I Kissed a Girl, Chapter 2

by Jackie

"It's just as hot as they said it was gonna be" the teenager with the longer lighter blonde hair said as she skimmed the debris from the pool's surface. For Michelle it was like having a front row seat to the show she'd enjoyed from her bathroom window yesterday and elicited the same reaction—the flutter in her belly and a rising warmth that had nothing to do with the sun.

In a large tree near the property line she noticed a caterpillar spinning itself into a cocoon. The sun glinted off the silken thread and Michelle marveled at the wonder of nature. When that sheath opened a completely new creature would emerge; one that bore no resemblance to the creeping crawling insect that she was now observing.

The visitor took a seat on one of the comfy lounges and settled back to enjoy the show her neighbor was putting on. Maybe enjoy wasn't the right word. But there really wasn't a single word that described what she was feeling. The fluttering tingle—that wasn't a feeling like an emotion—it was purely physical. The emotion that went with it she couldn't describe but it was deep like a longing, a wanting. Something made her ashamed of feeling that way. That something told her it was wrong, just like spending too much time washing yourself was wrong. Michelle didn't know how she knew these things—she just did.

Becky finished her skimming chore and put the net away. Michelle watched the ultra short skirt attached to the bathing suit bottoms sway when she walked.

'Her mother must have made that" she supposed.

'I've never seen anything like that in a store ... in fact the only things like it I've ever seen were in grandma's old photo album, circa nineteen-fifty five.'

"How are your legs feeling now? Did the bath help?" the older girl asked while she was taking a seat. The question brought Michelle back from her self-analysis. She felt flushed at the mention of the bath.

"Uh ... yeah it helped" she lied. In fact her legs were fine and the bath certainly hadn't helped her other problem.

"Did it help last night when I rubbed them?" That question carried with it an image and sensations that turned the younger girl's flush to a full blown blush. She cleared her throat to cover the groan that was trying to escape. Michelle didn't know what to say or do, her breathing was starting to get out of control again and she didn't trust her voice so she just nodded.

"Would you like me to do it again?" Becky offered; and just like last night the girl in the fifties style swimming costume didn't wait for a reply. She was on the pool deck with her neighbor's right foot in her hand squeezing before the younger girl could absorb what she'd said. This time Michelle wasn't quick enough to stifle the groan. "Does it feel good?" the kneeling girls hands were already working their way up the freshly shaven calf. It was something like a tennis ball hitting her right in the crotch.

'Feel good!' Michelle thought that was the understatement of her life.

The intense sensations washed over her and all she could do was put her head back and try not to moan. It just got harder as the massaging hands worked their way higher.

Rebecca's mother noticed a cocoon attached to the wall on the outside of the kitchen window frame and thought that she should clean it off. Thinking about the beautiful flying insect that would eventually come out of the eyesore was making her reconsider. That's when she noticed the teenagers and in particular her daughter kneeling at the foot of their guest's lounge. She watched as her daughter began the therapy on the girl from next door. The low rumbling in her pelvis made her press her mons against the counter. The memories and feelings it stirred were ancient and bitter sweet.

In her daydream she wasn't Maryann Spencer, in fact she wouldn't meet Don Spencer for another eight years. She was Maryann Flanagan daughter of an upstanding Irish catholic father and a Scandinavian mother (hence the blonde hair genes). She had little recollection of her mother who had died in a car accident before Maryann's fifth birthday.

It wasn't until much later—after being caught by the Mother Superior with the novice that she'd overheard a conversation that should have forever damaged her few and faint memories of the woman who'd given birth to her; but it didn't.

It was Christmas time and she was home from the convent school for the break. She enjoyed playing lady of the house to her father and his buddies from work. She served them beer and snacks while they watched sports on TV. One particular afternoon stood out.

Her father had gone out to replenish the beer supply. She served up another round while he was gone. She was going on fifteen at the time and had a natural adolescent curiosity about members of the opposite sex so after she delivered the tray of cold brews she hung around just outside the door listening to their crude and frequently profane conversation. She heard one of her father's chums say,

'That Maryann's getting quite a little body on her' followed by another's voice saying,

'Yeah just like her mother ... I wonder if she fucks like her?' A third voice chimed in,

'If Jimmy hears you talking like that he'll put your lights out.'

