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Subject: REPOST--A Strange Encounter (Fm, nun)
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				A STRANGE ENCOUNTER
					By Al Steiner

	Did your mother ever warn you that hanging out with the wrong sort of
people could get you into trouble?  Well mine did, plenty of times, but like
most adolescents I didn’t listen.  After all, I was fifteen years old.	I
knew everything about life that needed to be known.  I was certainly old
enough to be picking my own friends.  What did a thirty-eight year old lady,
out of touch with modern times, know anyway?

	And so it came to pass, in those dim dark days of nineteen eighty-five,
that I found myself facing a juvenile court judge on a charge of malicious
vandalism.

	Ron Dowling was the friend who’d gotten me there.  A year older than
me, from the so-called wrong side of the tracks, he was one of the school bad-
asses.  I was thrilled that someone so cool would choose to hang out with me.
He introduced me to marijuana, binge drinking, and cigarette smoking.

	On that fateful day he’d prodded and nagged me to steal some beer out
of my parent’s refrigerator.  I’d made the mistake of telling him that my Dad
had just made a run to one of the local warehouse stores and had picked up
several cases of Budweiser.  Ron had not let the issue drop until I’d gone to
my house, taken a twelve-pack out of the fridge, and replaced it with another
from storage in the garage.  I hoped and prayed that my old man wouldn’t
notice the deficit in his beer, completely unaware that the next day some
stolen beer was going to be the least of my problems.

	We took the beer down by a local drainage canal and drank it; Ron
having seven cans to my five and then we smoked a joint that he had with him.
It was night by then and I was pretty well juiced, my better judgement, such
as it is when you’re fifteen, destroyed.  We began wandering around our
neighborhood, looking for something to do when we happened across St.
Anthony’s Catholic School, one of the parochials in our town.  Ron, who
fancied himself a neo-nazi, not because of any political views, he was too
stupid to have political views, but because it was cool among the white trash
at our school to proclaim yourself so, became inspired by the statue of the
Virgin Mary in front of the school.  Apparently remembering the cache of
spray-paint in my garage, he suggested we deface the statue.

	I protested of course.  Defacing religious articles was a little beyond
the manner in which I liked to express my teenaged rebellion.  But my weakness
then was that I was easily worn down, especially with a bloodstream full of
alcohol and marijuana.  Soon I found myself returning to my house and
appropriating a couple of cans of black paint.  We returned to St. Anthony’s
and proceeded to add a hairy bush, large nipples, a mustache, and glasses to
the marble Mary.  We were uninterrupted in our work and figured that we’d
gotten away with it.  Who would have thought that a catholic school would have
a security camera system?

	It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to track us down.  The cops, armed with
videotape of us in action, simply looked through their books of known juvenile
delinquents that resided in our part of town.  Though they didn’t find my
picture among their mugshots, they found Ron’s without much searching.  Ron,
apparently not well versed on the kid code of no finking, quickly gave them my
name, telling them it was all my idea.  By two o’clock the following afternoon
there were police officers at my front door talking to my mother.

	When we got before the juvenile court judge Ron, his hair freshly
cut, his clothing neat and pressed, explained for the record that the
defacement of the statue had originated with me.  He said that he’d protested
sternly against such a thing but had finally, reluctantly allowed himself to
be talked into it, very much against his will.	He told them that I’d
supplied the spray-paint with which this heinous crime had been committed.
He added that he never would have done such a thing but that I’d persueded
him by feeding him beer that I’d stolen from my father.

	Needless to say I was shocked and outraged and more than a little
scared.  I was envisioning a prison sentence for my actions, being locked in
a cell with some hairy, six-foot eight roommate who would wish to butt-fuck
me every night.  But the judge, a cynical looking old babe who had probably
been dispensing juvenile justice for the past fifty years, seemed to know
what the score really was.  She read off Ron’s previous record which
astonished even me.  He’d been arrested for burglary, drugs, assault, and
multiple counts of vandalism.  She told him point-blank that she found it
difficult to believe his tale of innocent persuasion.  She sentenced him, in
light of his previous history, to four months at the Boys Ranch, the juvenile
version of prison in our fine community.

	Hearing his sentence I became very scared.  I naturally assumed that
she would give me the same.  But I was wrong.  Present at the hearing was a
representative of St. Anthony’s.  She was about thirty or so but it was
difficult to tell since she was attired in a traditional habit of the nun
corps.

	“Sister Mary.”  The judge addressed her.  “This young man has never
been in trouble prior to this.  At least he’s never come to the attention of
the police.  I don’t think incarceration of him is quite the answer in this
situation.  I am inclined to sentence him to a term of community service.”

