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Message-ID: <42720asstr$1054293004@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Rachael Ross <rache18us@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Second Chance (rache18us@yahoo.com) F/f, Mast, Cons, Romance, Religion
Date: Fri, 30 May 2003 07:10:04 -0400
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Disclaimer: Written by me very very quickly just to
have something new to post on my ASSTR page. This post
too is a test, to see if I can post to usenet ASSM via
email. This story is for adults only. It is dedicated
to the class of 2001, Our Lady of Lourdes High
School....Look where we are now girls! :)

------------------------

Second Chance
Fiction by Rachael Ross

(F/f, Masturbation, Romance)

Sister Mary kneeled quietly in the chapel of St. Agnes
of Rome, working the beads of her rosary between
nimble fingers while her lips moved soundlessly in
devoted prayer. I watched her silently from the
confessional in which I hid. The door was open a crack
and I sat with my head tilted slightly so I wouldn't
have to squint. It was very quiet in the chapel, as it
always is, and so was I, fearful that even the beating
of my heart would give away my presence. Try as I
might I couldn't slow that rapid pulse, instead I
brought my knees up to my chest and hugged them,
hoping the position might muffle the awful sound.

And it was awful, I know. I was supposed to be in
class, studying geometry with Sister Rose, but I
didn't love Sister Rose. I was only in love with
Sister Mary, and that I knew, was a sin. 

I was forgetting to breathe and I nearly lost my
balance when my body remembered for me and I let out a
sudden whoosh of pent-up air. It sounded very loud in
the tiny enclosed confines of the confessional, but
Sister Mary didn't move. I pinched the skin behind my
knee, a little punishment to remind me not to be so
stupid.

It was warm in the confessional and a very small but
very comforting draft wafted through the narrow
opening. My skirt was spread open, sliding down to
bunch around my hips when I'd lifted my legs. It made
me shiver with the sudden realization of the heat
growing between my legs. I thought of moving, of
tucking my skirt down between my thighs and covering
myself, but I didn't. Perhaps I was afraid I'd make a
sound, but more likely I enjoyed that feeling, and
something else too. The light falling through that
crack in the door fell between my legs as well and I
wondered if Sister Mary turned her head just a
fraction to the left... Would she see me through that
tiny window? Would she spot the candlelight reflected
in my eyes? Would she see the creamy interiors of my
thighs? Would Sister Mary notice the small patch of
white cotton, the only thing separating my most
intimate place from her gaze?

The thought made me dizzy and I bit my lower lip
gently, chewing on it with nervous instinct. The heat
in my tummy was growing, little butterfly wings
tickling me from the inside. I felt my nipples itchy,
growing hard and sensitive at the thought of Sister
Mary catching my espionage. I pulled my knees tighter
so that they pressed against my breasts and in so
doing pulled the already tight fabric of my panties a
barest fraction tighter into the puffy contours of my
sex. I wanted to moan then, just to give myself some
release, but I held it back. I turned my head downward
and pressed my teeth against my kneecap, fighting the
urge with distraction.

But it wasn't enough and I knew it. I kept my mouth on
the hard smoothness of my knee and looked up through
the dark veil of my bangs. Sister Mary, so perfect and
beautiful, still sitting, watched unknowing as she
prayed. How many boyfriends had she had I wondered for
the hundredth time. She was only 22, having just taken
her vows this past summer. Barely 6 years older than
me. She had high cheekbones, silky auburn hair, and
deep blue eyes. I watched with awful frustration as
she finished her prayers and quietly left. I breathed
a sigh of relief and closed the door and closed my
eyes. I brought my hand to the outline of my sex,
rubbing it gently at first, tracing a finger up and
down the growing dampness.

I imagined Sister Mary holding me, kissing me and I
slipped my fingers inside the leg band of my panties.
I moaned softly at the direct contact as I worked my
fingers against my lips, prying and pulling and
reaching finally into the humid depths of my desire.
My little clit burned and I slid my other hand inside
the waistband so I could rub it lightly with my
fingertips. I was going to cum, always so quickly
thinking of her. I pushed a finger between the swollen
slippery folds until I felt the barrier of my hymen.
My finger was as deep as I could push it and that was
just enough to let me know I was still a virgin. I
came as I pictured Sister Mary's long fingers taking
it from me, changing me forever with her touch. I
spasmed and rocked and shook with glorious ecstasy,
feeling my delicate walls clutching at my fingers and
aching for more.

