The Vicar of St. Dunstan's Ep. 20

byNigel Debonnaire©

My Dad gave me a wry smile. "Abuse the girls, son?"

I shot back the whiskey and took a sip of the lager. "Mavis and her girls are working on a quilt for our sister parish in Alice Springs. She wanted me to come by when they were there so they could get my opinion of what they were doing."

"Oh," my Mom said, "and since when have you become interested in stitchery? I had to nag you for three years before you learned how to put a button back on your shirt."

"It's a Pastor thing, Mom. They need my support and encouragement, so they asked me to come by and look at their work. I said it was just fine, and they were happy."

"But I didn't see any quilts in the Quilting Room of your church this weekend. Why aren't they working on it there?"

"Ah, they wanted it to be a family gift and so they didn't feel right about using the Parish room."

"Surely Mary and Sheila would have been all right with them working there."

"Oh yes, certainly." I took another sip of lager. "But they wanted to keep it a secret. Since it was just them and not the whole parish."

Harry looked a little bewildered at all this, but I gave him a look and he relaxed and smiled. "Right, Wilma, just like he's tellin' ya. They're makin' a quilt at my house. Takes up most o'th' front room."

"Abusing the girls?" my Mom pressed on.

"Well, we kid around a lot, you know, insult humor. They give me a hard time; I give them a hard time. It's the way they like it, Mom. If I gave them a kind word directly, they'd think I was sick or insane."

"Yeah, sick or insane," Harry echoed.

I looked at my watch. "It's time to finish our beer, it's almost time to go to Lucinda's house." Dad drank his brew down as I did; Mom gave me a doubting look as she finished hers. Harry used the opportunity to drain his glass and beckoned to the bartender for another.

"Well, it's been good to see you again, Fletch, Wilma. I hope you have a wonderful time at Lucinda's house," Harry said expansively. "Do ya think she'll do the Cinnamon Altoid thing for ya?"

I turned to my parents and moved them toward the door. "Lucinda sometimes does a tapioca dessert that she laces with Cinnamon Altoids sometimes. She's a little--unusual like that. We might see it and we might not, depends on her mood." I turned to Harry. "Bye Harry."

"Bye, me son, there's a good lad," he said, as he waved us out like royalty.

"Do you think Harry was a little sloshed tonight?" I asked my folks.

"I though Harry was a lot sloshed," Mom said, "but I wonder what he was really talking about."

We arrived at the Parkhurst-Frazelton mansion without incident, and Willikins was kind enough to give us a tour of the house when we arrived, since Lucinda was still getting ready. My folks were amazed; they thought it was more ornate than Buckingham Palace. We met Lucinda and her daughter, Mother Mary Rufus in full habit and glasses, in the sitting room, where we sat sipping sherry as she entertained us with stories about her travels with her husband. The Nun held her mother's hand as she talked, and when Lucinda seemed to veer toward a dangerous anecdote, she gave her mother's hand a hard squeeze to distract her and redirect the flow of the narratives.

Dinner was superb, as usual, and dessert was a glass flute of fresh strawberries with cream. As we savored it, my mother said: "I understand you have a special dessert made with tapioca and Cinnamon Altoids."

"I do?" Lucinda asked, with a disjointed tone in her voice.

"Certainly, Mrs. Parkhurst-Frazelton," I broke in, "We've enjoyed it many times here together, haven't we, Mother Mary Rufus?"

"I do like Cinnamon Altoids. . ." Lucinda continued.

Mother Mary Rufus looked confused for a moment, then caught up with me. "Oh, yes, Mother, surely you remember. We had it just last Wednesday when I dropped by for supper. You taught Willikins your recipe."

Willikins was the model of subtle servitude and answered smoothly. "Yes, Madame, you taught me that recipe many years ago, and it's been my pleasure to serve it to you on many occasions."

Lucinda shook her head daintily, and blinked a moment. "Of course, tapioca and Altoids. My husband enjoyed it so."

We adjourned to the study with snifters of brandy after dinner, where my father and I shot some billiards while the women chatted. My game was off, as I tried to catch bits and pieces of their conversation, but they were just out of my range. Dad looked at my strangely as my shots went awry, and I shrugged my shoulders. "I'm way out of practice, Dad. Don't get a chance to shoot pool much with all the things going happening in the Parish."

"I'm sure," he said with a smirk on his face. The butler returned with some photo albums, and put them on a table in front of Lucinda and my mother. "I thought you would like to see some shots of my children growing up," Lucinda began, "We went to several nice places as we taught them about the world."

"That would be wonderful," Mom said. She loved photo albums and had a full shelf at the ranch devoted to family adventures and other travels. "Would you like to come over and see these, honey?"

"In a minute," Dad said, before he ran the table. "Now I'm ready. Thanks for the game, son."

"I've seen all these pictures many times and so has Father Alfred," Mother Mary Rufus interjected. "May I show him another part of the house that he may not have seen before?"

"What would you like to show him dear?" Lucinda asked quietly.

"I thought I'd show him my old room."

"Oh, that's a good idea. Run along then, Barbie."

"Is it all right if I go?" I asked my parents.

"Good grief, Alfred, you're a grown man now," Mom replied. "We'll be fine here, go see what the Sister wants to show you."

Willikins was standing nearby to keep an eye on them, so Mother Mary Rufus and I went off down a corridor. When we got out of sight, she took my hand and gave it a squeeze: "I thought she'd never get around to the pictures. You ready for a little fun?" I nodded my head.

