I'd seen them 
briefly. Now they were wet but would she wear 'em 
anyway? Or - my mind ran with this one - would she have 
on only my large T-shirt? If so, I might get a look 
at... and her voice nudged me out of my reverie, "If I 
fall over board one more time, I'll be in big trouble, 
huh?"

She came up on deck, pinning her hair back, her arms up, 
raising the hem of the shirt. I looked her up and down, 
admiring her lithe lines and shapely legs. 

"MJ, you are the best looking nun I know."

"I'm probably the *only* nun you know," she retorted, 
sitting opposite me, gathering the hem of the long shirt 
under her thighs.

"Well, there is that," I agreed, "but when I was in 
grade school at St. Columbia..." and tailed off.

"You're kidding!" she said, looking surprised, pushing 
the shirt down between her thighs, still holding her 
knees up but together. The shirt fell away from the back 
of her thighs affording me a glimpse of her legs.

"Once, in seventh grade I think, at recess I was showing 
a photography magazine to a younger nun who'd been kind 
to me and while I was paging through it, looking for a 
particular picture I'd wanted to share with her, a black 
and white picture of a nude woman suddenly popped up. In 
my confusion and embarrassment, I fumbled and before I 
could go on, she placed her hand on the open magazine 
and commented on the non-nude picture on the facing 
page. Can you see this tableau, MJ?"

"Sure. What happened?"

"Well, nothing *happened* but I always wondered what she 
thought. I mean, she had to have seen the naked woman 
and she had to have known how embarrassed I was."

"I'm sure she did, on both counts. She probably took 
some vicarious pleasure in pretending to look at the 
other picture."

"You think so?"

"I would have. But then, that's part of my problem, 
these earthly thoughts."

We looked at each other, me wearing only an old pair of 
shorts and she wearing only a large T-shirt. I was 
acutely aware of her, not just as a nun, but as an 
attractive woman who was nude under my shirt. Or was 
she?

"MJ," I asked, "you wearing anything under that shirt?"

She looked down a moment and then into my eyes. "No," 
she answered, "why?"

I considered for a minute telling her some lie, some 
bullshit that would have aimed at making me look good, 
but without thinking about it very much, I knew that 
wouldn't work for me. I'd have to tell her the truth, 
but how best to word it? And what was the truth, anyway? 
That I was just being open and honest with her? Maybe a 
little, but more, I suspect, that I wanted to get in her 
pants. Except at the moment she wasn't wearing any.

"Why? Because you're an attractive woman. More actually. 
Because you're a sexy woman." Jesus, I thought, what the 
hell was I doing? I wasn't sure *what* I was doing, but 
I wanted to follow this thread, so I continued, "You 
think of yourself as a nun. I don't, at least not 
entirely. I think of you as more - as a woman. Seeing 
you like this is pleasing and it's exciting."

She just stared at me, wide eyed.

"Am I offending you, MJ? I don't mean to be 
discourteous, but I've this unsettling habit of being 
frank. I say what I'm thinking... most of the time 
anyway... and further, I tend to ask for what I want."

She leaned forward a little and still looking at me with 
that same quizzical expression, she asked, "And do you 
get what you want... most of the time?"

"Seldom," I laughed, "but I try not to make up other 
people's minds for them. I let them decide for 
themselves. I've been told to ask for 100 percent of 
what I want, 100 percent of the time, and then be 
willing to negotiate a win-win compromise. So tell me, 
am I offending you with this line of questions?"

 She sat and stared at me for a long time; I didn't 
think she was going to answer. Then she passed her hand 
in front of her in a kind of a chopping motion, 
apparently to add emphasis to her words, and said, "I 
must confess that in most social situations I've been in 
since taking the vows, I *would* have been offended. I 
don't understand it, but for some reason I'm not. It's 
refreshing. Your honesty, I mean. No, I don't feel 
offended - that surprises me a little - and there's some 
part of me that finds this whole situation just a little 
thrilling. Perhaps I'm being tested. Do you think?"

"It's been said that nothing happens in God's world by 
mistake. Perhaps we're both being tested. What do you 
suppose the message is?"

She smiled and countered, "You're answering a question 
with a question, but that's all right. You've been 
frank. I shall as well. Is that okay with you?"

"The truth shall set you free," I quoted.

"But first, it'll piss you off," she appended.

"They teach you that in the nunnery?"

"Yes, but not exactly in those words. I got that 
rendition from my father."

"A wise man?"

"More than I knew back then. But I don't want to talk 
about my father. I'm much too selfish right now. I want 
to talk about me. Actually, I think I NEED to talk about 
me. Will you keep a confidence?"

Making a small adjustment in the sail, I observed, "We 
certainly have the time to talk and I've never had a 
need to share a confidence. Whatever you tell me, MJ 
will stay with me."

"You're sure?"

Nodding, "You can take that to the bank."

Again she studied me for a long moment and then seeming 
to make a decision, she leaned back and said, "I hardly 
know you, but I feel that I can trust you. Heaven knows, 
I need someone to talk with. Someone outside the Church, 
that is." 

The breeze caused the mainsail to snap and at the same 
time, it rustled the bottom of her long T-shirt. I 
caught a flash of her thighs again, still well below 
crotch level. I couldn't tell if she saw me looking.

"I'm a good listener and I'll tell you my truth if you 
want it. Still, it's been my experience that many people 
just want to be heard. They don't want to be fixed, just 
heard. And some don't even *want* the truth."

"Yes, I do want to be heard, but I think in addition I 
need some reality testing, some feedback. Let me just 
start and we'll see where things go."

"Okay, let's start with the truth. Not any truth. Your 
truth. You know, the one that'll piss you off?"

She wrapped her arms about her knees and looked up at 
the mainsail for a moment before starting. "It's always 
been true for me, that I don't like to hear unflattering 
things about myself. Since becoming a nun, in some ways 
it has gotten worse."

"Expectations set you up?" I asked.

"Of course. I think I *should* be this or I *should* 
think that. I'm never as good as I think I should be."

"Good as in holy?" I asked.

