Chapter 1

The spirit of Sister Agnes met a bearded, white-robed figure with a benevolent smile standing on a white cloud just outside the pearly gates. “Saint Peter?” she asked. She was wearing the same kind of white robe which, frankly, was a bit thin and translucent for her taste.

“Call me Pete. We don’t stand on ceremony here,” he answered. “I am as you wish me to be. At your service, Sister Agnes. May I call you Agnes?”

Yes, of course ... uh ... Pete. I don’t quite know what to say. This looks exactly as I thought it would look. Even to the cherubs sitting on clouds. And the harp music. Everything is so white and clean.

“Your imagination makes it what it is,” answered Peter. “Welcome to Heaven! Your reward for a life well lived.”

Agnes looked around. Through the pearly gates was a yellow brick road that passed from cloud to cloud and in the distance was a castle of white and aqua blue, its turrets shining in the light of a warm yellow sun. “That looks like Disney World,” she thought.

She turned away from the pearly gates and looked in the opposite direction. A ragged line of people dressed in sackcloth, their faces contorted in sadness, trudged down a muddy road of tumbled cobblestones lined by thorny bushes.

“Goodness,” said she. “The man with the orange skin and the combed-over hair looks familiar.”

Saint Peter sighed. “Yes, it is sometimes difficult to decide which path a client may take -- but in his case it was an easy decision. You, dear Agnes, have better options. May I explain our little home away from home, so to speak?”

He continued. “First, of all, you died in one universe. You are now in another universe and you have an infinite number of choices how you will spend eternity. Virtual life after death, you will find, will be quite pleasant. How would you like to begin eternity? Living in a temporal world -- or trying something more exotic: a digital consciousness in the over soul or perhaps a tour of black holes?”

She thought a moment. “Perhaps I would like to live on a perfect earth as I have always dreamed.” She conjured up an image. “A medieval village and a small house and a property of my own. I have never owned anything. I could have a vegetable garden. And fruit trees.” Her enthusiasm mounted as she spoke. “And chickens. My mother had a garden and chickens when I was a child. A dog. I want a dog. A Labrador.” She paused. “But I am eighty years old. I can’t take care of chickens and a dog and a garden.”

“No worries,” said Peter. “Here, you may be the age you wish to be.”

“Any age I wish? I was attractive as a youth. Is it all right to say that? Or is that vanity?”

“You were more than attractive! You were exquisite!” said Peter with enthusiasm.

Her first thought was, “Is that an appropriate compliment by a saint?” She dismissed the doubt. How could Saint Peter be inappropriate? “Thank you,” she answered sincerely. “I always fought the sin of vanity. But it’s nice to hear that from you. Some of those priests. Ugh.” Oops, she thought, that wasn’t a nice thing to say.

Peter reassured her. “Those bad priests follow the same path as the orange man. What age is good for you?”

“I don’t want to be too young,” she mused. “Nor too old. Thirty-five. Is that possible? Although I want to keep my eighty year old memories. I’m smarter now than then.”

“Absolutely. Thirty-five you shall be with all your memories.” He waved a hand, conjured up a floor-length mirror and said, “Look at yourself.”

She stared at the mirror. “Oh, my God!” She twirled round and round and pulled her white robe to herself to see the outlines of her body. “I wasn’t bad looking, was I? Are you sure that vanity is okay?”

“You are permitted vanity. And other sins too, if you wish.”

“I wouldn’t want to be sinful. Well, maybe just a little to experience something of life outside the Church. Not that I wasn’t happy as a nun.”

“How about a husband? Or a wife? Children?”

“Oh, no. But I would like to have lots of caring, sharing friends. Male and female friends. I’ve not had any male friends. Ever,” she mused.

“Your wish is my command, Agnes. Now, let’s look at the options you have for a place to live -- or better said, reside in a spirit that is indistinguishable from life. You want heaven to be rural, medieval, and agricultural. Like the Ireland of your childhood?”

“Hmmm, no. Less rain and more sunshine, but with mountains and valleys and rainbows.”

“Let me see what we have available.” He stepped to a golden table and sat down in a golden chair in front of a platinum-plated desktop computer with a large monitor. He talked as his hands played over the keyboard. “We’re not immune to change in heaven. Just recently, I arranged a temporary transfer from down below for Steve Jobs. He did a great job organizing our computerized list of environments.”

He leaned back from the keyboard. “Here is a place which may meet your needs. What would you say to a 50 year lease? Earth years, of course, And renewable.” He touched a key and a video appeared. It showed a small stone cottage nestled along a river. A waterfall shimmered white in the background. The video panned out to show a narrow valley ringed by sheer cliffs of red rocks The valley floor was covered by green fields interrupted by copses of trees. The small rushing river of clear blue water bisected the valley

The video rotated to show a narrow dirt road, shaded by enormous, ancient trees to a tiny village of gray, stone houses and narrow pathways not unlike the ancient villages she had seen in the Cotswolds.

