Chapter 5

The Cleveland Indians had a great year in 1953. In 1952 they took second place to the New York Yankees. In ‘53 they repeated as runner-up to the Yankees and Al Rosen became the second person in the league to win the MVP. From the opening game in April all of Cleveland was wild about the Indian’s winning record. On Saturday, May 16^th the Tribe would honor the Catholic Diocese by making free tickets available to all the priests and nuns of the Diocese who would be able to attend.

The “Diocese game,” as it was known, was announced a month in advance and ballyhooed on the radio—still more important than TV at the time. While every Priest and nun could go, each church needed a skeleton crew to staff its facilities in the event of an emergency. When Mother Superior announced that Sister Mary Cecile would have to remain in the convent on that day the youngest of the nuns at St. Bart’s was understandably disappointed. She and Sister Kathleen were huge baseball fans. They even played on the St. Bart’s Women’s Auxiliary softball team. Playing in cumbersome habits they were still the best two players on the team. Mary Cecile having not even been in the convent for a full year though had always treated me in an exceedingly kind manner, often in a flirty kind of way.

I related to you earlier how Sister Natalie would either ask one of the nuns to come into her room or she would go into the sister’s room where they would spend at least a half hour together. I didn’t find out the purpose of those visits till later. When the two nuns came out of the room, they always looked more relaxed than when they went in Their faces always looked freshly washed. Anyway, the Saturday before the “Diocese Game” I heard Mother Superior’s familiar refrain: “Sister Mary Cecile go into your room and prepare for my visit, I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

When they came out of the room Mary Cecile had a particularly joyful look on her face. She had been moping for the last couple of weeks. Being closest to my age I understood her disappointment. Though I was fifteen she was closest to my age at nineteen I understood how disappointed she was at not being able to go to the game. As she walked past me though she playfully bumped into me and said, “Excuse me, Toby,” giggling as she passed.

When she bumped me, I recognized a familiar scent, I had smelled it last November when I was alone with Sister Natalie. I smelled it again the previous Saturday when I was in the woods with Ray and his sister Kathy. I had been so close to Kathy’s pussy that I couldn’t avoid the scent that wafted my nose. Nah, I thought, trying to deny the picture that flashed through my mind of two nuns going down on one another. Unable to get the idea out of my head I was experiencing one of those “aha moments.” Though my experience with Cassie (Sister Natalie), was still new to me I couldn’t deny the possibility of two women going down on one another.

After lunch, which I took with the sisters in the kitchen, Mother Superior said to me. “Come down into the cellar with me Toby, there are some heavy boxes I need your help moving.” I didn’t understand why she was trying to suppress a puckering smile.

The Convent had just undergone an audit by the Diocese. Having removed the boxes from the room a few weeks earlier I knew that something was up. I followed her down the stairs and into the storage room where she turned on the overhead light. The room was about 8x10 with a wall of shelving, a small table with a light, and two chairs. When she turned to face me, her pucker was replaced with a broad smile.

“Come here my dear boy,” she said. As I took her outstretched hands, she pulled me into a hug. It was the first time we had hugged since November 1^st—we had both been naked at the time. As I felt the woman whom I had experienced with no clothes on, the material of her habit was bulky, and the veil and wimple both felt strange against my face. “Oh Toby, Toby, TOBY,” she said, “I know you have been wondering if what happened in the fall would ever happen again.”

With great hope in my heart, I asked, “Will it Mother?”

Taking my hands, she pushed me away and gauged my eyes. “Yes, Toby. But we must be patient. We can’t let our relationship become so blatant that we should be discovered. We have to be aware of wagging tongues.”

For Christ’s sake, I thought it’s been six months!

Studying my face, she said, “It’s been a long time for me too, my darling boy. But school will be out in six weeks, and you will be here often enough for us to find our ... um opportunities.” With a flirting smile and roll of her eyes, she added, “In the meantime let’s have a little taste of what will come,” giving me a comical grin to emphasize the pun. Pulling me close again she gave me one of those marvelous kisses that had held me, prisoner since November. Her hand pressed against my groin to feel if something worthwhile might be growing. At the feel of my swelling erection, she said, “Nice.” Her fingers went to my zipper and worked it down.

Reaching inside my BVDs she worked my awkward stiffness through the vented opening. Looking down she stroked a couple of times and said, “The Lord certainly has a way of creating such wonderful things, Toby.”

Inspecting it more closely she added, “Hmm, you’ve grown some Toby. Or is it just my imagination?” She didn’t wait for an answer. Holding my right hand with her left and my erect cock with her right hand she coaxed me toward the table. Pulling out a chair she sat down, looked up at me, and said, “This will have to do for now Toby. We don’t have much time.”