The second voice responded,

'Ah Harry you know what she was like and Jimmy knew too. She fuck a snake if it had ears ta get a hold of' There were a lot of guffaws after that comment. The first voice rejoined,

'It's different where she was from ... Denmark or Sweden ... one of those free lovin' countries. She was just doin' what came naturally. We all did her ... you did too Harry so don't be so fuckin' self-righteous.' Then Harry replied,

'I'm not sayin' I didn't. I just don't think it's right to speak ill of the dead... 'sides ya weren't talkin' about Ilse anyway ya were talkin' about his daughter.'

Maryann recalled being so shocked by the revelation that her mother was unfaithful that she almost didn't hear her father come in. When she did realize that he was back she had scurried up to the kitchen with the empties.

As she was placing the bottles in the case one of the few clear memories she had of her mom came to the surface. Sometimes her dad was away for days at a time. She didn't understand then but now she knew that his skills were sometimes contracted out and that he traveled to remote jobsites. It seemed to her that when ever her daddy was away an aunt, one she never saw any other time would come and visit.

The aunt made her mom really tired because the two of them spent most of their time in bed and they never seemed to have any clothes on. Maryann recalled herself as a four year old, taking off her own clothes to be like the women she admired. Her aunt told her that she was going to be a less bean when she grew up, and laughed. She recalled thinking that she didn't want to be any kind of a bean when she grew up; she wanted to be a fairy princess.

The next really clear memory she had after her mother's death was her enrolment at Holy Grace. She knew that it pained her grieving father to be apart from her, but James Flanagan did not feel comfortable raising a little girl without a woman to provide guidance. No, the only sensible thing for a good catholic to do was to enroll his young daughter with the Sisters of Holy Grace.

She came home on weekends—most of the time. Her dad was a welder and there were times in the year when he logged enormous amounts of overtime, and sometimes had to travel. So it was that little Maryann Flanagan would wind up being one of a very few girls left behind at the convent.

The sisters always had their own agendas on the weekend and it generally didn't include entertaining left behind students. For the first six or seven years it meant a lot of reading and solitary game playing; then came Teresa. Maryann never really knew how old the novice was, just that she must have graduated to be in the position that she was in, and that she was much closer to her age than any of the nuns.

Watching her daughter administering the massage to their new neighbor brought back memories of that fateful Friday.

She hadn't felt well even when she'd gotten up. She had cramps and a head ache and felt generally rotten. She dragged herself through the day's classes anyway because it was better than staying alone in her room (she'd probably be doing that for the rest of the weekend unless Terry had some time for her).The Mother Superior kept Teresa pretty busy because she had a lot to learn, so Maryann couldn't always rely on her companionship.

When she got up on Saturday she felt even worse. The cramps were nearly unbearable. She didn't want to trouble any of the sisters but she did search out Terry for advice, or at least comfort and sympathy. She found her friend and weekend companion in the library cataloguing periodicals.

When she'd described her symptoms the older girl got a knowing look on her face and asked if she'd ever had a period. Maryann recalled being shocked. She'd sort of heard about the curse but it always seemed like a long way off, not to mention a little scary, so she tried to ignore it—forget about it—but if Teresa was right those days were down to a very small number.

The novice told her that she had to finish at least the one volume or she'd get in trouble but that Maryann should come to her room after evening prayers.

"In the meantime stuff a big handful of toilet tissue in your panties ... just in case" she'd said. Now she had not only the discomfort but fear to deal with as well.

She did as she was told and after prayers went back to her room (which she shared with three other girls during the week). She didn't go in but detoured stealthily to the portion of the building were the staff's quarters were. Terry and she had met there before but the novice wasn't actually supposed to have visitors in her room so secrecy was paramount.

When she arrived she was surprised to find that her friend and confidant had already changed into her night dress. 'Wow she did that pretty fast' Maryann remembered thinking, since they'd both left chapel at about the same time.

"Did ya start bleeding yet?" Terry had asked as soon as she was in the door. She was so embarrassed—embarrassed and scared by the whole thing that she'd only been able to respond with a shake of her head.