I slipped out of the chapel, pausing briefly to run my
hand across the spot Sister Mary had sat for nearly an
hour while I watched. My fingers were still damp and
sticky with my juices. I imagined Sister Mary's spot
was still warm as I left a thin trail of wetness on
the smooth dark wood. I knew she'd sit in that same
spot next week, she always did, and that made me smile
as I genuflected and made my escape. 

There were a lot of rumors about Sister Mary; that she
had been engaged to a man who'd died in a war. That
she'd grown up on the streets, been a prostitute and
worse, until she'd found the Church and devoted
herself to God. But my favorite rumor was that Sister
Mary was a lesbian. That she had given up all men and
taken her vows of chastity so that she could devote
herself to the girl's of the St. Agnes Academy.

I prayed that it was true. Ever since the first day
she'd arrived I'd prayed that she would love me as I
loved her. I asked God, timidly at first, making
little hints and using words with hidden meanings, but
later I was bolder. I'd sit in my pew for Sunday Mass,
sometimes directly behind Sister Mary, and I would
close my eyes and just smell her. And then I would
pray to God to let her love me, to kiss me and hold
me. I would beseech Him to guide her hands to my body,
touching me and exploring me with His blessing. I
asked for a sign, for a signal that He had heard me,
but I never saw one.

I began to touch myself in Sister Mary's stead. In the
beginning, only at night, when the other girls were
asleep and I could close my eyes and imagine that
those were Sister Mary's fingers traveling across my
skin. That she was the one rubbing her thumb across my
nipple, her palm pressing to my belly. Lower, I'd
whisper, and she did. Sister Mary would touch my sex,
virgin as her namesake and eager for her love. My
first orgasm was at Sister Mary's touch, though she'd
never know.

Sister Mary taught us English and I began to love it.
I wrote down every word she said and I wanted to
impress her with my intelligence, with my diligence. I
was always the first to raise my hand when she asked a
question. She would smile when she called on me and at
first I could barely stand it. I would flush and I
couldn't look at her. I would rise from my seat and
the words would come out as an awkward whisper. I felt
like everyone knew. I felt like Sister Mary knew. That
she could see how desperate I was to be close to her,
to please her. Some of the other girls began calling
me teacher's pet, and Sister Rachael. I got in an
argument one day in the cafeteria and the other girl
called me a lesbian. You cannot imagine the look of
terror on my face, not that I might be one, but rather
that someone might actually know that I was.

I ran from the lunchroom, taking the stairs 2 at a
time and running down the hall until I was safe in my
room. I cried, pressing my face against my pillow and
sobbing. Why? I asked God. Why did he have to make me
this way? Why did he give me these feelings for Sister
Mary if they were wrong? And if they're not wrong, why
didn't he give them to Sister Mary? Why why why?

There was a knock at my door and my heart stopped. Was
it Sister Mary? Did God finally hear me? Did he send
her to me to explain? To comfort me? To finally make
me happy after so many long months of confusion and
guilt? I had so many hopes right then and they were
lost completely when I heard Sister Rose through the
door asking if I was okay. I took off my crucifix and
looked at it before throwing it into the waste basket
beside my desk. God had missed his chance.

But later, I reclaimed it. I unlocked my door and
walked past the other girls, not caring that my eyes
were puffy and red. Not caring that my lower lip was
trembling. I was so close to losing it again, but I
wouldn't, not this time. I remembered that God helps
those who help themselves, it was a basic tenet of St.
Agnes Academy and I'd forgotten it. I walked to the
chapel, carrying my small gold cross on its thin gold
chain. It had been in the garbage can and I truly felt
guilty for doing that. I cupped some holy water from
the small basin near the entrance and washed my
crucifix carefully. I kissed it and slipped it around
my neck, pulling my disheveled blouse out so that it
would nestle near the tops of my breasts, just above
my heart.

I was about to leave when Sister Mary entered the
chapel carrying her bible and rosary. I glanced at her
and realized there were so many things wrong. I was a
mess, my uniform wrinkled, my eyes, my hair, and
worse, what that other girl had said about me and my
childish reaction. It had to be all over the school. I
was surprised Father Thomas, our principal, hadn't
sent for me yet, but I knew he would in due time. I
felt alone and guilty and ashamed and the reason was
standing but a few feet away.

I couldn't look at her and I bowed my head, wishing
she would just go sit down and let me leave. But she
didn't, she blocked the entry with her body, the
sunlight streaming through the open door behind her.
Her shadow reached to me and when I looked down I
could see it beneath my feet.

