Michael - An Orphan at a Convent

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING MICHAEL!” Sister Jane cried.

I put down my charcoal pencil. Crap. Sister Jane walked in on me, doodling over the Holy Bible the Sisters gave me for my birthday.

“I was just exercising my creativity, Sister Jane,” I said.

“Exercise it somewhere else. The Bible is sacred. You shouldn’t be writing over the word of Christ,” Sister Jane said in her English accent.

I tried to hide the book from Sister Jane. I didn’t want to see Sister Jane to see what I wrote, or she would probably beat me with a stick. I was an adult, but I had to behave since I had nowhere else to go and no family to go to, this convent was my only home since I was abandoned here as a baby.

I had written as a joke a play on some verses. Something strange happened, the paper must have been some new age magic, but when I wrote over the old text, the old letters faded away and the new ones I wrote over it replaced it completely. This must be some trick with alchemy the mystics in the East conjured up. The sisters said they bought the copy from a tinkerer in town, each of them saving up to buy me a copy of the Holy book. In these days, only priests had copies of it, and the people would come to Church to hear it spoken, the gospel. Most peasants in our country could not read, so understanding the word of Christ through the Priest was the only way they can hear the words of scripture. The nuns, of course, had several copies in the convent where they read it religiously and growing up taught me how to read it as well, among other things.

The old line I had replaced in the bible was Matthew 6:6. I had made my own joke verse, and it was sinful, a mark of my hormones and lust run amok.

"But when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father with your head between a woman’s legs. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you."

“I’m sorry, Sister Jane. I shan't do it again,” I said.

“It isn’t me who you have to apologize but yourself and the Lord,” Sister Jane said. “Come, kneel and pray to him to forgive you of such wickedness.”

I got from off my desk and bent on my knees beside my bed and closed my eyes and put my hands together in prayer.

“Michael, what are you doing?” Sister Jane asked.

“I am praying,” I said solemnly.

“You are not praying properly,” Sister Jane said. “Come, hither.”

“I beg your pardon?” I said, opening my eyes.

Sister Jane stared at me, annoyed, and crossed her arms.

“With your head between a woman’s leg’,” she quoted. “Come child.”

“I-I what? I don’t understand,” I said.

“Oh for goodness sake,” she exasperated.

Sister Jane marched across the room and sat on the bed in front of where I was kneeling down. She shoved my face between her legs and buried my head between them. I could feel the heat radiate over my forehead as I knelt there dumbfounded. I had my head bent on her dress, the black cloth the only thing separating my skin from the warmth underneath.

“If you are going to pray, pray proper,” she said, “Now, reflect and pray on your sins young sir.”

I wasn’t paying attention to a thing she said. My cock was starting to bulge, and my face grew hot from more than just the warmth of Sister Jane’s loins. I tried to wiggle my forehead and nose just slightly into her cunt, and she trembled with my movements.

“M-Michael… I don’t hear you praying,” Sister Jane said.

“Lord, I beg thee to forgive me of my sins,” I mumbled into her cunt. I had an overwhelming urge to lift her dress and lap myself at her sweetness. I mumbled more inaudible prayers as I knelt there with my head placed there. As I withdrew my face, I looked up, and Sister Jane’s fair skin had reddened, and she looked sweaty.

“Good. Our midday meal approaches. Why don’t you wash up Michael and start earning your keep around here? You can grab some potatoes and finish off the stew,” Sister Jane said and got up and left the room.

Alone in my room, I reflected. I suddenly realized what had happened. It was the book I had. It had the power to change scripture. Not just change scripture but change it so that everyone acted like it was always scripture. I went back to the book. I stared at a crucifix in my room. I went back down to the magic book and rubbed out some of the scripture where it said Jesus was crucified and replaced it with Jesus was hanged. I looked back up, and the crucifix was replaced with a hangman. I replaced it again, and all the hangman changed back into crucifixes. Interesting.

I placed my pencil on the book and thought up of new ways to have fun.