I was on a cycling holiday in Eastern France; it was the thing to do in the seventies – there being no cheap air flights! At Cambridge I was studying Modern Languages and I thought a three week cycling tour of Lorraine and Alsace would be good for my education, and boy, how it was.
On the first Saturday, in the afternoon, I was travelling at speed, down a hill and as I turned a corner, I ran wide and went onto the gravel. The wheels skidded and I slide off sideways. My body hit a door and it burst open. My head hit the door jam and I lost consciousness.
When I came to I was surrounded by women, some in dresses and others in nun's habits.
"Am I in heaven?" They smiled but didn't speak. It took it a bit of time and then I realised I was in France and they didn't understand me, so I scrabbled around in my brain and translated into French.
"Bon Jour, est ici heaven?"
"Mais non, monsieur, cette une convent"
I was in quite a bit of pain. I looked down and my thigh was all scratched and bleeding – my shorts had been torn in the slide along the road. Two nuns helped me walk into their convent and into a reception room. There, they washed my cuts. I asked after my bicycle and two women went out and pulled it into the yard.
After putting some plastes, they helped me go to the bike and take the panniers off. These held my spare clothing, and I extracted a pair of trousers. Another woman came into the room. She was dressed in an ordinary frock and seemed to be in charge – and she spoke English.
"Who are you and why have you come here? This is a Convent and a Retreat for abused women. We do not allow men here."
"I'm sorry, madam, but have had an accident and I fell through your Entry Door. Can I change into these somewhere, s'il vous plait?"
She helped me to a small bedroom on the first floor. I had difficulty walking up the stairs and my arm hurt.
"This is the bedroom that is used by the priest when he stays. You can change here."
"Fine, and thank you."
I sat down and changed out of my shorts. I walked back out of the room. The woman in charge, who was called Jeanne, took me down to the Rectory. Apparently the convent used to have about 100 of nuns. The Germans raped and pillaged the convent in the war, and since then the numbers had reduced. Recently, very few young girls came forward to become Brides of Christ.
"Nowadays, we have six old nuns and eighteen women who have retreated from the world or have been abused by men and want to get away. They pay what they can, and spend as long as they like here. We are supported financially by the Church and by rents from the local village. Also we sell our own brand of Liquor."
"Could I stay here until I recovered my strength please? "
"Well, if this was only a convent, a man would not even be allowed over the threshold, but since we are a retreat now as well, I think you could stay a few days."
She showed me round and introduced me to some of the women but not the nuns. They all had work to do, cleaning, cooking, bottling and they had discussion groups. Everyone attended the chapel twice a day.
"You can stay in the Priest's room. It is close to the communal lavatories and wash room."
She took me in, and I saw wooden partitioned seated toilets on the left room with four cubicles on each side, eight in all. There were no doors on any of the cubicles. In the right hand room there was a line of hand basins with facing mirrors. On the other side, on the right hand wall, thewre were four open cubicles of shower units.
"We recently had the seated lavatories installed - before that there was just holes in the floor. The older nuns were having trouble squatting down and getting up again."
I noticed that at the far end of the lavatories, there was a cubicle which had a plank about twelve inches wide behind it, going from the toilet cubicle into the washroom area, through a large hole in the wall. The seat consisted of two curved side supports,fixed about six inches above the bowl.
"What is that toilet cubicle with the plank for?" I asked Jeanne.
"Oh, that was used for punishing the nuns who disobeyed the Mother Superior. We only use it for amusement now."
I looked at the device closely. The plank came through the back of the toilet so that it jutted out into the bowl. The other end of the plank extended out and was resting on another toilet bowl with a circular hole cut in it. Half way along, there was a wide leather strap dangling down the side. I wondered what it would be like to be strapped on it. My penis twitched at the idea of licking a load of cunts and being pissed on.
I rested for the rest of the day and spent the time fixing my bike. I also talked to some of the women – some were friendly and a few hostile. By the evening, I was feeling much fitter and I drank several glasses of wine with my meal. Afterwards I was given a glass of their liquor. It tasted sweet and was not as strong as Green Chartreuse or Benedictine. I liked it and had another glass. Unfortunately, I got into an argument with some of the abused women, who had taken a dislike to all men. The upshot was, that I was bundled upstairs into the toilet and strapped to the plank in the toilets. My trousers were pulled down and my ankles were tied to the side of the bowl.
I woke up the next morning at the sound of a bell, with a bad headache. I could see daylight and I could hear women talking. They were laughing and pointing at me. Then one came over to my cubicle, and lifted her nighty to squat over my face. I looked up between her thighs and she looked down at me. Her pubic hairs were tickling my nose. I opened my nose to protest but then she started to piss and my mouth was suddenly full of it. I had to swallow – it tasted salty. When she finished, I licked up the last few drops. Then she rose up off me and looked down.
"That's for leaving me you bastard."