" Good at least we won't have to start by cleaning up a mess." She'd gone to her dresser and pulled out a box of feminine hygiene pads and another box with tampons in it. Holding up the box of pads she'd said "this is the hi-tech version of the toilet paper you've got in there now ... and this" raising the box of tampons "is the far better choice."

'Why is she bothering to show me the other thing then?' she'd wondered.

"The problem is if you're cherr ... uh, hymen is still intact you may not be able to use these yet." That explained it—sort of. They'd done some sex-ed but it was strictly need to know and apparently not even that complete. The puritanical way the material had been presented combined with her own mental block on the subject left her next to clueless. Her face must have conveyed her lack of understanding because her tutor had recognized the need to elaborate.

"When you're born there's a bit of skin that covers the entrance to your vagina. It's not completely closed over so the blood—it's actually called menses—can get out. In the olden days that skin, your hymen, would get torn the first time you had intercourse ... uh, made love with your husband. It's what makes you a technical virgin "

Maryann recalled that Terry had actually used the air quotes when she said those words.

"If it's still in place you may not be able to get a tampon in ... then you'll have to use the pad ... but they're messy and so ... um, gross."

Beyond the window she was looking through out on the pool deck Becky was up to Michelle's thighs. Missus Spencer pressed harder against the kitchen counter in front of her as she recalled the next words that she'd said all those years ago.

"H ... how uh, how would I ... uh ... know?"

The look that had come over Teresa's face was one that she didn't recognize and barely understood to this day.

"I ... I can uh ... check for you ... uh, if you ... if you want." As scared and embarrassed as she was she appreciated the novice's help.

The thought of having to go through this with one of the sisters was mortifying. She was much more comfortable with Terry—uh, sort of. She couldn't understand why her friend had gotten so flushed and nervous looking.

Then she'd made her take her panties off and lie down on her bed. She, of course was still wearing her uniform with the short tartan wraparound kilt and the white blouse and knee socks. The way her instructor's breasts jiggled when she knelt in front of her made her lack of a bra under the night shirt pretty obvious.

The kitchen was getting very warm—uncomfortably so—as she thought about what happened next.

The novice lifted her skirt and started pushing her knees apart; her legs had automatically resisted. She'd been so embarrassed she could have cried but Terry coaxed her; telling her it was OK, that she'd done this before, and that she wasn't going to do anything to hurt her. The nun in training talked about how this was all normal and natural.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of" she'd said; "trust me."

Maryann was recalling the strange new feelings she started to have in those stressful moments. As much as her tummy had been aching she'd begun to feel strange warmth down there—warmth and something else which she thought might have been gratitude to the young woman between her legs; the one who was whispering words of encouragement and stroking her thighs ... just like ... like Becky was doing now with Michelle.

Maryann Spencer's eyes were on the pool deck watching the girls, but Maryann Flanagan was lying on a small cot in a catholic boarding school looking down at the pretty face of the novice nun between her legs. And then she'd touched her!

"Oh God" Rebecca's mother moaned out loud and pressed ever harder against the countertop.

Delicate fingers were searching through her folds touching her in her most private place. The pain and cramps were nearly forgotten as waves of heat and something else—something she couldn't describe, and had no knowledge of at anytime while she was in the school, began to envelope her. Maryann Spencer now knew it to be sexual arousal. She was panting now just as she'd done then. She could almost feel the physical sensation of Terry's gentle fingers exploring her vulva—exploring and searching for her maidenhead. She didn't know now, as she hadn't known then, that it wasn't that difficult to find and see. She also didn't know and couldn't see the novice rocking slightly back and forth on the floor digging one of her heels into her own sopping vulva.

The kitchen was so hot . Becky's mother felt a jolt like an electric shock and she shuddered.

"Oh Holy Mother deliver me from this evil" she sighed and ran to retrieve the rosary from her bedside table.

They weren't thoughts; they had no language with them they were concepts, enigmas without clear definition. Was her religion, the church, a shell that she pulled around herself to shield out the iniquity of a sinful hedonistic world; because if it was she had to leave part of herself outside—the needy physical part. Or was it a lamp unto her feet that guided her through the spiritual wasteland and kept her from succumbing to her ungodly desires. She preferred the later. At least in that conceptualization she was whole; the former left her fragmented, at odds with herself. The enigmas tumbled over one another deep in her subconscious, only surfacing in unguarded moments.

