Cissy (a Toby Wakefield Story) - Cover

Cissy (a Toby Wakefield Story)

by Peter Duncan

Copyright© 2021 by Peter Duncan

Romantic Sex Story: While working at St. Bart's Catholic Church Toby Wakefield has sex with and falls in love with nineteen-year-old Sister Mary Cecile who is transferred back east to Baltimore and later appears in another Toby Wakefield story, "Rina Strelnicov."

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   mt/ft   Teenagers   Consensual   Heterosexual   Fiction   Oral Sex   Petting   Pregnancy   .

Having gone to work for St. Bartholomew’s Catholic Church in my hometown of Burling Heights, Ohio I was flabbergasted when the Mother Superior of the Convent, Sister Natalie seduced me into having sex with her. Thrilled by the close attention, advice, and sexual predation she visited on me I became an erotically sophisticated young teenager. I became aware of lesbian sex after I questioned Sister Natalie about the number of times, I saw her visiting the other sisters rooms and being alone with them for as much as an hour. Each time they came out together their faces looked like they had just been washed. And they always looked more relaxed than they did before they went in. Sister Natalie’s always told me that she would answer any question I had about the convent. She started sex with me by giving me blow jobs then taking me into her room when the other sisters were teaching school or were away on some kind of jaunt and having naked sex with me. It was because of my question about her being alone with the sisters that she told me about cunnilingus and taught me how to do it properly when we were alone in her room together.

For the best part of a year the sex I enjoyed at St. Bart’s was strictly between her and me. But I was about to find myself involved in a sexual manner with all of the sisters except Sister Agnes who was strictly a lesbian. Being a hormone ridden teenager the prospect of having sex with four women despite the fact that three of them were probably the age of my mother and one was morbidly obese suited me just fine. But one of the nuns, the youngest, Sister Mary Cecile was just four years older than I. She was pretty and flirty and was a constant source of sexual fantasy for me.

It was early April in 1953 when I got off the school bus just around the corner from St. Barts. I walked the short distance to the convent, knocked on the door to Mother Superior’s office and was asked to come in. Anxious to share a rather questionable gift I had prepared for Sister Natalie I reached in my pocket and dropped the crumpled hanky in the middle of her desk.

“Yuk,” she said as she picked up the hankie and dropped it back on the desktop, “Why in the world would you bring me such a nasty thing Toby?” I had jacked off in it in the boy’s restroom school just before getting on the bus.

Given the nature of our strange relationship I thought she would get a kick out of my gift and was stunned that she took offense particularly since she had requested it.

Studying her wet fingertips with a grimace she stood up, riveted my eyes, and reached over the desk, touching her semen wetted fingers to my lips and commanding, “Suck them.” Then with naughty smirk she murmured, “Oh Toby, we need to find more time to play our special games.”

Slumping back into her chair she picked up the nasty hanky and held it to her nose. “My naughty, naughty boy,” she muttered, “and you even thought to soak it today, hmmm?” Stretching out the square of fabric, a large damp spot of sperm still glistened in the center. The rest of the fabric was covered with what appeared like crackly, clear tie-dye, the outside rings of which appeared with brownish to yellowish stains resembling potato chips.

Placing the tip of her tongue in the middle of the wet spot she closed her eyes, licked, and sighed. With a lively face she said, “This is the kind of smelling salts that appeals to me.” Then she wadded up the hanky and put it in her sleeve, at the same time removing another hankie that was hidden there. “Put this one to your nose Toby,” she said with a wink, the first wink I had ever gotten from Mother Superior.

Taking a deep sniff, I recognized something different. “It’s not yours.”

“That’s right my naughty young man,” she said. “There are five pussies at St. Bart’s.” With a shrug she added, “and something has come up that we need to discuss.”

Getting right into it, she said, “Three sisters have complained to me that they are upset with you and Sister Mary Cecile flirting so blatantly.”