It was up two levels and down a long corridor before we reached her old bedroom, which she occupied as Barbara Parkhurst-Frazelton. The cleaning staff kept it as she left it, but clean and neat. A large space, it was furnished in the Louis XV style, with a large, framed picture of Michelangelo's David dominating the wall across from her canopied bed. "I can still get into most of my clothes from that time," Barbara said, "but they're horribly out of style. Once in a while we have a costume party, and I find an old set of hippie style clothes to wear. There used to be a television and stereo in here, but I had them moved to the Rec Room after I moved out. There also used to be a huge picture of the Stones, Mick Jagger singing with Keith Richards behind him. This drawer is where I kept my dildo and vibrator collection."

"And where did they end up?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" She said with a coquettish smile. "It's the wrong time of the month to have a lot of fun together, but I've always wanted to seduce a man in my room. When I was a slut, I slept around in a lot of places, but never here." A box on Cinnamon Altoids appeared in her hand. "Care for a little of Mother's special dessert?"

I gathered her in my arms, her flowing habit clenched tightly to me, I gave her a long, hard kiss, and she sank to her knees to undo my trousers. A couple of red candies went into her mouth, and I took a couple as well. It had been a long time since the electric tingle of her wet tongue embraced my member, spreading its magic up from my groin through my torso and all the way to the tip of my head. Her head, a concerto of soft black and white cloth, black rimmed glasses and the lustrous skin of her face, culminating on her soft, red lips that played over my skin. Looking in the mirror, I regarded myself standing in the middle of the room, dressed in my dog collar, the habited nun kneeling before me, her body working back and forth.

She was all over my cock, all over my testicles, up and down my thigh, licking, sucking, nibbling gently. My genitals were on fire, and soon I added a huge amount of my cream to the Cinnamon fire in her mouth, which she consumed like a famished person at the end of a fast. After sucking me dry, she looked up at me innocently and asked: "Shall we go back to our parents?" I gave her a swat on her heavily padded backside and we prepared to return.

The parents hardly noticed our return, my Father giving me a broad wink as we entered the room. Lucinda was describing a family journey to Greece, when my Father started to breathe more shallowly and rapidly. "Are you all right, Fletcher?" my Mother asked.

"For the most part," he got out. "Need a pill."

"Do you need a nitro-glycerin pill, sir?" Willikins asked. "Yes, that's what he needs," Mom said, "I've got them in my bag." She quickly fished one out and gave it to him, which helped rather quickly. "I think it's time we went back," she said.

Our departure was uneventful, although Mother Mary Rufus wore a silly grin on her face that made me nervous. We got Dad settled into bed when we got home and called it a night.

The next morning, Mom had to go out for a few things, so I went to have a chat with Dad. "Are you all right, Dad?"

"Fine son, just fine."

"Are you sure? What about last night?"

"Oh, that happens from time to time, but I just take the nitro pill and I'm fine."

"I'm worried about you."

He thought for a moment, and smiled at me. "I appreciate that son, but you shouldn't. I've got good doctors, good medicine and the finest woman in the world to take care of me. Sure, I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow: I'd like to stay on this planet a while longer, but I'm ready for the next world anytime. Wilma will be all right without me; she's got a lot of folks to look after her when I'm gone.

"It's been good to see England, son, get an idea of your daily life. You've got a good life, good people around you, a good parish. I can see how you love it here. You've done well, son." "Thanks, Dad."

"How soon will you get your dissertation done?"

"The proposal should be done in another month. I'll get right on it and get it done by Easter of next year."

"You'll have to come back to defend it?"

"Yes, back to Chicago. I'll come out to the ranch while I'm on your side of the Pond."

"That'll be nice, son. Your mother is looking forward to another graduation."

"I know. I'll do everything I can to make that happen."

"I worry about her, Alfred, she works so hard. She's going to the Doc regularly, but she never tells me how she's doing. I'm afraid I'll wake up one day and find her gone."

"No, Dad, Mom's doing just fine. She'll be there for you." Dad paused for a moment and looked out the window. It had been raining earlier in the morning, but the sun had come out and the view of the back yard was stunning in its symphony of greens and flowers. He sighed, and said: "This is beautiful. Here and now, it's beautiful, and that's what matters. Don't forget to take one day at a time, son, savor what you have."

Mom came back at that moment, and shortly she and Agnes were running around getting their stuff organized for the return journey. I visited some shut ins that I hadn't gotten around to since before my trip after Lunch, and got back just in time for Tea. They made an early evening, since we had to take them to Heathrow for an 8:00AM departure.

Agnes and I saw them to Security, and I got a pass to assist them to their plane. Clerical dress does help from time to time. We waited for the plane in silence, watching the people go by on their way to holidays in different destinations. Most of them were talking about going to Spain, others to southern France. A tour of Catholics were on their way to Medjugore. The flight was called, and they got ready for preboarding. My Dad gave me a firm handshake and wished me farewell, but Mom clung to me for an embarrassingly long time with surprising force. Tears streamed down her face, and I whispered in her ear: "I'm glad you came."

She nodded in reply. "I'll be back home just after Easter. Keep me posted how you're doing. Give my best to the rest of the family."

"I love you, Alfred," she said in a trembling voice.

"I love you, Mom." She gave me another bear hug before turning to push my Dad's wheelchair down the jetway. He gave me a jaunty wave, and I stayed to watch as their plane taxied out for takeoff. It's not a good feeling wondering if you're ever going to see someone alive again. The two weeks had been wonderful, however, and I was glad they came.

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