The trouble was there seemed to be so many more unguarded moments since Don's passing. It had been easy to screen out the troubling questions when he was alive. She was an upstanding contributing member of the church, a wife and a mother. Why had Don's death changed everything so much? She was still all of those things—except a wife. Why did being a widow pull at the fabric of her self concept like tugging a loose thread on a knitted sweater. A thread that once pulled would unravel the whole thing.

She could have drawn them out into the light, these perplexing issues. She could have given them words so that they could be properly debated. In fact she didn't even have to draw them out, all she had to do was to let them emerge. They wanted to surface, but she was afraid. She dropped to her knees bedside her bed and worked her way through the Rosary as she always did at times like these.

Michelle had her eyes closed and was biting her lip to hold the moans in. Her new friend, the one in the yellow antique bathing costume, was massaging so high on her thighs now that she thought she could feel the flesh around her girlhood being tugged at. She prayed that Becky's hands would slip and touch her—touch her where the heat and throbbing was becoming so intense—touch her where she was afraid to touch herself.

Rebecca rocked a little as she squeezed and kneaded the warm silky flesh of her neighbor's thighs. Each time she sat back the heel of her left foot pressed between her legs sending a thrilling little pulse that seemed to shoot up and create a delightful tingle in her nipples. The kneeling girl was quite sure that they'd be sticking out like pencil erasers if the material of the bathing suit top wasn't so thick. She could scarcely take her eyes off the way the bottoms of Michelle's pink two piece molded to the plump mons it was covering. She did manage occasionally to look up at the younger girl's face and thought she recognized the blissful expression she saw there.

'She's enjoying this just as much as I am' the rocking young woman concluded.

The way her mouth was moving caused the tantalizing chorus to play in her head again; 'I kissed a girl ... and I liked it ... What would she do if I kissed her' Becky wondered and a tiny spasm rocked her girlhood.

Her eyes wandered back to the crotch of the slightly small bathing suit bottoms. Imaging the treasure that was so poorly hidden by the thin layer of synthetic material she thought,

'And what if I kissed her there?' That idea caused a much larger quake in her freely flowing bald cookie so she pressed down even harder on her heel. It was too much and she couldn't stop the squeal from happening. Their eyes met and for a moment there was a flicker of understanding.

"Have you girls got sunscreen on?" Rebecca's mother's voice shattered the connection.

"Uh ... no mom ... I, I forgot." Becky answered hoping nobody would notice how hoarse she was. She sat right down on the deck now out of breath.

"Well you'd better get some on sweetheart or you're gonna be sorry ... and you too Michelle."

She was smearing the lotion on her own arms and shoulders when she issued the warning. When the girl from next door could see straight again she realized how similar Missus Spencer's bathing costume was to her daughter's.

'She does make them ... now I'm sure of it.'

The older woman's suit was blue with a blue print to it that was too subtle to be able to tell from fifteen feet away exactly what it was—flowers maybe, or just an abstract pattern. The fourteen year old was trying to decide which and watching her girlfriend's mother applying the sunscreen when she realized for the first time how big her bust was.

In the dress she'd been wearing yesterday she could have been the shape of a watermelon and you wouldn't have been able to tell. Now, even though the ancient looking swim wear was designed for the utmost modesty, her substantial rack was quite evident. The top came up almost her collar bone and low enough that only about three inches or so of her midriff was exposed. Like her daughter's, the bottoms featured an over skirt that was connected and covered the leg holes and ended about an inch below the crotch concealing it completely, which of course was its purpose.

There wasn't too much exposed skin above her waist to coat with the protective cream but missus Spencer was evidently making sure that she had it all covered. When the older woman started inserting her hand into her top to spread the sunscreen under the edge Michelle got that fluttery feeling again. Actually it had never completely gone away, just when she saw the older busty blonde stick her hand inside her bra it gave the recently massaged girl on the lounge a vicarious thrill.

Rebecca picked up the lotion from the table where her mother had set it down and started mimicking her movements. Again when Michelle saw her friend's hand half disappear inside one of her cups she felt a delightful little surge from her girlhood.