"Yes, that's it! Not just a good person. More than that, 
I think I should be at least spiritual, if not totally 
holy. At times I expect that I should have attained some 
spiritual peak un-attained by Jesus Christ!"

"You're your own toughest critic, aren't you?" My pants 
were binding and I pulled the crotch away. I saw her 
eyes fall. "Is my fly open?" I asked with a frown.

She laughed and said, "Please, don't make me look 
there!"

"You're fun and I like that. It's okay with me, but you 
know, you're beating around the bush, don't you?"

"Yes, I am. It's difficult for me. It's as though I've 
got to tip toe around this for a while."

"Want me to just listen or to prompt you a little?

She slid her foot back and forth, making wet marks on 
the teak deck with her toes. "Uh... both, I guess. What 
I mean to say... well, I'd like you to listen, but there 
are times I need a little help." She cocked her head and 
asked, "Does that make sense?"

Nodding my head, I said, "Yeah." Then adding the prod, I 
suggested, "It was about keeping a confidence, remember? 
You asked me if I could keep a confidence."

"It's not likely that I'd forget. I'm edging toward very 
thin ice."

I waited. She knew what was bothering her. I didn't have 
to remind her of that, but she had to take her own time 
about it. It had started, I thought, when I told her I 
found her attractive. That was new for her, or at least, 
the first time in a long time. Too, this was probably 
the first time in as long that she'd been sitting with a 
man wearing no more than a thin T-shirt. A T-shirt with 
nothing under it. The cat was clearly out of the bag. 
Would we chase it?

She surprised me. 

"You said you'd been chaste for a year?"

I nodded. Where was she going with this? I thought this 
was about *her*.

"What did you do after that, if I may ask?"

I smiled at the memory. "Became a rabbit."

"As in making love like one?"

"Making love is one expression. Rutting's another."

"Renewed vigor?"

"An understatement. Renewed interest, awareness, drive 
and, oh yes, pleasure. That's some of it. I'd come to 
enjoy a new freedom, a freedom from the bondage of self 
- some people say."

"Would you call it excess energy? Sexual energy?" she 
asked.

Still not seeing where she was going with this, I nodded 
my confirmation. 

"Well then, you might be able to understand what has 
been happening to me." She paused. I waited. "I was 
sexually active and then sublimated all my energies. I 
attempted to substitute my religion and my work for my 
passion. I was naive. I really thought it'd be no 
problem." She fell silent again, looking out across the 
sea, but not seeing. I recognized her process.

After a bit, I commented, "And it didn't work. It was 
still a problem."

She glanced back at me. "Was... and is."

"Horny," I said. It wasn't a question.

She nodded and then smiled, "But I tried to think of it 
in other terms."

"Yeah, same thing."

"Same thing. That's as good a term as any. Actually, 
better than most. Horny... doesn't beat around the bush, 
does it?"

"So, what do you do? Pray or masturbate?"

Her head snapped back to me, her eyes momentarily dark 
in anger, then she softened. "Prayer, yes. It helped at 
first, but less so later. And yes... this is difficult 
to say - I mean right here, in front of you, looking at 
you - but yes, I did uh, relieve myself." She looked 
down and then rushed on, "I HAD to. I'd have gone crazy. 
You don't know what it was like."

"You're right, of course, MJ, I don't know - couldn't 
know what it was like. I'm not a woman and I'm certainly 
not a nun. But I do know about the body's physiologic 
needs, about desire, about horniness. My body simply has 
its own agenda and it's independent of my philosophic 
beliefs or my spiritual state. I suspect - but I don't 
know for sure - that your agenda isn't a lot different."

She reached over and touched my knee. "I'm sorry. That 
was condescending of me. You're absolutely right. At 
base, we're all the same, we're all human. I'm sorry I 
was patronizing of you."

I made a dismissive gesture with my hand and said, 
"Thanks, but don't give it a thought. I didn't. If we're 
going to be honest with each other, let's not walk on 
egg shells. Say what you're thinking. And you were 
thinking about masturbation... or what ever you called 
it."

She seemed to brace her shoulders. Did nice things with 
the front of her T-shirt. "My dad used to tell me to 
call a spade a spade."

"And not a excavating appliance?"

That earned a flash of white, even teeth. "Yes. It's not 
like I've been so sheltered that I don't know the 
language including its idioms. Remember, I used to be a 
uh, horny chick?" And she laughed at her own 
description. I hoped she still was. I harbored few 
illusions about myself.

"So you got horny and prayer didn't always work and you 
couldn't sleep at night and you became restless and 
irritable and then, in some moment of weakness or 
desperation, you'd break down and masturbate and then 
suffer the guilt of the damned?"

"Whew! Have you been listening in on my confessions?"

"No, my own. A long time ago."

"Are you still feeling guilty?"

"Not even close."

"Why? I mean, how...?"

"MJ, this may sound strange to your ears, for it's 
leagues away from the Church's position, but I've fired 
the God of my childhood and I've hired a new one. My God 
rejoices in me. He/she/it rejoices in my humanness and 
in my sexuality."

Her tone betrayed her surprise and her confusion. "I'm 
surprised. I know I shouldn't be, but I am. Do *you* 
really believe in God?"

"No, not *your* God, MJ. My God. There's a huge 
difference. I used to be afraid of your God. I suppose I 
thought of him as a cross between a white-bearded 
Charlton Heston and Atilla the Hun, a stern, unsmiling, 
cosmic score keeper who knew what a worthless sack of 
shit I really was and my only reward was going to be the 
warm place."

She looked at me with wide-eyed wonder. I half expected 
her to put her fingers over her open mouth or to glance 
upward in fearful expectation.

I continued, "I once asked a guy if he believed in God 
and he said no, that he considered himself a 'Christian 
atheist'. When I asked him what the devil that was he 
replied, 'I don't believe in God, but I'm still afraid 
of him.'"

She pointed out the obvious: "But you must believe in 
something if you're afraid of it."

I shrugged, then asked, "MJ, what'd you do with your wet 
clothes?"

"What?"

"Your wet clothes. If you left them say, on the floor, 
they'll never dry. Even hanging up below decks, it'll 
take a while. Up here, they'll dry out in less than an 
hour."

