The First Woman Cardinal of the Catholic Church II
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The First Woman Cardinal Of The Catholic Church. IV (The Final Chapter) free porn video
The First Woman Cardinal of the Catholic Church. IV (The final chapter)
Melissa Tawn
INTRODUCTION: While each story in this series is independent of the
others, it is highly recommended that one read the first three stories,
in order to understand how Cardinal O'Connor transitioned and became the
first woman cardinal of the Catholic Church.
------------------
As time passed, Mary-Anne Cardinal O'Connor became accepted more and
more in Vatican circles and stopped being (as she sometimes called it) a
"freak show" both to her colleagues and the media. She carefully stayed
within the theological bounds: even though she had been ordained when
she still was a young man, she eschewed all priestly functions. She
granted no more interviews nor would she talk about gender issues in any
forum. She managed to finish her major study of the theology of the
great Dominican friar and saint Albertus Magnus of Cologne, a study
widely praised both inside the church and in academia for its
comprehensiveness and erudition. She returned to teaching. She never,
however, regained the position of power and influence she had under the
late Pope J**.
The routine of her life, however, was broken one day, when Cardinal
O'Connor received a telephone request from the appointments secretary of
Signora Angelica Montaperti, saying that her mistress would like an
audience with Her Eminence Cardinal O'Connor at her Eminence's earliest
convenience. Though Cardinal O'Connor had never had the opportunity to
meet Signora Montaperti in person, she knew, as did everyone in Rome,
that Signora Montaperti was a very wealthy woman (whose wealth was
rumored to exceed that of the Queen of England and the Queen of the
Netherlands combined), who had the reputation of being a pious Catholic
and who contributed tens of millions of euros to Catholic charities
every year. Certainly she was someone to be taken seriously, and so a
meeting was scheduled for 9:00 the next morning, in Cardinal O'Connor's
office at the Vatican.
At precisely 9:00 am, an elegant and immaculately-dressed oriental woman
stepped through Cardinal O'Connor's door. After being asked to sit, she
came immediately to the point. "I would like to tell you a long story,
your Eminence, and then ask a big favor of you. The details of this
story are highly personal, and I would appreciate it if you treat them
with utmost confidence."
Cardinal O'Connor nodded in assent, and so she began.
"As you can see, I am not European by birth," she began. "I am Thai,
born in a small and very poor village in the north of the country. I was
raised from birth as, to use the local term, a ladyboy. That is, I was
born as a genetic male, but was raised and treated as a girl. My parents
fed me natural female hormones in doses sufficient to keep my figure
very girlish, though not enough to hamper my genital development. At the
age of 11, I was sold to a brothel in Phuket, where I was trained for a
year in the feminine arts and the arts of pleasing those men who come to
Thailand looking for "exotic" sexual thrills. I was then sold to a
larger brothel in Bangkok, where my training both as a woman and as a
whore were further refined. At the age of 13, I was sent to a clinic for
breast implantation and some other cosmetic surgery. I was then resold,
along with fifteen other girls, to a Singapore-based group of people
smugglers who transported us by various means to Albania.
From the Albanian coast, in the dead of night, we were smuggled by fast
boat across the Adriatic Sea into Italy, where I was once again sold to
a brothel in Rome which specialized in "clients with special tastes".
That house, by the way, is less than two kilometers from the Vatican and
numbers among its patrons several high-ranking members of the Curia, and
more than one of your colleagues in the College of Cardinals. I was
fortunate in that, because of the select nature of the clientele, we
were given decent food and clothing, as well as regular medical
checkups. Nonetheless, I hated my life there.
Most of the clients treated us like dogs or, at best, like serving
women. The one exception, and the only one of my regular clients I
looked forward to, was a man in his middle fifties named Umberto, who
came twice a week. He always treated me with kindness and consideration,
and often brought me presents. I, in turn, always tried to do the best
to please him. One day, however, I could stand it no longer and, after a
particularly gratifying session, I started crying and told him that this
would probably be our last time together, because I intended to escape
from the house later than night and drown myself in the Tiber. He
cradled me in his arms like a little girl, and gently calmed me down. He
then told me to get dressed, and had me lead him to the manager of the
brothel, a brutal man whom we all called Three-Eye Luigi because of his
affectation of wearing a monocle in one eye.
Without knocking, Umberto barged into Luigi's office walked up to his
desk, and stated: "I want to buy Angelica from you and take her from
here. Tell me your price."
"We don't sell the girls who work here, we only rent them," replied
Luigi, "so kindly leave."
Umberto shot out his hand, grabbed Luigi's monocle, and smashed it on
the desk. "You do not know to whom you are talking," he said in a slow
and even tone of voice. "I am Umberto Montaperti, and what I want, I
get. I own this building and, for that matter, all of the buildings on
this street. Unless you sell Angelica to me immediately, within one hour
you and all of your girls will be out on the sidewalk watching while my
bulldozers raze your establishment to the ground.
