The Vicar of St. Dunstan's Ep. 21

She whispered back: "Let's wait until it's a cert. Someone downtown may object: he had to visit Horace and Tommy yesterday."

"Damn." I was hoping that Frank Crookshank could sneak Kieran's internship through without the head witches' coven getting wind of it. Tommy Hughes might short circuit this just for giggles. "OK, mum's the word. Shit, I wish he didn't have to deal with those vultures."

"Ditto."

Mother Mary Rufus looked serene as she sat between Bishop Delacroix and Archdeacon Hughes. She was nibbling her food demurely and pretending to be involved in conversation with the Bishop, nodding occasionally. Her eye caught mine and I spotted a brief, conspiratorial twinkle. Miriam was talking to George Staton on the other side of her, so I signed I want to lick your nipple while the illuminati were looking the other direction. I was rewarded with a look of surprise confined to her flaring eyes and nothing more.

After the meal, my dearest lady of the veil got up and got our retreat started. Our first day, until the next luncheon, was on the Contemplation of Sin. Mother Mary Rufus indicated where we were to find our spiritual directors and passed out a sheet of assignments: Sister Mary Justin was my advisor for this retreat, as were the rest of my deanery. That wasn't how these retreats normally went, but I didn't complain: our leadership wouldn't know good spiritual practice if it masticated their gluteal protuberances, and griping wouldn't help. After taking a few questions, we were commanded to keep silence for the rest of the retreat except when specifically allowed. Sister Mary Francis Xavier was standing in a corner, trying to look inconspicuous and giving me devilish looks from under her veil.

The day was excellent for contemplation: the grounds were in splendid shape, and I wandered freely around them as long as daylight lasted. There was reading at dinner: Sister Mary Martha read to us from the Spiritual Exercises. We spent time together in the Chapel listening to the sisters do Evening Prayer, then retired to go to our rooms. On the way out, Mother Mary Rufus signed Midnight here surreptitiously. I nodded subtly in reply.

As I went through the common area, Sister Mary Francis Xavier was waiting for me, and beckoned me to follow her to a sitting room. Closing the doors behind us, she beckoned me to a small couch while she sat cross legged on a coffee table in front of me. She settled with her hands on her knees, smiling broadly as she faced me. I like you, she formed with her hands, you're cute.

I like you, too.

Where are you from?

America. Kansas. A ranch.

Wow, America. Did you ride horses?

Yes, since I can remember.

I love to ride horses. Got to ride at day camp when I was a kid. I miss it.

Yes, I miss it, too. Don't have enough money to join a riding club.

What else do you like to do?

Play chess, screw. . .

A look of shock and amazement crossed her face. OK for you, since you're Anglican. I smiled in reply. A joke. From an old movie.

She thought for a few seconds, then smiled. Blazing Saddles.

Gosh, this woman was too sharp for me. Yes. A favorite.

Mine too. What do you really like to do?

Shoot skeet and pool, really play chess, work out and jog, hang out at the Pub.

I like the Pub, too. We get to go on Saturday night, once a month.

Didn't know that.

You're always busy then. Do you really like to screw?

I gave the answer a great deal of thought, since her superior would not appreciate my seduction of one of her flock. Not that I wanted to; she looked like a charming girl, but I didn't really know her very well and I'm really not a slut. Who doesn't? I finally came up with in reply

She beamed. Do you want to see my tits?

No, thank you. We don't know each other that well.

Maybe later. She looked at the clock and bounded toward the door. See you, she signed before she darted through the door, closing it soundlessly despite her haste.

I laid on the trundle bed and dozed until my alarm signaled it was almost midnight. I made my way to the chapel: its enormity was enhanced by the hundreds of flickering votive candles. A figure was sitting in the nave about half way back, coming closer I saw it was Mother Mary Rufus, a Rosary clenched in her hands. Another figure was in the shadows in the back; seeing this, I knelt in the front pew. The man in the back looked a lot like Arthur Farnsworth, but I'd never seen him at prayer before and didn't want to disturb the rare occurrence..

After an seeming eternity, the Mother Superior glided silently down the side aisle and down toward a door to the right of the altar, away from the Convent. Looking around, I saw Arthur had left, so I followed.