"Oh. Yes, of course. Shall I get them?"

"I'm not your mother superior, MJ. Your call."

As she was getting up she commented, "Isn't it amazing 
how I defer to authority?" She smoothed the shirt over 
her hips which pulled it tight across her breasts. I 
looked at her tits.

"Uh... I'll get them," she said and went below.

I checked the wind and the direction. No change. There 
seldom was in these latitudes. Sitting back, I wondered 
to myself, "What do you think you're doing? Sure she's 
attractive, sexy even and sure, you'd love to get into 
her pants, but you don't have the right to fuck with her 
head. She's trusting, uncertain, even a little troubled 
and terribly vulnerable. What kinda sexual predator are 
you, anyway?"

"Thanks for making this talk easier for me," she said. 
She'd returned so silently and I'd been so lost in my 
own thoughts, I'd not sensed her presence. "Where shall 
I hang these?"

"There's a coffee can with clothes pins by the binnacle. 
I usually clip them to the stays on the windward side. 
Use extra clothes pins. We won't turn about for a 
lost..." and looking at her garments, I added, "...pair 
of panties."

She stiffened a moment and then chuckled, "You're trying 
to desensitize me, aren't you?"

"Is that what I'm doing? Hell, I thought I was just 
trying to talk dirty."

Pinning the brief white panties in question, she said, 
"I've never met anyone like you. You pretend your tough, 
but it's clear that you're well educated. You pretend 
you don't care, but you do."

"Pretend? Me?"

"Yes, you, Mr. Smarty Pants. I'm catching on to you," 
she said, hanging her white bra and the last of her wet 
clothes. "Yes, I think I'm getting your number."

"Well, if you figure out who I am, let me know, won't 
you? I've been working on that one for a long time and 
every time I think I've got it nailed, I lose it. And by 
the way, you might want to hang those clothes on the 
port side."

"Why? This is the sunny side. Tell me, are you a control 
freak?"

I shrugged again. Seems I was doing that a lot. "Yeah, I 
guess." I eyed her clothes and allowed that a strong 
gust from the northeast *could* heal us over enough to 
catch a wave and dowse her laundry, but it'd been steady 
for the last few hours. I let it go.

"Do I *have* to?"

"What?"

"Move my clothes?"

"Nope. Actually, you don't *have* to do anything much in 
life. We have choices. Accept the consequences and you 
can do anything you like."

"Good. I'd rather do nothing right now. Where were we?"

"Well, right before the brief exchange we had about your 
panties, we'd been talking about God... your God, my 
God."

"There's only one God." 

It sounded rote. "So I've been told and that may be the 
case, but I don't think any religion - Christianity 
included - has a lock on God. They'd just like to 
*think* they do. But let's not discuss theology right 
now. You don't have to like it, but just accept that I 
have my own concept of a higher power, of the divine if 
you will. Our concept of a cosmic conscious doesn't bear 
upon the very real problems we're talking about right 
now."

She looked like she might argue this contentions stand 
of mine. So many Christians tended to take religious 
disagreement personally, as if it were a direct attack 
on them. I wondered if she'd let it go. Less God talk 
and more sex talk, that's what this conversation needed.

She sighed and made a vague hand gesture of surrender. 
"You're right. What attracts me to you is your 
unconventional stance; I can talk theology with the 
theologians."

"And I represent a non-intellectual philosophy of life, 
a variant on the 'if-it-feels-good-do-it school'?"

"Perhaps a little, but only on the surface. Actually, I 
think that's a mask, a facade behind which lives a 
deeper person. I suspect you're intellectual to a 
fault."

"But sweet and charming. Don't forget that."

"Do we have a topic here?" she asked, looking about the 
deck as if it had fallen and rolled under a hatch cover.

I sighed loudly and in protest. "Yes we do. We have for 
quite some time. You've been dancing around it with all 
the verve and denial of an ergot-frenzied Maypole 
celebration. MJ, you know what the topic is better than 
I do for that matter. What do *you* suppose we're 
talking - or not talking about?"

"Ergot-frenzied?" Then seeing the look on my face, she 
laughed and said, "Okay, okay. I give up. You can't 
blame a girl for trying."

"The topic?"

In one smooth motion, she pulled her heels up to her 
thighs and pulled the T-shirt over her knees down to her 
ankles, but not fast enough. Alert as I am to such 
possibilities, I was quick to catch a glimpse, no more 
than a flash, of her dark and thick pubic hair. My first 
time. First time seeing a nun's bush, that is. When I 
looked up, she was watching me with an enigmatic smile. 
I felt like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar.

"I suppose that's the topic?"

I raised one eyebrow in question. Such a display of 
sophistication was not beyond me, I hoped and besides, 
it looked hip when Cary Grant did it.

"My sexuality."

"Ah, yes," I nodded, as if I'd forgotten it for a 
moment. 

Sitting with her chin resting on her shirt-covered knee, 
her eyes resting on me, she began to speak, slowly at 
first, then with gathering strength. "Much of my 
personality fits well with being a nun, but there's a 
huge emotional hole in me that nothing seems to fill, 
nothing spiritual that is. As I've alluded, this appears 
to be in the realm of either a physical need or that, 
coupled with an emotional obsession. Because it's so 
blatantly sexual, I've no way of dealing with it, 
physically or emotionally." She paused, perhaps to check 
my reaction. I just smiled and nodded.

"Being here with you today," she looked toward her 
clothes, "and this way," gesturing toward her lingerie 
hanging in the breeze, has somehow given me permission 
to be honest. I don't know where I'm going with this or 
how I'll feel about it later. I only know that if I 
don't get honest, I'm going to continue to feel bad."

"Usually that way for me."

She began curling her toes. They were attractive toes. 
No polish. Of course.

"Do you know about exhibitionism?"

I was caught by my surprise and for a moment didn't 
answer. In point of fact, I'd always taken a low-grade 
interest in seeing and being seen. I nodded again. "A 
little."

