Ascension

Sr. Ambrose was quiet. She gazed out of the window, no longer looking like her usual stern and formidable self. The stalwart nun looked very pale; defeated and sickly. She reached up to wipe tears from her face without taking off her glasses. Ruth tried again to reassure Sister that it was okay. "I liked it." The girl confessed. "It felt right. I wish we could do it again." Sr. Ambrose smiled weakly.

"It's a very risky thing...for both of us." She said.

"Did someone see us?" Ruth wondered. God, she hoped not, otherwise it would definitely be the talk of St. Catherine's--maybe the entire town!

"No, dear, it's just..." Sister's voice trailed off. She turned away from the window and sat on the edge of her desk. "Sister, please can...God spoke. He spoke through you and I felt myself...rising...like I was getting closer to him..."

"...I felt it too." Sr. Ambrose softly confessed. "It should be impossible, but..." She got up and went behind the desk. She stood there scribbling something on a slip of paper which she handed to the beautiful senior. It was a hall pass. "Pass to your next class." She said, then gestured at the door. "See you later in gym."

*****

Since the encounter in the locker room after school, Ruth quickly became convinced that, no, love is indeed not a sin. For reasons known only to him, the Creator decided to bring her together with Sr. Ambrose. After all, God meant for man to have a suitable partner. That didn't necessarily mean that the partner would be of the opposite sex.

Through dreams God seemed to speak to Ruth, directing and reassuring her that all was well. She just had to trust in him and Sr. Ambrose. The dreams she had at night were graphic and lurid. They involved Sr. Ambrose, and they always ended with the two of them making love, with the visions dissolving into livid, jarring orgasms that often rudely jerked her awake.

The dreams (or were they messages?) were so intense! When Ruth plumbed the depths of her memories, she'd see herself in a vast pool of water, unable to swim or stay afloat. In one dream, she flailed around in the water screaming for help. And just when she was about to go under once and for all, Sr. Ambrose, dressed in a short sleeved shirt and shorts, would hear the frightened teen's cries. Sometimes she had a clipboard with her like they were in gym class, though St. Catherine High did not have a pool. She'd toss it aside somewhere and jump into the water with Ruth, pulling her student to safety.

In one version of the dream, Sr. Ambrose knelt beside Ruth's shuddering body, reassuring the girl of her safety, while gently pulling aside the crotch of her swimsuit. In this version, Ruth could feel the nun's fingers lovingly stroking her slit. Each and every time, that squirmy, tingling feeling between the girl's legs would be her only focus until Sister rewarded her with an explosive climax.

But on the way, she would feel herself rising off the ground. Higher and higher, getting closer to God.

Once Ruth dreamed she was standing in the shower, unable to see anything from the shampoo running down her face and chin. When she rinsed the soap away, she saw Sr. Ambrose standing there. In this dream, she was fully dressed, wearing her habit. She'd lunge forward, pinning the naked teen against the tiled wall under the spray, not caring about the water soaking her veil, scapular, and tunic. Ruth, surprised by the sudden ambush, was paralyzed, unable to scream even if she wanted to. She felt her legs being forced apart as the nun's fingers brushed the ginger curls of pubic hair, almost taunting her. Seconds later, she'd feel the sudden intrusion of Sister's fingers sliding inside her, filling her up.

A claxon forced Ruth's eyes wide open and she realized now she was awake. The alarm clock. She'd had another dream, she knew it. Her cheeks flushed when the heady odor of sex invaded her nostrils. "Ugh!" She groaned, realizing that sometime in the night, she must've pulled her panties down around her ankles. Ruth reached down, confirming her suspicion. She'd been touching herself--a lot, judging by the dull ache between her legs. Still, she felt strangely contented. God works in mysterious ways.

The shame set in when Ruth pulled her panties back up. She felt the icy damp cotton crotch making contact and the realness of it all made her shudder. "I'm attracted to Sr. Ambrose, I think." Ruth muttered softly to herself while changing into a clean pair of panties. "She feels the same way too, I think." She reached for her skirt and uniform blouse draped over a chair next to her closet. "God's speaking to the both of us, I'm sure of it!" She finished getting dressed and went to the kitchen for some breakfast. On this Friday morning, the kitchen was empty. Ruth's mom and dad had already left for Chicago. They left her a note with some money in case she and Sr. Ambrose wanted to call out for pizza at the convent. Ruth smiled and reached into one of the cabinets for the cereal and a bowl. It was going to be a good weekend, she knew it.