	“Yes Your Honor.”  Sister Mary nodded.  Her voice contained slightly
more than a hint of an Irish accent.  “I have no objection to that.”

	“Good.”  The Judge smiled, a smile that seemed almost predatory. 
“Now since he has caused damage to your facility, I think it only fair that
restitution should be made to you.  Now instead of having him pick up garbage
at a local park or some other such nonsense, I was wondering if maybe there
was some work at your school that he could do?	School is starting soon after
all.”

	Sister Mary seemed to think about this for a moment.  “I suppose,” She
finally answered.  “That the gymnasium could use a good re-painting.”

	The judge smiled.  “Excellent.”  She said.  “And I’ve seen a videotape
that shows me that he already knows how to paint.”  She picked up her gavel.
“You are hereby sentenced to community service at St. Anthony’s Catholic
School, repainting the gym and whatever else Sister Mary here deems
reasonable.  Your sentence will comprise one hundred hours of work, starting
tomorrow. “  She turned to the nun.  “Agreeable Sister?”

	“Indeed.”

	“So ordered.”  The judge said, banging down her gavel.


	Early the next morning I found myself being led by Sister Mary,
dressed again in her habit, through the empty halls of the school towards a
small gymnasium.  There were two basketball courts, a set of bleachers, an
equipment locker full of balls and other equipment, and a large scaffolding
assembly. Stacked near the scaffolding were well over thirty gallon
containers of white paint and some painting equipment; brushes, rollers,
turpentine, tarps, masking tape rolls.	The gym looked immense to me and I
wondered if I would be able to complete it all in the prescribed one hundred
hours.

	I had never been in the presence of a nun before.  My parents were
agnostics and had raised me as such.  All I knew about them I’d learned from
various books and magazines.  My previous information had assured me that
they fell into one of two categories.  They were either saintly women who saw
good in everything and everyone or they were harsh disciplinarians, always
ready to rap someone’s knuckles with a ruler.  Sister Mary seemed to fit into
the latter category.

	“I suggest,” She told me, her Irish brogue rolling off of her tongue.
“That ye start with the trim over in that corner.  Don’t forget to put down
the drop cloths and to take the fixtures off the walls.  That should take ye
most of the day.  Tomorrow ye can start with the rollers.”  She gave me a
stern look.  “And don’t be spillin’ no paint on the floor now.”

	“Yes Ma’am.”  I told her, and went to work.

	She checked on me multiple times throughout the day.  Her only
conversation was to inform me that I was doing some aspect of the job
incorrectly and to suggest a corrective action.  At precisely noon she told
me it was time for lunch and she offered me a bologna sandwich on white
bread, no cheese, no mustard or mayo, and a glass of tap water.  I ate and
drank and then returned to work.  By the end of the day I’d finished the trim
and was ready to start doing the main work of rolling on the fresh paint.

	The gym took me five days to complete.	I’d thought I was done after
the second day but Sister Mary insisted upon three coats of paint, complete
with trim.  A routine was established.	She would lead me to the gym each
morning, check on me multiple times throughout the day, criticizing if I was
doing something wrong, she would feed me the same stale bologna sandwich and
glass of water at noon, and she would release me at five o’clock each
afternoon.  She did not converse with me otherwise.  She offered me no
inspiring lectures on the grace of God or the value of a hard day’s work, or
anything else.	I had developed no firm opinions of her during this period.
She was simply a woman dressed in a penguin suit who had power over me.  Her
face was always neutral.  I could tell that she had reddish hair from the
stray locks that protruded from her habit but other observations were hidden
from me.  I could not determine, for instance, what her body was shaped like,
the habit was too bulky.  I knew she wasn’t fat or terribly skinny, but
beyond that I was clueless.  My only view of anything other than her face had
been a brief glimpse of her left ankle that I’d seen when she’d bent over to
pick up the used plate that my lunch had been served on.  Certainly she’d
never fallen into my mind’s vast collection of sexually exciting women, the
likes of which I masturbated to at least once a day.

	Finally, halfway through the sixth day, just as I’d completed the gym
painting to her satisfaction, things changed.

	“Excellent job young man.”  She told me, gazing around the room, her
blue eyes seeming to sparkle.  I noticed that her accent was decidedly thicker
than usual.  “Now ye still have sixty hours left of your service but since
ye’ve done such a foine job on the gym, I’m inclined to let ye go home early
today.  Tomorrow we’ll start work on something else.”

	“Thank you Sister.”  I told her, grateful that I would be released from
my prison early today.

	“But first,” She said, stepping closer to me.  “There is something else
that I require of ye before you retire for the day.”

