How is it that seemingly unlikely people end up in unanticipated sexual intimacy? I mean, what are the forces, the precipitating factors that contribute to this improbable union? For instance, how does it happen that an older woman and a younger man - the friend of her son perhaps - end up entangled? Or in-laws? Or, in my case, with a nun?
I suppose that some of the necessary predilection would at least include the right temperament. But that's one of those true-but-trivial positions. Necessary, to be sure, but hardly sufficient. Think about it: the mere presence of an erection for example, coupled with a horny disposition hardly insures much of anything happening. As a case in point, I spent several years of my young life hanging out in that uncomfortable space, constantly armed and ready with nowhere to go.
No, desire by itself isn't enough. More's needed. A physical connection coupled with a temporal connection might add to the stew of spontaneous generation. Yes, there have been those times when, by good fortune and presence, the barriers of improbability have been breached. It had happened to me a time or two, but not as often as I might have wished. No, that's not enough. There's a huge difference between conventional, voluntary proximity and reluctant, involuntary closeness.
So, given the mix of sufficient predisposing personalities, however hidden, coupled with a forced physical proximity, unexpected shifts might occur.
I wasn't thinking of any of this the time I was thrown together with a nun. I didn't even have a secret lech for nuns; they were far down on my list of masturbation fantasies. Oh, in the seventh grade I had an attractive young nun who'd taken a kindly interest in my reading skills and I'd briefly wondered what she looked like under those long, black robes. But it hadn't been planted in my libido as a major jack-off fantasy. So when I'd accepted a two-day charter to deliver a 35' sloop to the British Virgins, I hardly blinked when I was unexpectedly asked if I'd take along a Sister Mary Joseph as a passenger.
I wondered briefly if all nuns were called Sister Mary Joseph? I vaguely recalled having a Latin teacher by that name. But I remember about as much of that teacher as I did the Latin that was force fed into my reluctant adolescent mind.
"Sure. Be glad for the company," I replied to the charter manager. He rarely asked for favors and besides, I thought he was a straight shooter.
An hour later, as I was finishing stowing my gear and provisions for the two-day sail, Mike, the guy who'd arranged this ferry job, pulled up in his jeep with the gaily-colored canvas top and tooted his horn. A black-robed woman in traditional, I mean old-fashioned, nun's attire climbed out. I saw a flash of black-stockinged calf as she lighted. Shading her eyes with her hand, she surveyed the length of the small sloop, her eyes ending with me. I smiled and waved to come aboard. She waved back, turned and said something to Mike who in turn, waved goodby and spun off.
She picked up a small black bag and walked to the gangplank where I stood ready to assist her. What little I could see of her face, I guessed she was about my age, middle thirties or so. As I extended my hand to help her step aboard, I smiled at our contrast, she covered head-to-toe in black and me, wearing nothing more than a faded pair of ancient Pusser's sailing shorts.
Even though there was a little cooling breeze, she was perspiring, not surprising given the intensity of the August sun in the Caribbean. And it was early morning. It was going to get a lot warmer, I knew.
"Thanks for giving me a lift," she said, extending a warm, firm hand and shaking mine. Her eyes were grey-green, level and intelligent. Strong eyes, I thought.
As I touched her elbow to steer her aft, I said, "Normally, I try to sail straight through doing these deliveries. But the weather's been a bit unsettled and I'd prefer to lay over at night. How much of a hurry you in?"
She laughed, wiping the sweat from her brow. "Actually, I'm way ahead of schedule. I don't have to be at the school until September. So please, do whatever is comfortable for you. I want to be a good... uh, shipmate?"
"Good, we'll just poke along then. I've done too many of these day-and-night sails, and I can use the rest."
"Sounds good to me. Where shall I put my things?" she asked, holding up her small bag.
"Tooth brush?" I asked.
"Hardly more. All my materials and clothes were shipped ahead. I suspect they're waiting there for me."
"Sister," I said, "it'll be a bit cooler as soon as we get underway, for there's a fairly constant wind out of the northeast, but I have to warn you, it's going to get a lot hotter before the sun goes down."
"Oh, darn! Really? I'm suffocating already in this Batman outfit."
