I was raised by a very loving mother and father. My sister, Lucy, is three years older than me. Our parents, though extremely generous and caring, were very strict when it came to religious matters. We were required to pray for an hour every morning, before every meal, and taught about moral implications whenever it was deemed appropriate. To me, this seemed to be more often than necessary.
It was the early 1950's. Our family of four lived in a small isolated community in which everyone was raised as a Nercian Christian. Nercian Christianity, as far as I knew, was only practiced within this very small town. Its belief system and practices were almost synonymous with the Roman Catholic Church, with a few minor differences in certain procedures. One such procedure required all women to partake in the Ritual of Confession.
Every family in the small town was given a particular time when they were to be admitted into the church so the women could confess their sins. This was done to ensure all female family members had a fair chance to receive their penance. My family's designated time was 4:00pm on the first Thursday of May.
The whole family would wait together as my mother and sister silently and patiently awaited their chance to absolve themselves of their sins. This was crucial, as it was one of only two chances during the year they would get to become truly pure and free of evil. Women of all ages, ranging from children to the elderly, took part in the ceremony at their designated times. Young girls were obligated to partake in the ritual with their mothers and even their grandmothers.
As with all males of the parish, my father and I did not participate in confession in the same manner as the females. Our church allowed men to simply acknowledge their sins in private, asking the Lord for forgiveness in their prayers every night. I never quite understood why only my sister and mother were allowed to go into the confessional chamber. As a young boy, I was very curious to see what the inside of the chamber looked like.
The chamber seemed rather large from the outside. Built along the anterior wall of the church, it was enclosed in finished solid oak. Light would enter from the stained glass dome which topped the structure. There were no windows or other openings along the walls, ensuring complete privacy. Statues of a religious nature adorned its thick outer walls. Beautiful patterns were carefully carved into the spaces between them.
Even as a young boy, I could truly appreciate the artistry and work involved in the design, making me wish I could get to see inside.
The procedure was the same each confessional afternoon since I was a child. Just prior to the ceremony, a nun in a grey habit and veil would stand at the door of the confessional the whole time with her head bowed in prayer. When the priest was ready, the door would open a crack. The nun would look up through the crack and nod solemnly at whoever was on the other side. She would then look in our direction, and quietly motion with her hand that it was time to enter.
My mother would whisper into my sister's ear that it was their time to go with the nun into the confessional chamber. The nun then looked at my father and me. My father nodded back at her and we would both go and sit in the pews. I obediently went with my father towards the pews. But before I sat down, I caught a quick glimpse of the nun directing my mother and sister into the large confessional chamber. The door was then closed all the way.
I was far too young to know what actually transpired inside that large wooden room. And for the next half hour or so I would kneel at the pews with my father in a prayer position. But instead of prayer, my mind kept focusing on what was happening to my mother and sister every confessional afternoon. Eventually, my mother and sister would silently approach us from behind. My mother softly tapped my father on the shoulder indicating it was time to go.
As we both rose from the pew, I couldn't help but notice both my mother and sister's long, dark hair was damp and flat. Just as it was after they had taken a bath at home. Also, their church attire was not as neat as it was when we arrived. Sometimes a button would be loose or their pantyhose would be bunched up in places. This was a very easy thing to notice, as mother would meticulously make sure everyone's attire was prim and perfect before we left the house.
As a small boy, I used to imagine there was a swimming pool inside that room! Of course I knew the confessional room was a little too small to fit a whole pool.
Although my curiosity was staggering, I was too shy to actually ask anyone in my family or even at school about what happened during the confessional ritual. I guess I figured if I was really supposed to know, they would eventually talk about it in Sunday school.
Today I was a man of eighteen years, having celebrated my last birthday only two weeks before. My sister Lucy was twenty-one. She had blossomed into a beautiful young woman, just like our mother.
They resembled each other indeed, my mother being the taller of the two by only three or four inches. Along with the aforementioned long, dark hair, they both had striking green eyes. Underneath their rather conservative clothing, it was somewhat apparent that they both had very thin waists and moderately sized busts. Their legs were long but still in perfect proportion to the rest of their respective physiques.
Ever since I was a teenager, I couldn't resist occasionally thinking about what my mother and sister looked like under their clothes.
In fact, I would have been curious to see just about any girl or woman naked at the time. Unfortunately, boys and girls were forced to attend separate classes in school. I was rarely around girls in general, except of course my mother and sister. I would also see my aunts and female cousins occasionally, but that was nearly it.
When I was in the presence of other women, especially those I found physically attractive, I couldn't help but feel tremendously shy and reserved. I could not even bring myself to look at them for more than a couple of seconds before looking down at my shoes. This was because of the way my parents raised me.
Growing up, my parents sometimes lectured me and Lucy about the dangers of 'impure thoughts.' According to them, a boy must never give in to the evils of these thoughts. It was considered shameful and sinful. Giving in to such temptation would ensure an eternity of torture and pain after death.
Nudity of any kind was completely forbidden in our house, as it was considered shameful according to our family's religious beliefs. My sister and I were taught to be completely discreet around each other, just as our parents were around us. We were taught to never consciously reveal our 'private parts' to anyone at anytime. It was sinful, and because of my upbringing, I couldn't help feeling ashamed of my curiosity. But it was unavoidable.
I knew that girl's bodies were different from boys, but I had no real evidence. I, like every other boy my age I had ever spoken to, had never seen the female form unclothed.
