People often remarked that I was quiet. Behind the quiet, I was someone who was shy, naive, often awkward, and introverted.
Ellen was an Irish American girl from my elementary school. She had straight to wavy reddish brown hair, blue eyes, and was average size in a way that she was the median size for the girls in our class.
After 8th grade when we went on to separate high schools, I would call her once or twice each week, and we would always meet and sit together in church on Sundays. I would usually show up alone, as my mom attended an earlier mass, and my dad never went to church at all. Neither did Ellen’s dad, but her mom was usually with her. She was a conservative older lady that I felt awkward and shy around. I only spoke to her when spoken to, which with my shyness, would always hope to be as little as possible.
Ellen had an older sister, Marie, who seemed to be warm and friendly all throughout our days in elementary school. I hardly saw her after she graduated and moved on to high school. She would make a shy me feel comfortable whenever she was around. She always seemed to have a smile for me, and I could tell she really liked the fact that this well-mannered blonde haired boy was fancying her younger sister.
During the early 1980’s as we were progressing through high school, we started working jobs. While I was working in a local fast food joint, Ellen got a job working in a local department store. Between all the time we spent working, studying, and other things, it seemed we had little time to get together. Eventually once I started to have a little money and a car, I was able to pick her up and take her to the movies, and other dates as time permitted.
Before I knew it, we were both off to our respective colleges. She was going for a law degree, while I was going for a degree in science.
It seemed we were both busy most of the time, between studying and working part-time jobs. And we did have our own sets of friends too. But I made a point to call her once or twice a week, trying not to come off as overbearing. I knew she needed her space, and I tried to be as patient as I could be.
Breaks during and between semesters became the only times I was able to see her, though it seemed limited at that. Our dates consisted of mainly movies, dinners, the occasional party, and sometimes just being together in a park or somewhere.
Our intimacy seemed to be limited to kissing and holding hands, basically. She was very uptight about getting physically involved before graduating college, as I think she was scared of risking pregnancy. I did my best to respect that (especially being in fear of her parents, had I made one wrong aggressive move). I didn’t want to do anything to risk losing her, though I knew practically all of my friends were getting laid, and I had been growing increasingly horny for the past few years.
I was the jealous type, who often worried that guys in her college might be hitting on her, or perhaps guys coming into the store where she worked would be flirting with her too. I felt insecure, as I felt like I didn’t have all that much to offer, and that some guy could easily come along, and just steal her away. I wanted to believe we were “going steady”, but I never felt secure that that was the case, and I had an inkling she would not have characterized our relationship as that. Which just made me feel more insecure.
These feelings resulted in some really neurotic discussions I’d have with her, mostly over the phone, when I couldn’t be around her and was paranoid of what might be happening. Though she tried her best to give me reassurance, it wouldn’t be enough to quell my anxiety. And I knew it would wear on her from time to time, so I tried to keep it all in check as best as I could.
Then one summer, after Ellen had just turned 20, she received a verbal invite that really did a number on my anxiety, having known what I knew.
The nuns from our elementary school had invited her to their pool, on the rooftop of their convent.
They had invited Ellen. Not Ellen and me. Not Ellen and her sister. Not Ellen and her mom.
They would see us practically every Sunday when we attended mass together. In high school, they’d see us every Sunday, and greet us after mass. Once we were in college, and sparsely came back to the church to attend mass while on breaks, etc., the post- mass greetings included asking us more in depth questions about how things were going, I imagined since they saw us less.
The nuns had stopped wearing their veils near the end of our elementary school days, revealing the short salt and pepper hair of Sr. Mary Francis, the school’s principal and reverend mother of the convent, and short brunette hair of Sr. Johanna, the first grade teacher. They still wore their one piece habits, with zippers that ran most of the way down the back. They wore black habits most of the year, and white during the summer months. They fit tight enough to essentially reveal their figures. From what I could sinop seks hikayeleri observe from the outline, Sr. Mary Francis, who was in her 50’s had really nice breasts. Sr. Johanna was about 10 years younger and seemed somewhat flat chested, though she was also somewhat petite.
