Chapter 2: The Nun

Dorothy D’Bennedeto… What a lovely name. Just the sound of it brings a sense of peace to my soul, like a wave breaking upon the shore. I pace the Mission grounds, looking forward to the meeting and whispering her name just under my breath over and over: Dorothy D’Bennedeto, Dorothy D’Bennedeto… At the appointed time, I walk down the corridor to where the meeting is scheduled to be held. The door to the Fellowship Room is half open and I look in. The young woman is already inside, kneeling on the floor in quiet contemplation below a statute of Jesus. I pause in the doorway and look around the edge of the door to drink in her beauty. Her eyes are shut and her hands are clasped tightly together in her lap. Her pink cheeks, painted lips and light blue eye shadow bring a much needed burst of color and life into the musty old room. Her long brown hair is very thick and pretty, sweeping over her arms and covering her shoulders and breasts like a prayer shawl. She is well endowed and… strikingly attractive. It’s as if the fantasy woman I’ve tried so hard to repress has somehow burst out of my mind and come vividly to life, right before my astonished eyes. In her kneeling position, the hem of her short skirt has slipped all the way up her legs, revealing her pale upper thighs. She bends forward in fervent prayer, a Madonna in the flesh.

When I see her breasts between the buttons of her blouse, I stand absolutely still. I try to cast my gaze discretely downward, but my eyes inevitably creep back up to her bosom. Through the material of the blouse I notice she isn’t wearing a bra. My lips part and I breathe out a quiet sigh. Not only is her cleavage showing, but I can see a portion of the light brown rings of her areolas as well. Her swollen nipples are clearly protruding through the thin material, standing proudly erect and pointing heavenward. My eyes drift up her elegant neck to her pretty face and I watch as her red lips move in silent prayer.

I assume no one noticed Ms. D’Bennedeto when she entered the cathedral. Sucked dry of life, with receding hairlines and shuffling gaits, the Priests of the Mission greet tourists with sad, half-smiles and look out at the manicured gardens through sad, sunken eyes. I suppose my sexuality will be gone soon as well, whisked away in the smoke of devotional candles and incense. But at this moment at least, in the presence of such a lovely creature, my heart pounds in my chest, blood courses through my veins. Like the earthquake which toppled this Mission many years ago, her beauty shakes me to the core. I feel a weakness in the knees, a slight dizziness and… God help me… I become physically aroused.

Mortified by my reaction, there is nothing whatsoever I can do to stop it from happening. There I stand, like the cliché of a sexually deviant priest, a laughable figure, peering through the crack in the doorway at the young woman’s breasts, my erection creating a perverse tent under my cloak. One glance at the comely young woman and twenty nine years of Hail Mary’s, a Theology and Divinity Degree as well as a lifetime of homilies and bible study are forgotten. Even the cold marble eyes of Jesus seem to admire her beauty.

I don’t know how long I stood there gawking at her. It could’ve been less than a minute or more than five, I have no way of knowing. Suddenly, the Mission bells begin to ring loudly. The woman opens her eyes and glances up at me. She doesn’t appear in the least bit startled by my presence; as if she knew I was there the whole time. Even after she catches me peering in at her I continue to stand in the doorway. What’s wrong with me? Have I lost all sense of morality? The thought crosses my mind I should ask one of the nuns to conduct the tour of the Mission, but it’s too late. I don’t want to leave her now.

After the ringing fades, I immediately intertwine my fingers and push the disobedient thing under my robe back into place. Hopefully, she didn’t see it pointing at her like the barrel of a gun. I have never felt more embarrassed or alive in my life.

“Hello,” she says, rather sweetly. “I didn’t see you standing there.”

Her voice is lovely, like the sound of bird landing on the branch of a tree. She stands, pulling down on the hem of her shirt.

“I’m Dorothy D’Bennedeto…”

“Good afternoon,” I manage to say.

I breathe out. Her voice soothes me, quiets my tormented thoughts. She holds her soft, small hand out and I gladly take it in mine. I hold it gently for a short, blissful moment, feeling her skin against my fingertips, until it slips out of my grasp.