Her description of her habit was so unexpected, I guffawed and then almost choked, trying to muffle it. "Sorry," I gasped.
"Don't think a thing of it. The Church has already changed their stance on nun's clothes. They're becoming much more liberal, thank goodness. But I had a brief interview by the Bishop and, apprehensive as I was in the presence of such an... ah... exalted person, I wore these traditional robes, I guess to try to impress him." She looked away and added in a softer voice, "I don't think it did." Then again speaking to me she added, "But my "real-live clothes" have gone ahead."
Leading her into the galley, I said, "If it's permitted and you're comfortable, you can wear some of mine. I have some extra, but they're all men's sailing clothes... " Finishing lamely, I added, "Shorts, T-shirts, things like that."
"Oh, would you? I'd be so appreciative. This all happened so fast, getting a ride with you I mean, I didn't have a chance to plan a thing. God provided, I thought, and I just jumped at it."
I pulled a Coke from the ice chest and holding it up, raised my eyebrows in a universal query?
"Yes, please. That'd be wonderful."
"There's a very small cabin here that you can use. There's only one head right here; we'll both have to use it. The pump for the toilet takes some getting used to. OK?"
She smiled and nodded. I find it's much better to get the ground rules out front. If there's a problem or an objection, it's better to know about it in advance. I knew I carried all sorts of misconceptions about religious orders and nuns. That, coupled with a slight problem I had with authority figures, might set me up to misunderstand.
Digging into my duffle, I pulled out another pair of shorts and a T-shirt. Then remembering, I dug into a locker and found a baseball cap. "Well, that's about it. Not very clerical, but certainly cooler and more practical."
"Can I change right away, before we get underway?"
"Sure. I'm going above to cast off. We'll motor in the channel. Come up when you're ready."
I put the small gang plank ashore and cast off the stern and bow lines before jumping back aboard. It's always easier to sail with more than one person, but from long experience, I knew how to do it with an economy of motion. I didn't have to think about the mechanics of boats and sailing. It was just something I did, freeing my mind for other things. Like thinking about Sister Mary Joseph. Geez, what a handle! I wondered if she'd mind if I shortened it?
"What can I do to help?" she asked.
Surprised, my head snapped around. She was standing on the aft deck wearing my clothes. She was almost comical. The shorts and the shirt were both too large. The bunched bottom of the T-shirt was belted into the sailing shorts. They, in turn, were staying up only by the grace of a cinched, built-in pull belt. She looked like a little girl wearing her daddy's clothes.
"You're laughing at me!" she protested with a smile.
I looked ashore as if to form an answer and looked back at her, secure in the knowledge that the sun at my back prevented her from seeing my eyes as I looked her over. Christ, she had breasts! And shapely ones too, made more prominent by her tiny waist.
"Sorry again. Don't mean to laugh. It's the contrast, you see. One minute you were my seventh grade teacher and the next minute you're... well, certainly not that! You look good! I mean, it's... it's more, uh, fitting."
"Thanks. And I mean it. What can I do to help? I'm a strong woman and I'd like to learn something about sailing. I'll be your uh, first mate. That OK?"
Mate? Suddenly, that term carried a vastly different meaning.
"Alright, mate. You take the helm. See that red buoy ahead of us? Steer a course to the right of it and I'll handle the main."
I'd done this a hundred times alone, but I thought it'd be better to give her something to do. I knew there'd be times later when her help would be welcome. After several minutes' busy work, we were healed over a little and sailing at a comfortable five knots. I shut off the diesel and sat back, watching her.
Her hair was auburn, wavy and longer than I thought nuns wore it. Shows how much I knew about nuns. Next to nothing. Curling around her ears, it framed her face nicely. Her arms and her legs were firm and nicely rounded; they were not pale as I'd anticipated. Actually, she had an olive complexion with a good base tan. She also had an athletic build and she looked strong. I told her so.
"It's the racquetball," she explained. I'd rather play tennis, but in the winter's cold, I'm glad for the exercise. You play?"
"Both," I nodded, and then to be honest, added, "but not in the last while."
.... There is more of this story ...