After one mass in late June following the end of the spring semester, while Sr. Johanna was chatting with me, Sr. Mary Francis had taken Ellen aside and whispered the offer to come over and go in their pool with them the week following 4th of July. We had assumed I was not invited because I was a male, and that it would have been inappropriate for a male to be in a nuns’ private pool.
My anxiety came in, as I remembered the stories I had heard during the earlier high school years, where I would be helping out back at the elementary school after school was over weekdays and some Saturdays, and I would be around mothers from the mothers’ guild, as well as other older lady parishioners.
Remember when I said I was very quiet and shy. At times, I seemed to have been a fly on the wall that no one paid attention to, as these women would talk amongst themselves. Not realizing I was taking in practically every word. If I weren’t either in a room or passing through a room where they were gathered, I’d be much more often in an adjacent room with thin walls. The most common of these would be the “projector room”, which was right next to the room where the mother’s guild would hold their meetings.
When they would be in small groups, and depending on who knew what, they would open up about their experiences with the nuns to each other. It all began when they were comparing notes about the nuns’ suspicious behavior whenever pictures were being taken with them. It seemed that during picture takings, the nuns would always either stand close enough to make contact with the ladies’ breasts, and/or stand close enough so that their own breast would brush up against the arm or whatever of the ladies. Whether the nuns would grab the woman’s arm pulled it into their breast, or just stand close enough to press against a woman’s arm.
And I could relate to this, all too well, as I had seen a picture of my mom with the nuns. In the picture, Sr. Johanna was holding my mom’s hand, pulling my mom’s arm in such a way that her own arm is clearly brushing up against my mom’s breast. There appeared to be no air space in between. So from that and a few other photos I happened to see, along with the limited words my eavesdropping ears could discern, I pretty much knew exactly what they were discussing.
From this behavior during picture taking, and comparing notes about their experiences with each other, the women had started to suspect the nuns were doing it deliberately, and things progressed from there. The buzz seemed to be that the nuns were acting somewhat “breast obsessed”. The ladies’ overall attitude about it was that it was harmless, and they felt bad for the nuns, knowing they were abstaining from sex. It actually even made some the women feel a little extra sexy, as a few admitted to each other.
Though there were a few who were turned off by it and would express their disdain and had negative things to day about the nuns’ behavior, the overall feeling about it among the women was positive. Which led to further experiences…
One of the 1st stories I overheard was from a woman in her early 60’s, Hilda, who had a large frame with very big breasts. Though it was hard for anyone to not make contact with them while standing close for pictures, she had noticed the way the nuns had worked their elbows and arms into them at times, and how they would smile at her at times. She would catch their eyes that seemed they couldn’t help but notice the buxomness.
On one occasion, Hilda invited the nuns over to her home one afternoon when no one else was around. The way I overheard Hilda describing it to a few other women when they arrived, she was wearing a soft button-down blouse. After slowly undoing one or two of the buttons, she asked the smiling nuns if they wanted to unbutton the rest, and gave them a wink. It made them giggle, but they hesitated to move, as this offer was likely a mildly shocking surprise to them.
Hilda said she undid another button, and encouraged them, “Come on, it’s okay”, to which they slowly approached. After the blouse had been fully unbuttoned, she said they stood at either side of her, gripped either side of the blouse at the shoulder, and slowly slid it down her arms together. She recounted they mildly gasped when her gray-blue half satin half lace bra was revealed. They were anxious to feel the fabric, and in the process of doing so, gave her breasts a nice caress over it.
I couldn’t stay around long enough to hear if the bra eventually came off or not. But that seemed to be a key experience that led other women who learned about it to act on their own.
Subsequently, it seemed that there were afternoon invites to other women’s homes, including pool invites in the summers. The nuns would in turn invite some of the women to their small pool which they had on the roof of the convent. The women figured out that they were essentially being invited only one at a time. Though they guessed that was because the pool was small, they suspected because there might be “another agenda”.