I started to reply but she held up her hand to stop me and said, “I understand the reasons. Mary Cecile is closest to your age and in some ways is even younger than you Toby.” I didn’t know whether I was stunned or pleased at Mother Superior’s assessment of our ages. “In some ways you act much older, but I think we’ll agree that my influence has had something to do with that.”

I thought about it and nodded my head in agreement. Sister Natalie was like older sister or aunt who had been nurturing my sexual curiosity as well as enhancing Sister Mary Cecile’s behind closed doors.

“Additionally, two of those three sisters are jealous of what they suspect our relationship is.”

I knew that Sister Agnes, the oldest of the nuns, resented me for being there for more than one reason: She resented me for working for a Catholic Church and not being Catholic. She resented me for being Mother Superior’s pet. She resented me because sisters Kathleen and Mary Celeste were hoping to have sex with me like they had previously with Father McNamara. She resented me because she suspected that I would at some time be having sex with Mary Cecile, the youngest and the one she most wanted to have sex with. And she resented me simply because I was a male.

“So, whose scent do you think is on the handkerchief Toby?”

Taking another sniff, the smell seemed to be even more delicate than Sister Natalie’s. “Sister Mary Cecile’s?”

“I know that’s who you want it to be Toby but actually it belongs to Sister Agnes.” Chuckling she said, “It just goes to show you that the smell of a woman’s vagina can be such a strong aphrodisiac no matter who it belongs to. All healthy women smell good Toby.” She laughed. “And I should know.”

She took another whiff from the hanky I had given her with my sperm. “This is really dynamite young man, thank you.” Sniffing again she shook her head in appreciation and said, “I need your help, Toby.”

When she said those words in that way it often meant there was another job I would have to do.

“Most women can be satisfied to a certain extent by another woman performing cunnilingus on them. Others, like Sister Agnes need it more often and from more women. You know the things we do when we go into each other’s cells.” She raised her eyebrows in a question. “I am the only sister who can help Sister Agnes. The other nuns are turned off by her. They just don’t have the same understanding of her situation as I do. Sister Mary Cecile won’t help at all. And Sister Agnes, most wants it to be with Sister Mary Cecile most of all.”

Giving me the stink eye she said, “So, your flirting with Mary Cecile makes Agnes the angriest, which causes me to spend even more of my time with her in my room.” Tenting her hands she looked deeply into my eyes, and said, “I need you to service Sister Kathleen and Sister Mary Celeste for me Toby. They need to have sex with a male.”

Reaching inside her other sleeve she pulled out another hanky then another. These two are permeated with Kathleen’s and Mary Celeste’s scents. Smell one.”

I sniffed it and found it to be slightly more redolent than Sister Agnes.’

“Sniff the other.”

I felt like a wine taster.

“Do all the hankie’s I have given you to sample smell good to you?”

There was no question, they all smelled great. I looked at her with a smirk and nodded my head.

“Are you hard Toby?”

I nodded my head again.

Getting out of her chair she went to the door and flipped the lock, turned back to me, and said, “Show me.”

I unzipped my pants and pulled out my engorged penis.

“Sit on the desk sweetie.”

I obeyed, sitting on the edge of the desktop. Natalie approached me, kissed my lips tenderly before forcing my mouth open and “Frenching” me while slowly stroking my cock in her firm grasp. When she broke the kiss she said, “Don’t hold back your ejaculation Toby I need the taste your warm sperm badly.” She glanced furtively at the door. “We need to be quick about it.”

Bending down she took me in her mouth and immediately began bobbing and stroking. Letting myself go as quickly as I could I spurted three times then squeezed out all my balls had to offer. Wiping the residue from the corner of her mouth she said, “Put yourself back together Hun,” going to the door and stealthily turning the lock as quietly as she could.

“What about Sister Mary Cecile?” I asked.

As she resumed her seat behind the desk she said, “I know how badly you want to do these things with Mary Cecile Toby, and I know how badly she wants to involve herself sexually with you. But first things first. I need your help with Sisters Kathleen and Mary Celeste.” With a hopeful look she added, “The other issue will be taken care of in a little more than thirty days. She had tipped her hand; Diocese Day was now five weeks away.