'This is stupid!' she thought, 'How can I get this turned on by watching two women—one old enough to be my mother—put on sunscreen?'

Deep down she knew it wasn't just the application of the sun cream that was tweaking her arousal. Becky had gotten her so turned-on that if she'd had more experience she'd have easily been able to make herself cum with just a touch or two. Had she known what was going through the Spencer women's minds she might have climaxed without benefit of any physical stimulation at all.

Rebecca was using one hand to pull out the cup of her bra to make space for her greasy fingers; wishing that she had the nerve to reach all the way down and tease her tingling nipple, but she didn't. Instead she pressed the wrist of the hand she was pulling on the cup with to rub the tender erect lump pressing out against the thick material. That at least provided some relief from the pressure. She was imagining pulling her bathing costume top off completely and working the slippery cream all over her boobies. The thought made her pussy hum like a beehive.

Missus Spencer was praying for self-control. Her urges were remarkably similar to her daughter's. Two parts of her brain were competing for control of the fingers she had slipped in side the bathing suit top. One part—the evil one—wanted her to slide that hand further down inside the blue patterned material so she could stroke her huge areola. The pious part was telling her that self-stimulation was wrong. It was a sin; and she prayed to the Divine Mother for strength. Her daydream recalling the onset of her first menstrual cycle and how the novice had helped her combined with watching her daughter caress the neighbor girl's legs had left her in a state of arousal the even all five decades of the rosary hadn't been able to squelch.

Elizabeth Conrad watched the scene from the upstairs bathroom window, where she had been putting away the linens. She was so pleased that they had such a friendly neighbor; and especially grateful that Michelle had someone that she could hang out with. Up rooting her from her friends near the end of the summer school break might have left her lonely without school providing a way to meet peers in her new neighborhood. The girls seemed to be hitting it off very nicely and she found Maryann pleasant and friendly but in dire need of some fashion advice. Michelle's mother took in the antiquated swim wear and shook her head.

'If I had a body like that I'd get the smallest bikini in the store to show it off' she was thinking.

Not that there was anything wrong with her body. She was averaged sized and probably shapelier than most women her age. She'd always felt that her legs were her most attractive feature. She'd been a gymnast and sometime dancer as a teenager. Even though she didn't do much to maintain them now, the development during her formative years seemed to have stuck.

Her neighbor was the whole package; a spectacular hourglass figure ... and most of the sand was in the top ... holy cow! Just for an instant the image of her cousin, Virginia, was super imposed.

The woman holding the stack of towels was shocked. From the dress the buxom blonde had been wearing yesterday Elizabeth had assumed the woman next door was a bit dumpy. Seeing her now even the unflattering bathing costume couldn't diminish her sex appeal. Returning to her refolding and stowing of her linens she resolved to give the widow some fashion advice once she got to know her better. Thinking about how Harold, her husband, might react to the big titted woman next door if she was nattily attired was OK as long as she got the lion's share of the reaction it raised.

Elizabeth had to push the vision she'd imagined out of her head, or she wasn't going to get any work done.

Missus Spencer did the parts of her daughter's back that she couldn't reach, and then the girl returned the favor for her mother. There wasn't really much to do on either of them. A little half moon shaped area on the top of the shoulders and a narrow strip across the small of their backs. Michelle continued to lay on the lounge—mesmerized.

When they were done Becky's mom reclined on one of the other lounges with the newsletter from the church. The girl in the yellow fifties style swim suit turned to her reclining and transfixed friend holding up her goopy hands saying,

"Let me put some of this on you, I've got too much."

Michelle was coming to accept the fact that a lot of Becky's questions were rhetorical. The chesty blonde knelt beside the younger girl's lounge. It might have been because the lotion was cold that made Michelle jump and squeal when the greasy hands make contact with her upper chest near her collar bone—but it wasn't. It was her friend's touch that sent electric like sparks dancing across her baby soft skin. The reclining girl felt the electricity envelope her boobies and start their small centers tingling and rising to the occasion. Exacerbating her arousal problem, Becky's hands were sliding lower on her chest and very quickly were on the upper slopes of the small mounds. When the kneeling girl's fingers slipped under the margin of the cups, the younger girl gasped as a spasm rocked her girlhood and she anticipated contact from the lotion covered hands on her hard little points.

