Sister Therese Marie's Star Pupil

Sister Therese Marie’s Star Pupil

NOTE: This story is entirely fictional, and any resemblance to real persons, places, or events is entirely coincidental.

I am an ex-nun—Sister Therese Marie, Sister of the Society of Thomas Aquinas. I have Michael to thank for that “ex.”

As you may have guessed, the Sisters of the Society of Thomas Aquinas are a teaching order. I was 23 years old and in the third year of my novitiate, less than a month away from taking my final vows. I was teaching eighth grade at a school in a middle-class community in the northwest Chicago suburbs. Michael was a student in my class.

Michael was 18 years old. He was about my height, although average for a boy his age—5’2” with a weight of some 105 lbs. He was a very good student, with a B+ average; determined to be a priest, he was a hard working alter boy who always got an “A” in religion class. He was extremely dedicated and obedient, never causing any trouble at all—much to his chagrin, one marking period I gave him an “A+” in conduct. (Later I found out that this so embarrassed him that he made a special effort to misbehave. I gave him an “A-“). 

This was in 1962, and the Mass was in Latin. Everyone had bilingual missals, with Latin on one page and the English translation on the other. Michael had already learned a considerable amount of Latin on his own, and he asked me to tutor him so he could learn more. So, I started tutoring him after school on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

One such Thursday, Michael noticed that I was very depressed. “What’s the matter, Sister?” he asked. “Are you thinking about your brother?”

“Yes,” I cried, “I can’t get over him.” 

Michael put his arm around me and said, “It must be terrible. Tell me about him.” Tears were streaming out of my eyes, and he kissed me softly on the cheek. 

“As I told you in class, my bother and I were twins, and we had always been very close. What I didn’t tell you is how close.” We both stood up and Michael hugged me tightly. As he did so, I could feel my breasts pressed against his body, which in turn caused him to get an erection.

I continued, “We your age—thirteen, and in eighth grade on the West Side. We attended St. Thomas Aquinas school. My parents didn’t have much money, and we had a two-bedroom apartment, so Michael and I shared a room, although we had twin beds in it. Did you know he had the same name as you?”

“Yes, Sister, you told us that, and that he was in the seminary in Mundelein when his car crashed,” he responded. Michael so reminded me of my brother that I just had to sit down again.

“Well, sometimes we used to play around as kids,” I went on, “in ways that our parents wouldn’t have approved. Do you ever play doctor with your sister?”

He blushed. “We used to.”

“Michael wanted to be a doctor, and he wasn’t just playing at it,” I told the boy. “Even then I wanted to be a teacher. Anyway, one night I got into his bed, and our play went further than usual.”

“What happened?”

Instead of answering, I changed the subject. “Do you like any of the girls in the class?”

“Gee, Sister, you know I’m going to be a priest,” he answered, blushing once again.

“Yes, I know, but you haven’t answered my question,” I insisted. “Come on, ‘fess up, I won’t tell anyone. Who do you think is the prettiest girl in our class?”

“It’s kind of hard to say,” he declared. “I guess it’d have to be Donna Sronkowski.”

“Now, can you imagine what Donna must look like naked?”

His face grew redder still. “Do you know Sue Brandt?” he asked.

“Isn’t she in fifth grade?” I asked, puzzled.

He nodded. “Sometimes I baby-sit, you know, to make a little extra money. My mom always told me that I should check my charges every hour after they’ve gone to bed. One night, I went into Sue’s bedroom, because I wanted to see her underpants. It was a hot night, and she was covered with just a sheet. I lifted up the sheet, and there she was.”

“What do you mean, ‘there she was’?” I asked for clarification.

“You know—she didn’t have anything on down there. Her nightgown was pulled up over her waist, and she, well, I saw her vagina. She didn’t have any hair on it or anything.”

“How did you feel?” I asked curiously.

“I got hard, you know…” he answered. 

“What did you do?” I insisted. “Did you touch her?”

“At first I just stood there and stared,” he began, “but then…” His voice drifted off.

“You can tell me,” I said. “That time I was telling you about, when I slept in my brother’s bed. Actually, we didn’t sleep. We had sex.” He looked at me, open-mouthed. “Yes, I lost my virginity that night—in fact, we both did. We had been playing, and we were both naked. Michael started rubbing my vagina, and I got wet. His fingers felt so good. He kissed me down there, running his tongue on me until I had an orgasm. Actually, that wasn’t the first time he licked me like that, but it was the first time I experienced an orgasm. We both really enjoyed what was going on, and we couldn’t stop. He climbed on top of me, and he put his penis inside my wet vagina. At first, he didn’t go in very deeply, and he was worried about hurting me because my vagina was so tight. I wrapped my legs around him tightly and encouraged him to push harder and faster. He did, and he broke my hymen. It hurt at first, but we kept going, and I had another orgasm before he ejaculated his wonderful cream inside me. We made love three more times that night—he was really wonderful.