And now, for one particular upcoming day, it would be Ellen’s turn. Would they have an “agenda” then, as the women had suspected with these pool invites. Since I overheard them say the word, I couldn’t get it and thoughts surrounding it out of my head.
Given how the previous encounters at the nuns’ pool went with some of the other women as I overheard it, my anxiety was at its peak. I never shared with Ellen or anyone else for that matter anything I knew about what went on between the nuns and these women. They were well-kept secrets that made me horny to hear. I just wanted to hear more and would have been afraid of jeopardizing everything from my opportunities to listen in, to my reputation if I were to tell a soul of what I overheard. Besides, I knew it was wrong to eavesdrop, especially when it was sensitive subject matter that I couldn’t imagine they would have wanted me to hear and know. But because it played to my secret lust, I felt I could never mention to Ellen what I knew, and especially not mention how it affected me.
But the anticipation of something happening between the nuns and Ellen, where they were potentially able, and perhaps eager, to explore territory that I had wanted to explore so badly for so long. I could tell (or at least I think I could) by the way they looked at her with their smiles, that they were curious to see and maybe touch the uncharted territory of her breasts. These nuns were aggressive where I was meek. To the victor goes the spoils or whatever narrative that my neurotic anxiety would classify it at the time.
While I had been around the school during my high school years, various women were giving accounts of their own experiences each week. They were talking about their bra straps slowly sliding down, guided by the nuns, one on each side. How the nuns were caressing their breasts, both over their bras, and once their bras had come off. And how their tops “slipped” down or off in pools, and how the nuns would take advantage of the “opportunity”.
What was to be Ellen’s fate? Would the nuns walk in on her while she would be changing in or out of her swimwear? Would they have a sly way to get her top off, and get to see and/or feel her breasts? Would they make it seem incidental, or would they take a more brazen approach with their curiosity?
At times, I couldn’t help but let this pending situation plague my mind. I didn’t feel I could warn Ellen of what may happen, and reveal the accounts of the other women. Part of me felt jealous and anxious about the nuns having the potential opportunity to “have at” her breasts and explore this uncharted territory, while I had been doing my best to remain a gentleman to her all along.
But another part of me wanted to be a voyeur to what was to happen, just as I imagined being to the episodes with the other women. Only even more so with Ellen. How I would have loved to have seen Sr. Mary Francis and/or Sr. Johanna remove Ellen’s top and run their hands all over her.
Dealing with this dichotomy was making my mind crazy. By not wanting to warn Ellen ahead of time, I felt like I had tied my own hands. And by not being able to be there to see what would happen, I felt like I would be blindfolded with my hands tied, rendering myself helpless to whatever would happen. It was like a pseudo cuckold feeling.
One of my favorite accounts that I overheard from the women was by Claudia. She was a bit on the extroverted side, based the way she conversed with other women. With things I had overheard, along with the way she’d sometimes be dressed, I surmised that she had a bit of a kinky side to her as well. She frequently seemed to wear those bullet bras that had been out of style for a while.
I’ll never forget the time I overheard her confessing to a few of the other women that after hearing stories others were telling her, that the whole idea turned her on, which led her to invite the nuns over to her place one afternoon. Sr. Mary Francis showed up alone, as Sr. Johanna had another obligation.
Claudia said she had led Sr. Mary Francis into her bedroom, proceeded to remove her pullover sweater, leaving her exposed in her white bullet bra. Sister giggled and couldn’t take her eyes off Claudia’s chest. Claudia went on to reveal that she leaned back against the counter, with her hands resting on it behind her as she arched her back a little. She said she asked Sister, “Would having my hands restrained behind me make you feel a little more comfortable to go ahead and explore them?” She said that a pair of handcuffs lay there on the counter, along with a key nearby for them.
Claudia related that at that point she gave Sister the invite, “Cuff me, Sister. And have at ’em!”
I can remember my cock sprung up almost immediately once I overheard that. Then when Claudia described Sister caressing her breasts over her bullet bra as Sister was enjoying feeling the material as she stood handcuffed, the mental imagery in my mind had me so aroused. She went on further to even mention that Sister unhooked her bra and gently felt her breasts as she remained handcuffed. I couldn’t wait to get home and jerk off to the mental picture it gave me.
