“Come with me, Peter!” Sister Nancy whirled away in a cloud of black and strode down toward her office.

‘Shit!’ I thought, she had caught me almost ready to come. My treasured Playboy was rolled up in her hand. I was toast.

I plodded along in her trail. I felt worse than I ever had, and tears started flowing from my eyes. At least she had allowed me to pull my uniform shorts up.

I finally reached her office. “Close the door and lock it!” she commanded, and boy, did I obey. The door made a swishing sound as I pushed it to the latch.

“Strip! Every stitch! You little slug, you think you can objectify women? Well welcome to being objectified!” I pulled my tie off and began to unbutton my shirt. She angrily covered the distance between us in a second. She ripped my shirt open, buttons popping off all over.

“Now those stupid shorts,” she said in a normal voice. “As far as I’m concerned, all of you little slugs should be naked all the time.” That shocked me. She was a bride of Christ.