Sister Anne-Marie, and me
1.
I'm glad I got the window seat as usual. I love to look out the window of the train as it spins the world by me.
We've made this trip to Toronto by train together several times before. We have to do our piano examinations for the Royal Conservatory of Music. We will stay in the nearby Convent as always.
Odette, the Catholic girl, is sitting beside me just as comfortable as anything, talking with Sister Anne-Marie and Father Jean. She does not miss the window.
It doesn't matter that I've lived in the next neighborhood from Odette all my life, or that we've taken our piano lessons from Sister Anne-Marie in the basement of St. Andrew's Church for eight years.
Still, I'm the outsider in this foursome: I am the Protestant girl.
I don't even know if I believe in God, and these three are talking away about biblical things that I barely understand.
So I don't bother.
Instead, I watch them talking, and they have no idea that's what I'm doing.
It appears as though I am looking at the scenery passing by, which is true; but screened atop the beautiful, quickly passing night scenes, are the slower, flickering, yet almost static reflections of Sister Ann-Marie and Father Jean.
With this magic reflective image they became transparent and I can see right through them to the passing lights in the dark outside.
From my secret position facing away, I can watch them freely. Gaze on them. Spy on them. I love spying. People watching.
"Jesus loves me this I know . . ."
Sister and Father seem for the first time since I've known them, to be light, free: so different from their usual boring strict, selves.
Father Jean is still fairly new to the Parish, and so far every time I see him around the church basement he just seems friendly but strict.
But right now something looks different with these two church lovers.
They just seem happier.
Odette really is a smart girl, a talented singer and flute player as well being a well trained pianist. That's when I can talk to her. When we talk about music.
Just listen to her now.
Even though we are both 17, she sounds like she's so grown up.
Father Jean is actually smiling and laughing.
Wow! I do believe they are flirting.
That Odette is sure turning it on.
And look at Sister Anne-Marie, my sweet faced Angel, smiling softly and laughing along lightly. I can see the sparkle in her eyes even now in this reflection.
Sister Anne-Marie: my Idol. "The bride of God" she answered simply when I asked her why be a nun, why not marriage.
In my young eyes this was the perfect decision, to marry the highest there is and live your entire life devoted to that love.
How romantic a notion to be a nun. Now I am older and I think more romantic yet to be a nun who desires the priest beside her.
What do I see there in her face? It's something I have dreamed of, even longed for; a spark of naughtiness I had often tried to tease out of her after our lessons!
I see it clearly here.
I knew it! Ohhh. I have dreamed it and now here she is showing herself so openly; laughing, smiling, her eyes bright, even herself being downright flirtatious.
How inviting! Oh now, my Sister, my Angel, to kiss you now! The crispness of your habit surrounding the blossoming colour in your face.
Look . . . you are licking your lips!
You exist Anne-Marie! I have known. You were too perfectly good.
2.
Sister Anne-Marie is listening as Odette and Father Jean chat and she is stealing longer and longer glimpses at him. He doesn't even seem to notice her.
Odette's a pretty good talker.
Sister Anne-Marie is showing cat's eyes! I can see them, she's growing claws for Odette. While she seems to enjoy Father Jean's enthusiasm for discussion, she also seems to be growing weary of Odette's overtures.
This is one of those times when I wish I could film what my eyes have seen, a fast glimpse of the world rushing by; but here in this car, my Angel, turning bad, in slow time.
If Sister only knew of the times on practice weekends, when Odette and I are together, and we make love with each other, pretending we are Anne-Marie and Jean.
Mostly, we kiss, because that was all we could see of Sister, her face. And her hands. Truly delicate hands.
Her imaginary hands lift his imaginary robe, his large jewelled hand slips under her habit. We lift our nightgowns as if they are the robes of God's servants, and kiss and love as if man and woman.
Odette and I take turns being Father or Sister, each kissing more and more provactively, mouthing childlike imaginings of adult lovemaking.
I know we aren't doing it right. It would take a man to do it right.
Father Jean would do it right.
Sister does not know.
How many times I have been Jean kissing Anne-Marie!
I received kisses of passion from Odette that rightfully belonged to Sister and to Father.
Sister Anne-Marie, my Angel of naughty love,
the kisses that were meant for you.
Your lips. Your skin.
Between your legs."
The kisses from Father Jean Charles.
Sister did not even know she was in love with Father Jean.
Yet, he to her, was the image of Christ. She saw how he walked and talked, the challenges he faced . . his never ending faith . . .
Yes of course she loves him. Adores him.
And here now it is so clear in this reflection, she truly does desire him as well, just as Odette and I have imagined.
Odette and Father, are dominating the conversation. Both of course have tried to politely to include Sister and I, but within minutes it's just those two again.
Sister reverts to a quiet but animated audience to the conversation.
I sit silently and watch Sister in reflection now.
For the first time in my life . . . I watch her endlessly. She is positively glowing, so charmed is she by the conversation between Father Jean and Odette.
"Come Sister.
I will you.
I have kisses which belong to You.
Kisses collected by Odette.
Kisses from Father Jean.
I have kisses meant for you."
``***``
I rise and say my goodnights, and head toward the berth I have below Odette's.
Though I have willed it, Sister Anne-Marie does not follow.
Once cleaned and gowned for bed, and comfortably tucked under the covers, my hand takes hold in the damp bush between my legs. I occassionaly bring my fingers to my mouth and moisten my lips with the wetness.
My fingers tell a luscious story of Jean and Anne-Marie.
I am interupted when Sister herself peeks her head into my berth and whispers "Everything okay in here?"
"Oh Sister!"
I am ashamed to have sex on my fingers and lips.
Sex that belongs not to me, but to Jean and Anne-Marie.
"Sister," I question, sorrowfully "Why do you Catholics make confessions? Isn't that just telling on yourself?"
"Well yes it is quite a lot like telling on yourself. You recognise and admit your mistakes to yourself and God before God's witness, and you ask for forgiveness and offer repentance."
"And then it's over? Everything's ok again?" I ask.
"Yes" says my Angel, everything will be ok again, if your heart is truly repentant.
I reach out and toy with the red rosary beads hanging from her sash and look up to her so afraid to confess, but in such need . . .
"Sister, I know I'm not Catholic or anything, but I have to confess to you something important".
"I'm not ordained to hear confessions, but I am your friend, and of course. I am here for you. We can talk" her voice gentle and caring. She pushes my loose hair from my face.
I raise my eyes to look into hers, we sit only a foot apart on the berth . . . reclining . . .
I tell her.
I tell her how Odette and I have made up love stories and kissed pretending we were her and Father Jean.
As I make my confession to her I continue to nervously finger her clear red beads.
Her eyes do not leave mine.
She blushes furiously.
Then she does the most startling thing . . . I am shocked
. . . she confesses to me!
"Oh he kissed me! He kissed me last night!" she rushes excitedly.
Sister seems as young as Odette and I, a schoolgirl full of enthusiasm.
"He's just so perfect, so handsome; I love him, but I can never let that happen again. Oh but it was so wonderful! To kiss, to be kissed!"
Anne-Marie tells me that it will be the hardest thing to not repeat this sin, but that she must let go of Father Jean and her ideas about him.
She does not want to let him go. She must. She asks me to pray for her.
and then we did kiss.
But, the kiss was not from Father Jean after all.
He had taken care of that himself.
I kissed Sister Anne-Marie with my own love,
for my Idol, my Angel, my bride of God.
 Erotic Stories Index |
| Disclaimer |
Send E-Mail to: Copyright © 2004 B. Lynn Victor. All Rights Reserved