"Well, as a teen-aged girl, I was very aware that I was 
attractive, even sexy. And as well, I was aware that the 
boys liked to look at me. I liked that. I liked it even 
more when I 'accidentally' allowed them to see a bit 
more than was proper. I'd dress in semi-revealing ways, 
nothing brazen but I'd find situations to push the 
boundaries of propriety. It was thrilling, more so 
because it was - I perceived it anyway - as on the edge. 
Still it was more than acting out. 

"It was more than getting away with something, although 
heaven knows, that was part of it. There was something 
more elemental about it. For one, it excited me no end. 
I'd get... um... excited..." and she looked me in the 
eye as if daring me to say anything, "...actually what I 
mean to say is, I'd get wet, showing some secret part of 
myself."

Again the look, the check; again the smile.

"At first it thrilled me if I thought some guy had seen 
down my dress. Later, I made sure he saw more than that. 
A button left undone might afford a glimpse of my bra or 
the swell of my breast. I knew that. I'd checked in the 
mirror and knew what way I had to twist so the blouse 
would open up accidentally. 

"Later, I practiced the same thing, checking myself in 
the mirror as I crossed my legs, knowing just how much 
thigh I was revealing. What came to surprise me, 
however, was that I seemed to get caught up in my own 
exhibitionism. I often inadvertently pushed my own 
boundaries and showed more than I'd ever intended to." 
She furrowed her eyebrows. "Is this making sense?"

I moved a bit to get back into the sail's shade. She 
turned to continue facing me, dropping one leg to the 
deck. Without staring, I knew the way the shirt was 
drawn and tented over her that if I could duck my head a 
little, I'd be looking well up her bare leg. Given the 
topic of our conversation, I didn't even wonder if she 
knew.

I commented, "Of course. I suspect such innocent play is 
far more common than people let on. MJ, this all sounds 
pretty normal to me. A touch kinky, but that's healthy 
in my book. I don't see behaviors there that might have 
scared you. And none that would have left an emotional 
hole."

"No," she agreed, "that was just the beginning, but as 
you can see, my exhibitionism is still very much with me 
today. For instance, I'm very aware of your attention 
and given the permissiveness of the setting, I'm aware 
of my own excited reaction to it."

"I'm flattered."

"And familiar with it too, I imagine." She smiled to 
take away any perceived sting from her words. Then she 
continued, "Most people regard nuns as naive and 
sheltered; many are. I am not... naive anyway. I'm quite 
aware that I'm sitting before you, wearing only your T-
shirt. I'm equally aware that my undergarments are 
flying before your eyes. I didn't plan it that way, but 
the exhibitionist in me is delighted. Seeming to be 
totally innocent, I've been able to show you my intimate 
underwear and even to flash you a glimpse of my thighs." 
She looked at me coquettishly and asked, "No more than 
that, was there?"

I didn't get to answer. A sudden blow, unanticipated and 
out of nowhere, heeled us way over at the same moment a 
large swell was sliding by. MJ fell back, legs flying 
again. Her almost-dry wash was again soaked. I'd been 
sitting in such a fashion that I'd caught myself 
effortlessly and viewed with considerable interest the 
sight of Sister Mary Joseph, sprawled back, T-shirt now 
in her lap and sisterly beaver looking at the sun, 
perhaps for the first time in years.

Her unerring instinct caused her to jam the shirt tail 
between her legs immediately as she sputtered, "And I 
didn't plan that!"

I might have said something like, "Well done, MJ. And 
did you plan your panties getting wet again?"

"So *that's* why you suggested the um... windy side," 
she accused. "One more dousing and I'll be reduced to my 
birthday suit, and we all know that the partially-
clothed woman is far more seductive."

"And I thought I was seducing you."

The shock of our honesty caught us both unprepared and 
we began to laugh, each looking into the eyes of the 
other.

"God, you're fun," she said, gasping as she held her 
hand over her breasts, one nipple thrown into marked 
prominence. 

I didn't want to interrupt our conversation for another 
wash day. "Let 'em hang for a little while. We can rinse 
them out later." I suggested, nodding to her wet 
clothes.

"We?" she laughed. "Are you some kind of pervert? Trying 
to get into my underpants?"

"That's already been established. Of course I am. And I 
will."

"Get into my pants?" she asked, still laughing.

"Has anyone? Since you've been a nun, I mean?"

She suddenly sobered and stared at me with that look of 
mild alarm she had. "No. Well, not exactly. I mean, I've 
had a couple of close calls, but I never..." and she 
paused, looking off into some unfocused distance of 
recall, "...there was this young priest. I think he may 
have had the same problem I do. He hinted at it. I was 
vulnerable. We were both excited. But nothing really 
happened. Still, I wonder. I think if he'd pushed me, 
I'd have fallen right over. We used to call that 'round 
heels.'"

"So, you remain chaste in fact if not in spirit?"

"Part of me says, 'Yes, darn it,' and another part 
admits I may never have been chaste in spirit. Therein 
lies the problem, my sailor friend. I'm a walking time 
bomb it seems. Awareness of my sex, of my physical 
needs, is never far from my consciousness." She shook 
her head, as if to clear it. "Let me continue with my 
story, okay?"

"Okay."

"The other side of the coin of exhibitionism, is of 
course, voyeurism. I thought it was just natural to want 
to watch other people when I was a kid. I used to peep 
at my dad and both my younger and older brothers. It was 
so funny. They'd drilled a peep hole into my room. It 
was so obvious. I first found it late one night by 
seeing a pin-point flash of light where there should 
have been none. 

"When I checked it out, crawling beneath a table in my 
room and with my eye right up to the small hole, I was 
looking right into their room. Later, when I looked, 
they had a rolled-up paper plug in the hole, but the 
night I found it, it must have fallen out. Anyway, I 
could effectively block their view of me by putting 
something in the way, like a coat thrown over the back 
of a chair. But most of the time, I just let them look. 
It gave me a thrill. Perhaps as much, I found I enjoyed 
looking at them! I'd have died if they'd found me out."

"Much of the time, they'd forget to re-plug the peep 
hole and later I found it easy to poke out the paper 
plug. I got a real education in male anatomy and male 
masturbation those couple of years. I never had the 
nerve to let them watch me masturbate, but I certainly 
wanted to."

