He wore a paisley shirt.
The nun watched as he ate his hot dog
And as he took one bite, squirted mustard all over himself
He swore loudly as if his voice was just loud
Unable to whisper
The nun fingered her prayer beads under her habit,
The other hand moving a fork around a plate of salad.
She watched as he grabbed a page of
the newspaper he was reading to
wipe pathetically
At his paisley shirt.
Our father who art in heaven
Hallowed be thy name
Give us this day our daily bread and
Forgive us our sins as we forgive those
Who hath sinned against us,
For thine is the kingdom, the power, and glory
Forever, and ever….
The nun attempted to pray as her cunt started to
Swell and moisten watching this awkward bumbling tourist
attempt to eat his meal.
He crumbled the mustard smeared newsprint and set it aside
And while he was doing that, accidentally knocked over his drink
Another loud swear. And the nun was undone.
Her hand dove between her thighs to press against her cunt
And she exhaled roughly.
She missed men.
A lot.
She watched as he flagged down the waitress
And became a poster boy of profuse apologies
The waitress went to get a broom and assured him
Countless times that it was okay
That it happened all the time.
The nun was rubbing furiously now, using the hardness
Of her prayer beads to rub perfectly against her clit through her panties.
The barrier of cloth, adding to her pleasure.
He was shaking his head, looking embarrassed
He took off his hat to run a hand over his balding head
The waitress was all business
But the way he was looking at her sheepishly
Said he was more embarrassed that he had made a fool
Of himself in front of someone so young and beautiful
The nun’s free hand gripped the table, as she came so hard
She squirted under the table
Squirted hard enough and abundant enough
That the gush of it was audible to anyone around her table.
On the cold cement of the outdoor bistro
She was so lost in the mind-blowing orgasm she didn’t notice
till after it had calmed down
And she was trying to regulate her breathing.
The tourist was staring at her now,
Confused.
She stared back at him.
And very slowly took her hand up from under the table
With the prayer beads, wrapped ‘round her wrist
And righted herself in the chair
She had sunk down and slumped in it a little
Now sitting upright, she dabbed her mouth with a napkin
Keeping her eyes on the tourist.
Before getting up from her table,
Putting a few coins down to pay for the
Neglected salad, crossed herself
Gave the tourist a wave before lowering her head
And walking the short walk back to the Convent
Wondering how long she should wait
Before going to confession.
Maybe she’d accumulate more sins
Before she’d ask for penance.
Hail Mary full of grace
The lord is with thee
Blessed art thou among women….
She prayed as she walked,
Her fingers fondling her prayer beads
Damp with her own … holy water.