It wasn’t that I never had sexual thoughts about all the sisters, even Agnes. I was a teenage boy walking around with a permanent erection—my hormones were constantly bubbling. But it was the first time I felt the pressure of performing sex as a responsibility, some responsibility. The reality of my sexual arousal at the time was constant. I would willingly do what was expected of me with sisters Kathleen and Mary Celeste. And knowing that I was going to get the green light with Mary Cecile took any reluctance from having sex with two older sisters away. Being young, horny, and curious such reluctance was insignificant at best. And I was interested in knowing if there might be any difference in the feeling of being inside more pussies other than the ones, I was familiar with. Since having been brought into the sexual realm by Sister Natalie there was a neighbor girl, I had carnal knowledge of as well, Kathy Warren.

It was only fifteen minutes after Mother Superior charged me with “paying attention” to the other sisters when I found myself sitting on the cot in the infirmary. It was 4:00 pm. When Sister Kathleen came in, she greeted me with, “Will you take your pants and underpants off please Toby?” She asked me to lie down on the cot where she got me hard with her hand and mouth then climbed on the cot and mounted me. She wore no panties. I had no idea whether she took them off beforehand or if she never wore them at all. Pumping on me for about ten minutes she experienced what seemed to be a mild orgasm. Pulling off she finished me with her mouth. “Thank you, Toby,” she said then asked something that struck me as strange, “How long will it take you to get hard again?”

“In less than ten minutes,” I answered.

Her crooked smile and the rolling of her eyes told me she thought I was bragging. “I’ll send Sister Mary Celeste around in fifteen minutes,” she said.

Though I was taken aback at what she said to me I insisted, “I SAID less than ten.” As she walked out, I could hear her giggling. It was like she had taken the roller coaster ride, said “Whee” a few times then got out of the coaster car and headed for another ride.

Though I was alone I was antsy that someone might come in and see me naked from the waist down, so I put my underpants and pants back on. When Sister Mary Celeste’s frame filled the door, I looked up at the clock; it was fifteen minutes exactly from the time Kathleen left. Weighing well over two hundred pounds Mary Celeste was the only obese sister. Despite that my fickle, youthful organ began its immediate rise—pussy being the determining factor, not the size or shape of the body of the pussy’s host.

She greeted me with, “Father McNamara was ALWAYS ready.”

Feeling chastised I said, “I’m sorry Sister,” taking off my pants and underwear. When she saw my erection, a smile arced on her lips the same way Sister Kathleen’s had and she rolled her eyes in the same surprised way. ‘Well, I’ll be damned,’ she said, “And you’re just a boy.”

It was the same routine: wearing no panties she mounted and humped on my cock. While doing it longer than Kathleen her weight caused her breathing to become labored. It also made the cot sink and recoil more, making the springs squeak loudly. Unlike Kathleen she put her hand under her dress and masturbated. While Kathleen had fucked in silence with stifled grunts Mary Celeste was loud, having two orgasms that sounded like a barking sea lion. When I said that I needed to cum it was the same routine, she pulled off, got on her knees, and finished me in her mouth. Just like Kathleen, she showed me the pool of my semen in her tongue before she swallowed and said, “Thank you, Father ... I mean Toby.” I couldn’t get over how much it reminded me of communion.

When she left, I felt empty. Sex with Sister Natalie was fun and exciting. I hoped it would be the same with Sister Mary Cecile when our time came. Both Kathleen and Mary Celeste simply ordered me to lie down on the cot. There wasn’t even a greeting that amounted to anything; I was there solely to service them. As a boy among my peers there was much talk of whores—women who serviced men for money although none of us knew one. For the first time the mystery of whoredom struck home for me: I was there to fuck or be sucked, just like a whore fucks and sucks. Being a male, I have always rejoiced every time I had ejaculated. But to do it just for the sake of ejaculating went contrary to every fantasy I had ever had while jerking off.