“It’s perfect,” she said. “My vision exactly. But I’ll need a lot of books to read.”

“We’ve anticipated that need. The technology is medieval. There’s no running water or electricity – except that you’ll have a heavenly Kindle preloaded with every book that’s ever been published. That includes titles lost to your times such as How to Cook a Horse by Attila the Hun and 57 Ways to Kill your Wife by Henry VIII. Plus, you will have a heavenly time machine to view any historical event as it happened. Live, no censorship, no editing. You can answer the eternal question: Did Jesus get it on with Mary Magdalene?”

“I don’t think I want to know that. It might be embarrassing, But I would like to see some things. I’ve always been curious about Joan of Arc, for example. She was the hero who inspired me to become a nun.”

“Joanie is big on Heavenly Channel 14. You can watch every day of her life from birth to death. All 19 years of it. You’ve got an eternity to indulge yourself. You’ll be happy to know that those responsible for her death have toiling in Hell’s Salt Mines for the last seven hundred years.”

“I’ll pray for them,” said Agnes. But not very much, she thought.

“To continue,” said Peter, this virtual valley and village have a population of three hundred, divided equally between men and women. It’s not a place of leisure. You have to labor on your land and community service is required. Road repair, for example. Nothing supernatural about it, except that your neighbors will be good people. As you are.”

“I like it,” she said with enthusiasm. “But I’ll miss one thing. I love hot showers to the point of sinfulness. I’ve confessed my undue affection for a hot shower, but this being heaven, do you suppose...?”

“The Heavenly Architect has thought of that. Hot springs are scattered around the valley for bathing. No clothing allowed in the hot springs. Is that acceptable to you?”

She paused. “I’ve never been naked before. Well, not in public I mean. There was the church and the calling...”

“You were married to the Church, but there is no Church here. This is Heaven. You are a spirit, not a body. We have made it as realistic of real life as possible. You will toil and sweat and you can be hurt. But you will never be ill or diseased. You will not poop nor pee. Did I say that properly not to shock you? You will not have -- how do I say it delicately? -- your monthlies, nor will you get pregnant when you have sex. And, speaking of sex, in this vision of the afterlife sex is not only encouraged, it is required.”

“Required?” Agnes was shocked. Sex in Heaven?

“Many former nuns find satisfaction in -- how do I say it? -- the sins of the flesh. Those are not sins here because there is no such thing as exploitation or inequality.”

“I’m much too old to think about sex. Oh, but you said I could be thirty-five. I do recall sometimes thinking of sex at that age, but of course I prayed those thoughts out of my mind.”

“Here, you’ll have no need to restrain your desires. Living as a spirit, you will have access to all the things of life you may desire: sex, chocolate, chickens, Labradors, alcohol, even marijuana. All in moderation, of course. Would you like more details about the requirements for sex in this environment?” Saint Peter bubbled with enthusiasm.

“Yes, please, but not too graphic, if you know what I mean. It’s embarrassing for me to think about it. Sex, I mean.”

“No worries, I can read your mind. You want the PG-13 version.”

“That sounds right.”

“Okay, to explain, the spirits of this environment have decided that every man and woman has the right to sex on demand on Friday nights at a community party. You may, of course, also have sex on other nights also -- and with whomever you wish. Male or female. Over 18.”

“What if I can’t bring myself to, well, uh, have sex?”

“We’ll have to cancel your membership. You may then select a different environment.”

“Fair enough. How does the sex part work?”

“The system is simple,” Peter gushed. “Every Friday night all adults in the environment are required to meet in town for a party, Dancing, drinking, festivities, and everybody gets laid during the course of the evening. It’s guaranteed.”

“Do I get to pick my partner?”

“Yes, provided that you do your part in ensuring that nobody gets left out. That might require doubling up on partners. We have learned that a guarantee of the right to sex for every person is healthy. It eliminates war and aggression and many of the mental health problems that plague earthly societies.”

Agnes’s insecurities came to the fore. “What if nobody wants me?”

“Not a worry,” Peter said, looking her thirty-five year old body over from top to bottom. “You’re beautiful. You’ll have to beat the men off with a stick, metaphorically speaking. And women too. My Lord in Heaven! With tits like that, you’ll be a sensation.” He turned her around and looked at her posterior. “Damned good ass too.”

She blushed in embarrassment.

“But even if you were not beautiful, you would still get laid. And you are also obligated to assure that every man and woman gets fucked at least once a week. Oops, sorry, “fuck” is an R word.”

“Fuck” hit on Agnes’s ear like a hatchet. The word had never passed her lips, and she had hardly ever heard it. But Saint Peter said it. It must be okay?

“So?” he asked. “Sign up here for fifty earth years? Conditional on being able to fulfill the requirements for sex as I described?” He handed her a golden pen and pointed her toward a large book of vellum pages on another table.

“I’ll give the sex a try,” she said. She took the pen from him and wrote her name in the book. “Don’t forget that I want a Labrador. A black one, please, if that is possible.”