Becky saw Michelle's eyes close and felt her twitch and tremble under her touch. The noises she was already making were a concern—her mother was barely ten feet away. The older girl wanted so badly to slide her hand inside that pink bathing suit top. She wanted to feel the plump titties and pinch the nipples but she didn't dare. Restraining herself was not easy but the conundrum of explaining to her mother why the girl from next door was screaming in agony—make that ecstasy was too formidable. The fact that her victim seemed to want the same thing made pulling back just that much more difficult.

Rebecca had used up the product on her hands and grabbed the bottle to dispense some more as she crawled around to the end of Michelle's lounge.

"I might as well finish the job" she told her friend as she began applying the sunscreen to her desperately horny neighbor.

'Oh no!' Michelle thought here we go again.

Missus Spencer was purposely not looking at the girls and trying to concentrate on the church bulletin. One announcement caught her eye:

Doctor Angelina Perez has begun the monthly classes for girls 10 to 19. The group will meet the second Thursday of each month. Dr. Perez will discuss and council the girls on how a young catholic woman can maintain her purity and faithfulness to the church in today's society. Dr. Perez is a physician who has recently returned from her native Guatemala to set up a family practice in our Parrish. We wish to thank her for taking the time from her busy schedule to undertake this noble project.

Maryann was excited by the bulletin entry for a couple of reasons. The first was that she thought that the program was something that was much needed and decided she'd get Rebecca to attend the meetings. The second reason was that her family doctor had retired six months ago. She'd met the brash young man who'd taken over his patients and was not impressed.

'If she's just set up her practice, maybe she's still taking new patients.'

The lounging woman in the blue old fashioned swim costume resolved to check into that possibility very soon. Her eyes strayed and she got a cramp in her lower belly. Her daughter was back rubbing the neighbor girl's legs again. Those feelings, nasty sinful feelings were stirring and she felt like she was dividing—separating from herself. The real her sat churning and boiling while some part detached and looked at her from a distance. It was a scornful look.

The part of herself at a distance was demanding that she not watch; entreating her to go back to the bulletin—or maybe she should go back in the house. She couldn't seem to make herself do either. The best she could do was close he eyes. Deprived of sight her mind picked up its reverie of the episode with Teresa.

The novice had informed her after what seemed to Maryann to be a long time inspecting her privates that she was indeed a "technical virgin" and that she wouldn't be able to use tampons just yet. Terry showed her how to stick the pad in her underwear and what to do with it when it was soiled. She'd given her young student the remainder of her box of pads and then seemed to be in a bit of a rush to get rid of her.

"We can work on getting you ready to use tampons when your period finishes ... if you want" the older girl offered as she ushered Maryann out of her tiny room.

Sure enough her monthly visitor arrived for the first time that night. She'd managed with the pads but she could certainly see the advantages of keeping it all inside.

At least once the flow started the pains and cramps eased up but the constant need to wash and clean herself was time consuming. It was annoying and little Maryann Flanagan thought it was also gross. Lying on the lounge that warm August afternoon she recalled what happened next.

She had gone to Terry when the flow seemed to have stopped later that week and informed her confidant that she definitely wanted to work on being able to use tampons. The novice seemed very happy with her decision and told her to come to her sleeping cubicle after chapel on Friday. Maryann recalled the instruction to get changed into her nightgown before she came down.

When she'd arrived Teresa was in her nightshirt just like last time. She recalled getting a funny feeling right away when she'd noticed how her tutor's breast jiggled under the nightshirt as she closed the door. She knew hers were getting bigger and wondered if they'd get as big as Terry's—no contest. She also wondered why her older friend seemed so ... so nervous, but not nervous—exactly—just shaky and agitated.

Next the novice informed her that the best way to start was to show her basically what they were trying to accomplish. Having said that she'd stripped the nightshirt over her head and presented her full, nearly mature nakedness to the young student. All the air went out of little miss Flanagan as she stood appreciating her tutor's form. She wanted to look away and though she was being not only rude, but sinful by inspecting the other young woman's body but she just couldn't help herself. If she had looked the novice in the face she'd have seen her satisfied smile at the younger girl's reaction.

