I'm A Nun Ch. 02byMycke©
I entered the Mother’s Superior’s office and quickly stood at attention. She seemed to be exactly what people think of women who hold such positions - a shriveled up asexual woman without any humour whatsoever..
I learned to hate her before I learned to love her. She was that type.
However, once I had learned to love her it was truly the greatest love I ever had, and likely will ever have. Mother Superior was a diamond, whose greatness was reserved for a select few women, and from what I had heard, one priest.
She exhibited in the most natural of ways, empathy for others and a wise understanding that bubbled up from the very center of heaven. Mother Superior was one of the only people I had ever met who was able to conquer her desires and replace them with compassion for others. I did not entirely agree with this aspect of Christianity, which stated that the holiest of holiest must separate themselves from the hear-and-now, and their ego. This seemed somewhat preposterous to me, as the fact that we were born with individuality, it seemed logical that we should not bury that aspect of ourselves, but more so celebrate it and disseminate far and why. Yet, I knew that there were some, such as Mother Superior who would practice otherwise; she made the needs of others, her needs.
In some inexplicable way, she did this in an altruistic manner, which I entirely believed and trusted, unlike the ways of many bankrupt men and women of the cloth.
I suffered as well from my relationship with Mother Superior. It was not uncommon for the sisters to bemoan the fact that they could not love her in more ways than just emotionally. This is difficult to understand for many mere mortals - for those who constantly live in the mundane and drab. The negativity that that commoner experiences when they think of such a relationship – that of a sister and her Mother Superior – is ignorant.
Love at its essence does not carry such silliness in its bosom. Love is unlimited; it is unfettered; love is the mane of our short-necked existence. It only takes on the aura, sometimes a negative one that we bestow upon it. In truth, we loved the Mother Superior so deeply and so purely that making love to her seemed to be only right. It made sense.
Think about this. Incest is currently the most read topic on erotica websites. Why? It is because we love our family, and we would love to love them in every way; but we have been told that it is wrong for two consenting adult family members to touch one another. We therefore store those thoughts and feelings away in an attic that is locked upon consciousness and never, ever re-opened similar to the secrets of the great magicians.
I loved the Mother Superior and would wish that she would simply shake my hand from time-to-time. She was perfect and I felt compelled to live harder when touched by her perfection. It seemed natural that I should love her more.
One night, well into my second year at the institute (some call it a nunnery), I found myself dreaming erotic thoughts about Mother Superior. Although her face was really wrinkled, in my dreams it was soft and her eyes were set apart so lovely, and her nose was a button one, and her lips, full. Mother Superior was exquisite in my sleep. Her body, although really decrepit and bent, was lithe and curvaceous like the old strippers. She laughed and danced around me, and threw back her head in laughter, as her breasts bounced delightfully. Up and down and around.
She laughed and sang sweet songs from her childhood. I was sitting on the edge of my bed and Mother Superior was swinging on a giant swing attached to my ceiling. In a dreamy way, or perhaps I should say in the ways of dreams, she morphed in and out of many faces ranging from that of a sunflower and later a chocolate cake. I looked at her pussy and held my stare for many moments. It was young, clearly untouched and pure. I could see her clit in its hood, and my dream state suggested to me that it was bidding me forward. The reality of this dream made me wet, so much so that I awoke the next morning awash in my own juices.
It was only a dream. We forgive our insanity when it is nocturnal and unconscious.
Every night the dream would increase in its intensity and erotic. Whereas the first dream sort of introduced me to the nakedness of Mother Superior, the second dream allowed me to feel her sexuality. By the third and forth and fifth dreams I was making contact with her nipples, lips and vagina.
I tell you this, and do so with every honest-fiber I can muster - it was bliss. Upon waking I would run to the window to see if I was awake or able to fly, and therefore, asleep. The dreams began to impact upon my waking hours. I thought about Mother Superior constantly and wanted to emulate her and be with her and make love to her. I knew, as well, that it was absurd to think that this could happen.
