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Sister Mary Joseph


Copyright (c) 1997 BillyG. ALL Rights Reserved.

This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit
without the written permission of the author. This story may be freely distributed with this notice attached. The
author may be contacted through


by BillyG
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 serendipitous,
forced physical proximity, unexpected shifts might occur.
At least, that's the way it happened with me.

I wasn't thinking of any of this at the time I was
thrown together with a nun. I didn't even have a secret
letch 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-foot 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

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

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 good-by and spun

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 slight 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 with 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 speaking to me again, 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

"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. Okay?"

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 'mild' problem I had with
authority figures, might set me up to misunderstand.

Digging into my duffel, 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 ashore the small gang plank 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

"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 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 okay?"

Mate? Suddenly, that term carried a vastly different

"All right, 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 heeled 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.


"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 sunglasses as I always do, for the bright
sunlight hurts my eyes. I have a slight impairment of my
pupillary constrictor muscles and can only constrict about
halfway. 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. Instinctively, 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 television 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."


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

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


"Yes, really. Now, I don't drink. Not at all.
Haven't in a long time, but I used to. I, 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

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

"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

"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 of 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 lam 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 sidetrack 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

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

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

"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 cease to be a 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
had 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

"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.

"Whadaya' think? Did it work?"

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

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.

Shaking my head, I replied, "Just a confinement of my
own making,"

"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 would 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 okay 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 handhold, 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

"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

"Oh yeah, the'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 her 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.

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 it 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

"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

"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 unattainable 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

"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 tiptoe 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

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

"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 whatever 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 Attila the Hun, a stern, unsmiling, cosmic
scorekeeper 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

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?"


"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,

"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

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

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 you're 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

"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 hanging 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?"


"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

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

"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

"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

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 a physical need
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 latter. 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 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

"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 being 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" 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

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?"


"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 one
time thing?"

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

"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 I 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 their
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 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

"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

"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

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

"I'd think there would 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!"


"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 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

"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*

"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

"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? 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 didn't reply right away. Instead, she just looked
at me. After a long moment she smiled a little smile and
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 that 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

"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.


"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, mister?"

"Lots of things, but it all comes down to 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 and unlikely 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 knelt 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

"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

"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 aureole, 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 secrete
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,

"You smell that way for a reason. It's to attract a 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 open.
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 womanness, my

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

"NO!" she shouted, defiantly. It's'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."


"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'd a thought it? Who'd have 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

"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

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

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

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 asshole. 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'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 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 its 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
lovable woman. Whatever you choose in life, know that."
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 me one of the most important things in my
life. Say you will."

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



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