Chapter 8

Sister Gabrielle rushed back to the convent and her bedroom, walking fast without looking like she was running. She didn’t have much time before dinner so she pulled the pocketbook novel from the front habit pouch, jammed it underneath her underwear, and slammed the drawer shut. She ran from her room and stormed into the dining room.

“I’m going to have to buy you a new watch,” the Reverend Mother said.

Sister Gabrielle stood just inside the dining room as if there was a spotlight shining on her. “I’m sorry. I’m not late, am I?”

“Just in time.” The Reverend Mother eyeballed Sister Gabrielle. “This time, anyway. Don’t make a habit of it.”

Sister Gabrielle nodded. All eyes were on her as she took her seat. She wanted to crawl under the table, but soon the food was served and everyone ate in silence. When Sister Gabrielle brought her fork to her mouth, her finger was near her nose. The finger that had been inside Cara’s vagina. Not having had time to wash her hands, the aroma was faint but noticeable. Sister Gabrielle looked to her left and then right to see if the nuns next to her could smell it. They ate without looking at her.

When she returned to her bedroom, Sister Gabrielle stripped and went into the shower. She was stressed and needed calming. She stood under the warm water with her eyes closed. It splashed off the top of her head and flowed down her face and body.

Sister Gabrielle had never been so conflicted. In her younger years, she hadn’t fit in with the other children, but she had always known what she wanted. To dedicate her life to God. To serve Him. To help others. There was never any doubt that she wanted to be a nun, and by becoming a teacher she had thought she could do both at the same time. Fulfill a rewarding life. But Cara had turned her life upside down. Doubts consumed her. Right and wrong was no longer black and white. What she was doing with Cara was wrong, against God, against the vows she had taken and lived by, but it didn’t feel wrong while doing it.

What really troubled the nun was her blossoming feelings for Cara. They were more than a teacher/student relationship. More than a nun providing spiritual guidance to a child. A child? At twenty-three, Sister Gabrielle was only seven years older than Cara. At first, Sister Gabrielle had empathized with the girl. Then it became more of a friendship. But now she felt a love for Cara she didn’t understand. Up until then, the only love she had ever felt, other than for her parents, was for God. She had cared for people, respected them, but never had loved anyone other than Jesus Christ. To prove it, she had taken vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience. She wore Jesus’ ring yet broke her vows. Did that mean she wasn’t a nun anymore?

Sister Gabrielle tilted her head back and let the water wash over her upturned face. The stinging warmth soothed her. The knots in her neck relaxed as she rotated her shoulders. Backing out from under the spray, Sister Gabrielle looked down at her shimmering body. She had always been embarrassed to do that. She had a model’s body—thin, small breasts, narrow hips, flat belly. She stared at her lower belly and mons, now void of hair, and then at the brown stubs below it. She closed her eyes to block it out. She shouldn’t be looking at her body. But with her eyes closed, her mind saw Cara, at the girl shamelessly spreading her legs before her, at her clean-shaven groin. She opened her eyes again and looked at the juncture of her own legs.

Sister Gabrielle turned off the water and took the tube of shaving gel out of the tray on the tiled wall. She sat on the floor with her back against the wall and her knees raised and parted. She squirted gel onto her hand and, hesitating only a moment, lathered up her crotch. When her fingers rubbed over her clitoris, her eyes snapped shut and she moaned. She rubbed harder, up and down and in circles. She sat on the floor rubbing and moaning, and then her legs snapped together as the fire between her legs exploded.

Sister Gabrielle sat on the shower floor with her back against the tiled wall, her head hanging forward, and her knees raised and spread, breathing hard. When her eyes opened, she felt more relaxed. Much of the tension had left her body. She picked up the razor and spread her legs more, digging her chin into her chest. If a teenager could do it, so could she. She stretched the delicate skin on one side of the slit with fingers from her left hand and glided the razor over the lathered skin. It was easier to do than she had thought. She continued until most of the shaving gel on her vulva was gone and no more hair showed. She got to her feet, turned the water back on, and rinsed the area off.

After finishing in the bathroom, Sister Gabrielle put her nightgown on and dug out the pocketbook from underneath her underwear. She flipped it over and saw the cover for the first time. It didn’t have a sexy, topless man like the other one. It was a picture of two women embracing. The title—A Closet Love—didn’t make sense. She’d find out what it meant by reading it.

Like the other novel, this one was well written. Sister Gabrielle was surprised. She had thought these kinds of novels were trash. The kind of stuff sinful, horny housewives read. But like the first novel, she sympathized with the main character. The woman was troubled and lonely. It brought back memories of her own childhood.

Sister Gabrielle sped through the pages. The woman had one disappointing date after another. The men she chose only wanted one thing from her. She wanted love. They wanted sex. And her loneliness made her give in to some of them. Like the other novel, the sex scenes were steamy and Sister Gabrielle found herself rubbing between her legs, first over the nightgown and then pulling the nightgown up to her waist. And now that she knew what it felt like, a finger found its way into her.

She was halfway through the novel without realizing it. The only true companionship the woman had was a married coworker. The heroine went to that woman for consoling, crying over her disastrous dates and how bad she felt after the sex. Her coworker would listen and comfort her. First it was simply listening. Then holding her while she sobbed. And then the heroine grabbed her coworker’s face in her hands and kissed her passionately. Or tried to. The married woman shoved her away and bolted, leaving the heroine in tears. Sister Gabrielle put the pocketbook down and stared at the wall, remembering doing the same thing when Cara had kissed her.