Chapter 5: Competing With the Milk Man

As the season wore on both my partner and I serviced our way through summer tune ups. Most of them were legitimate billable furnace work. There were the occasional tune ups requiring perhaps an entire afternoon’s work of pleasure for one or more of the knitting club members. Personally I liked making adjustments to Mrs. Jordan’s heating system and she liked me working with hers alone. We spent time in her spa and I told her my old Army story about a fellow soldier who reminisced often about “playing whales” in the bath tub with his girl friend Myrna. She actually seemed to like my humor.

Next to my candy lady Mrs. Jordan had proved to be an extremely creative lover dreaming up more ways to tantalize ourselves and we would wander about the property finding new places to fuck. She drove me to distraction, perfect distraction and I loved her. We did get quite bold with our exploits and became more comfortable with ourselves as the days went by.

Her husband? I came to find out he had several girl friends and had an agreement with Mrs. Jordan about their personal lovers. Eventually it became routine for him to bring a girl friend home to share us. It took me some time to get comfortable with that, he being so successful and wealthy. But he was a great guy and he loved the fact his wife used me to greatly enhance her skills at making love. “It’s like the woman I married, I love, is renewed as exciting, a different kind of lover. It’s so arousing. I feel completely reinvented in this love of my life.”

She was so beautiful. But for most of their marriage she was unable to free feelings regarding sex, the desire, the behavior, until she met me at the first club gathering for expanding knitting to an orgy. She said she’d found a whole new realm of responsible joy in safe love making. A claimed vast expansion of her artistic creativity was rewarded her. A kind of rebirth for her as well. “I love life even more than I did before.”

As we made love in the spa the noise of the water jets softened the sounds coming from the surrounding landscape, white noise, and I got awful comfortable with her. I didn’t worry about getting caught by anyone other than perhaps other members, knitters needing some service, to join in with us.

There was a lavish juggle of vegetation in all directions, large properties, acreage spreading down to the lake. And the really large portion belonged to the Catholic church to the north, next door, separated by a cyclone fence. It was generally just an unkept maze of local vegetation and those damned blackberries imported from Nepal.

One particular afternoon as we lulled each other in the warmth, soaking, I became aware of presence and I assumed one of the club ladies coming down to join us although I didn’t see anybody. I didn’t arouse my pal cuddled to me. A Boeing 747 bellied slow above us on its way to landing heading south and I watched it pass enjoying the spa jets shooting me in the butt with force. And then there was a throat cleared off behind my head.

I careened my view around to see the black robes of a nun standing behind us on the deck, the familiar white tight starch cover ringing her face with black head garb draped down around and the soft sound of large bead’s length hanging.

The face of this creature was quite charming, beautiful actually, and I began to turn around and out of my lover’s grip. “Hello?” “I’m here for Mrs. Jordan, Sylvia,” came the response.

“This is she,” I said having turned, kneeling up, but keeping my waist below the water line trying to avoid my erection surfacing as if she might not already think I was naked. My lover was churning awake as well as the nun expressed her surprise I wasn’t Mr. Jordan. “No, I’m her furnace man.”

I answered so quickly but about bit my tongue as honesty broke free too soon and I gave away our sojourn fucking around in the spa during a lovely afternoon. The nun wasn’t so surprised really, kept her cool. “I’m here to apologize for all the weeds and blackberries invading your lovely property.” Silence followed as my buddy just stared at her in wonder. Finally she spoke.

“Hi Sister Jane. Oh come on. We have no issue with the vegetation really. It’s just wild and it’s Nature. We can deal with it and as you see we don’t exactly groom our place either. Please feel free to not worry about it. You shouldn’t have to. I just wish I could make you feel more at home here now that you’ve come for a visit. This is Tom. Perhaps I could get you something to drink.”

What a classy person I thought, Sylvia, always so gracious. And she seemed to already know this person.

She quickly rose out of the water baring her breasts and we both remained that way as she pointed to the wine but said, “I don’t suppose you’d take a glass of wine? It’s really quite good.” The nun took some moments to respond with raised eyebrows. Then, with a smile she spoke directly to me.

“I’m Sister Jane of the B.V.M. order and I inhabit the nunnery this side of the girl’s academy. It’s a bit of walk down here and I don’t mind if I do share your wine, such a lovely afternoon. I should explain. Sylvia and I are quite good friends, neighbors and actually she wanted me to meet you after her having told me all about you.”

In all my years of parochial school education I never dreamed I would be sharing wine with a nun while my lady friend and I just shared some great fucking in her spa. But Sister Jane was liberated enough to get cozy with us and I liked her right off. “Cool!” I said.