Morose Monk

Copyright Oggbashan October 2004

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.

* * * * *

I was hot, irritated and annoyed with myself for being hot and irritated.

I had come to Jean's Halloween Party dressed as a Ghostly Monk in brown cloth habit, a cowl drawn over my head and a brown veil over my face. The room was too hot for such an enveloping costume and the veil was sewn into the cowl, set well back. Either I stripped or I sweltered.

Dressed as I was I couldn't eat, drink or kiss. There had been some indiscriminate kissing earlier on and I was pecked on my veil. I couldn't strip. Underneath my habit I only wore my boxer shorts.

My irritation was compounded by Louise's absence. She had designed and made the costume I was wearing. She had intended to come as a matching Nun. She hadn't finished adjusting the costumes when her employers sent her away to sort out some difficulties in a branch office. She should have been back by now. She had rung me on her mobile and instructed me to go to the party anyway. If she could, she would meet me here.

She had modified her costume so that her veil was detachable. She would have done the same for mine if she had been given the time. As it was...

This would have been our first party as a couple. I had been looking forward to it and expected that we would have to choose her place or mine for after the party. Now I was alone, hot, bothered and unable to participate.

I had a thought. If I went to the kitchen perhaps I would find some scissors or a knife to cut the veil away from my cowl. Then at least I could have a drink.

I eased my way through the crowd. Even in the kitchen there were a dozen people. I looked around, a difficult operation under my cowl. I opened a couple of drawers at random without success. Then something attracted everybody else back to the main party. I turned towards the sink.

A pair of feminine arms passed around my body and her breasts pressed against my back. I dropped my enveloped hands towards hers. She avoided me easily and unfastened the rope girdle around my habit.

She whispered "Got you!" triumphantly as she deftly looped the rope over my wrists and tied them together. I tried to turn to see who it was. She pressed the sides of my cowl together, blindfolding me completely.

There was a soft metallic click. Something was holding my cowl shut.

"Come on, Alan, we have places to go." She whispered. It is very difficult to identify a whisper. I thought and hoped I knew who it was. Whoever it was, she had trapped me. With bound hands and blindfolded I could only comply as she pulled me out of the kitchen and to the stairs. She guided me up the stairs carefully.

A door opened. She pushed me into the room. My knees met the bed. She pushed me over so that I fell to the mattress. She joined me on the bed, pulling and pushing me to its centre.

Her body slammed against me. Her backside was across my chest, her feet crossed over my blindfolded face. She leant down and tied my legs together with another length of rope. She pulled the skirt of my habit up and her hands entered the waistband of my boxers before shoving them down to my knees. The colder air demonstrated that I was exposed from the waist down.

She reversed her position. There was another metallic noise and my cowl was opened. I looked up to see the veiled face of a nun above me.

"Hello, Alan. Pleased to see me?" The nun asked.

"If you are Louise, yes. If you aren't..."

"There's not much you can do if I'm not, is there Alan?"

She waved her hand. In it was a large banana hairgrip.

"All I have to do is..."

She bent forward, pinched my cowl together and fastened it with the banana grip.

"...and you are blindfolded again. I could be anyone, couldn't I?"

"Yes," I admitted.

"But I'm not just anyone. I'm the Nun who is going to ride her Monk whether you like it or not."

She unfastened the grip and spread my hood to expose my veil. From somewhere under her nun's costume she produced a stitch-ripper. Carefully she cut the stitches holding the veil in place and lifted it away.

"That better, Alan?"

I nodded. Her cowl descended to meet mine. Just before they met she put a hand inside her cowl and plucked away her veil, too late for me to be sure that she was Louise, but in time for our bare lips to meet. Then I was sure that Louise was mine and I was hers.

The Nun rode the Monk until dawn.