“Are you here for the tour of St. Sebastian?” I ask, stupidly.

“Yes…” she says.

A long awkward silence passes between us. I stand there, knuckles dragging on the ground, a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

“I’m sorry if I disturbed your prayers,” I say.

She looks me directly in the eyes in a disarming manner, as if she can read my mind, peer into my soul. A slight smile creases her lips.

“Oh, you didn’t disturb me, Father. I was only… pretending to pray,” she says.

Pretending to pray? What an odd, insightful thing to say. Why would she say that? Are the first words out of her sensuous lips some kind of veiled spiritual message to me? Is that not what I’ve been doing all my life, pretending to pray?

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” I say.

“You see, I’ve done something… very bad. No one can forgive the sins I’ve committed,” she says.

I try to give an appropriate priestly response.

“All sins are forgiven by the Grace of God.”

My words come out flat and hollow. What exactly is meant by the concept of sin? Lately, I seem to be questioning all my former beliefs.

“Not my sins. Some sins can never be forgiven…” she says.

What in the world did she do? This was obviously way beyond my level of expertise. With my recent crisis of faith, I was the absolutely worst person for her to talk to.

“Do you wish to talk to talk to someone, Ms. D’Bennedeto? If you’d like, I could arrange a confession with one of the elder Priests, perhaps?” I suggest. “Whatever you say will be strictly confidential.”

“No thank you,” she says. “I’d rather confess my sins to you, Father. Perhaps later, if you don’t mind…”

She cocks her head slightly to one side and there is a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. Is she flirting with me or is my fevered brain just imagining it? In the silence, she breathes in and arches her back, making her lovely breasts stand out even more prominently then before. Despite how inappropriate it is, my eyes drift down to her cleavage, just for a brief instant. My cheeks flush with shame when she catches me looking at her breasts. I immediately glance away.

“I’m sorry, Father…” she says.

“For what?” I ask.

“For…the inappropriate way I’m dressed.”

I haven’t spoken, really spoken to a woman for so long. I realize how much I enjoy being in her company. The depressed feelings I’ve carried for several years seem to lift off my chest like a heavy weight and I feel much lighter without it. I imagine Jesus carrying the heavy crucifix up a hill and suddenly deciding to toss it to the ground and walk away from it all, Mary Magdalene by his side.

“Nothing whatsoever is wrong with the way you’re dressed. The blouse looks… pretty on you, if you don’t mind my saying.”

“No, I don’t mind, Father…”

Was I flirting now? With a prospective nun? In this sacred Mission? Rather than being insulted, she smiles.

“That’s very kind of you to say, but even I know this top is not suitable for church. You see, my Mother wishes to embarrass me in front of the nuns,” she says.

“Why would she want to do that?” I ask.

“Well… it’s a little personal, Father.”

I look down, knowing I had crossed the line.

“Of course. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry… Forgive me.”

“That’s OK, Father,” she says.

When I look up she gives me another warm smile.

“Maybe I’ll tell you all about it later… in confession.”

“I’m not officially ordained as a priest yet, so I’m unable to hear your confession,” I say.

We continue to look at each other through the half open door. Despite the way she’s dressed, something about the innocence and purity of the young woman makes me open up and share my innermost thoughts with her. The truth I’m too afraid to admit, even to myself, spills out of my mouth unbidden, just as the precious pale flesh of her lovely breasts spills so tenderly out of the opening of her blouse.

“Actually, I’m not at all sure if I’ll be ordained,” I confess. “I’ve performed all the prerequisites, finished my degree in Theology and my Masters in Divinity and completed my year of parish service, but… I still don’t know whether I have the calling to enter the priesthood…”

An embarrassing silence follows after I share such private details of my life. It is too much information to share with a complete stranger. Once again I’ve crossed the bounds of propriety with her.

“I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t have told you that…” I say. “It’s just… there’s no one really for me to talk to about these matters and… I’m sorry, Ms. D’Bennedeto. If you’d rather be given the tour by someone else, I can see if one of the nuns would be available.”