Then there was Paula Smither. I thought of her as “Paula the Pushover” because she seemed very quiet and seemed very vulnerable to following along with anyone encouraging her to do or go along with anything. She was about 50, wore sort of round glasses, had brunette hair with a few gray streaks that had a roundish shape to it that made her head seemed round, even though her face may have been a little on the long side. From the outline of the blouses and sweaters she wore, she appeared to have beautiful round breasts. I saw her in one photo standing next to Sr. Johanna who was leaning into Paula. I was left imagining whatever further physical contact the nuns may have made with them. It was a shame she was so quiet, because she never revealed any incidents about the nuns being at her house, and what may have happened. I figured with what I knew of them, and what I knew of her, they just had to have seen them or at least made contact with them at some point. It made me crazy not knowing, as if it had been a secret kept from me. I actually even thought about the prospect of “accidentally” make incidental contact with them myself, they were so nice. But I just didn’t have it in me to do it.
The stories I overheard really turned a perverted me on. I felt fortunate I was able to hear as many of them as I did, like “right place, right time”. I had always wished I was able to hear more, because “more wants more”.
There was Sue, who was about 40 or so, with round glasses and short red hair that was barely shoulder length. She had invited the nuns over for “afternoon sweeties”, as she was baking cookies and brownies. When they arrived, she invited them into her kitchen which was painted a bright shade of turquoise. The nuns remarked on it being a pretty color. I had been to her place on occasion, but not this occasion.
She told the nuns she didn’t want to spill anything on her blouse, as she was baking and working in the kitchen. So she went ahead and took it off in front of them, revealing a blue bra. Most of her wardrobe I would say was blue, and I would guess she believed it best complemented her hair.
Apparently she offered the nuns to join her in having a glass of wine. She went on to mention that it led things to get a little crazy. She then muffled her voice and spoke lower, as I struggled to make out what she was saying through the wall. It sounded like she lowered her bra for the nuns to take a peek and feel at her nipples, as best as I could make it out.
Then there was Mrs. Ferranti who, upon hearing that they thought the turquoise color of the kitchen was pretty, admitted to a few of the women that it inspired her to go out and get a turquoise outfit. She had started to show up at a few of the meetings at the school wearing a turquoise velvet sweater with an open zipper, showing a turquoise blouse underneath. I imagined her inviting the nuns to feel that velvet fabric over her nice voluptuous breasts, and imagined if the sweater ever came off, etc. I never did get to hear about her experiences in her turquoise outfit, assuming there were any.
Sue’s story reminded another woman, I never knew her name, of an incident that happened in the convent. It seemed one time some wine had splashed on this her dress, and Sr. Mary Francis offered to get the stain out and put it in the washing machine right away so that the dress wouldn’t be ruined. Since Sister had seemed so determined, the woman said she felt forced to strip it off, and remain in her full white slip in a small gathering room in the convent basement for about an hour. Before she had a chance to continue with what may have happened in the interim, Sr. Johanna had entered the room where the women had congregated, and nothing more was said. I really wanted to hear if Sister had taken advantage of the woman’s state of undress, or at least if she had made any comments.
There was an Italian lady with short gray hair, Mrs. Cataldo, who said she was posing nude with her daughter in the living room for a painting, when the nuns let themselves in one afternoon. I would say the short gray haired Mrs. Cataldo was about 60, and her daughter, Celeste, was about 30. Celeste had short dark hair and piercing blue eyes.
I had seen the painting after it was finished, but I forget where. I know that they wanted to offer the nuns one to hang in their convent, but for obvious reasons, the nuns had to decline. The portrait was of them standing side by side, fully nude. They stood about the same height. The daughter had her arm around the mom’s shoulder, while the mom had her arm around the daughter’s waist. Their breasts were on the small side. Mrs. Cataldo’s were a bit bigger and a little droopy, while Celeste’s were just flat. Definitely an A cup. Celeste also had a tattoo of a dragon around her navel.