Why Should Priests Have All The Fun Ch 01

PROLOGUE:

Nicole had been living at the Saint Agatha's Orphanage in Cottonwood, Rhode Island, for just over a year now; her 18th birthday a few days away. She'd come to stay at the orphanage when her parents had both perished in horrific train accident while traveling from Rhode Island to New York for an Easter celebration; she was nearly 17 at the time and thus knew her stay at the orphanage would be relatively short-lived.

Deeply scarred and afraid of being hurt again, Nicole was very quiet—keeping to herself the fragile feelings, thoughts and emotions that drained her of any hope for joy. The other children, perceiving her discretion to be snotty and stuck-up, virtually ignored her completely. In fact, the only person who seemed to care enough to attempt to build a positive relationship with her was one of the nuns—Sister Mary Elizabeth.

Sister Mary Elizabeth was a wonderfully kind and compassionate woman. She had come to serve at Saint Agatha's shortly after taking her vows of poverty, chastity and obedience to God—dedicating her life to service towards fulfilling His will. Her path to righteousness, however, had been both tumultuous and painful; the trials she encountered cruel and unyielding—her devotion to God the only reprieve from her vivid scars.

--Part One, Finding Faith…a prelude--

Born Mary O'Connell on October 16, 1947, her Irish-Catholic parents were first-generation immigrants who came for opportunity and settled in upstate New York. Her father, when working and not drunk, worked at a timber-mill while her mother worked as a cleaning-maid in downtown Albany. Mary's childhood was much like that of almost every child that grows-up in a working-class household—harsh and taxing—but at 16, life suddenly became dramatically worse.

It began when her father, quite an anomaly as he was an Irish man who really couldn't hold his liquor, went to work slightly drunk. In his stewed-state, he didn't properly secure the chains meant to hold the gigantic tree-trunks in place; they broke loose and he was caught beneath some of them. The accident turned-out to be quite severe, his back was broken and because he was intoxicated at the time of the accident, they were all left without any insurance to cover the medical bills nor the cost of unemployment.

Due to her father's impaired state, Mary's mother soon lost her job as well due to the time consumed by taking care of him. Mary was forced to get a part-time job while she attended school, but the family suffered dearly nonetheless—forced to move to a one-room shanty with only two mats for beds and a wood stove in the corner. Poverty and unemployment seemed only to stimulate her father's constant consumption of alcohol and he rapidly became more belligerent towards Mary's mother, and more explicitly-carnal towards Mary.

One night, Mary awoke to find her drunken father smothering her in her bed. The dank, robust odor of sweat and whiskey seared her nostrils, but she had to breathe through her nose because one of his large, clammy hands was clasped tightly over her mouth to keep her from screaming while his other hand groped her roughly, crudely beneath her nightgown. There was little that she could do—at around 280 pounds, her father easily outweighed her by over 150 pounds—struggle as she did, there was simply no way of stopping him.

That night, and many nights thereafter, her father raped her while her mother slept soundly on the mat just across the room. Mary endured her father's inebriated abuse for practically two years, until she turned 18 and was old enough to legally leave home unrestrained. The pain and misery of the abuse haunted her always—her image of men shattered, any desire for them had thus long-since vanished.

On her own for the first time—an indigent young woman living out of a storage closet within the factory she got a job cleaning at night—Mary toiled over her misfortunes and the purpose for her life, routinely contemplating the value of existence on a daily basis. She was a broken soul entangled by destitution—lost of all hope and deprived of spirit—wandering the empty halls of hollow buildings searching for just a small glimpse of promise.

Four months removed from her abusive home-life, Mary found a memo in her locker, taped to a check, informing her that she was being laid-off due to cutbacks; her locker and the storage closet were to be cleaned-out by the start of the morning shift. At sunrise Mary stood outside the factory—huddling close to the wall under the eaves to escape the chilling wind and driving rain—unsure of where to go or what to do. She wandered aimlessly down the sidewalk of the industrial district toting an undersized knapsack that held her only possessions: a change of clothes, a wool sweater, a pair of gloves, some stale crackers, a comb, a toothbrush and a dwindling supply of toothpaste.