“You see, Michael, even priests and nuns have those feelings sometimes. So tell me about Susan.”

“I pulled down my pants and stroked myself, and I ejaculated on her leg,” he blurted out.

“Did you like it?” I inquired. “Do you do that often?” He didn’t answer, so I ordered him, “Tell the truth now. I’m not a priest, but this is like the secrets of the confessional. We’re both being honest, and no one will ever know.” Until now.

“Yes, it felt good, Sister, but that is the only time I’ve ever seen a naked girl.” He added, “I try not to go against the ninth commandment, but I’d like to see Susan again. Sometimes I play with myself in bed. I don’t know what to do, I haven’t even confessed to Father O’Connor.”

“It’s perfectly natural for a boy your age to have these feelings,” I told him. “That night with Michael, my brother, was just wonderful. I still feel guilty about it, even though I did confess to a priest the next day. I’ve often tried to forget about that night, but I can’t, and sometimes I masturbate and think about him. I’ll bet you didn’t even know that girls like to touch themselves, did you? We do, and when we do, our vaginas get wet, and we can reach orgasm. It’s natural, and even though I’m a nun, I do it sometimes. If you become a priest, you’ll sometimes think about little Susan Brandt, and you’ll want to touch her. You’ll probably take your penis in your hand and stroke it, and you’ll ejaculate while thinking of that smooth little vagina. Do you do that?”

He nodded, and then he inquired, “So what happened to you and your brother? Did you ever do it again?”

“No, and I’ll tell you why,” I responded. “My mother noticed that Michael’s sheets were blood-stained in the morning. I told her that I was having my period, but she knew that wasn’t true. It wasn’t just one stain, but there were stains all over the place because his penis had become covered with blood, too. Not only that, but I shouldn’t have been in Michael’s bed in the first place. Mother knew what had happened. 

“Both Michael and I were hauled to church to confess. Then, Michael’s bed was moved to the living room, and I had the bedroom to myself. Later my parents talked to our pastor, and Michael got a scholarship to Quigley preparatory seminary, and I got a scholarship to St. Thomas Aquinas convent. He was studying to become a priest when he had the accident, and I’m preparing for my final vows.”

“Wow!” he exclaimed. 

I removed my veil, revealing my closely cropped hair for the first time in years. I loosened my rosary-belt and placed it on the table. Then I pulled off my sensible black shoes, and lifted my left leg on the desk. Michael stared wide-eyed as I lifted the long skirt of my habit and unfastened the garter that was holding my stocking. (Remember, this was way back in 1962.) Michael stood by quietly as I unrolled the stocking, but when I tossed it at him, he asked, "What are you doing, Sister?”

“Please, Michael, you’ve got to help me now,” I declared. “I’ve got to get over my dead brother, and you shouldn’t have only a ten-year old to fantasize about.” I removed the other stocking. “You said that you’d like to see Susan Brandt naked again, didn’t you? What about me?”

“Aw, Sister, I could never think of you that way,” he declared.

“Are you sure?” I could see his a huge bulge in his pants. “We wear these bulky habits so that men don’t think about us, but underneath…” I lifted my habit over my head and stood before him in my plain white bra and panties, and a beige garter-belt. “Underneath I’m still a twenty-three year old woman.” I grabbed him by his tie. Pulling him toward me, I kissed him on the lips. He put his hands on the back of my neck and kissed me back. I reached down and unbuckled his pants, and pulling them down as I did so. Michael’s cock seemed much larger than my brother’s. I rubbed it, and got harder still. I turned around so he could unfasten my bra, and he gently touched my tits. We both took off the rest of our clothes and embraced. I had him lie on the carpet.

We continued to explore each other’s body. It had been ten years since I had touched a boy, a man. I wanted to hold him, hug him, kiss him, smell him, and taste him. How did it taste? I couldn’t remember.

Michael sucked on my erect tits—it felt so good, I could have done that all afternoon, but I had an itch in my vagina. I moved my hand there and began stroking myself. I reached for Michael’s hand and guided it between my legs. As I became damp, he started to withdraw his hand, and I grabbed it again and put it where I wanted it.

