If you asked Sister Lucretia, she’d say it was my own doing. It was my wickedness that brought God’s wrath down on my ass. She was only His instrument, His avenging angel. I deserved every painful smack she inflicted on my bare behind.

I tried to be a good girl. I only touched myself once. It happened in the morning, when I woke up with my hand down my pajamas. I was warm and slick down there, and it felt so good I couldn’t make myself stop. But as soon as the pleasure had peaked, I knew I’d done something wrong. I wasn’t sure just what, and I was too embarrassed to bring it up in confession, but it had to do with sex, so it must be bad. I promised myself I’d never do it again.

I kept thinking about it, though, and that was a sin, too. Jesus said if you even look at somebody with lust, you’ve committed adultery in your heart, though nobody ever bothered to explain to us what adultery was. Sister said it was possible to sin in thought and word as well as deed. Well, I’d sinned in deed, and I was probably sinning in thought, but at least I kept my mouth shut. When the boys in the schoolyard told dirty jokes or ragged each other about “jerking off,” or the girls gossiped about some other girl they said was a slut, I did what Sister told us to do when someone “makes the Blessed Mother weep in their speech.” I walked away.

Then, in spite of everything, I sinned in deed again. It was the first really nice spring day we’d had since Easter, and the change in the air gave me the jitters. My panties felt damp and tight. After lunch, when I went into the girls’ room to pee, I took them all the way off — pulling them over my clunky saddle shoes — and stuffed them in the pocket of my uniform. It wasn’t a sin, I told myself, if nobody saw you. It was my body, after all. I was keeping it hidden, and anyway, Jesus never said you had to wear panties.

Outside in the schoolyard, the breeze blew up my skirt and gave me goose pimples on my butt and my thighs. I liked the way it felt, and even more, I liked having a secret none of the other kids knew about.

Once we got back inside, it was hard to concentrate. I kept thinking about my secret, and how it might be fun to, like, lift my skirt up in front of a car on the walk home. Okay, that would be a sin. I spent all afternoon trying not to think about things like that. It felt warm between my legs, the way it had in bed that morning a week before, and I spread my knees a little to let the air in to cool off. I was lucky Sister Lucretia never called on me, because I wouldn’t have known the answer. I probably wouldn’t even have heard her. I hardly knew where I was.

The three o’clock buzzer finally went off. I actually sighed with relief, snapping my legs shut and sitting up straighter. I thought, on the way home, I’ll sneak behind some bushes and put my panties back on, and that’ll be that, but just before the kid came on the intercom to announce the dismissal lines, Sister Lucretia looked at me over her desk — I was sitting right in front of her — and said, “Miss Beaver, would you stay after class for a moment? I’d like to speak with you.”

“Yes, Sister,” I said. It’s what you always said when a nun asked you anything. I couldn’t guess what she wanted, but I never suspected it had anything to do with my being out of uniform. She didn’t sound mad, though with nuns, you could never tell.

I sat with my hands folded on the edge of my desk while the kid called out the buses and street lines over the PA.

“Allen Street,” he said, and some of the other kids in my class lined up and went out.

“Benchley,” he said, and another group left.

“Parker” — that was my line, and I missed it.

Sister never moved from her desk. She never looked at me. It was almost a half hour before we were alone, and she ignored me another five minutes or more while she marked her grade book. It’s not a good sign when they keep you waiting.

Finally she said, without looking up, “Miss Beaver, come over here, please.”

Suddenly my legs felt weak. I got up and went around behind her desk. She turned in her seat and faced me with her whole body. Her habit was white linen, with brown panels down the front and back, draped over her shoulders, and tied at the waist with a white rope. The tips of her black shoes peeped at me from under the long skirt. She had on a brown veil, and her white wimple was wrapped tight around her face like a bandage. A crucifix sat on her bosom. It was dark wood, with a silver Jesus on it, and it hung from her neck on a brown string. She had taken a vow of poverty, she told us once. A chain would be a vanity.

“Lift your skirt up,” she said.

I just stood there.

“Do you not understand English? Take hold of your skirt and lift it up.”

I pulled the pleats an inch above my knees.

“All the way up.”

“What for, Sister?”

“Because I’m telling you to.”

She knew, and there was nothing I could do. She would have sat there and stared me down all night. I pulled my skirt higher, slowly, steadily, and her eyes trailed up my legs until I felt them on my brown puff of hair. Then I dropped the skirt, fast.

