I think it's best to start with who I am, rather than who I was. My name is Claire Benton and I'm twenty-six years old, and am expecting my first child in three months. For those interested I am five foot four and I would guess around a hundred and twenty-five pounds or so. That's 'willowy' as many would say.
I've never had much in the breast department; I usually just wear sports bras these days since they have grown a little bit with the pregnancy. Before they were a modest 34c and I'm proud to say on the perky side.
I had never been very sexual, until recently; I had tried it once in my youth, and I do emphasize the word try. We were two fumbling teenagers in the dark backseat of a car, neither knowing what they were doing. Being dry humped as he tried to penetrate me. No, I wasn't horribly impressed I will say.
As for the person I was when this story took place; that's where things take a bit of a different turn. My name WAS...Sister Claire Benton. That's right, a nun. I know; the first question is usually...how could a nun become a willing mother-to-be? That's the story I wanted to tell you.
It actually started on a sad note. My mother was diagnosed with ovarian cancer when I was twenty-five. It was a late diagnosis; mom was not exactly the kind of person who took their health seriously.
After the diagnosis, the decline was fairly quick. Dad took care of her at home until the end; I give him credit for standing by her. Five months after the diagnosis and mom went to meet the Saints in heaven.
At the time I had been at the St Clare Monastery in Boston for almost seven years. I always thought it was cool that my name was Claire and my monastery was St Clare.
In case you are doing the math, you got it; I entered the cloister basically right out of high school. My family is very ardent Roman Catholic, and all of them live in the greater Boston area. When I had told my parents of my intent they were thrilled. To have a church member in the family did give the family a bit of a standing during Sunday mass.
I received permission from the Mother Superior to leave the convent during the days, to help my father adjust to his new life; and to help with the arrangements for the funeral.
No, this didn't start with my dad; it actually started with my Uncle Brian, his younger brother. Like most catholic families, there were seven kids; five boys and two girls.
My father was the oldest; he was forty-four when mom passed away. Uncle Brian is the next to youngest of the family; at this point he was thirty-eight which put him thirteen years older than me.
Unlike his brothers and sisters, Uncle Brian was more the maverick in the family. He enjoyed his single life and shied from marriage at a young age, then popping out the babies.
The first time I went to Dad's, there was no one there. I spent the day helping him clean out some of mom's stuff, and hugged him every time he cried, which was often.
The second time I came to dads' was when things started to subtly go crazy. When his front door opened, instead of seeing a tired and worn out father; I stood there staring into the deepest brown eyes I had ever seen.
"Ummm...hi" I mumbled. "I'm...Sister Claire...is dad home?" I asked softly.
"Claire, oh my God!" the strange man exclaimed. "It's me Uncle Brian."
"Uncle Brian?" I gasped as I was suddenly enveloped into a hug.
In that instant the strangest things hit me; first it was the scent of his aftershave, followed by the sensation of those powerful arms wrapped around me.
I never saw the demon sitting on my shoulder giggling; as confusion reigned in my brain.
"Unnghhh" I grunted as my body was crushed to his.
I suddenly realized even through my habit, my breasts were mashed against his powerful chest. I rapidly tried to pull back, but couldn't miss the sudden tingle that ran through my body.
Uncle Brian ushered me into the house, calling for my father. His continued use of calling me Claire and not Sister Claire, at first bothered me. But, after a few hours I didn't even notice.
When Uncle Brian mentioned lunch, I started for the kitchen. I politely declined when he offered to order something for us. I wanted to be there to help dad.
As I was standing at the stove stirring the meat sauce for the spaghetti, I suddenly felt two strong arms once again wrap around me.
"Uncle Brian" I gasped.
I felt one hand rest lightly on the cloth of my habit, pressing against my belly. I couldn't suppress the shudder as the demon on my shoulder once again reared its ugly head.
"Smells delicious" my Uncle said over my shoulder.
"Thank...thank you." I answered.
"I wasn't talking about the sauce" his voice whispered in my ear, as I felt his warm breath wash across my neck.
I should have said something then, but it was as if I had lost my voice. I could only stand there mute as those arms slid away and I heard him retreat from the kitchen.
I spent the remainder of the day trying to keep at least a foot or two between myself and Uncle Brian. Right then, the last thing I wanted was more confusing contact.
I thought I had been successful, that was until I reached the front door of dads' house, on my way out.
"Claire" I heard Uncle Ben behind me.
I turned to see what he wanted, and that was a mistake. My eyes locked to his large brown pools, and I suddenly felt the most uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach.
"Are you coming back Saturday?" he stepped in front of me. I swore I could almost feel the heat of his body through my habit.
"I...I hadn't..." I stuttered. Lord help me, I couldn't even form words around this man.
"Please?" he asked softly. Uncle Brian stepped closer, his face only inches from mine.
"All right...Saturday." I heard myself say.
"Thank you" Uncle Brian whispered back.
Before I could move, he leaned inward and his lips softly brushed mine. I jerked back in response.
"You shouldn't..." I croaked out.
"And wear something...cooler" he smiled at me.
In a near state of panic, I turned and rushed through the front door, almost running to the safety of my car. How could he even suggest such a thing? My mind screamed.
Yet, when I stepped out of the dormitory building of St Clare's the oppressive heat of a Boston summer was like a hot wet rag on my face. Perhaps, Uncle Brian had been correct after all.
While some cloisters stayed strictly with a habit, St Clare's did a lot of volunteer work in the city. This allowed the sisters to maintain a small more modern but conservative wardrobe.