Again, her smile brings a fleeting sense of joy to my heart, like the bright colors that sometimes shine through stained glass windows.

“No, that’s OK,” she says. “I appreciate your honesty. It’s refreshing. I’m not so sure this sort of life is a right fit for me either, Father.”

“Entering a convent is certainly a big decision to make,” I say. “And my name is Joseph, by the way. Not Father Joseph, just Joseph.”

“Pleased to meet you, Joseph,” she says, smiling again.

I smile back. The sound of her cheerful voice causes a warm sensation to slowly spread through my chest. Standing stiffly in the doorway, I feel like one of the cold, religious statues in our sanctuary coming to life.

“May I come in, Ms. D’Bennedeto?” I ask.

“Yes, of course,” she says.

I walk into the room and shut the door. Shutting the door is really unnecessary, but I want to be alone with her. There is a kind of electricity flowing back and forth between us, though I realize I may be imagining it. Perhaps I only hoped there was. Another long awkward moment passes. With an effort of will I direct my eyes upon her pretty face and try not to look down at her lovely bosom and curved hips. I wonder if she could tell how attracted I am to her.

“Where is the Mother Superior?” she finally asks.

“Oh yes. Uh… she was taken ill this morning.” I say. “I was asked to give you the tour of the Mission in her place and answer any questions you might have about the monastic life here. Would you care to sit down?”

She nods and we sit across from each other at a large wooden table. I’m relieved the grotesque physical reaction of my body is finally blocked from her sight. While seated, I keep pushing down on it to hold it between my thighs, but it seems to have a mind of its own, popping back up under my robe like a dirty Jack in the Box.

Again, silence. Dorothy must think I’m the worst guide, being so tongue-tied around her. I wish she could be sitting closer to me at the table. She seems so far away, even though it’s only a few feet.

“So… when did you decide to explore the idea of becoming a nun?” I ask.

“To be honest, I don’t really want to be a nun. It’s Mother’s idea. I’m from a very religious family. Because of what happened recently, she thinks a few weeks in the nunnery will straighten me out, like sending a boy off to military school, I guess,” she says. “What about you, Joseph? What made you interested in becoming a priest?” she asks.

“Oh, I suppose I was inspired by the teachings of Jesus when he fed the poor and took care of the sick. I was raised in the church as well and it seemed like a worthwhile thing to do with my life,” I explain in a dull, uninspired way.

We stare at each other for another moment and then I stand up, careful to keep my hands folded in front of me.

“Would you care to begin the tour, Ms. D’Bennedeto?”

“Yes, but please call me Dorothy. Ms. D’Bennedeto sounds like I’m already a nun.”

I actually smile. I had forgotten the last time I had smiled.

“There are several historical sites and monuments at this Mission I’d like to point out. I can also show you the cloister and the abbey where you’ll be staying, if you choose to join the abbey,” I say.

“OK,” she replies.

“The tour can be pretty tedious. Please stop me if I’m boring you.”

She laughs.

“If I’m going to be stuck here, I better know my way around, right?” she says.

“Right,” I say, laughing as well.

I open the door for her. Before we leave, Dorothy faces me and puts her hand gently on my shoulder, resting it there for a fleeting moment. It was the moment I knew I would look back upon before I die and think, that was the moment I truly felt happiness…

“You know, Joseph?” she says. “I want to thank you. I was very nervous about coming here today and you really have put me at ease. Even though you might not think so right now, I think you’ll make an excellent priest.”

I look at her with a blossoming of love in my heart. Tears appear in my eyes.

“That’s kind of you to say, Dorothy.”

She takes her hand off my shoulder and walks out of the Fellowship Room. I watch her leave and could hardly breath, admiring the perfect curves of her hips and the sensual spot under her short flirty dress where the two crescent-shaped halves of her flesh touch. How beautiful her ass is, and how lovely. I make a mental note to rip this journal up into million pieces so no one, other than God if He exists, can see into the perversity of my soul. No one must ever read this. No one.