“I thought so,” Sister said. “Do you think I’m blind? That I can’t see you when you sit there with your legs wide open? I’ve seen a lot of whorish things from the girls in my class, but you, miss, take the cake. Where is your undergarment?”

“Im muh puh,” I mumbled.

“Where?”

“In my pocket,” I said.

“In my pocket, what?”

“In my pocket, Sister.”

“Let me see it.”

I took it out and held it low at my side, balled up in my fist. Sister yanked it out of my hand.

“I’ll keep this, since you have no interest in it,” she said. “And if you cannot dress decently, you might as well not dress at all. Take off every stitch of your clothing.”

The message went over my head. A nun would never say anything like that, so, obviously, Sister Lucretia could not possibly have said what I just heard. I stood there some more, looking stupid.

“Miss Beaver, we can do this one of two ways,” Sister said. “Either I can call your parents and tell them what a wicked daughter they’ve raised, or you can accept your punishment now, and we can keep this between us. The choice is yours. Which do you prefer?”

“Please don’t call my parents, Sister.”

“Then strip, girl.”

So I took my clothes off. Or tried to. My fingers went numb as I fumbled with the zipper on the back of my jumper. I couldn’t get a grip on the pull-tab, and Sister was in no mood to wait. She sighed angrily, grabbed my shoulders and spun me around. I heard the zipper go down and felt the jumper come apart. Something ripped.

Sister yanked the jumper to my feet, and I stepped out of it.

“Turn around,” she said. “Do you think you can do the rest, or are you such a baby that you need an adult to undress you?”

She kept her eyes on my chest while I unbuttoned my blouse, unhooked my bra, and let them both fall to the floor. I began to toe off my shoes, but she said, “Unlace them,” and I got down on one knee, then the other, but when I tried to get up from the crouch, I lost my balance and fell on my ass. My legs were spread wide, and I saw Sister’s gaze shift to my gaping crotch. I pulled my shoes off sitting down, and my knee socks, too. When I stood up again, I had nothing on but the miraculous medal around my neck.

“Now pick up your things and fold them neatly on my desk,” Sister said.

This was even more demeaning than getting naked in the first place. It was Sister Lucretia who made me take everything off, and now she was blaming me for making a mess. But at least it gave me something to think about besides my exposure, and I could hide behind my jumper and my blouse while I folded each one lengthwise, clasping it under my chin, then into thirds. I laid the jumper on the corner of the desk, square with the edges, placed the blouse and bra on top, and tucked my socks into my shoes.

Now, with nothing more to focus on, I felt totally nude again. I tried covering up — one hand over my skimpy bush, the other in front of my titties — but Sister slapped my arms away.

“Stand up straight,” she said.

I squared my shoulders, lifting my breasts. Not that there was much to lift.

“Not quite ripe, are you?” she said. “But you are nice and slim.”

“Thank you, Sister,” was all I could think to say.

“That was not a compliment. A body like yours is an occasion for sin. The boys are already looking at you with lust in their hearts. Some of the girls, too, I imagine. They’re marching into hell with you at the head of the line. Do you understand the kind of perversion a girl like you is responsible for?”

“Yes’ster.”

“I doubt it,” she said. “But you’re about to learn. Are you ready to accept your punishment?”

“Yes’ster.”

“Enunciate!”

“Yes, Sister.”

“Fine. Do you know the door at the end of the hall on the third floor? The one we keep locked?”

“Yes, Sister.”

“Wait here for ten minutes, then go up there and knock. I shall be waiting for you.”

“Yes, Sister. May I put my clothes back on?”

“Of course you may,” she said. “All you have to do is come upstairs and get them. It’s that simple. Oh, don’t cry. Crying won’t help you now.”

“Sister, please, “ I said. “I won’t do it again.”

“You certainly won’t.” she said, standing up. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

And she walked out of the room, taking my clothes with her.

She didn’t even bother to close the door. When I was sure she was gone, I went over, leaned out and pulled at the knob. But the door wouldn’t budge: it was held open by a latch on the floor. To unhook it, I’d have to step out into the corridor totally bare-assed. I was working up my courage to do just that when I heard some keys jingle. I dashed to the back of the room and ducked behind a desk. Somebody walked by outside. I peeked over the back of the seat, and from there, I watched the clock. The minute hand crawled around, and the more it crawled, the more frightened I got. I hugged myself to keep from shivering. Ten minutes dragged by — plenty of time to think about the long, naked walk ahead of me — and when it was up, I had to hurry upstairs no matter who saw me. If I was late, even by a minute, Sister would not be pleased.

