Erotic Fiction by Medea

Sister Clara

	Sister Clara had a dream last night.  In the dream, she was sad, and 
she started to cry, but then the air began to quiver and glow with angels and 
cherubim.  They sang for her, something that sounded like Latin, but she 
couldn't follow the words.  Jesus appeared before her, surrounded by an aura 
of love.  He put his arms around her, and whispered, "Shh.  It's all going to 
be just fine."  She leaned against him, comforted by his touch.  He stroked 
her hair softly, and she felt so loved and relaxed and comfortable beside him 
that she wanted to stay like this forever.  When she woke up the next morning, 
she was sad to let him go.
	Sister Clara works at the women's shelter downtown.  She's the 
administrator there, and there are always more people than she can help, but 
she tries, even when it seems overwhelming.  The long hours she chooses to 
work give her plenty to do.  Each Sunday she sings in the church choir, and 
sometimes parishioners invite for dinner, but usually when she's not working, 
she stays at home.  Her family and friends are scattered around the country, 
and the sisters in her order who die of old age far outnumber the handful of 
novices who join each year, so she lives alone.  Despite this, she isn't 
lonely.  Jesus walks with her each day, and Jesus comforts her at night.  
"If you are near, Lord, what can I want or fear?" is her constant prayer.
	Many women would hesitate to give up the option of a family or career, 
these days, and many of Clara's novice sisters have left because they changed 
their minds, but she never had a doubt.  Jesus was her first and only love.  
She dated in high school, but no boy could compare to his gentleness and 
strength.  When she graduated, she gave herself over completely to him.  Her 
career was his work, and the only family she desired was his.  "Whoever does 
the will of my heavenly Father is my brother, and sister, and mother."  Clara, 
in taking her vows, became his bride.
	The evening is set aside for prayer.  She goes to bed early so she 
can meditate, bible and rosary in hand.  Tonight she reads from Isaiah: "As a 
bridegroom rejoices over his bride, so will your God rejoice over you."  
Before drifting off to sleep, she prays a decade from the rosary, and then 
opens the bible to her favorite passage, from the Song of Songs.
	How beautiful you are, how pleasing, my love, my delight!
	Your very figure is like a palm tree, 
	your breasts are like clusters.
	I said: I will climb the palm tree,
	I will take hold of its branches.
	Now let your breasts be like clusters of the vine
	and the fragrance of your breath like apples,
	And your mouth like an excellent wine
	that flows smoothly for my lover,
	spreading over the lips and the teeth.
	I belong to my lover,
	and for me he yearns.
	As Clara reads, her hand creeps under her nightgown, fingers slowly 
rubbing her most intimate parts.  Warmth spreads through her body, down to 
her toes, like the tingling of overwhelming joy.  As her climax nears, she 
whispers, "I give myself to you, Lord, my love.  I am yours."