	“What’s that?”	I said, suddenly confused.  As she stepped before me,
I was able to smell the unmistakable odor of alcohol on her breath.  Surely I
was wrong.  Nuns didn’t drink.	Did they?

	My confusion increased tenfold as her left hand stretched out and
grabbed the crotch of my jeans.  Her fingers began kneading and caressing me.
My cock, not knowing or caring who was doing this responded immediately.

	“Sister?”  I said, startled, scared, adrenaline flooding through my
body.

	“Shhh.”  She hushed me, continuing her ministrations.  “No words lad.”

	She fondled me for an indeterminate amount of time.  My dick hardened
into a rock hard protuberance and my breathing quickened.  Her hand felt
wonderful, even through the thick material of my paint-stained jeans.  What in
the hell was she doing?  She was a nun!  And she was fondling my dick.

	“Very nice.”  She breathed, almost under her breath, her face reddening
and her eyes taking on a glassy sheen.  Suddenly, with a quick motion, she
pulled on the fly of my 501s, opening all of the buttons.  Using both hands,
she pushed them and my underwear down, exposing my rigid cock to her gaze.  I
saw her lick her lips as she stared at it.

	“Sister.”  I started again, unable to complete the statement.

	“Hush.”  She admonished me again, pushing me backward towards the
paint scaffold.  She had me sit on one of the lower support brackets, which
felt cold as ice against my naked ass.	She stepped closer, reaching down and
pulling the hem of her habit upwards.  I was treated to a view of her legs.
They were slightly chunky but by no means unattractively so.  White as a
sheet of paper, it appeared that they had never before seen the light of the
sun.  Her habit remained bunched around her waist, depriving me of a view of
her crotch and the treasures they beheld but I could smell her, the odor
wafting out from beneath the habit.  I’d smelled pussy before in my life. 
Two times before I’d managed to actually get myself laid and five or six
times before I’d managed to get my finger into a vagina.  But these had
always been teen-aged girls, about the same age as myself.  Sister Mary’s
odor was worlds apart.	It had a sharp, musty tang to it.  It was the smell
of a grown woman in a state of sexual excitement.  Any doubts about what was
going on disappeared the instance that musk hit my nostrils.

	She stepped even closer, her legs opening and overlapping mine.  I
felt the silky smoothness of her inner thighs as they slid slowly along the
skin of my outer thighs.  Her breath was in my face, the stale odor of
alcohol (it smelled like whiskey) wafting into my nostrils.  She rested her
chin on my left shoulder, so I was unable to see her face and pulled her hips
further up my thighs.  Her left hand reached down between us and I felt it
grasping my cock again.  Her other hand seemed to be pulling her habit hem up
higher.  I felt the head of my dick resting against a warm, slick wetness for
a moment before her hips thrust forward, engulfing me within her.  She sank
down upon me with ease, my cock suddenly buried in a soft, warm sheath.  My
previous experiences with sex had involved quite a bit of fumbling and
pushing before I’d been able to get myself all of the way inside.  With
Sister Mary it was very different. I slipped into her like we were two puzzle
pieces specifically designed to connect together.

	“Ahhh.”  She sighed as her pubis met mine.  “Hold still.”  She
whispered into my ear.

	She then began to thrust.  Her hips gyrated back and forth, sliding
up and down my body, increasing the musk of our union and producing a wet,
squishing sound.  I’d never felt anything like it before.  The girls I’d laid
previously had done nothing but lay there.  She was actually moving herself
atop of me, caressing herself with my cock.  Her arms tightened around my
back, her breathing increasing to a pant.  She moved faster and faster,
pushing my butt painfully into the bar upon which it rested.  I could feel
her bare stomach, soft and pliant, pressing against mine, forcing the air
from my lungs with each thrust.  The top of her pussy was grinding into the
top half of my cock, the pressure unbelievably erotic.	Her thighs began to
sweat, sliding against mine.

	It didn’t take long before I felt the familiar tingle of approaching
orgasm traveling up my spine.  My hips began to thrust involuntarily, meeting
her thrusts.  My breathing became ragged and hoarse.  I grasped her back,
pulling her to me, my fingers feeling the coarse material of her habit and the
soft curves of her body beneath it.

	“Oh God.”  I yelled, not thinking for a moment that I was, in fact,
inside of a house of God.

	“No!”  Screamed Sister Mary into my ear, frustration evident in her
voice.  “Not yet!”

	But I couldn’t help it.  It was as inevitable as death and the tides.
My thrusting increased to a near-frantic pace and within seconds I was
shooting up into her body, more cum than I would have though possible.	It
splashed against her insides, overflowing and pouring out around my cock and
her cunt.

	When my thrusting finally slowed to a halt and my dick wilted to it’s
previous state within her, she pulled herself off of me, sliding backwards
until she was staring me in the eyes.  Her face showed unmasked hostility and
frustration.