She gave a nervous laugh and said, "Whew! I can't 
believe I'm telling all of this to you."

"I used to peep at my older sister... every chance I 
got. I think it is pretty natural. You hung up on that?"

"Well, it seemed more okay when I was a teenager. 

"Was this 'show' you put on for your brothers a onetime 
thing?"

She chuckled. "To the contrary, it was a long-running 
event, and in many ways, it was a dysfunctional 
interaction."

"How so?"

"I'm certain that we all knew what we were doing, but we 
never talked about it... we didn't even allude to it 
verbally. And at the same time, it changed all of us. 
Particularly me and my older brother."

"Why was that, do you suppose?"

"I'm not certain, but I'd guess that me and my older 
brother inherited the horny genes while my younger 
brother was more interested in cerebral things, ethereal 
things even. Anyway, eye contact, body language, 
attention to me - things like that - let me know that my 
older brother John was the hot one."

"Hmmm..." I said, perhaps sounding wiser than I felt.

"Actually, it wasn't much of a detective job. For 
instance, if Paul, my younger brother, was in their room 
alone, the peep hole plug wasn't removed. But if John 
were there alone, I could count on it. In fact, I'd try 
to get his attention by doing something more outlandish 
at night and then see how he behaved later. It worked."

"How so?"

"Well, after I'd been letting them see glimpses of my 
body, like in a bra or at most, a bra and panties, I 
just knew that they knew that I knew. Convoluted, I 
know, but do you get the drift?"

"I'm hanging in."

"I was definitely feeling more provocative, so I decided 
to *be* more provocative. I started doing a little strip 
tease. It was fun. It was really delicious and I'd get 
so hot."

"What'd you do, MJ?"

"I'd play a hot little number on my CD and then begin to 
dance around my room, careful that nothing blocked the 
view. By this time, I knew it was John who was the 
dedicated voyeur, so it was for him that I'd dance. I 
began to run my hands over my hips and over my breasts 
as I danced, trying to mix innocence in with sexy 
provocation. I remember the time I impulsively took off 
my blouse and continued to dance with just a skimpy bra. 
God, I felt wicked and terribly sexy!"

"Is that as far as you took it?"

"You want all the details, don't you?"

I smiled and nodded.

"No, that was the early part. I was a junkie. I always 
wanted more. After a few weeks I took off my bra as well 
and cupped my bare titties. That got me so turned on I 
snapped off the light and jumped into bed so I could 
masturbate. I imagined I could hear him doing the same 
thing."

"Did you finally get totally nude for him?"

"No, not really, but close to it. By this time I was 
stripping down to bra and panties pretty quickly, then 
dropping the bra. I'd dance around and throw in a lot of 
hip action, knowing that he could see things like my 
pubic hair sticking out the side or the shadow of my 
bush through the thin material. About this time I caught 
him pulling a pair of my soiled panties out of the 
clothes hamper. I ducked back so he didn't see me. He 
went into his room and I heard the door lock click. I 
just knew he was going to do it."

"Jack off?"

"Yes... jack off. I had to see, so I went into my room 
and crawled under the table to push out the plug. I was 
afraid he might see it fall out, but I was so driven, I 
didn't care."

"Was he? Masturbating I mean?"

"Yes, of course, but I couldn't see well... not nearly 
as well as I wanted. He was laying on the bed. I could 
see that clearly, but because he was sunk into the bed a 
little, I could only catch glimpses of his cock. I could 
see his hand pumping up and down, but really got my 
juices going was watching him hold my panties up to his 
nose and smell them. Somehow, that made it so personal. 
It was like I was involved."

"And did you masturbate?"

"Jesus, I *had* to. It wasn't an option. I was ready to 
bust, I was *so* turned on. If he liked the smell of my 
panties, he would have loved the smell of my room, I'll 
bet. When I came, it was like an explosion. It left me 
weak."

"He say anything later?"

"No, darn it. By this time, I was ready to open up some 
kind of dialog, but we were both too inhibited, I guess. 
But I did notice that he didn't bother to replace the 
plug after that. Without words, we told each other that 
we knew and that it was all right."

"What was the most provocative thing you did?"

"No. I masturbated for him! Oh, not naked, but I was 
dancing and feeling myself outside my panties and one 
day, I just slipped my hand down inside and cupped 
myself. Then I couldn't stop. I didn't even want to turn 
the lights out. I knew he was there and that he was 
watching me, so I sat on the bed, facing the peep hole, 
and fingered myself inside my panties. I got pretty wild 
as I remember. I ended up lying back on the bed, my 
heels dug in, heaving up off the bed with my finger 
inside myself and strumming my clitty with my thumb, all 
inside my stretched panties. I didn't even try to be 
quiet when I came." She glanced at me and grinned. "I 
used to be very noisy."

"A screamer?" 

"Kind of... at least vocal." She paused, then continued, 
"Somehow it was different when I became a nun. The 
voyeurism, I mean."

"I'd think there'd not be much chance for voyeurism in a 
nunnery," I reasoned. 

"So you think. The fact is there are a lot of woman 
under one roof and despite the watchful eye of the older 
nuns, there was a certain relaxed attitude during 
sports, showers and the locker room. It's not as if we 
all live in separate cells! And I just know some of my 
sisters *had* to have feelings like mine." 

She pushed her hair back and then glanced away, a sure 
sign she was about to reveal something more.

"Anyway," she continued, again glancing off to the 
horizon, "it surprised me how much I enjoyed looking at 
the other nuns. I mean, looking at their nude, or 
partially-nude bodies. I didn't think of myself as 
anything but heterosexual, but I found I was getting 
aroused looking at them and knowing, or at least 
suspecting, that some of them were looking at me. You 
know, in *that* way."

"That way?"

"Yes. Interested, sexual, curious, excited... all those 
things. I liked it, but still, it troubled me. I began 
wondering about different ones. Was she a virgin? Had 
this one ever gone down on a guy? Did she play with 
herself?" She laughed, "Then it got even worse!"

"How?"

"I began having that same kind of thoughts about the 
priests. Oh, not all of them, just the sexy ones. I 
wondered if they ever did it."