*****

It was around 5PM after school on Friday when Ruth followed Sr. Ambrose through the back kitchen door of the convent. "Put your bags on the counter. We'll have some supper first, and then we'll take them upstairs." The place was eerily quiet. Ruth was sure she could've heard a pin drop. Srs. Clement, Gregory, O'Neil, Hoban, and Donovan already left earlier this afternoon for the Bishop Toomey retreat near Wheaton. They wouldn't be back until sometime Monday, either mid-morning, or early afternoon. Sr. Ambrose volunteered to stay behind and look after things while everyone was away. It wasn't really necessary though. Father Muldoon and Father Dement were in the rectory next to the church. If ever a problem arose, help was only a stone's throw away.

Sr. Ambrose got busy cooking while Ruth set the small table in the kitchen. The dining room with its regal dark wood table and 8 chairs seemed too large, too distant. The kitchen was cozier and more...intimate. Ruth went to the cupboards and retrieved two plates and two glasses. She paused as she set out the utensils, staring at the back of Sr. Ambrose. "Awfully quiet there, kid." The older woman teased. "Cat got your tongue?"

Ruth felt the corner of her mouth twitch a little. "It's just a little strange I guess." She said. "It's so quiet here without the others."

"A little too quiet, I admit." Sr. Ambrose conceded. "But they're only away for the weekend. We'll just make do with each other's company till then...think we can handle that?" She turned, and Ruth's eyes met the nun's glacial gaze. The girl answered with a nervous little laugh.

The two sat down to a meal of pepper steak with rice and a green salad. "A little bird told me it was your favorite." The nun quipped. Ruth laughed softly. It was true, and the little bird was Ruth herself. Each day at school, Ruth stood in line, lunch card in hand, and received her tray of food prepared by the lunch ladies, all St. Catherine parishioners. The food was usually pretty good, but Ruth always looked forward to every third Thursday when pepper steak was served over rice with a side salad and a fresh oatmeal cookie for dessert. "Mrs. Mera copied the recipe for me the other day. You know, I don't do this for just anybody!" Sr. Ambrose teased.

Ruth took a bite and a smile spread across her lips as she chewed. "Sister--"

"Jean." The nun corrected.

"Jean...thanks. It's just like they serve it at school." It felt a little weird to Ruth, using her teacher's first name. She'd called her Jean many times before, when they were alone and no one could hear them. But like the eerie quiet of the empty convent, this felt very different. The nun wasn't finished eating, but she got up and went over to the counter. There was a ceramic cookie jar beside the fridge. She set the lid aside and brought it back to the table. "Sr. Donovan made the cookies. I'm not much of a baker, I'm afraid."

Ruth eyed the contents of the jar. "Thanks, Jean, but I think I'll have one a little later if that's okay."

"Sure, kiddo. They'll still be there in the morning."

They finished eating and Ruth helped Jean wash and put away the dishes. "Before we sit down and relax, I promised Sr. Clement we'd sweep and dust the chapel." Ruth followed Jean down a small hallway near the back door where they came in. The chapel was one of only a few spaces within the convent Ruth had seen before. She visited with several of her classmates on certain days in the company of Sr. O'Neil who taught catechism classes.

The space, both beautiful and sublime, resembled a miniature version of St. Catherine Church. A marble statue of Christ stood, hand raised in Benediction, above the small altar.

Candle pillars stood unlit on either side. Four small burnished dark wooden pews sat empty. A bible and missal occupied the far corner of the back pew. "This won't take long, I promise." Jean said.

Ruth swept while Jean dusted the altar, pews, and sills of three small arched stained glass windows. "Can we watch some TV when we're done?" Ruth asked.

"We don't have a television, I'm afraid.

"What?"

"Sr. Clement doesn't believe in it. Says it 'corrupts the mind and soul.' She calls it the idiot box. We usually just go over to the rectory and watch." Ruth laughed.

"Remember at school, you didn't hear me say that." The girl motioned her hand across her mouth, sealing her lips. "Good girl." Jean said.

After finishing this small chore, they relaxed in the large sitting room. "All that hard work's made me a little thirsty. Would you like something to drink?"

"Yeah." Ruth said. "Sounds good."

"You like fruit punch?"

"You didn't say anything about fruit punch during dinner." Ruth said.

"I was saving it for a little surprise." Jean said. "I'll just be a minute or two." She went to the kitchen and returned with two glasses. "This, too, will be our little secret." The nun said. "Vow of silence."

