I had a vocation to the priesthood since grade school at St. Precopius elementary. There we were required to wear dress shoes, dress pants, a white shirt and a tie. The tie was a different color for each grade. I should mention my grades were pretty low and I never could bring them high enough to allow me to try out for altar boy. The sisters found me obedient and quick minded. My mom required I obey them as I did her, so I was their gopher. Bringing their books back to the public library or dropping off messages to someone in our Parish. On graduation day for eighth grade, we danced with our girl classmates and celebrated our leaving grade school and moving up to high school. We were getting older.
High school at De Sayles all boys private school was boring. I hated it from the first moment I was there. I had enjoyed seeing the girls in their plaid uniforms in grade school and I missed that. I could not stop thinking about their voices or the occasional pencil drop routine. The principal wouldn't allow dances at the school, nor would he allow our Sister schools to advertise their dances. During this time there was a shortage of priests and I suppose they were trying to forcibly guide us to a vocation.
My heart still yearned for a vocation. A small parish where I could make a difference in the lives of my flock. The opportunity to officiate at weddings and baptisms. I often dreamed of wearing the formal priestly robes, the expensive silks and vivid colors. The beautiful loving looks the mother gives her baby at baptism. So when Father Rick called me into his office for counseling (for what I didn't know yet) I was planning to ask him about it. About becoming a priest. I was seventeen and the world was still a strange and wonderful place. Father Rick told me to sit down. "Pete, how have you been? It's getting near graduation time and you are the only student who hasn't come into my office to ask about college."
I took a deep breath and breathed a sigh of relief. I thought they had caught me masturbating in the john or something, but I had nothing to worry about. In fact the question fit into my plans. "I'm thinking about going to Seminary, maybe becoming a priest."
"That's a fulfilling vocation Pete. I can tell you from my own experience that there is no calling in the world that will give you the rewards and sense of fulfillment."
That was then, this is now. On graduation at St. Joseph's Roman Catholic Seminary. I was given my first Assignment at St. Mary's of Perpetual Help. It is a large Parish and has a grade school and high school. The church is white marble with gold ornamentation and beautiful paintings and statues. It was the first place I went to when I arrived, even before checking in with the Monsignor. I was awed. The scent of incense, the quiet rays of the setting sun and the glimmer of candles set a mood that I can only barely describe here. I felt in touch with God there while I stood inside the quiet church.
Even though this is a huge Parish, there was only Monsignor Boyle and me. It didn't take me long to begin to learn the sisters names and some of the students. I had met so many of the parents that I couldn't remember one name from the next.
I sat at my desk in the high school chaplain's office, of St. Mary's. Sister Elizabeth came quietly inside and locked the door behind her. Her hair was short, brown, a little curly and showed her ears. She wore a plain dress suit with white blouse. Pinned on her left lapel was a gold cross. She wore the traditional black work shoe.
"Father Pete, would it be possible for you to hear my Confession?"
"Yes sister. Don't you usually see Father Boyle?"
"Not for this Father, I am so embarrassed."
I stood up and moved around the desk. There is a small leather couch by the wall and I led her there. Then I helped her sit down and I sat down next to her. I know it seems strange but in the quiet warmth of my office, all I could think about was her scent. Not perfume. Nor the deep musky smell that some women have. I didn't know. I was a virgin. Yet, when I sat down next to her, our legs touched each other. We sat there as she began to confess. I was in my twenties and she in her forties but her body felt young and warm next to mine. My senses felt so sharp. My breathing deepened, as did hers. She clasped her hands together in prayer as she related her problem to me. I wasn't prepared to hear, what she related to me.
"Father forgive me for I have sinned. It has been a week since my last and most truthful confession."
"Do you mean you have lied and made a bad confession sister?"
"Yes, Father." Tears began to well up in those beautiful hazel eyes of hers. Her lips trembled as the words began to tumble out.
"I don't know what has come over me Father. I think I will have to leave here. I am about to ask the cardinal to release me from my vows."
"Go on sister. Tell me about it in your own time. I'm listening."
A knock on the door disturbed us and I stood up and moved quickly to it. I felt irritable to leave Sister Elizabeth's side. The feeling of soft warmth of her thigh now was a cooling memory. I wanted to get back to her. I thought to hear her confession.
"Father Pete, I am Megan. I don't know if you remember me, but I was wondering if we could talk?"
"Yes. Of course Megan. At the moment I am hearing confessions and need privacy. Would you come back in an hour?"
"Yes Father" She smiled and as she turned round the momentum sent her hair around her head in a sexy lilt. Her firm breasts bounced as she made her way down the hall. I briefly noticed the rhythmic dance her buttocks made with each step...
I put "The confession in progress" sign on the door and locked it.
"I'm sorry sister Elizabeth. Please continue." This time I purposefully sat down so close to her, I had almost sat in her lap. She smiled at my uncoordinated movements and began to tell me why she was having problems with her vows.
"Father Pete. All I can think about most recently are our boys. I find my eyes traveling down their firm young bodies. I feel a warm tingling sensation in the pith of my stomach when I see one with an erection. I have woke in the middle of the night in my private cell (bedroom) after having a steamy sexual dream where I was with one of them."
She put her hands on her lap. She could no longer hold them up next to the bulge of her firm large breasts. Her hands were so shaky. I once again was made aware of the pleasant warmth of her thigh. I carefully moved my hands down to hers, clasping those neatly trimmed fingers and hands in mine. I held them cupped in mine. My breathing once again was deep and now I felt the adrenaline rushing through my body. My groin ached and my penis seemed pinched in my pants. I moved down to ease the tension and make myself comfortable.
Sister Elizabeth's hand seemed to fly down next to mine as I did this. We both seemed unaware. It seemed so natural. Now that the pinching was gone my erection moved up into its full length and made a little tent on my pants leg. I gently led her hand back up to my other one, and again cupped those soft hands of hers. Her breathing too seemed to be deep and rhythmic. Her adrenaline caused her veins to pulse noticeably. "Is that all then sister, just a few bad thoughts and a dream or two?"
"Yes Father Pete. But it's interfering with my prayers."
I don't know why but when she said this my manhood leapt. The thought of her in saintly devotion to our Lord seemed to intensify my mood. I no longer paid full attention to what she was now saying. As she talked on for a few minutes in my office, the closeness of us, the dim lights; all I could think about was bedding this woman. I wanted to give her so much pleasure, to make her moan in delicious agony, as her hips rocked hard pushing me deeply into her. Kissing her breasts and neck. I wanted to kiss everywhere on her body. I wanted to know every crevice, every blemish, every spot. My concentration centered on the touch of her hands and the warmth of her thigh. Part of me wondered how this had gotten so far out of hand.
"Well," I said to her, "often when a woman who has had sex before entering the sisterhood will feel her sexual tensions rise." I said, trying to remember the psychiatry classes I had at seminary, which were my only link to sexual knowledge at that time. I didn't even know what a mons would feel like, nor the slippery texture of her pussy as my hand rubbed it deeper and deeper making it wet. These thoughts would come later, when I had experienced more of life.
"Father, I am a sister!" She said. "Yes. I know that. What are you telling me? We are in confession, you may speak freely."