"What made the 'sexy ones' sexy?"

She thought a minute, then smiled. "You're one. It's not 
just looks, although that's part of it. It's more 
attitude, I think. Confidence. Self assurance. Body 
posture. Bold eyes. Innuendo. Things like that."

"And?"

"And... and I wanted to do it with them! I'd be talking 
to some priest about some religious matter at the same 
time I'd be wondering how big his penis was. I'd find 
myself distracted, looking at his mouth or looking at a 
glimpse of his tongue, fantasizing about doing it with 
him, or him doing it to me. Going down on me, I mean. 
There was a part of me that looked forward to confessing 
some of my licentious thoughts to the 'sexy priests'. 
I'd get a thrill from - what did you call it? - talking 
dirty? I couldn't stop myself from thinking this way. 
The more I tried, the more impossible it became. I was 
horny and excited all the time, and feeling like the 
lowest form of pretense, a walking column of human 
garbage."

"That's a feeling and not a fact. How you feel is how 
you feel, but it helps to know that you're not garbage. 
You're one of God's kids and you're perfect just the way 
you are."

"Come ON! As much as I enjoy hearing nice things said 
about me, I can't for a minute accept that."

"That's part of the problem. You've made up your mind 
that you're a piece of shit because of your very human 
feelings. That's a no-win. Until you accept yourself as 
you are, you're screwed, MJ."

"You know why I'm taking this trip? No, of course you 
don't. How could you? I'm taking a leave of absence. I 
had courage enough to talk about some of this with my 
superior who sent me to a shrink... a Jesuit shrink if 
you will! He reminds me you. You and he say the same 
things. Anyway, they - the powers that be - have 
recommended that I take a year off with no more than 
light duties, that I think about how I might best serve 
God and myself. They even suggested that not all who are 
called are chosen, that I might discover that my path is 
outside the order." 

She crossed her legs, Indian style, with the shirt tail 
still jammed between her thighs. This served to pull it 
taut against her breasts and prominent nipples. She 
checked. I was looking.

"You are my first authentic contact, my first experiment 
with real life since I started this sabbatical. So, what 
do you think?"

"You have nice tits."

Her eyes blazed. "You! I mean what do you *really* 
think?"

"I saw your pussy when you fell back a little while ago. 
I was the voyeur and I loved it."

Again, she jammed her hand between her thighs. "You're 
impossible!"

"No. I'm really easy."

"Is that actually what you were thinking about? Just my 
body?"

"That, certainly. I also heard what you said about your 
feelings and taking time off. You've been given a 
blessing, MJ. Take it and run. Live it. Let yourself go. 
Live your fantasy. Explore yourself. Learn that part of 
you that has been pushed into the closet. If you have an 
itch, scratch it."

"I love your earthy analogies. You sound more and more 
like Father James, the shrink. He didn't pull any 
punches either. He was good with spades."

"Is that it? You all done with the confession?" I waved 
a hand and said with a grin, "I guess I'd hoped there'd 
be more, you know, juicy stuff."

"There is more, 'juicy stuff' as you call it, but that's 
the main thrust of it. I'm a damaged chick. Want to take 
me on as a patient?"

"No."

"No? I thought..."

"MJ, I don't want to be your therapist or your advisor 
or your confessor. I'm a man and you're a very 
attractive woman. You excite me and I want to seduce 
you, to thrill you, to fill your fantasies. I want to 
see you naked."

She suddenly jerked the T-shirt to her chin, held it 
there for the count of two, and then pushed it back into 
her lap. "Like that?" she asked.

I studied the after image. It was lucid and clear. Her 
breasts were larger than I'd imagined, full and firm-
looking with medium-large, pebbled areolae and meaty 
nipples. Her waist was surprisingly narrow atop flared, 
woman's hips. Her dark auburn public hair was full and 
lush, at least what I could see.

I clapped. "More, I loved it! It thrilled me. Is that 
what you wanted to know? What'd it do for you, flashing 
me that way?"

"If I got up, there'd be a wet spot."

"Get up."

"Are you serious?" she asked, looking a little 
embarrassed.

"Yes, I'm serious. Get up. I want to see if you're just 
talk."

She frowned. I suppose she didn't like me thinking of 
her as 'just talk'. She stood up, pulling the shirt 
against her butt as she looked behind her at the teak 
seat. There was a wet spot. 

"See!" she exclaimed. She spun around and pushed the 
flat of her index finger against the wet spot and then 
shoved it under my nose. "Smell!" she commanded. 

It was faint but unmistakable. I knew that odor, that 
sweet, musky bouquet of pussy.

"Careful," I advised.

"Why, careful?"

"Those are powerful pheromones. I'm liable to jump your 
bones."

"That sounds more like a request for permission than a 
threat of action," she countered.

"Busted," I admitted. "I guess it's not for nothing that 
I've been called 'an old gas bag', huh?"

She leaned forward and looked at me intently as if to 
make a point. I waited. "Let me see your penis," she 
said.

"What!?"

"Your penis, let me look at it. What do you call it? A 
cock? A prick? Dick, maybe?"

"You like to take it slow and easy, don't you, MJ?"

"I've been taking it slow for the last ten years. YOU 
were the one who told me to live out my fantasies. Well, 
asking a sexy guy to show me his cock is one of them. I 
don't want to look through a peep hole at life. I want 
to see it right here, right now."

"That get you wet, girl?"

"Yes. What gets you hard, Mr.?"

"Lots of things, but it all comes down to T&A."

"T&A?"

"Tits and ass. And of course, attitude. Is this quid pro 
quo?"

"You show me yours and I'll show you mine?" she asked 
with an expression close to a leer.

"It always comes down to juvenile stuff like that, lady. 
Yeah, if I'm gonna show you my boner - isn't that a 
charming name? - then I wanna up the ante. I wanna crank 
up the intimacy current. Show me your pussy, but not a 
flash. Really show it to me."

MJ leaned back and smiled at me, a warm, sunny smile 
that spoke volumes of her comfort at that moment. How 
far we'd come. A short while before, she'd stepped 
aboard looking all the world like what she was, a nun. 
Now, through a goofy process of self revelation, we were 
playing some bewitching, sexy game that embodied the 
challenge portion of Truth or Dare.