Ruth, unsure of what her teacher meant exactly, took her glass and said nothing. But when she took a drink, she realized right away. "Oh, what is that?" She swallowed hard, feeling a surge of heat coursing down her throat.

"Graduation's coming very soon," Jean said. "So I thought we'd celebrate a little early. It's just a little vodka."

"Where did you get it?" Ruth wondered incredulously.

"Rectory." Jean said matter-of-factly. "Father Muldoon's cabinet. I don't think he'll miss it."

An hour, maybe two, passed, while they talked and laughed. But not long after Ruth's third glass and Jean's fourth, their conversation dwindled to a trickle. The sun had set and the drapes were drawn. The sitting room was bathed in the comforting glow of two lamps and Ruth's head felt extremely light. She fought valiantly, but lost, the urge to yawn. "How late is it?" She wondered.

"I don't know." Jean said. She got up and checked the wall clock in the kitchen. "After nine already!"

"Oh, wow."

"We should get your bags upstairs, and...I have another little surprise for you." Jean said. She gestured the girl to get up. "Come with me."

Ruth followed the nun back to the kitchen and grabbed her bags before heading upstairs. There were six small bedrooms, each with a private bathroom, plus two small guest rooms, with private baths, at the top of the stairs. Ruth started for the first door on her left, but Jean stopped her. "No, come this way." She stopped at the last door on the right, opposite a large linen closet left slightly ajar, and opened the door. "Put your bags anywhere for now." Aclick echoed when she flipped the light switch.

Sr. Jean's bedroom!

The clean and orderly space was sparsely decorated, befitting a busy nun of the Dominican order. It was small with a bed and nightstand opposite the closet. A small dresser with mirror stood beside the window overlooking the walled garden in the back. From here, Ruth could see the huge edifice of the school past the newly budding treetops. The bathroom was just a couple steps away with a sink and small medicine cabinet, toilet, and shower. A crucifix was on the wall above the bed. A pair of dried palm leaves were tucked carefully behind it.

Ruth set her bags down by the dresser. Jean flipped the bathroom switch, flooding the small room in garish yellow light. The pain from the light made Ruth flinch. She looked away and her eye was drawn to an object on the dresser. It was a small dark gift box decorated with a cobalt colored bow. "I see you found the surprise." Jean reached for the box and opened it to reveal its contents to the astonished teen.

"A necklace..." Ruth breathed. "Like yours!"

The necklace, with delicate gold chain, sported an exact copy of the ancient looking Saint Benedict medal Jean always wore. The front showed St. Benedict holding a book and cross.Non Draco Sit Mihi Dux and Crux Sacra Sit Mihi Lux (Let the Devil not be my leader and May the Holy Cross be my light) appeared around the medal's edge. Ruth's full name was etched on the back with a date. "It's today's date!" The girl exclaimed.

"Yes." Jean softly replied. Her otherwise curt voice softened noticeably to almost a whisper. She lifted the necklace from the box and fumbled with the tiny clasp. On cue, Ruth turned to face the mirror while the nun helped her to put it on. The girl started to say something, but Jean stopped her. She turned Ruth to face her and raised a finger to her lips before taking the medal around her own neck, turning it so the girl could see. "I took my final vows when I was 20." Jean said. The date 4-30-1950 was etched below Jean's name. It was then when Ruth understood.

A thrill surged through the girl's body.

Jean closed the drapes and switched the bedroom light off. She closed the bathroom door halfway, allowing more than enough light for them to see. The dignified middle aged nun took her glasses off, setting them aside on the dresser. With or without the glasses, Sr. Jean Ambrose radiated a somber and flinty presence. It was a presence that had taken Ruth, charming and possessing her. Jean put a hand on the teen's shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. "Glad you like it, kid." Another thrill blasted the space between Ruth's legs, racing upward. "I love you, Ruth." Jean said. Her voice dropped noticeably to almost a whisper, but Ruth heard it. She heard it clearly. "God has brought us both together, but only he understands..." Jean's voice trailed off. Whatever she'd meant to say wasn't really important. They were here together, Jean and Ruth, alone. Words were no longer necessary.

Hypnotized by the intensity of the older woman's frosty blue eyes, Ruth was drawn forward. She heard a quiet rush of fabric brushing as their mouths did. It was brief at first, and gentle. The first kiss was pious and sweet.