The night was still warm, and the moon was almost full in a cloudless sky, surrounded by a few dots of light. The warrior Orion was climbing up from the Eastern horizon. It was still rather warm thanks to the influx of tropical air, and I found her standing like a statue next to a specific tomb. I crept up behind her and caressed her. "Hi," I whispered in her ear.

"You're on a silent retreat; you shouldn't be speaking," she snapped lightly. "Why didn't you ever tell me you knew Sign?"

I walked in front of her. You never asked.

"Thank you for being a smartass. Sister Mary Francis Xavier told me about your older sister."

There are still things we don't know about each other. Want me to make a list?

"No, not tonight. I've got a better use for you." Her pique evaporated; she came forward and gave me a deep kiss.

Won't someone catch us here? I asked after we broke.

"Who goes into an enclosed Covent cemetery in the middle of the night?"

Horny nuns.

"Touché. Plato's Cave is busy tonight: Jeannie is entertaining, and she'll probably take it for the week." I shrugged my shoulders. "Her sweetheart is here; she's grown found of one of your seminarians she met at Kent House, so they'll be very busy."

Won't that get him into trouble?

"No, we put him on the Third Floor by the back stairwell. It's the only room on the floor someone could sneak out and not get caught by the security cameras or be heard by everyone else on the floor."

My room is in the same spot on Second Floor.

"This should surprise you?" She gave me another kiss, running her hands down the back of my t-shirt and caressing my backside. After a few moments, she turned me around and pointed at the stone over my shoulder. "Read that."

It read: MARY ATHANASIUS SMITH, 1899-1988

I turned around in confusion. "Do you remember?" I shook my head. She looked in disbelief. "Are you sure you don't remember?" Trouble was brewing: I could smell it. "She gave me something I've never gotten rid of," her voice growled lowly in warning.

Finally, it dawned on me. Your name?

Bingo. She relaxed. "Yes, she's the bitch that named me after my dog. I'm going to get back at her all week long. Drop your shorts and plant your sweet cheeks on her grave, sugar."

It was easy to comply: the thought of making love on someone's grave appealed to my warped sense of humor right away, especially since it was the nun who did my Barbara an injustice. The dirt was very fine and gentle as I sat bareassed on it, and it didn't take Barbara long to stroke and suck me into readiness. She pulled up her tunic all the way above her breasts and settled herself on me, her velvet vise moister than normal as it devoured my offering. I rested my shoulders on the stone, but couldn't maintain the position for very long; we traded places and her bare back was printed itself deeply in the turf as we rode our way to sublime culmination. As we lay together, me on top of her, after our orgasms, she whispered in my ear: "Same time tomorrow, big boy?" There was only one answer.

I showered after getting back to wash the dirt off my body. Morning Song was far too early the next day; I'm sure that I was barely coherent for my spiritual direction session with Sister Mary Justin right afterward.

Bishop Horace insisted we all dress up for Eucharist, so we looked like a Papal Conclave the next morning in the hour before lunch. Several of us gagged from the amount of incense Archdeacon Tommy insisted on using, Horace rambled forever during his sermon, and the wine for consecration was downright awful. Lunch was a simple but welcome respite after that experience.

Right after lunch, Sister Imp beckoned me into a sitting room as I was returning to my room. She led me to the couch and settled cross legged before me again, her tunic unnecessarily high to reveal shapely calves and delicate feet in leather sandals. You were out late last night, she said with a smirk on her face.

Oh, really? Yes, really. You went out just before midnight and got back about an hour and a half later, then you took a shower. Red was missing about the same time. Coincidence?

I was praying in the chapel and saw Red there. She crossed her arms and gave me a disdainful look. This is a retreat and we're supposed to pray, right?

She looked askance for a few more moments, then the mood dropped in an instant. I guess. I don't care. As long as Red enjoys herself.

And the showers are free that time of night. How did you know I was out?

It's my week to watch the cameras at night. The junior nuns in Simple Vows take turns a week at a time. I like it cause it means no class and no other work.

Good for you.

You weren't the only one wandering last night.

Oh, really?

Yes. You weren't the only one wandering. Several were out, in each other's rooms.

That got my attention. Oh? Who?

They weren't wearing name tags. Several young men went to the Bishop's room, the other old fart roamed the hallways looking for someone. The middle aged man with a little belly was in the Indian lady's room. All the other women had guests except the young African woman had a man.