"Can you drop anchor somewhere? I'd be more comfortable 
if we were tied to something, like the bottom and I 
wouldn't have to concern myself with running aground on 
Virgin Gorda or someplace like that."

I gestured to port. We'd not been out of sight of land 
since we'd sailed. "See that island? We're stopping 
there for the rest of the afternoon and night. There's a 
secluded and protected cove where the water's clear blue 
and the Trade Winds blow all night. Helps keep us cool 
and the mosquitoes away. Want to help me anchor?"

She grinned and nodded her head.

Watching her take up lines and bend over, often it 
seemed, in an outlandish fashion, served to keep my 
fires going. I was quick to show my appreciation with 
timely wolf whistles. In short order, we were secured 
and safe. She turned to me and pulling off her 
voluminous T-shirt, she asked, "Now are we going to play 
show and tell?"

I walked slowly toward her, unbuttoning my shorts and 
allowing them to slip down on my hips, only my erection 
holding them up. "MJ, I seem to have a problem here with 
my shorts. Could you help me get 'em off, please?"

My eyes raked up and down her naked form. Sister Mary 
Joseph, pink and in the flesh, my big-titted sexy nun, 
was admiring me as I presented myself for her 
ministrations. 

"You've come to the right place, sailor. I'm an expert 
in removing recalcitrant shorts." She kneeled in front 
of me and slowly pulled my shorts down my thighs. 
Pausing a moment, she looked up at me and said, "I 
*usually* kneel down for quite another reason."

My cock was stiff and bent down and when suddenly freed, 
leaped to attention. "Oh, my goodness! I've not had a 
close look at one of *these* in a long, long time," she 
stated, slowly fisting my cock.

I pulled her to her feet saying, "MJ, these teak decks 
are beautiful to look at, but for substantially greater 
comfort, come below and try out the bunk in the master 
suite, won't you?"

"Both of us? In one bed, I mean?" Laughing, she pulled 
me by the hand, down the ladder into the main salon, 
chanting, "Lead me not into temptation; I know the way 
myself."

"What ever happened to that demure, sexually repressed 
little nun I took aboard just hours ago?"

"You're right about the repressed part, sailor boy. I'm 
given to understand that you have a treatment for my 
sexual frustrations. Is this true or is it all just 
hypothetical bull pucky?" she asked, sweeping her black 
habit off the master bunk.

"The treatment started several hours ago, MJ. Look at 
yourself, at the progress you've already made. Better 
yet, let *me* look at you. I'd be far more 
appreciative."

"Well now, I'd hoped you might get around to a little 
friendly voyeurism. I'm certainly in a show-off mood. 
What would you like first to see?"

"Tell you what, woman... I'd like to examine your tits 
right now and while I'm doing that - you'll have lots of 
time - I'd like you to tell me of one of your fantasies, 
one of those delicious little vignettes long suppressed 
in the nunnery. That'll start our erotic variation of 
show and tell."

"I *think* things like that, but you *say* them! I love 
your boldness," she said as lay back, cupping her 
breasts. "Have at 'em," and she laughed at her own 
mimicry of me.

I lay down beside her and leaning on one elbow, I 
reached down and ran a feather-light touch around the 
base of her breast next to her axilla, approaching and 
retreating from her nipple. "Ready to tell me a story?" 
I asked.

She arched her back, pushing her breast toward me, 
saying, "Oh my God, that feels so good. I can't tell 
you..."

I pushed a little harder, testing the substance of her 
breast. It was surprisingly firm. I traced patterns from 
her chest wall to the edge of the areola, still not 
touching the prominent nipple.

She groaned and whispered, "Oh, please, please, 
please... yes, again yes. Please touch me!"

"Slowly, MJ. You've waited ten years. Let's wait another 
ten minutes. I want you to remember this and more, I 
want you to have clarity about this." I cupped her other 
breast and held it softly. "This is both an experience 
and an experiment."

She drew her heels up and with knees well apart, lifted 
her pelvis off the bunk, thrusting at a body, a cock, 
that wasn't there. "You're driving me crazy. I'm so darn 
horny I can't stand it. Do something."

She reached a hand down as if to touch herself. I held 
her wrist and said, "Not yet, lady. When it's time, I'll 
get you off. I want you mad with passion."

She glared at me, eyes snapping. "You don't think I'm 
excited enough? You're daft!" She sniffed the air. 
"Smell me. I'm so wet and so randy, I smell like I'm in 
heat!"

I'd been aware of her increasing musk filling the still 
air of the closed cabin. My brain's response to her odor 
was to dive between her legs and smell her cunt, but I 
wanted to draw this out, to stretch every moment's 
awareness of the now.

"Yes, I can smell you. I smell your cunt. You're ripe, 
you know that?"

Writhing, she gasped, "Yes, I know I'm ripe. I secret so 
much. At times I've smelled myself in church and was 
mortified that someone else would smell me and know what 
was happening between my legs. Christ! Touch me there, 
Please, please."

"You smell that way for a reason. It's to attract a 
man... to attract me... right here, right now," I said, 
trailing a hand down over her belly and just brushing 
her pubic hair with my fingers. She thrust at me again 
and said something that sounded like, "Umph..."

I pushed myself up and looked between her scissoring 
thighs at her wet and matted pubic hair. Her inner 
thighs and butt cheeks were slick, her pussy lips 
swollen and partially everted. She made a squishing 
noise when she suddenly brought her knees up, catching 
my hand between her legs.

"Yes, there! Touch me there. Touch my womaness, my sex."

"Your womaness?" I said sarcastically, "Is *that* what 
you call it?"

"NO!" she shouted, defiantly. It's my... it's my pussy. 
My box. Snatch. Beaver. Damn you, anyway. It's my CUNT! 
There, you made me say it. You happy now?"

"Happier. I don't know what kinda spade you call it, but 
'womaness' doesn't cut it. I like pussy and when I want 
to add and edge, I like to call it a cunt," I said, 
conversationally, slowly running my finger through her 
slick slit. Then I added, "Turn over."

