Chapter 3

The world remembers Saturday, November 1^st, 1952, as the day the United States detonated the first thermonuclear bomb on Eniwetok atoll in the Pacific Ocean. But in Burling Village on that day the explosions I remember are the personal ones that would change my life forever.

At the age of seventy-six few days go by when I don’t think of Sister Natalie. Having lost my virginity that day to Sister Natalie Callan, 40-year-old Mother Superior of St. Bartholomew’s Convent I have forever revered St. Bart’s with a higher degree of blessedness than I had before. In losing my virginity to her I began to better understand the meaning of human nature. Within the intimate confines of the Convent, I was given a fly on wall’s perspective of surprising things that can happen in such sanctified environments. While I would never accuse other such church entities of the kind of behavior going on at St. Bart’s I learned that nuns are human beings who are subject to the ambiguities of the human libido.

Sister Natalie, my Cassie as I have always fondly remembered the woman, thru sacrifice, hard work, and strong leadership made it to the level of Mother Superior. She ran a taut ship in every aspect of her calling except the ability to resist the extreme lure of her sexuality. By way of her powerful libido, she had relations with at least one priest, opened the doors of sex to at least one overjoyed teenage boy, and led at least five of her fellow sisters into what at the time was considered scandalous, lesbian behavior.

At the age of fourteen what happened between us was for me the most stunning and unexpected series of events that had ever happened in my life. While it wasn’t repeated often with Sister Natalie it was always something I looked forward to at the time and now recall with great pleasure. During the next four years I worked for St. Barts I would also come to know those pleasures with four of the five other sisters.

After that Saturday following Halloween the insecurity, I experienced as a clueless virgin quickly disappeared. Unless you’ve been there yourself there is no way I can explain the confidence that took root when I was mentored sexually at such an impressionable by an older woman.

As far as my circle jerk buddies and friends in school were concerned the boasts I heard from them about their exploits with girls were mostly flights of imagination. Based upon what I had learned from my Cassie about the workings of the female body I realized that these guys didn’t have a clue of what sex was all about. I kept quiet about my own experience. Though I wanted to share my success while listening to their boasts I kept everything to myself. Telling would have satisfied my ego. But if the word had gotten out about what happened to me at St. Barts it could have caused severe damage to my mentor and her small flock of penguins.

Ray Warren, a neighbor boy who was one of my friends, like me, had nothing to say on the subject to the circle jerkers. He like me seemed to have lost interest in these get-togethers. What I had no idea of at the time, was that Ray was making sexual advances of his own.

We used to hang out together and spend time talking about a range of things. Sex often came up. One day while we were hanging out in my bedroom—it was before my experience with Sister Natalie—I told him about how I sometimes heard my mom and dad going at it after they thought we had gone to sleep. “See that glass?” I said pointing to the water glass on the table between our beds. “When they’re doing it Charlie and I hold the glass against the wall and listen in on them.”

“And it works?” Ray asked.

“Sure does,” I answered. “Wanna see?” I showed him how to put the glass against the wall and demonstrated putting my ear to it. “Close the door when I go into the other room and when I close their door just listen with your ear against it.” When I got into the room I said rather loudly, “Are you ready?” He knocked on the wall.

In a normal voice, I said, “Your pussy is SO wet.” Then I moaned a couple of times and said, “Your cock is so BIG Daddy; fuck me, fuck me, FUCK me.” I yelled, “Did you hear that, Ray?” He knocked on the wall.

When I came back into the room Ray was already masturbating. He and I would often beat our meat together; it became our private rite of passage. His dick was large compared to the other boys we had seen during group showers at school, about the same size as mine. “I can’t believe it,” he said about the glass, “It was almost like I was in the room.”

“Let me show you something else,” I said. He followed me into my parent’s room. “Imagine,” I said sitting on the edge of their bed, “they were fucking right here, lots of times, and we were listening.” By this time, I was stroking my erection.

“But take a look at this.” I opened the large bottom drawer of my father’s nightstand; there was a large red and white box in the drawer. Large black letters printed on the box ( a gross) which said Trojans. Dad must have had a druggist friend to be able to get so many of them. Pulling one of the foil-packed rubbers out of the large box I held the foil packet in my fingers.

“What is it,” Ray asked.

“Charlie says they’re rubbers. He says that Dad wears em on his pecker to catch the jizz he shoots when they’re fucking, to keep Mom from getting a baby. Ray was Catholic; in his eyes, birth control was a sin in the eyes of the Church.

“I’ve never seen anything like that around our house,” Ray said. I’m sure he had searched high and low for anything that might be related to sex—every kid’s rite of exploration.

Opening the tinfoil packet as I had done a couple of times before, I rolled the rubber over my erect penis. Reaching for another one I said, “Wanna try it?”

When he got the rubber over his boner he said, “Wow! Maybe that’s what a girl feels like inside.”

We both sat on the bed and jacked off in the rubbers. I was used to the feeling when I took it off ... used to like how a string of jizz always seemed to leak out. We dropped the rubbers into the toilet and flushed them down. I took the foil from the packets and put them in my pocket—I always threw this kind of contraband in the coal-burning furnace in our basement.

Both of our houses used to be farmhouses that had lots of ground behind them. All our neighbors’ properties had been part of a group of big farms. Within a quarter of a mile to each side of my house were two separate growths of trees, “The Woods.” One day when Ray and I were out walking in the woods we came across a small stream There was a big hickory tree near the stream. Between the stream and the base of the tree, there was a soft carpet of green moss that measured about ten by twenty feet. Lying down on the moss we rolled on our backs with our heads cradled in on our crossed arms. Looking up at the sun and blue sky which dappled the glade Ray said, “This is as soft as a bed.” I grunted my agreement. A moment later he asked, “Think we’ll ever fuck a girl, Toby?”

“I don’t know Ray ... seems like all I do is think about fucking.” I was working at the convent at the time. “I even think about fucking the nuns, Ray. Can you believe THAT?”