Holding my penis upward she licked the underside of its crown, wiggled her tongue through the lobes, and touched the tip in my slit. With a satisfied sigh, she tasted my precum and said, “It’s so sweet my love.” Taking me deep inside her mouth she slathered my swollen penis with saliva then pulled her lips over and off the tip of my glans, flicking it with her tongue. Fingers of tingling shocks went to my nipples, my balls, and my toes. Having been fellated just a week earlier by Kathy Warren—a rank amateur—I couldn’t suppress what seemed a ridiculous question to be asking a woman in her position, “How did you get to be so good at this Sister?”

Taking her mouth off my cock she looked up at me and calmly said, “I had five brothers Toby, not to mention a father who was a perverted drunk.” Knowing what Ray Warren was doing with his sister I understood. Her FATHER though. Before taking me to the back of her throat she said, “Cum for me Toby, we’ve got to hurry. And my name is Cassie when we do this, remember?”

On fire, with her long-delayed, breathtaking blowjob the sting of her scolding had negligible effect on me. I closed my eyes, humped my hips forward and back, and, with my sperm building to a climactic eruption I concentrated on ejaculating.

Blazing white spots burst behind my eyelids and what sounded like a beehive buzzed in my ears. when a gout of sperm, too large for my pee hole, shot against the back of Cassie’s throat my knees nearly collapsed. Two more forceful spurts were greeted with hungrily grunted sighs from my beloved Mother Superior, her eyes rolling up into her head as if she savored the long string of jizz that snaked down her throat.

Taking a handkerchief from inside the wrist of her habit she caught an errant squirt of semen before it could stain the dark material then wiped her lips and cleaned the residue from my wilting penis. Taking one sniff of the hanky she said with a wry smile, “Smelling salts for later my dear,” then continued, “I have to go over to the church to meet with Father Desmond.”

Turning toward the door she said, “Zip yourself up Toby, I don’t want Sister Agnes’ tongue wagging. Put the boxes on the top shelf.” Just before climbing the stairs, she added, “Come to my office Toby before you leave today, ok?”

“WAIT, Mother.” There was something I couldn’t hold in any longer. In her hurried exit, she paused. Hoping she wouldn’t get angry with me for asking I said, “What is it that you do with the sisters in their rooms?”

Standing at the bottom of the stairs she shook her head like a grandmother dealing with an impish child. Giving me a grin that told of her surprise said, “Cunnilingus you naughty heathen, look it up. Its spelled “c-u-n-n-i-l-i-n-g-u-s.” With that, she hiked up the hem of her habit and bolted up the stairs.

Before my workday was over Sister Mary Cecile came outside where I was putting up a fence for a vegetable garden. Though only about a third of her face was showing through her veil there was a sauciness about it that kept reminding me of the hidden treasures that might lie beneath her austere habit. She was nineteen. I was only an eighth grader. Were Mary Cecile not a nun she would be going into her junior year of college, yet she seemed more naïve than my teenage neighbor Kathy Warren.

“Toby,” she said rolling her eyes coquettishly, “Mother Superior would like to see you in her office before you go.” I was aware of that, but Sister Natalie must have had a reason for reminding me.

Heading for the office I couldn’t get the thought out of my mind. As Mary Cecile talked with me there was something about the way she was looking my way that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Yes, that’s it, it’s like she’s hopeful about something. She’ll be going to the baseball game. That’s why Rev. Mother wants to talk with me. But the game is still six weeks away. And what would that have to do with me anyhow?

Knocking on Mother Superior’s door I heard a muted “Come in.” She gestured with her open hand for me to take a seat across the desk. Tenting her hands as if she were trying to sort out a problem she said, “Toby, we’re going to see the Cleveland Indians play baseball in six weeks.” I wondered if she might be going to invite me to go along. When she didn’t immediately continue, I asked, “Do you not want me to come that day Mother?”

A thoughtful smile cracked on her austere face. “On the contrary Toby, I’ll leave a list of some of the things you will need to accomplish.” Then, as if one thing had something to do with the other, she went on, “Not being able to go to the game has been a dreadful disappointment for Mary Cecile; I don’t want the poor dear to be here all by herself.” I couldn’t figure out why she was telling me this so far in advance. Drumming her fingers on the top of her desk a couple of times it was as if she was trying to silently communicate something to me. But unlike her normally accomplished self she was having trouble putting her thoughts into words. “Maybe you can um offer to play cards, or um maybe even scrabble?”