"Huh?"

"Roll over on your stomach. I wanna see your butt."

She flipped right over, saying, "You *said* you were a 
T&A man, didn't you. Well, here's mine!"

She had that wonderful lordosis, that sweet concave 
curve that arises from a narrow waist and swells to two 
firm, jutting cheeks. I ran the palm of my hand over her 
butt and said, "Who'da thought it? Who'da imagined that 
under those heavy black robes this sweet ass existed, 
unappreciated and unloved for all those years?"

She arched and back and pushed her buttocks up with a 
gratifying moan. I pushed up from the bottom on her 
belly and said, "Higher."

Up on her knees with her chest on the bunk, her cheeks 
separated, exposing her tan anus surrounded by a 
sprinkling of dark auburn curls. I traced a light line 
around her ass hole and she gasped. Her body shuddered 
and she exclaimed, "Jesus, Mary and Joseph... what are 
you *doing* to me back there? What *is* that? I've never 
felt anything like that."

"MJ, that's your butt, known to the medical community as 
an anus, but to lovers of this anatomy, it's more 
commonly referred to as your ass hole. Like the 
feeling?"

"Like it? God almighty, I love it! I never imagined... I 
mean, no one *ever* touched me back there. I always 
thought of it as..." and she fell silent, searching for 
the proper adjective.

"Dirty?" I suggested. 

"Yes... dirty. No one ever tried to touch me there!"

"Lots of people - perhaps most even - are anally erotic 
but many don't even know it." I continued to touch her 
external sphincter and each time, it seemed to wink at 
me. "Shall I proceed?"

"I surrender. I just give up. Do anything you want with 
me. But for God's sake, do *something*." She pulled her 
arms under her chest and cupped her tits as I moved 
behind her, keeling between her legs, facing her 
upthrust ass.

"MJ, you've got a beautiful ass. I say that in the most 
appreciative way. You're an extraordinarily sexy woman." 

Her aroma was wafting up to my nose; I drank in her 
scent for a long moment and then lowered my face to her 
exposed pussy. I opened my mouth and breathed my hot 
breath on her labia. She jerked and groaned, "Lord, 
lord... that's indescribable."

I extended my tongue and with its pointed end, I touched 
the tender flesh between her anus and her labia and then 
slowly licked around the periphery of her ass hole. Her 
body jerked and she mumbled something into a pillow, the 
words lost. As I drew back to look again at her pumped 
up labia, her hand snaked between her thighs and she 
dipped a finger into her pussy, pulling thick secretions 
back to her distended clit.

"MJ, I can see you. You're touching your cunt and I'm 
watching you... watching you masturbate... and fingering 
your tender ass hole at the same time. Feel that? Feel 
my finger." I dipped my finger into the pool of her 
secretions and pressed the pulp of that finger to her 
anus, feeling it tighten and then slowly relax. "I'm 
going to slip my finger into your ass as you frig 
yourself... feel the pressure... that's it, push back 
against my finger... now... I'm in! Feel it. I'm inside 
your warm, soft ass guts, MJ. Frig your clit. Help me 
get you off."

She began bucking her ass back at me, all the time 
clawing at her pussy, moaning and thrashing her head 
from side to side, all the while murmuring incoherent 
words of passion. "Oh God. Oh shit-oh God, I'm going to 
cum. Shit, shit, shit... I'm going to cum. Jesus, Jesus. 
Here it comes..." and her voice rose to a scream of 
mindless ardor, long, high-pitched and crazed. 

Her body jerked once, twice and then again, each time 
accompanied by a visceral grunt. She fell forward in a 
limp puddle of spent emotion. Then she began to cry, 
initially quietly. I held her. Her crying grew in 
intensity, grew into body-racking sobs.

There was nothing to be said. The only thing I could do 
was hold her close, petting her hair, mumming softly in 
her ear. This was not an intellectual process. Far from 
it. It was a total-body catharsis, long overdue and it 
had nothing to do with cognition. I could only hold her. 
Aware at the moment that my hard cock was pressed into 
the crack of her ass, yet not needing anything more at 
that moment, aside from holding her.

I had no idea how this would impact her life. Was this 
the thing she needed to fill the emotional void? Hardly, 
I thought. That's an inside job. But there's no denying 
our body's needs. We can trick it, deny it, say that it 
doesn't matter and perhaps for a little while, we get 
away with it. But the body remembers and one day, if 
it's vital enough, it will out. 

How important is that? For me, it's important. Not the 
most important thing, but still, important. I'd come to 
recognize that I couldn't do much in life by myself, 
that I needed people. More, I needed love. 

I held her close to me and whispered, "MJ, you are a 
lovely woman. Whatever you choose in life, know that."

EPILOG

Well, that was it. We slept together that night and the 
next but I never fucked her. My dick wanted to drill 
her, but instead my spirit got what it wanted. Perhaps 
what it needed. 

We talked and talked over the next two days, sharing our 
fantasies and our fears. MJ said that she didn't know 
what was going to become of her but she knew that she 
couldn't trick her body any longer. I think she was 
moving into resignation, that her life had to encompass 
more than that of the celibate cleric.

We masturbated together a couple of times each day and 
spoke of our mutual desire to fuck each other. Yet, for 
reasons neither of us completely understood, we didn't. 
We wanted to and we admitted that. But we didn't and 
that seemed right. In the last hours of our being 
together we agreed that she needed to spend her year 
looking at her own issues without the distraction of 
someone like me. She said she'd get in touch with me 
after a year. I said sure, but didn't believe it.

I haven't seen her since that day and I'd not heard from 
her in almost that long. The other day I received a 
phone call and I recognized her voice immediately. I 
said hello and she said, "I'd like to see you again. 
Will you see me?"

"You! I never thought I'd hear from you again."

"Will you see me? We need to talk."

"Ahhh..." I couldn't talk, I was stunned.

"This may be one of the most important things in my 
life. Say you will."

***

I'm flying into San Francisco tomorrow. She said she'd 
meet me at the gate. I wonder what she'll be wearing 
this time.

END

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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.

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Kristen's collection - Directory 66