Suddenly, the rain began pouring down in heavy sheets; knowing she couldn't afford to get sick, Mary scrambled to find the nearest place of refuge she could find. What she stumbled upon, drenched and muddy, was Saint Katherine's Cathedral—a stoic, sturdy and dry Catholic church. There existed a soft glow inside—a certain warmth that came as a surprise within a place of such grand proportions. Mary sat down on the very last pew, glad to warm her bones and ease the stiffness of her joints. Soon thereafter, she was fast asleep.

Mary awoke feeling the most delicate, comforting touch upon her face. Still rather groggy, she slowly opened her eyes to an image of such pure splendor that she nearly forgot to breathe. Sitting beside her was a young-looking nun, ensconced in a habit that hid-away most of her features, but with a soft and glowing face that smiled upon her. The nun felt Mary's forehead and told her she was getting sick and needed to eat, warm-up and get out of those wet clothes. Her voice was so soothing and inviting—Mary thanked her, following her deeper within the church.

For days the nun—Sister Anna, as she was called—cared for and consoled Mary, engaging her inquisitiveness with long, deep discussions about the work of God. Mary learned that nuns dedicated their lives to God's work, helping those in need while seeking greater understanding of life and bliss in simplicity. She learned they must take an oath to live humbly by modest means, to always obey God and to live a life devoid of intercourse. With all thoughts of sexual appeals or aspirations devastated by her father's abuse, Mary rediscovered her faith—a faith vaguely recalled from a distant past—where only the grace of God could wash away the pain and restore her hope.

The days turned to weeks and the weeks to months as Sister Anna began the tutelage of Mary in the religious scripts of God. As she learned more about the faith, its history and the processes of becoming a nun, Mary also learned more about Sister Anna as their relationship developed—growing deeper and closer with time.

Sister Anna, as Mary came to gather, was 32-years old. She stood about 5'5" and was of an average girth—specifics were hard to come by because of the hidden-affect of the habit nuns were made to wear. The two of them hardly ever spent time apart at all, whether in tutoring sessions or helping each other with the chores, they were basically inseparable. Deep down, Mary found herself enraptured by her tutor. It was a strange feeling deep within her bowels, one she'd never really felt before—a constant aching, a longing to be closer to Sister Anna than they already were. Confused, she wasn't sure if she should express this to Sister Anna, she wasn't even sure if these emotions were tolerated.

With no extra rooms available, Sister Anna arranged for an extra bed to be put in her room, her and Mary were adjusting wonderfully to being roommates. Early one night, however, Mary had gone to bed early feeling especially tired. Sometime later she awoke with a loud scream—soaked in cold sweat brought on by nightmares about her father. Sister Anna rushed into the room to Mary's side and hugged her, whispering to her that everything's alright. In a sudden, unconscious reaction, Mary looked at Sister Anna, cupped her face in her hands, and softly brought their lips together in a gentle, sensual kiss. Their lips lingered for awhile before Sister Anna pulled away and stood up, looking quite shaken. "Wh-what was that," Sister Anna quietly gasped?

"I…I don't know," Mary replied rather meekly. "It…uh…it just sort of happened by impulse. I'm soo sorry!"

"How could you do that? That's wrong…it's strictly forbidden," Sister Anna retorted!

"I'm sorry; I just don't understand why I have these feelings! I guess I thought perhaps God forbids physical affection between MEN and women…and…maybe sensual interaction between two meek and modest women dedicated to God's work would be tolerable."

"God forbids INTERCOURSE! It's that simple."

"I know," Mary reasoned, rising from her bed and grabbing Sister Anna's hands within hers. "But isn't intercourse when a penis penetrates the vagina? Love exchanged between two females isn't really intercourse, is it?"

"Well…I never really thought of that," Sister Anna admitted meekly.

"Sister Anna, you've meant so much to me and my spiritual healing…I think I've fallen in love with you…and I think deep down you feel it for me too. I want to share myself with you…and you with me."

"This is just happening so fast…I've never been with anyone before…no one."

"We'll go slow, I promise. This is my first too—but we both know how deeply we desire this…how deeply we desire each other."

Standing face to face—Mary in her nightgown, Sister Anna still in her habit and robe—their eyes locked as they slowly, once again allowed their lips to meet–affectionately massaging one another.