George spent the night with Beatrice; she was rumored to be insatiable and George admitted to having a prescription for Viagara once. I saw them wander together in the gardens that afternoon and at Evensong they sat next to each other making eyes at one another. The Sisterhood had convened in the big Queen's quarters, the less I knew about that the better. Tommy was probably roaming the halls looking for Arthur. Miriam's solitude didn't surprise me; she had never recovered from the fling with Keiran's father twenty years ago and never dated to my knowledge. Roberta was always down to earth and earthy, but Edwina and Pamela had always struck me as extremely virginal women, too prim and proper to solicit male attention. I guess you never know, I signed at last. Where was Arthur?

Which one is he?

Short, thin, dark hair, dark eyes. Prankster, troublemaker. Usually floats with the Sisterhood.

A terrified look crossed her face, then disappeared as quickly as it appeared. Don't know.

Don't lie to me. Can't say. Don't ask me. Can I suck your cock?

I rocked back in surprise. We don't know each other well enough. Big Red will be jealous, won't she?

That was greeted with an odd, high pitched giggling. What Red doesn't know won't hurt me.

Sorry, I have to be faithful.

Her eyes opened wide and her shoulders went up and back. So, you admit it!

I admit nothing. I need to go take a nap.

Let me go with you.

Won't the cameras see you go into my room?

Yes, and I'd be in deep shit. Bye. She hopped up to her feet and darted silently out of the room. I wondered how they managed that.

The rest of the afternoon and evening were spent reviewing the early life of Christ. Bedtime came right after supper considering my soon to be interrupted sleep. I snuck out the back stairwell and made a circuitous route through the Chapel to the Cemetery at Midnight, so Sister Mary Francis Xavier wouldn't spot me. This night was warm as well, and I bent Barbara over the tombstone itself, with her stomach resting on the marble and her hands balancing on the ground beyond, her habit lifted high to expose her sweet posterior and her bare feet clenching the earth, as I made love to her from behind. The night wind rustled the fragile leaves on the trees and felt delicious on our skin. We were so turned on that it didn't take long for both of us to orgasm deeply.

Tell me about the deaf novice, I asked Barbara afterward.

"Sister Mary Francis Xavier?" I nodded in reply. "Sharp as a whip, bright as a penny, pure trouble. Her adoptive mother named her Helen Joy Robinson, and she's lived up to her name. Zeal for religious life is apparent, zeal for pushing the boundaries is, too."

Was she always deaf?

"It was a freak ear infection when she was three, picked it up in Indonesia. Her mother thought taking her to distant places without proper medical care would be good for her. Top of her class from the day she hit school. She's taking classes in Biblical Studies at University, and teaches Sign to parents and siblings of deaf children at Kent House. They say she's the best."

Is she always aggressive?

"Is the moon always above us? Are the tombstones always grey? Yes, she's incredibly aggressive. She needs to learn to moderate that. "Why the curiosity?"

We've been talking. She is charming in her own way.

"Do you find her attractive?" Barbara asked with an edge to her voice.

I'm may be crazy but I'm not stupid. Too much for me to handle.

"She reminds me of me at that age. Thank God we grow out of it. Has she come on to you?"

I shook my head, lying to preserve tranquility. We'd stopped Contemplating Sin around lunchtime, and I was sure this was a readily forgivable situation.

Wednesday morning was a repeat of the previous morning. Sister Mary Justin was happy with the contemplations I shared with her, and I was happy to use my voice. The Eucharist was another heavily vested, sweaty firehouse, the clouds of incense billowing thickly and partially hiding the altar in an acrid haze. Gasping for air, we sought relief of our dining hall, sharing simple food and real wisdom from Ignatius.

The Imp sidetracked me again for another confab in the same room. You stayed in your room last night.

I was tired.

More room hopping. Couple of men went to old fart's suite all night, couple spent an hour with the Bishop around 10PM. Middle aged man was in older African woman's room. Young African woman only one left alone.

Did the other girls keep the same partners? No. They're sluts.

I resent that. They are Anglican priests, noble women deserving respect. We both had to laugh. Did you track down Arthur? A cold, blank stare was the answer I got to that one. He's been a non-factor at this retreat, I haven't seen him since the first day, I persisted.

He's in trouble. Don't know what. Leave him be. Do you want to see my tits? My nipples are very puffy.