“Lick me, Michael, lick me,” I ordered hoarsely.

Michael bent between my legs, and he licked my pussy, playing with my hairs, and twirling his tongue about my now-erect clitoris. I shuddered and began to moan, “Yes, yes, yes!” He kept up the cunnilingus, and I said louder, “Yes, Michael, yes.” I put my hands behind his head and pushed it down harder, even as I started bucking from orgasm. “Now, Michael, put your penis in me now!” I shouted.

Michael climbed up so he could fuck me, and he began kissing me once again. I guided his hard, throbbing cock into my pussy hole, that deep cave that had been explored but once.

Michael started pumping very quickly, and I knew he was on the point of ejaculation. I didn’t want to stop so soon, so I pulled back and forced him to withdraw. “Michael, you’re doing an excellent job, but I want you to kiss my back now,” I told him.

I turned over, and the boy kissed me on the back. “More,” I ordered. “Kiss me all over.” 

He knew what to do. He started high, near my shoulders, and softly kissed me. He slowly worked his way down my back, to my butt. He stuck his tongue into my hole—I started gushing with cum once again. I knelt so that he could kiss me between the legs, and I turned over. “Fuck me again, hard.”

I pulled his prick to my wet vagina, and he fucked me. “Faster! Faster!” I shouted.

Michael fucked me hard and fast, and he said, “Sister, I’m going to…”

He collapsed on top of me as his semen filled my pussy.

I let the boy rest for a few minutes, but then I made the boy eat me out, and to lick up his own cum. It had been ten years since I had been touched, and soon I would be taking my final vows—meaning this would probably be the last time. I wanted to get all I could out of him.

Even after ejaculating, Michael didn’t lose his hard-on. I let him eat me out some more, and then I pulled him back on top of me. Once again I guided his cock inside, and I massaged my clit as he started to fuck me again. I had another orgasm, and he shot another wad of his hot jism inside of me. I used my underpants to clean both of us up. I thought about giving him the cum-stained panties as a souvenir, but then I decided that might not be a good idea. As it turned out, he apparently never told anyone about our adventure, but I couldn’t be sure at the time.

I went to confession on Saturday. The priest was very understanding, but he suggested I give up my vocation, and not take my final vows. 

Mother Superior graciously accepted my decision. She asked for an explanation, but I refused, commenting simply that I had prayed a lot and had finally reached this decision. I didn’t have to explain to anyone why I didn’t want to be a nun—that is one of the strictest rules of our order. She pressed me, and even suggested I could take another year to think about it, and then I could take my final vows. Maybe I was upset about my brother’s accident?

“In a way, you are right, Mother,” I said. “I think Michael’s accident was God’s way of saying he shouldn’t become a priest. And if Michael shouldn’t become a priest, then I shouldn’t become a nun. No, Mother, I don’t need to think about it any longer.”

Bound by the secret of the confessional, Father O’Connor did not say a word, and I stayed at the school. I was allowed to stay at the convent until the end of the school year, because I had no money to rent an apartment, but I began to wear civilian clothes (I bought three very modest dresses) instead of my habit. Michael and I never said a word about that afternoon, and cranky, old Sister Laurentia took over the Latin classes. In class, I tried not to call on Michael very often, because he almost always wanted to be excused from class so he could go to the bathroom when I did. I covered for him, saying his mother had told me that he was sick. Michael graduated in June, and I seldom saw him again.

AFTERWARD

A year of so after leaving the sisterhood, I started dating, and soon I fell in love. When my husband and I got married, I told him I had lost my virginity while riding a bicycle, which he believes to this day. We have four wonderful children and six grandchildren, and a few years ago my husband retired from work and we moved south.

Michael was recently named auxiliary bishop of our city. I was prompted to write this after seeing him at the welcoming party held at the church where he was designated pastor. Michael invited me to have lunch with him at a restaurant, and he told me that he was heading a commission to find a solution to the problem of child abuse by clerics. He thanked me for teaching him Latin, and he commented that he personally had never been tempted by little girls because he had once had a wonderful experience with an older woman. He said that he had always managed to remain celibate, even though it was often difficult, and he felt he understood the abusers and could empathize with them, yet find a way to prevent the scandals of the late 1990’s from repeating.

Looking at me, and taking my hand, Michael told me that I had not done anything wrong. In fact, I had been wronged when I was forced to join the convent

Michael and I will see each other again, for I’ve invited him to meet my family. We’ll probably spend St. Patrick’s Day together, since we’re both Irish, but it will really be a celebration of our own, very private, anniversary.