Chapter 7

A shroud of moist shower steam enveloped Sister Gabrielle’s nude body as she was bent over shaving her left leg. The razor glided up from her knee, stopping where she had always ended the stroke. Where her pubic hair encroached onto her leg. But the long hairs were gone, replaced by dark brown stubs about a quarter of an inch long. She ran her fingertips over the remnants of Cara’s trimming. They were soft, not prickly like stubble.

Sister Gabrielle had started shaving in high school when the other girls in her Physical Education class made fun of her hairy legs. They had called her names that hurt to this day, like monkey and ape. But she had only needed to shave the part of her leg the gym shorts didn’t cover. Never having worn a bathing suit, that was adequate. But now she eyed the dark stubs, absentmindedly caressing them with her fingertips.

Sister Gabrielle squirted a small dollop of shaving gel from the tube and spread it over the stubs on her upper thigh. For the first time in her life, she removed that hair, being very careful not to nick herself, especially on the more delicate skin at the juncture of her thigh and vulva. She looked at the smooth skin and liked what she saw so when she shaved her other leg she did the same.

The remaining stubby hairs were now more conspicuous. Everything around them was bare and smooth. She spread shaving gel on her mons, the area above her vulva and below her bellybutton, and took a deep breath. She released the air right before placing the razor an inch above the cleft, and then she dragged the razor up to her bellybutton. The result was a hairless line the width of the razor. She stared down at it. It was obscene, a trail leading to her vagina. Like the pointer she used in the classroom. She quickly shaved the areas on both sides of it.

Sister Gabrielle stepped under the water and rinsed off her body. She backed away from the spray and looked down. The only hair remaining was on her vulva. Everything else was smooth as a baby, even the outer edges of her labia. And the short dark stubs no longer completely hid what lay beneath them. It did look cleaner. Cleanliness is godliness.

After drying off and donning her nightgown, Sister Gabrielle lay on her bed with her head propped up on the two pillows. She read the pocketbook novel, page after page of conflicts the man helped the woman through. The sex got more intense with every scene and Sister Gabrielle found herself stroking her groin through the nightgown.

As the tingling increased between her legs, Sister Gabrielle yanked the nightgown up to her waist. Her fingers pressed down on her labia and rubbed. It felt different with the hairs trimmed short. She felt skin.

When the couple in the novel got married and decided to have a child, the scene where he planted his semen inside her was very loving, and hot. When the hero entered the heroine, Sister Gabrielle slid a finger into her vagina. Never having done it before, she was surprised at how moist and warm it was. And how her vagina muscles involuntarily gripped her finger. It was hard to turn the pages with one hand, but Sister Gabrielle refused to take her finger out. Well, not completely. She realized it felt better when she slid it in and out like Cara had done.

And then the novel ended.

Sister Gabrielle dropped the paperback at her side and stared up at the ceiling, concentrating on her finger inside her vagina, thinking back to what had happened in her office. As she wiggled her finger, she knew what she was feeling was what Cara’s finger had felt. Why had Cara done it? The nun closed her eyes and brought herself back to that moment. She moved her finger, imagining it was her student’s finger. Cara had used two hands. Sister Gabrielle brought her other hand to her vulva and rubbed it the way Cara had taught her. It took a sixteen-year-old girl to teach the twenty-three-year-old grown woman how to touch herself. Her fingers rubbed harder around her clitoris and the other finger thrust in and out of her vagina faster. The heels of her feet slid toward her butt and her knees rose and spread. Sister Gabrielle moaned. Her hips humped. Her mind screamed, Cara, don’t stop! And then her knees snapped shut, clamping both hands between her thighs. She let out a squeal as her body shook. The image in her mind was of Cara kneeling between her spread legs fingering her.

The next day, Sister Gabrielle strolled up and down the aisles in her classroom discussing the lesson, randomly stopping at a student’s desk and laying a hand on her shoulder expecting an answer to the question she had asked. When she passed Cara’s desk, she dropped a folded note on the desktop. Cara slapped her hand on top of it and dragged it toward her. She opened it in her lap under the cover of the desk and read it.

The rest of the day dragged for Sister Gabrielle, but eventually it ended and she was sitting behind her desk in her office. She knew the soft knock on the door was Cara so she told her to come in.

The girl held up the note. “You wanted to see me, Sister?”

“Yes, close the door.”

“Should I lock it?”

“Um, no. Just close it.”

When Cara sat down, Sister Gabrielle removed the pocketbook novel from her desk drawer and slid it across the desk.

“Please give this back to your mother,” Sister Gabrielle said. “Or wherever you borrowed it from.”

“Did you finish it?”

“Yes.”

“Did you like it?”

“Yes, it was well written and moving. I’m happy the man and woman lived happily ever after.”

Cara snickered. “They always do in these novels. It’s not like the real world.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because in the real world you don’t always live happily ever after. You don’t always get what you want.”

“What do you want?”

Cara was silent for a moment before saying, “Nothing.”

“I’m sure you want something. You’re young with your whole life ahead of you. Why did you say you won’t get what you want?”

“Because I won’t. I love someone and will never— It’s not like in those books.” Her eyes watered.

“Did you tell him how you feel about him?” Sister Gabrielle asked.

“It’s not like that.”

“So you’re not in love?”

“I am in love. It just can’t work.” A tear rolled down one cheek.

“Would you like to talk about it?”

“No.”

Well, if you change your mind, I’m here for you. I feel very close to you. You can ask me anything.” Sister Gabrielle nudged the book toward Cara. “Return the book to your mother and thank you for loaning it to me. I enjoyed it.”

Cara stood up and stuffed the pocketbook into her bookbag. Her hand came out with another one. She laid it on Sister Gabrielle’s desk.

“This one is good too,” Cara said.

“Thank you. Is there anything else?”

Cara lowered her eyes. “Can I really ask you anything?”

“Yes.”

Cara looked up and studied the nun’s face. “Did it feel better when I did it to you? I mean, better than when you do it to yourself?” Her face turned crimson.

“Are you asking what I think you’re asking?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think I—”

“You said I could ask you anything!”

Sister Gabrielle smiled. “That I did. Okay, yes, it felt better.”

“Will you do it to me?”

“What!”

“I want to know. I have no one else. I feel so alone.”

Fresh tears rolled down Cara’s cheeks, now flowing from both eyes. Cara cried so much. She was a troubled girl. Sister Gabrielle remembered how alone she had felt growing up. There had never been anyone there for her. Many days had culminated with her crying herself to sleep. What Cara was asking was wrong. But so was everything else they had done. The poor girl didn’t believe in happy endings. She was hurting and had come to Sister Gabrielle for help.