	“God damn you.”  She stated, sliding the rest of the way off and
dropping to her knees before me.

	Suddenly her face was at the level of my crotch, my wilted dick
inches from her.  She pushed my legs as far apart as my jeans, which were
still around my ankles, would allow, and slurped me into her mouth.  She
began sucking frantically, licking all of the accumulated sperm and vaginal
secretions clean.

	“Oh!”  I said, in rapture.  I had never had a blowjob before, despite
having begged all of my previous girlfriends for one.  Her tongue swirled
around me, teasing every inch of my meat.  She withdrew her mouth and took
each of my balls into her, sucking them gently.  I even felt her tongue
licking between my buttcheeks, fleetingly caressing my asshole.  Within
minutes I was hard as a rock again.

	This is a nun doing this to me!  I kept telling myself in disbelief.
Part of me couldn’t help but wonder if I was really lying in bed at home and
that this was an elaborate wet dream.  God knew I’d had strange nocturnal
emissions in the past, but this was too real.  I could only conclude that this
was really happening, that a nun dressed in a habit was really sucking my dick
and tonguing my asshole.

	Finally, satisfied with the state of my renewed erection, she pulled
back.  Remaining on her knees, she scooted backwards across the gym floor
about three feet and then spun around.	She hiked the rear of her habit up
over her hips, affording me my first view of her nether region.

	I was immediately struck by how hairy her crotch was.  Her pussy,
which was gaping open, a thin drool of clear juice and white sperm running
out of it, was covered with thick, red hair.  It ran all the way up to her
asshole, which was also gaping open, looking at me like the eye of the
Cyclops.

	“C’mon.”  She commanded.  “Fuck me from behind.  Fuck me like a dog.”

	I didn’t need a second offer.  I slid off my perch on the scaffold
and dropped to my knees, inching up behind her.  Taking my cock in my hand I
placed it between her swollen lips and thrust forward, burying myself with
her.

	“Yes!”	She cried, pushing her ass back against me until her butt
cheeks impacted my pubis.  “Now fuck me hard Goddamit.	And don’t you dare
come until I have!”

	I started to thrust, grabbing hold of her butt cheeks, which were soft
but somewhat flabby, for leverage.  I kneaded them as I fucked her, squishing
them into new shapes like they were bread dough.  My balls slapped against her
with each thrust.  I watched her pussy lips expand and contract around my
shaft.  Her left hand, which had been supporting her weight on the floor,
suddenly reached up and began caressing her clit, rubbing it furiously.

	“Yes!”  She screamed in ecstasy.  “Fuck me harder, fuck me harder!”

	I increased my thrusts, sweat now dripping off of my forehead onto her
upper ass.

	“Stick your finger up my ass!”  She commanded.

	I obliged, sliding the middle finger of my right hand between her butt
cheeks and into her anus.  It slipped in easily, sliding up past the second
knuckle.

	“Oh God.”  She cried.  “Finger-fuck my ass!

	I began thrusting my finger in and out, at first finding the
simultaneous action of doing this and thrusting with my pelvis difficult but
quickly adapting to the rhythm.

	“Oh fuck!”  Sister Mary yelled, panting uncontrollably now.  Her ass
slammed against me frantically, almost painfully.  Her hand on her clit became
a blur.  “Yesss!”  She cried, almost knocking me off-balance with her thrusts.
She seemed to reach a peak and then her thrusts slowed down rapidly as she
exhaled a long, drawn out sigh.  Her hand left her clit and began caressing my
balls.

	“Now come in me.”  She said, her voice much more in control now.  “Come
in me again.  Hurry!”

	I increased the tempo of my own thrusts finding myself, for the first
time in my life, having to concentrate in order to come.  Finally, after
several minutes, the proper connection was made in my head and I was once
again emptying myself into her body, groaning in rapture.

	When my thrusts slowed down to nothing and my cock, satiated, slipped
from between her velvet lips, she crawled forward, pushing her habit down over
her hips again.  She stood up, taking a deep breath, the only evidence of what
we’d engaged in, on her part anyway, a thin sheen of perspiration on her face.
She looked down at me, not seeming to notice my spent cock resting against my
thigh or the fact that my jeans were down around my ankles.

	“Okay.”  She said, her face neutral, her eyes appraising the gym.
“Good job.  Take the rest of the day off.  I’ll see you bright and early
tomorrow morning.”

	With that she strolled casually out of the gym, her sneakers squeaking
softly on the floor.

	I lay there for a few more minutes and then stood up.  I pulled up my
pants and began the long walk home, wondering what was in store for tomorrow.



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