“No sweat,” said Peter. “Thy will be done.” St. Peter and the pearly gates dissolved in mist.

Sister Agnes was transported across time and space. She opened her eyes and looked around. “It’s so real,” she said to herself. “So beautiful. Earth as I would have liked it to be.” A small stone cottage was surrounded by gardens and fruit trees and a chicken house. She lifted her head. Beyond the stone cottage was a waterfall foaming over a red-rock cliff and dropping into a pool of crystalline water.

Half a dozen men and women stood in front of the stone house, a Labrador sitting calmly at their side. A tall and distinguished man stepped forward. “Welcome to Heaven! I’m Burt. I’m the mayor.” He shook her hand vigorously. “Say hello to the city council.” He beckoned to the three men and three women at the front of the house.

She looked at the group. They were a collection of sizes and shapes. The men were dressed in shorts and t-shirts. The women also wore shorts and halter tops covered their breasts. “No bras,” Agnes immediately noticed. “And they are showing quite a bit of skin.” She looked down at herself. She was dressed the same. Self-consciously, she adjusted the halter top to conceal more of her breasts. “I’ve never been so nearly naked,” she thought.

The black Labrador came to her side and licked her hand. Burt said, “Her name is Blackie. Not very original I know.” He beckoned toward the stone cottage. “This is your house. Two rooms: a bedroom and a living room/kitchen. A fireplace. A deck is out the back door so you can enjoy the view.” He waved expansively.

“Notice,” said Burt, “the hot spring over there.” He pointed. “It’s a natural bathtub with a constant temperature of 42 degrees. That’s 108 degrees for Americans, but we’re on the metric system here. If that’s too hot for you, other hot springs are nearby.”

Agnes looked at the hot spring. Three people were sitting in the water, one man and two women. They were naked. She flinched in surprise.

“Clothing in hot springs is forbidden,” Burt said. “It’s one of our few rules. We’re not a nudist colony, but we encourage a celebration of the body beautiful. Everybody here is beautiful, even if they were not judged to be on Earth. And everybody has equal access to the pleasures of the flesh.”

One of the men lounging in the hot spring stood up and waved at Agnes. She looked away quickly. “Goodness,” she thought, “His thing is so big! Surely that won’t fit into me.” She blushed red in embarrassment.

“That’s Randy,” said Burt. “He’s well named – and as you have noticed is well-endowed. He’s popular with the women. Or, at least some of the most adventuresome.’

Agnes forced herself to look at Randy. His penis reached halfway to his knees and was as thick as her wrist. She turned to Burt. “Did he choose to ... uh ... look like that, or was he that way in real life?”

“He was like that. Everybody in Aden looks just like they did on Earth although they select the age they wish to be.” He looked at her. “If you’d like to sample Randy, I’m sure it can be arranged. Some of the members of our community only have sex on Friday nights. Others are active more often. Randy is one of the latter.”

She stuttered. “I’m not sure how I’m going to be able to handle the ... uh ... sex here.”

“You’re a virgin?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said. “I’ve never even seen a ... one of those things.”

“Maybe Randy would be a bit too much for you as a newcomer. I’ll offer myself to you. What I lack in length, I make up for in liveliness.” He smiled benevolently at her and put an arm around her shoulder.

“Well ... uh ... yes, maybe, uh ... thanks.” She was flustered.

“It would be my honor. Tomorrow is Friday and we all meet at sunset to have a party and enjoy the sensual delights of our community. Attendance and participation is mandatory. Nobody gets left out. But in the meantime, if you’d like to sample Randy, or me, on anybody else feel free to do so. Our motto is ‘Everybody fucks.’”

She grimaced at the sound of the word, but said, “I’ll do my part of course. I’ve always lived up to my responsibilities, but maybe I need a day to adjust before I go to the party ... and participate.”

“Suit yourself,” Burt said amiably. “We leave you to get acquainted with your dog, your house, your chickens, and your garden. You’ll find some additional clothing in the house. You might want to put on something more festive for the party. Or show up naked. That’s all right too.” He paused to muse. “I recall one newly arrived woman who came to the party naked and fucked twenty men that first night. Including me. Wow! That was something. She had been like you, a nun on earth.”

“I don’t thing I’m ready for that,” answered Agnes, “but I’ll do my best.” She hoped she could.

Come Friday, the sun was low in the sky as Agnes tried to decide what to wear to the party. Nudity was out for her. The festive clothes hanging in her closet were all sparing of cloth. Neither a bra nor underpants were anywhere in sight! She liked the look of her legs as she tried on a mini skirt – but without panties she would be uncomfortable wearing such a short skirt. So, she tried on shorts. She picked a pair at random. “Should I have shaved my public area?” she asked herself. “I guess I’ll go as I am this time.”

The tops were equally revealing. Some were nearly transparent. Others were only tiny patches of fabric that covered her nipples and nothing else. She picked a bikini top that tied around her neck and showed off her impressive – so she thought with a touch of pride – cleavage, but held her breasts firmly in place and was almost nipple-slip proof.