I came back down the aisle and stuck my head out of the doorway.

The corridor was empty, thank God. At one end were the glass doors of the main entrance to the school. The sunlight was bright outside. The north stairs were down that way, to the right, but to get to them, I’d have to pass the main office, and the principal or the secretary might still be working, and they’d see me. At the other end of the corridor was a plaster statue of Saint Theresa, wearing the same habit our nuns did, standing on a pedestal at the spot where the hallway T’d off toward the east and west stairs.

I tiptoed out toward Saint Theresa. I don’t know why, since I was barefoot and no one would hear me anyway. More than anything, I was aware of the sticky tiles against my feet, and how hard and pointed my nipples were. I pulled on one of them nervously, and something between my legs sort of swelled. It felt heavy, like a lead baseball in my stomach was trying to push its way out through my vagina. It made it hard to walk, but I kept on, scared I was going to pee myself any second.

Left around the corner, past the girls’ room, one of those heavy, hissing fire doors opened into the east stairwell. The stairs were metal, and cold, with round handrails on either side. Everything was painted green, and there were columns of square bars beneath the center rails that rose in front of me, towering over my head as they reached the landings and turned back on themselves. I felt like a monkey in a cage.

The overhead lights on the third-floor were turned off, and the old, dark wood along the walls smothered whatever feeble illumination was left. I peeked around the corner. arms crossed over my titties, to make sure the coast was clear. All the classroom doors were closed, except for one, about halfway along, where a pale strip of daylight cut through the murk.

The room where Sister was waiting was down at the other end of the hall. The door looked smaller than it did back when I was in first grade, but it was just as forbidding. It was made of thick-grained oak, with deep-set panels, a black knob, and an old-fashioned keyhole in a black plate. We kids never knew what was behind it. The nuns never told us, and we were afraid to ask, but everybody imagined it was something spooky. One boy said the room was haunted. Another said it was where they kept dead bodies before funeral Masses at church.

I always thought it was just used for storage, but now, on the last leg of my walk of shame, I was thinking that a third boy came closest with his theory: he said they took bad kids in there and chained them up.

The corridor smelled of chalk dust, sharpened pencils and that stuff they sprinkle on the floor when a kid throws up. The floor up here wasn’t tile, either, just old, wavy planks that had been sanded almost to dust over the years. My heart was pounding, and I went slowly when I should have been racing to get out of sight. Every inch of my body felt prickly.

I passed the open classroom door. I didn’t see anyone inside, but I hadn’t taken another three steps when a booming voice behind me yelled, “YOU!”

My skin stood up all over. I stopped dead, still facing the oak door, which looked farther away than ever, until the voice commanded me in a crazy accent: “Turn ar-rount, younk voo-man.”

I did. A little nun I’d never seen before was standing outside the open classroom. I wouldn’t have believed anybody so tiny could yell the way she did, but her hard face made it plain she was holding back a storm. Big round glasses sat on her little beak of a nose, flashing with a milky light that hid her eyes. She glared up at me like an owl.

“Vot chu doink, trepp-sink aroun’ de school vit no close on?” she said. “Leetle children study here. Mebbe dey still here. Mebbe dey see you.”

“Sister Lucretia told me to do it,” I said.

“Vy?” the little nun demanded. “Vy good Seester Lu-kreetz make you do some-sink so eef-il? Tell me dot.”

“She told me to.”

“You said dot. I vant know vy.”

“I did something bad,” I said. “And this ... this is part of my punishment.”

“Vot you do that was so bad? — Vell?”

There’s really no excuse for getting caught without your clothes on. All I could do was tell the truth.

“I wasn’t wearing panties in class,” I said.

“Ah!” the little nun said. “I see! So you go to de pen-antz room! Seester Lu-kreetz, she teach you lesson, ja? You know, venn you come out, you not be de same dirty gull dot go in.”

She marched up to me and clapped a hand between my legs.

“Vet!” she said. “You like your leetle poosy-cat, ja?”

She rubbed me a few times, back and forth. I was surprised how slick I was down there, and how easily her fingers slid around. I went up on my toes, with my hands on my head, knees bent, butt sticking out. Every muscle in my body was straining. I bit my lip and grunted.