"Would you like to talk, Rachael?" she asked me in a
soft voice. 

I had no answer I could give. Of course I do, I wanted
to scream. Yes! Yes! But I was afraid even the
smallest nod would give my true feelings away. I felt
hope surge in my breast and reached up to press my
fingers to the still damp crucifix beneath my blouse.
I finally nodded my head as the door swung quietly
shut behind her.

Sister Mary touched me, ever so lightly on my
shoulder, and guided me so that we were walking down
the center aisle of the chapel. The statue of St Agnes
of Rome watched us from the left, and our Lord Jesus
from the right. We walked close together, side by side
down that narrow path, until Sister Mary stopped 3
pews from the front and began to genuflect. I did the
same, making the sign of the cross in time with her.

She sat down and patted the hard wood beside her
softly with a smile. It suddenly seemed wildly
inappropriate and I gave her a grudging smile of my
own, sitting where she indicated so that my bare knee
was almost touching the soft ink of her robe. We sat
there for a moment in silence before she finally
turned to look at me.

"I've heard about what happened Rachael, I'm so sorry.
Father Thomas has had a long talk with Cynthia. I
think she will want to apologize to you tomorrow." She
kept looking at me and I was looking down, wondering
what she wanted me to say. After a long pause Sister
Mary asked me, "Do you think you'll be able to accept
it?"

I nodded slowly, "I don't know." I whispered, and I
glanced upward quickly to see her reaction. It wasn't
much of an answer I knew. "I guess so." I added
finally.

Sister Mary put her hand on my knee, squeezing me
gently and I took a sharp breath, my body going tense
for just a split second, but it was enough. Sister
Mary moved her hand a fraction back and forth,
caressing me gently. "Do you know what Cynthia meant
when she called you a..." She paused, "Well, when she
said that word?" 

I nodded again, saying it for her in a low voice.
"Lesbian." I was watching her hand move on my bare
skin, mesmerized by it.

"Yes, a lesbian." Sister Mary's voice was soft and
seemed to rise and fall in time with her fingers,
which would give me the slightest squeeze as if
punctuating the moment. "Do you know what that word
means?" She repeated and I tore my gaze from her hands
up to Sister Mary's face.

I searched her deep blue eyes with my own and nodded
slowly, swallowing and finally saying, "It's when a
girl loves another girl." My heart was pounding in my
chest and I licked my lips, holding my hands still in
my lap. I felt a strand of hair had fallen to the
corner of my eye and I resisted the urge to brush it
away. I couldn't move, I was so frightened of what was
happening. I was even more afraid that what I thought
was happening wasn't. A wave of doubt rushed through
me and I felt a sudden urge to run away.

Sister Mary reached with her other hand and brushed
the bit of stray hair from my face, her fingers
lingered as she rested her elbow on the back of the
pew. She'd shifted slightly, so that she faced me
instead of the alter, and her hand traveled slightly
further up my thigh until it reached the hem of my
plaid skirt.

"Yes." She breathed softly. "It's when two women love
each other and want to share that love in a very
special way." Sister Mary slid her hand beneath my
skirt, staring into my eyes and leaning closer. Her
other hand curled in my hair and held my head as her
breath touched my ear. "Are we lesbians Rachael?"

"Yesssss..." I hissed and melted against her. Sister
Mary pulled me to her breast and wrapped both arms
around my shoulders while I clutched tightly to her
waist. I was weeping softly and she kissed the top of
my head, shushing me and making a small easy rocking
motion. We stayed like that a long while until I
finally sat upright and Sister Mary wiped at my eyes
with her thumbs, smiling at me and cradling my face in
her hands. "I love you so much," I whispered.

"Let's say a small prayer and then we'll go to my
room, ok?" Sister Mary's voice was soft and gentle and
I nodded quickly with a smile and a sniffle. I'd never
felt happier in my life. I pulled out my crucifix and
held it tightly between my hands as we kneeled. Sister
Mary said the prayer quietly, so quietly I had to lean
close to hear the words she was saying to God, but
they were in Latin I finally realized, my worst
subject.

When she was done, Sister Mary took my hand and
squeezed it, smiling at me. "It's alright," she
whispered, "God understands."

She didn't need to tell me, I thought happily. I
fingered my cross as we left, holding her hand and
eternally grateful that I'd given God a second chance.

 

The End

(C)Rachael Ross May 28 2003


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Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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