The more I dreamed, the more melancholy set it. Erotic was steaming out of my bed sheets at night. Often I would wake up and my sheets would be soaked from the strong flow of my cunt juices. I can remember the orgasms, even though I slept because they were so intense, that every muscle in my body clenched as it began to approach and held that clenched moment for what seemed like millennia; and when I let go and began those cherished iota’s of spasm and convulsions, and spit dripping and not caring, and pushing harder and faster deeper and deeper inside of my cunt with my vibrator – when I let go, I had discovered my own personal Garden of Eden, where the ponds and the lily pads make a grown man cry from their beauty.
One night, I slipped on my Winner’s naughty nighty (by the standards of nuns) and slippers, and decided to take a walk down the institute hallway to the chapel. Prayer gave me solace and God seemed to understand my relationship both spoken and unspoken, with Mother Superior. God did not judge God did not get angry with me. She felt there was no reason to.
A woman loving a woman made sense to God, because God’s love is genderless. To God, love looks like something. God can see love. And to God it looks as round as a perfect ball and as bright as the sun. Such a vision could only be perfect and care less about one’s gender.
I could see Mother Superior in her office, (which was adjacent to the chapel). I hoped that she wouldn’t see me as this would only make me feel sadder, at the realization that I couldn’t hug and kiss her.
Never the less, I chose instead to do something that was destructive to me, even to me. I knew it as I was doing it. Like the pitcher who realized the ball ain’t going to slide like he had wanted it to, I was about to hurt myself. Why do we do that? I quietly eased up to Mother Superior’s door.
I wanted to watch her, not in an obtrusive way, but more so to see how she does simple things. How she lives when nobody is around. I wanted to watch her movements. I was curious, how she would perch her head when she read. I wondered if she would stop during prayer to take a break from the intensity of her concentration. She was a painting to me, with a pulse, and I studied her from every angle.
Did she masturbate? Had she made love to a priest who had come through our city many years ago?
(The story has many versions, each one with intricate tentacles and tributaries, so much so that it takes on mythical proportions. I once heard that the priest and Mother Superior made love for three days in her room and neither of them seemed to care a bit about being heard or caught. The story has it that neither Mother Superior nor the priest was ever rebuked for the incident, mostly because the priest was next inline to be the Pope).
This and other thoughts intrigued me. Please understand that I am completely normal. I simply loved someone with all my spirit and soul. I wish you experience this. I do. So don’t question my veracity or will never happen to you. It couldn’t if you don’t believe in it.
I sat perched up against the heavy mahogany frame of Mother Superior’s door. She was so ensconced in her study, so much so that I knew I didn’t have to worry about her looking up and spotting me. It would have been strange for.
The light of her tiffany desk lamp illuminated her face and she looked more like the Mother Superior of my dreams than that of the person who leads us in prayer every day. Like my own mother, her face was void of stress and she appeared to be challenged by the lines in front of her, but full of bliss at its content. She loved God so, and it was evident at every movement.
The clock ticked. I hadn’t realized that two hours had passed. Until I came, I wasn’t aware that I had been touching myself. This became a revelation to me only afterwards. I was soaked with my own juices and must have cum dozens of time to be that wet.
For hours I curled up against the door and observed her every movement. She was poetry. She was in sync with the movement of the world around her. It was as though she was one of the elements, perhaps water, and maybe air. It’s difficult to explain what I was witnessing, but years later I began to believe that I was looking upon the essence of someone who had achieved perfection, at least more so than 99.9% of the world.
My mind was abuzz with her, as I steadied myself and found my way back to my bedroom. Sleep seemed insignificant in light of what I had discovered. I opened my light table drawer ever so quietly, so as not to wake up Sister Theresa, and removed my holy dildo.
I lay down in bed, raised my nightdress and lowered this buzzing brother to my vagina. Oh God, I was in heaven. Oh God, I was in love with a most splendid human being and I would make love to her as I fantasized; only this way.
My clitoris jumped as the dildo touched it. My body stirred and it would be moments before I would cum again. Unbeknownst to me, Sister Theresa was awake. She was watching me, something in my head told me so. I turned my head to the left; my eyes had adjusted to the dark and they caught those of Theresa’s. She pulled back her blankets and sat up. Her feet touched the floor. I kept on cumming. I couldn’t stop despite the audience.
With little fanfare, she stood up straight and began to walk over to my bed. Oh God. I couldn’t stop.
(Stay tuned for Part 3)