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. Al Rosen, Cleveland’s third baseman became the second person in the league to win the MVP. From the opening game in April all of Cleveland was wild about the Indians winning record. On Saturday May 16th, 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.

Announced months in advance the “Diocese game,” as it was known, was ballyhooed in the papers and on the radio which was still more important than TV. While every Priest and nun could go, each church needed a skeleton crew to staff their facilities in the event of an emergency. When Mother Superior announced that Sister Mary Cecile, youngest of the nuns at St. Bart’s would be staying behind she was understandably disappointed. A natural athlete, playing short stop (in her bulky habit) on the St. Bart’s Women’s Auxiliary softball team, Sister Mary Cecile was a huge Indians fan.

Six weeks before the game when Sister Natalie and Sister Mary Cecile came out of the young nun’s room where they were having their regular tete-a-tete (or maybe a tete-a-twat) both women’s faces looked freshly washed. Mary Cecile’s wore a particularly joyful look. For the last couple of weeks she had been moping about being left as caretaker for the afternoon when everyone else would be at Cleveland Stadium. Being closest to my age I understood her disappointment. Though I was fifteen she was nineteen and I understood her dismay 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 the first time I was alone with Sister Natalie. I had also smelled it on the hankies that Natalie kept up her sleeve. Nah, I thought, trying to deny the picture that flashed through my mind of the two nuns going down on one another. Unable to get the idea out of my head I experienced an “aha moment,” when I realized what Sister Natalie had told me about cunnilingus. But I still couldn’t comfortably imagine two women doing it to one another.

Before my workday was over that day 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 a bit older. I was s 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 I would have thought.

“Toby,” she said rolling her eyes in a coquettish way, “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 sending Mary Cecile to remind 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. Maybe she’ll be going to the baseball game after all. Maybe that’s why Reverend 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 to work that day Reverend Mother?”

A thoughtful smile cracked 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 seemed to be having trouble putting her thoughts into words. “Maybe you can um offer to play cards with her, or um maybe even scrabble,” she said.

It seemed like her words were just filling the air. “I play scrabble with my mom and brother,” I said, vamping for what I hoped was really on her mind to come out.

“Good,” she said. Pulling her handkerchief out of her sleeve. She looked at it, smiled and held it to her nose. “Smelling salts, he-he-he.” She blushed. Not understanding what a handkerchief with the smell of my sperm on it had to do with the conversation I blushed and chuckled uncomfortably.

Holding the hanky close to her nose her eyes sparkled as she said, “It worked Toby. I’m AWAKE.”

Now deadly serious she said, “I don’t know what it is about you Toby Wakefield but for a boy who is barely fifteen you have such shy wisdom about you. And you notice things most people wouldn’t even pay attention to. And you ask questions that no one else would dare.” Sniffing a sardonic laugh she went on, “What I’m trying to say you, you naughty Protestant devil is...” She looked at the door as if someone might be eavesdropping then went on, “ ... what we do together is WONDERFUL. And thank you for helping out with the other sisters.”

“I truly wish Toby that I could be the one staying with you on Diocese Day, what a romp we could have. And I wish that Mary Cecile could be going to the game in my place. I’ve been thinking about our time together Toby. Actually, I think about it all the time.” Giving me a motherly smile, she continued, “At the same time Toby, though we can’t spend time together on that day, I am not opposed to you sharing your gifts with others.” With a satirical smirk she wrinkled her brow and added, “Sacrifice is part of my calling.”

I was trying to put into perspective how any other kid my age could be handling a situation like this. It was strange to me that a forty some-odd year-old woman, a nun no less, would be talking this way to a kid like me. Though somewhat uneasy with it at the moment, I was both pleased and titillated with a hard-on to prove it. I realized what we were doing was wrong. This was certainly no way for a nun to act. But she was my penguin, and I loved her errant behavior, regardless of the perils we faced.

“She’s not like me Toby,” Sister Natalie blurted “Mary Cecile is a virgin. She doesn’t even think like me. But she loves what we do when we get together. And she’ll love learning what you can teach her.”