The student had been fascinated by the wobbling and jiggling under the night shirt. Her curiosity was satisfied by an unobstructed view of the novice's full firm breasts. The very large dark pink circles on the front of gravity defying mounds seemed to be their most interesting feature, especially the darker pink button that stood out from the center like a red kidney bean. Tracing down the slender body over the flat tummy she was soon looking at her very first mons (other than her own of course). It was not only very interesting to view the female genitalia from this angle but it seemed to make her tummy sort of nervous.

She recalled being surprised that there was no hair around the novice's crease, just a small little tuft above it. Maryann had started getting fuzz down there a year or so ago and now the short curly blonde hairs were a part of the problem in cleaning up when using the pad. She was pretty sure everybody grew hair down there so her confidant must remove it somehow. That seemed like a very good idea and she resolved to ask Terry about it as soon as she was able to speak again. At this point the breathlessness was still getting worse, not better. The hairlessness of the older girl's sex made it easy to see the fat outer lips and the crinkly darker colored inner ones between them.

Teresa sat on the bed and told her to kneel in front of her. The older girl then lay back and opened her legs. Maryann recalled that the fragrance made her head spin and she had watched very closely as the novice used two fingers of one hand to open her pouty sex. Young miss Flanagan had been very surprised at how watery it looked—not watery—more like it was coated with that thick clear hair gel. She was pretty sure hers wasn't like that—usually.

Her tutor opened herself completely and began to explain all of the parts, pointing with a finger of her free hand. The student was having trouble concentrating and really didn't understand the feelings both physical and mental that she was having. The kneeling girl could plainly see the opening but beyond the entrance it was just darkness. She did notice that Terry's voice was getting croaky as she ran a finger around her portal and when she contacted what looked like a bump the size of a navy bean at the top she either grunted or coughed or both. The novice explained that the bump was called a clitoris and that it was very sensitive.

Then it was her turn. Terry made her take her gown off just like she'd done. It didn't really make much sense to Maryann at the time since hiking it up would have been good enough but she didn't argue. Obviously the panties had to come off and the younger girl was amazed that she was happy to be rid of them. Now that they were both naked the nun in training took a long look.

'Fair's fair' Maryann recalled thinking.

Terry had her lay on the bed in the exact same position that she'd just used to conduct her vulval anatomy lesson. The younger girl didn't resist at all when her friend opened her legs.

Missus Spencer, laying on the lounge near the pool opened her eyes. She was sort of watching her daughter apply sunscreen to the legs of the girl from next door—but not really seeing them . Recalling the intense sensations rising from between her legs, as her tutor visually explored her, she recalled wondering if it was normal.

The older girl then told her that she was going to try to stretch her hymen without breaking it. She told the splayed student that she'd have to go slowly and that they might have to perform this procedure a few times. Maryann recalled feeling much less embarrassed than before and more than a little appreciative that the older girl would take so much time and trouble for her. When Terry put her one hand on top of the younger girl's mons she began to use two fingers to explore the well lubricated virginal outer vulva. It was sort of like before, supposedly looking for the hymen, but this time her thumb was pressing very firmly right at the top of her crease.

Little miss Flanagan noticed by the way the fingers slid so easily over her lips (Terry told her that's what they were called), that she must be all watery down there just like she'd seen her older friend's. The incredible, indescribable feelings she was having just kept getting stronger. She was trying to stifle sounds that kept trying to escape her as her tutor worked .

The fingers moving in her folds were kind of like a tickling—well not exactly—but the thumb that was pressing at the top, almost sort of on the bone; that one was making her whole belly feel like it was full of thunder. The thunder-y feeling was a pressure that kept building. Little Maryann knew there was going to be lightning pretty soon. She could feel it coming.

On the lounger by the pool she now knew what those feelings had meant—what they had been building up to. They were building now. Becky's hands had worked their way up to the leg holes of Michelle's pink two piece suit. The older girl's fingers were slipping slightly under the elastic around the top of the supine girl's thighs. Maryann Spencer wanted to watch; wanted to see those exploring fingers claim their prize. She had to look away. Her separate-self commanded that she look away. It did no good.