When Jean pulled away, Ruth's lips parted to draw breath. The second kiss, this time, was deep and insistent. It was the kiss of lovers. Jean's mouth smashed against Ruth's so hard she felt the scrape of the older woman's teeth and tasted the strangely medicinal remnants of fruit punch and vodka. Their tongues met, brushing together in greeting, and Ruth pulled away, gasping. For one strange moment, she felt her body rising, levitating slightly off the floor.

It was during this moment when the world fractured, splitting between the heavy weight of dreary reality and the ascendant spirituality of God's light. Here, Ruth was cared for. Here, the girl was safe. Nothing else mattered and there was only one thing left to do.

God was speaking now, and Ruth was here to listen.

Jean must've heard God speaking as they kissed. She took the girl's hands in hers, squeezing them lovingly as their tongues collided. Ruth exhaled through her nose, not wanting to break contact with this woman she trusted and loved so much. A protesting gasp escaped her lips when she felt Jean slowly pull away. Ruth couldn't quite catch whatever Jean whispered, but in a matter of a second or two, she felt the older woman's lips return. Those reticent lips pressed tentatively against the delicate shell of Ruth's ear, softly kissing. The girl's legs buckled suddenly and she tensed, trying to steady herself.

"Something wrong, honey?" Jean asked. "Do you want to stop?" There was an obvious mixture of resignation and disappointment in her voice.

"I..." Ruth paused. "Did you feel it?"

"Yes. Yes I did." Jean said. "Maybe we should sit down." She put her arm around Ruth's small shoulders and steered her over to the bed where they both sat. The nun reached for the band of her veil and pulled it off to reveal her short white blond, almost pearlescent, hair. Her fine eyebrows, the same color, set off the twin chips of clear ice that were her eyes. The older woman's gaze pierced the girl who could feel and hear her heart thumping in her ears and throat.

Gently, but firmly, Jean grasped the girl's chin. "Look at me, honey." She softly commanded. She tilted Ruth's head to face her. "Love is a beautiful creation of God. It's one of his many blessings. I realize that now, and...I want to share this with you."

Jean released the teen's beautiful face. She put her arm around Ruth, holding her firmly, almost possessively, against her. As for the girl, she relished the body contact. It seemed to relieve the bursts of shrill sensations emanating between her legs. The contact distracted her as she ruminated on Jean's slender, yet solid, frame. "Have you ever...been with a woman before?" Jean asked.

"No." Ruth muttered softly. She stared down at her feet. "I've dated a few guys. There was this one I was seeing from St. Thomas. We went over to his house a few times when his parents were out. We made out, but--"

"I don't want to talk about that." Jean cut Ruth off. Her otherwise clipped voice was rent with repressed desire. "I just...need to know if you're sure."

Ruth was aroused now to the point of utter confusion. Luckily they'd made the right decision to sit. She pressed a hand against her stomach. It felt like she was riding a roller coaster plunging down a steep drop. She blinked, trying to clear her vision of the little spots floating like motes, in her eyes, as they shared another kiss. Ruth drew a deep breath as her lips parted to admit the older woman's eager tongue. Jean must've showered recently. Maybe in the locker room at school before changing back into her habit. A thick, spicy wallop of oriental flowers and spice lingered on the nun's skin and hair. It smelled and felt amazing and euphoric!

Glory be to the Father.

The girl broke their kiss and pressed her forehead against the nun's shoulder. Jean's hand rested against Ruth's head for a moment before stroking her hair. "You're so beautiful, sweetheart." She softly mused. "How the Lord chose to bless an old snip like me, I'll never know."

Ruth said nothing. She felt Jean moving against her as if twisting her body to glance around the darkness of her room. "Do you want me to turn off that bathroom light?" Ruth shook her head no.

The nun's voice, still dripping with lust, was hushed and almost breathless. The masculine intonation, different from the other nuns' voices, nearly sent Ruth in a tailspin. Her blouse felt tight and uncomfortable. The fabric brushed against the swells of her breasts and nipples, now plumb and painful with desire for relief. Even in the diminished light cast from the tiny bathroom, Ruth noticed that Jean was staring at the physical signs of her excitement. Her cheeks flamed with uncomfortable heat and she knew she was blushing. For so long, she'd wanted to know her teacher in a way no one else ever could. And although God surely willed this, her anxiety and inexperience scared her. "Jean...I'm kind of--"

"Nervous? I think I understand. We'll take things nice and slow, shall we?"