No, thanks. Red would get mad. A sneer was my reply, and she evaporated from the room again.

A fraught afternoon: the assignment was the Passion. I snuck up to the organ loft and essayed the B Minor Prelude and Fugue by Bach on the barely adequate Convent instrument. My memory was remarkably good, my fingers and feet surprisingly agile, and my concentration unbroken: the silent meditation must have focused me more than I realized. I had forgotten how much I missed playing. It was catharsis. Evensong was quite interesting: I sat in the back and watched my colleagues at prayer. Some were involved with the Service and some were involved with each other. The Sisterhood sat together and acted like restless choir boys in the Stalls, George sat cheek to cheek with Pamela, Miriam kept her distance appeared to be lost in contemplation.

Barbara repaid an old promise, taking off her veil to reveal long, lustrous, soft blonde hair which she wrapped around my cock to stroke me to ejaculation. My semen fell on the ground right next to the headstone, and Barbara whispered into the stone, "You're not a virgin anymore, Mother Mary Athanasius," right after I was finished. Stark naked she lay on the dirt of the grave; I tongued her moist cavern until I revived my desire to impale her. Clouds of dust puffed up as we writhed together; the ground was extremely dry. She let out a short cry that reverberated endlessly in the night as she reached her animal culmination, then giggled softly. "Ooo, listen, a wild bird crying."

Maybe it was a lone coyote on the prairie?

She hit my arm. "You're awful."

Hey, where's Artie hiding out at night?

"Can you keep a secret?" I gave her a disdainful look. "All right, stupid question. He's been sleeping in the Postulants' quarters. I know, I know, it's against the rules, but he's been incredibly distraught. The first night he wandered into their Rec room and just sat there, staring at the wall. They didn't know what to do with him, but Sister Mary Henry is an incredibly nice person, and after I told her that Artie is no danger to the girls, she let him stay. I'm sure he's hiding out from the boys."

Yeah, but I don't know why. Something happened. Well, if he wants to tell me fine, but if he doesn't. . .

"He's a child of God who's hurting and in trouble; he deserves compassion."

A pause. I hate it when you're right.

Another marathon morning, and the troops were restless during lunch. When the ban on speaking was lifted on Friday, there would be bedlam. I didn't even bother to go toward my room and headed directly for the sitting room where my daily conference with the Imp took place. I found her sitting Buddha-like on the end table again; taking my place on the couch opened her eyes. I started Helen Joy.

She started and went rigid, eyes wide open. Who told you?

Red. Don't worry, I won't spread it around. Taking a deep breath, she relaxed and yawned. What's the scorecard from last night?

Changing partners again. Your friend was with the young brunette last night. The young black woman was alone again. So George succeeded with the shapely Pamela and her massive knockers.

He must be saving Edwina for last; he's always been hot for her. And Artie was with the Postulants.

Sister Mary Francis Xavier's eyes went impossibly huge. How did you know?

Red told me.

Red tells you a lot.

She trusts me.

Obviously. Her eyes probed mine for several seconds, then she started to come off her perch to leave.

I tapped her on the shoulder. Aren't you going to ask if I want to see you tits, or ask to suck my dick today?

A wild smile was my only answer before she slipped out the door.

The Resurrection appearances were today's food for thought. It was nice enough to walk outside again, but folks were generally walking alone that day if they were out. Evensong was another interesting study in interaction: the Sisterhood still carrying on like children; George was next to Edwina, their body language was that of old lovers, Arthur was in the back of one corner, and Miriam at the other. After returning to my room, I turned off the light and slipped into the trundle bed again to rest before another nocturnal excursion. Five minutes afterward, a strange, soft high pitched wail came from my wardrobe. It discharged a short, naked woman. She was skinny, five foot tall, with a helmet of red hair on her head and wisps of redness in her armpits and crotch. Facing me, she danced in place on the floor, her feet pattering madly, her hands head high, wailing on her weird tone. Her breasts were conical, protruded nicely from her chest and her erect, puffy nipples bounced up and down delightfully as they jiggled before me. She spun around twice, showing me a pretty, tight derriere with lovely dimples in her ass and the small of her back, then she shot through the door and down the back stairway before I could react. Part of me wished she could have stayed to give me what she offered a couple of days earlier, but I knew it would be a bad idea. That little firecracker could only be trouble, and I didn't need more trouble.