Teresa's thumb was pressing and moving side to side while her fingers supposedly were stretching the obtrusive flap of skin. Maryann recalled that it took her by surprise that the thunder was suddenly in her toes, in her feet, her calves, her knees, her thighs rolling up her legs like a wave. When it arrived at her pelvis it exploded like an ocean wave breaking on the rocks. For an instant it was like her spirit—her soul—had been catapulted out of her body and she was soaring above the scene on the cot in the novice's bedroom. She thought she was dying and going to heaven.

'It must be heaven nothing else could feel this wonderful.'

On the pool side lounge she felt the surging. She could no longer see the young couple only ten feet away; her vision was too cloudy. She knew that if she reached down and touched herself, just for a moment, that she'd experience that out of body feeling again. The urge was too powerful she couldn't resist...

"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee ... Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus ... O Lord, open my lips ... And my mouth will proclaim your praise ... Incline your aid to me, O God ... O Lord, make haste to help me." she prayed very softly under her breath.

She believed in the power of prayer with all her heart and the urgency passed. Still she could barely see the two young women three or four steps away. The vision—the one in her head—of Teresa's bedroom after her exaltation came back into focus and it was actually clearer that reality.

Her novice tutor had once again been in a hurry to have her leave. She'd arrived back in her room exhausted and slept as soon as her head hit her pillow. Never in her life before or since did she recall such a blissful sleep—the sleep of the innocent.

The next evening at prayers Teresa gave her a signal. Just as the night before she went to her room and changed into her nightdress but this time without the panties. In the novice's quarters the nightdresses were shed and the stretching process was being repeated when the door opened.

Mother Superior in all her splendor stood in the doorway. Maryann recalled the feeling of horror. It was etched on all of their faces for different reasons. The Holy Mother very calmly told Maryann to go to her room and wait for her. She recalled sitting on her bed shivering in fear for what seemed a very long time.

When the head of the school entered her room she cringed expecting a tongue lashing followed by the most severe penance of her life. It didn't happen.

Mother Superior sat beside her on the bed and put her arm around. She explained slowly and softly that what Teresa had been doing was wrong. It was a sin. The most holy and knowledgeable person the young girl knew explained that her vagina was for one purpose and one purpose only. Aside from washing, and examination by a doctor it was never to be touched by anyone. If she should choose to enroll to become a nun then it, along with every other part of her would belong to Christ. Otherwise the only person permitted to touch it was her eventual husband, and then only for the purpose of making a baby. The lesson stuck. The recollection of the sobering conversation squelched the arousal she'd been enduring.

'There must be something wrong with me ... why can I not control these urges?' It was certainly easier when Don was alive.

In fulfilling her wifely responsibilities she had occasionally—sometimes, even if rarely—had gotten some relief.

She didn't know where to turn. The person she should turn to was her priest. She just couldn't bring herself to discuss this particular sinful inclination with a man—even a man of God. What could she do? The question gnawed.

Michelle felt the hands slip inside her suit; the greasy fingers on her tender groin. They were close, so close to her cookie. She felt her girlhood twitch as though it was trying to reach for the tantalizing fingers.

Rebecca's eyes were glued to the center of the crotch panel. Her girlfriend's sex had been pretty well defined by the slightly small two piece suit bottoms before but with the additional stretching her fingers caused even the sparse hair pattern became visible. The younger girl made a noise again and Becky glanced over her shoulder. Her mother was no longer reading the church publication she was looking directly at them. She pulled her hands back; had she seen? The kneeling girl couldn't take the teasing any longer yet she couldn't take the next step either.

"I'm gonna wash my hands" she announced jumping up and sprinting toward the house.

Michelle lay there in deep disappointment. Her little quarter sized nipples were poking at the pink top and tingling like never before. The twitchy little spasms she'd been having between her legs while Becky applied the lotion had turned to an ache. She popped out of the lounge,

"Uh ... I gotta go home for a minute" she informed her host and bolted for the gate. Maryann was alone on the pool deck.

She never saw Teresa again. It weighted on her heart and she hoped her friend had found forgiveness and been given as second chance somewhere else.

The terrible longing was still there—that sinful need. She gripped the sides of the lawn chair tight enough to turn her knuckles white and started to pray again.