Giving me an appraising stare she went on, “You probably don’t even realize what a gentle, loving soul you are.” The Twilight Zone was years away from being aired on TV, but my mind was hearing that eerie synthesizer music as I thought what kind of strange thing is she expecting me to do now?

During a long silence, her stare began opening my mind. So, there it was MY penguin was opening the door for a debauch with the youngest bird of her flock. I thought of the past months and how delicious they were. Eying the handkerchief being held beneath Natalie’s nose I thought about the blowjob, and the times I had fucked her sanctified cunt. It was like a prayer of adoration as I meditated, GOD this is great.

“Toby?” She looked at the hanky in her hand, chuckled and went on, “These smelling salts are quite something to remember you by.” Laying the hanky on the desktop she reached into her other sleeve and pulled out another crumpled hanky, offering it to me across the desk.

Not understanding what the ritual meant I took it. It was damp. “And here is a token for you to remember ME by Toby, your own smelling salts, so to speak.” I sniffed the hanky and recognized the familiar aroma. It was delicate like the smell of Kathy’s pussy. Kathy was my neighborhood squeezew. “I have a favor to ask though,” she said. “Would you take this with you tonight and spend the week filling it with your essence?” To my questioning look she clarified, “Your spermatozoa, Toby, or as you would say, your ‘jizz?’”

Blushing at the impossible thing she was asking, I thought I understood but asked to make sure, “Masturbate in it?”

With a wry smile she said, “You know of course Toby that masturbating is a sin in the Catholic faith.” I nodded, laughing internally at her sardonic request. We had been playing these games since I went to work there. Rolling her eyes she added, “But since you are Protestant, my young heathen, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt if you were to fill every weave of that piece of cloth with your sperm.” She winked and added, “I know you can do it.”

Beet red I said, “Okay sister ... and bring it back to you?” The thought entered my mind maybe she will let me take a pair of her panties sometime.

“Bring it back to my office on your way home from school on Monday. If I like what you bring, I will give will you another such hanky,” her grin was infectious, almost childish.

I wouldn’t learn the word “kinky” until well into my adulthood, but Sister Natalie was certainly that.

“That way Toby,” she said,” we can each have a nosegay to at least keep our interest alive.” Then in her most Motherly superiorly, officious manner she said, “That will be all young man.”

Just as I was getting ready to open the door she said in a hushed voice, “And Toby, when you get home look up the word ‘cunnilingus.’”

As I walked out the office door, I saw Sister Agnes in the parlor working on some papers. She looked up the moment the door opened, giving me her customary glare. Agnes was the second oldest sister and certainly the sourest. It seemed to me that she had a chip on her shoulder, a kind of anger with the world. It wasn’t the first time I had thought maybe she hates being a nun.

The first thing I did when I got home was go to the dictionary and look up cunnilingus: the act or practice of orally stimulating the female genitals. Reaching into my pocket I pulled out Sister Natalie’s handkerchief (still not fully dry) and took a deep whiff. Smells great I thought but I don’t know if I’m ready to put my mouth on it.

From the moment I put down the dictionary I puzzled about the definition: the act or practice of orally stimulating the female genitals. A week ago, Saturday my nose had been no more than two inches from Kathy Warren’s pussy, her female genitals. While I had pondered the act of putting my mouth on her female genitals the only ones, I had been privy to were hers or Sister Natalie’s. In the mind of a kid who had never even thought about it, putting one’s mouth on a woman’s pussy had about as much appeal as eating liver and onions—at least the liver was cooked at my house. But having had the supreme pleasure of putting my fingers inside two them and having fucked both, I at least had an idea of the magnetism a vagina held for a male.

Before reading the dictionary, I had no concept of oral sex on a woman. Now that I had the concept, knowing what must have been going on with Mother Superior and her nuns, it began making sense. Also, I realized that a blowjob is the next best thing to fucking. So why couldn’t something like that be fun for a woman too?

