Did I say ‘Priest’s'? Oh yes….not vicar/minister….priest, as in Catholic. For a while the Catholic Church allowed married Anglican Priests to convert and become Catholic priests. Hence, much to the shock of some born-in-the-wool Catholics, some parishes had a married priest! For six months, ours had one.
Unfortunately his daughter was also called Anna, so for clarity’s sake, we will call her ‘Rachel’, which was her middle name.
Rachel had two things working heavily against her. She was an only child, and the only female child of a priest. She was, therefore, expected to be hyper-squeaky clean in all respects. No boyfriend - and certainly ‘decent’ clothing at all times! No flashing herself, which is a pity, because I always felt she was desperate to release her sexuality.
So, one appallingly rainy Saturday afternoon, she and I were in the ‘choir room’ - a room that served as a rehearsal room for the choir, and where literally tons of music was stored. It had a habit of becoming really untidy as other stuff was stored in it too, like large palm fronds for Palm Sunday, and a full-sized crib scene for Christmas. Periodically it needed a good get at and since we were both in the choir, we offered to tackle it.
Rachel turned up in a pretty floral, button-fronted dress and I was in something similar. We began the Herculean task as the rain pelted down, and the thunder crashed. Rain like this is common here, and it can go as quickly as it arrives. We chatted as girls do, but all the while I was mentally stripping her. At one point she climbed a step ladder which gave me a gorgeous view up her dress. White panties…of course white….what else? Definitely not a thong - she wouldn’t have been allowed those. - but my super-sensitive nose caught her female scent. It actually made my head swim. This girl was horny! Or at the least had a feeling of being aroused.
I decided to put my toe in the water, and ask one of those one-word questions girls seem so good at. “So..boyfriend?” She surprised me by returning with, “Only my right hand.” There was a pause then she said, as I knew she would, “You?”
I don’t know what made me say what I said. Maybe Miss Brain knew something I didn’t, but I said, “Not looking…..for a boyfriend, anyway. Wouldn’t mind a girlfriend.” The result was instantaneous. “OMG you’re gay?” I said, “Actually, in all honestly I’m bi, but definitely leaning more towards girls….way more.” Another pause, “And..err….have you….?” “Oh yes….with both.”
She scuttled down the step ladder and I’ll never know if that last step slip was deliberate. Either way she fell into my arms. She gazed at me with blue eyes that were filled with pure desire - not necessarily for me - just for sex with anyone other than her own hand. “Sometimes, I think about girls when I….touch myself. You know?”
So we stood there, tummy touching tummy, my arms around her, and well, I just leaned in and kissed her. Just once. Then she said in a voice I simply couldn’t describe, softly, delicately, but with a whole world of need in it…”Touch me?”
Somehow, I knew that this needn’t be a slow progression of kissing, then boobs, then between her legs. My nose had already told me of her sexual arousal. Oh, I don’t kid myself that she got horny knowing she’d be spending the afternoon with me….she’d probably had a wank at lunchtime and that was where the scent was coming from. Whatever, I went straight for the sweet spot. I slipped my hand under her dress and into her panties. You have no concept of how wet she was. Definitely a mixture of post-wank and present arousal. Either way, I found her engorged clit and when I slipped a finger inside her, there was no hymen to worry about. Good girl.
Then I felt a hand on my thigh and a whispered, “May I?” Like I’d say no! I felt her hand exploring me so slowly it was almost painful. She didn't say anything, but her eyes widened in surprise when she found my bare sex. Almost as soon as she slipped two fingers in me she came heavily onto my fingers. Her own fingers twitched and it brought me off nicely.
Afterwards? Well, we both had two very wet fingers. I slowly sucked mine, and encouraged her to do the same. “You taste like me….but different.” I told her we all taste the same…but different. Then Rachel said, “One day, I’d like to lick you out.” That ‘one day’ told me it wouldn’t be today.
In fact, it wouldn’t be ever. We never got the chance to be alone together, but that intense fingering was urgent, passionate, and, in her case, so desperately needed.
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