The definition, though opening my eyes to the concept hadn’t yet prepared me to put my mouth on one. But by virtue of the fact that the nun’s faces looked washed just after they had done it, I was beginning to imagine that the way they did had to do with more than just the mouth. Who would have thought nuns would even do such things, particularly Sister Agnes? I would learn later that especially Sister Agnes would do it, and quite naturally.

At home that night I had been trying to hide my erection which was kept especially hard by continually sniffing Sister Natalie’s scented handkerchief. When I went to bed, I took with me a fresh handkerchief which I would use to begin making a powerful Toby Wakefield nosegay for my special Penguin. I came in it twice then put it between my legs to hide it from possible discovery by a curious mother. With Natalie’s gift being held close to my nose I drifted into dreamland.

The next night my brother Charlie and I were lying in our beds. Mom and Dad were in bed as well. Through the wall I heard the squeaking of bedsprings and Mom’s muted sounds of pleasure. This was prior to the time when box springs were being sold. Mom was saying, “Yes, YES, lick it baby, MMM, oh your tongue is SOH marvelous.”

Getting the glass, I put it against the wall and whispered to Charlie, “Listen to this, they’re doing something, and it doesn’t sound like fucking.”

Kneeling on my bed we were taking turns listening. When we heard, ‘Lick my ass sweetie,’ we both wrinkled our brows as we scowled at one another. “What do you think they are DOING Charlie?” He just shook his head in dismay.

“Have you ever heard of cunnilingus?” I said to Charlie.

“What’s that?” I gave the definition: the act or practice of orally stimulating the female genitals.

“Hmm, eating pussy, muff diving, I’ve heard of that, YUK.”

“Do you know anybody that does it?”

With a disapproving chuckle he said, “Apparently Mom and Dad do.” Lying back on his bed he added, “I’ve heard the older guys talking about it. But nobody ever said they’ve actually DONE it.”

“What do you think of it?” I asked.

“Sounds pretty nasty to me Tobe. I don’t think I would ever want to try it.” Making a fist and pointing to the wall with his thumb he said, “Apparently they like it though, go figure. Who would have ever thought our parents would do something as dirty as that? SHEESH.”

For me it was one more building block in my sexual foundation. If the sisters, do it, some of the older guys that Charlie knows and even Mom and Dad, it must be pretty good. I remembered Sister Natalie schooling me on the importance of foreplay and thought that cunnilingus must be part of what she was talking about. I wanted to be good at sex ... figured that Kathy thought I was. Sister Natalie was surprised that I picked it up so quickly. At least she said so anyway. Maybe I should do it.

The next four weeks at the Convent were different from before. I was now involved with three nuns, all of whom I had fantasized about when I first started working there. I had no intention of having sex with any of them. That would have been so far from the realm of reality that I never would have given it any serious thought. Now it was a regular thing.

Being a teenager, it couldn’t have been better. I even stopped masturbating except when Mother Superior gave me the assignments to defile her handkerchiefs with an overabundance of my male essence. For some reason she stopped giving me the scented hankies which might have dulled my need to jack off. But it was a plan of hers to put those in front of my nose to remind me to care of her chicks, including Sister Mary Celeste, the least desirable of the available lot.

She talked with me about them in our private meetings, telling me of certain peculiarities of each nun. The most amazing thing is that once Mother Superior was able to spend more time with Sister Agnes, Agnes started treating me nicely. I became more confident in school. Several girls—cute ones too—were making efforts to be with me. What was more interesting is that I started and pride of my parents.

The one thing that eluded me was the same kind of confirmation with Sister Mary Cecile for whom I had the most intense desire and lustful feelings which I enjoyed with the other available nuns. I heeded Mother Superior’s request that I not bug her about Mary Cecile. She had told me that both Mary Cecile and I would be extremely happy about what would come to fruition when the time came. I still felt badly that Mary Cecile would not be going to the Diocese Game. And on the first of May I said as much to Mother Superior who gave me one of those wry grins and said, “Stop worrying about Mary Cecile and the Diocese Day baseball game. You are both going to be happy with what will be in store for you that day.”

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