Even I knew enough about the name Umberto Montaperti to be awed. He was
considered one of the richest, and most ruthless men, in Italy if not
all of Europe, having parlayed the family-owned chain of retail outlets
into a marketing empire, to which he added a media conglomerate which
included three television networks and dozens of major newspapers and
magazines, the second-largest automobile manufacturer in the country, a
major construction company, a premier-league football team, huge tracts
of real estate, and hundreds of other enterprises in Italy and abroad.
He was rumored to "own" several government ministers, a majority in both
houses of the Italian parliament (which routinely passed tax legislation
with loopholes tailor-made for his creative bookkeepers), hundreds of
high-ranking police officials, and judges by the score. No politician
would dare say anything against him. Even the Mafia never challenged him
directly, preferring an unwritten division of spoils to confrontation.
This was not a person you casually dismissed from your office.
Luigi picked up his phone, dialed a number, and began talking excitedly
in a Sicilian dialect which I couldn't follow. After a minute, he put it
down, and turned to Umberto in a most obsequious manner: "Signore
Montaperti, I most humbly apologize for the misunderstanding. It is true
that under no circumstances do we sell our girls, but we are always
happy to make presents to our sincere friends. Please take her as a gift
of the house. Please take as many of the girls as you wish."
Umberto did not even thank him. "Get your personal effects," he said to
me. "Never mind your other clothes, I will get you new and better ones
anyway."
Within five minutes, I was seated in Umberto's huge Mercedes limousine,
while his chauffeur navigated through the streets of Rome. We arrived at
the largest mansion I have ever been in, and he led me gently to a
bedroom which would most certainly have awed Marie Antoinette. "Now
sleep, my darling Angelica, and never think of suicide again. Tomorrow
is a new dawn in your life."
Early the next morning, Umberto phoned the editor-in-chief of the
leading fashion magazine in Italy (which he owned), told her to cancel
all of her appointments for the next three days, and report to his house
within the hour. He then gave her a no-limit credit card and ordered her
to outfit me completely, from the skin out, at the best fashion houses
in Rome. I was also taken for a private session at the best and most
exclusive beauty spa in Rome (which he also owned), which had been
cleared of all of its other clients, and given the complete works. Of
course, some of the people who fitted me and treated me saw or felt what
I had between my legs, but nobody said a word. Signore Montaperti's
tastes were known in certain (very select and very discrete) circles,
and were not to be commented on.
By the second day ? and this is surely a record for the Italian
bureaucracy ? I also held in my hands papers, signed by the Minister
himself, attesting that Miss Angelica Tirasupa, a female born in
Thailand, was a legally naturalized citizen of Italy. I am sure that had
I wanted a valid driver's license, I could have had that too, but there
was no need for one since, before the week was out, I had my own pink
Lancia limousine and personal driver.
It goes without saying that I did my utmost to repay Umberto, both in
bed and out of it, with all of the love, care, and attention I could.
The more I knew him, the more I loved him, for I found out that
underneath the businessman's gruff exterior was a gentle and
affectionate man, who needed a woman to whom he could talk and who would
support him in all he did. He had been married once, when he was a young
man, but his wife was killed a year after their nuptials, when her
Ferrari sports car hit a bridge abutment which she did not sense through
her alcoholic haze. He never remarried.
I was also surprised to find that, contrary to the image he deliberately
cultivated, Umberto was quite learned. He was capable of quoting at
length from Shakespeare and Byron in English, Racine and Voltaire in
French, Goethe and Lessing in German, Seneca and Terrence in Latin, and
Dante and Petrarch in Italian. His knowledge of European history was
astounding. The 10,000 or so books in the library of his mansion were
not just there for show ? he had read most of them and consulted all of
the others. He was a man of contrasts, capable one minute of planning
the technical details of an expedition to look for uranium ore in the
Altai Mountains (without consulting notes ? he kept all details of his
business dealings in his head) and then, the next moment, sitting with
me on the patio looking at the setting sun and holding my hand like an
embarrassed teenager.
During the next three months, I was treated like a model-in-training. I
had my own full-time hairdresser and cosmetician, my own fashion expert,
and my own language tutor who helped me replace the rough Italian I had
learned in the brothel with the refined literary language of the Roman
upper classes. Then, when he felt I was ready, Umberto began taking me
out into society. As Umberto Montaperti's partner, I was, of course,
immediately given pride of place at the top of the social pecking order.
Only once did I feel confounded. I was in the powder room at a very
expensive and private club, fixing my makeup, when the Swedish "blonde
bombshell" actress Ingrid Eriksson ? who was in Rome to star in another
Fellini film ? walked in and introduced herself. ?I just wanted to tell
you that we both share the same secret,' she said, ?I also am capable of
peeing standing up.' I stood there horrified; how had she found out? She
seemed to read my mind. ?You didn't give yourself away, Angelica, you
are perfect. But I am one of those few who have a personal knowledge of
Umberto's tastes. Don't worry,' she said, hugging me, ?in my opinion, we
two are the luckiest women alive. I hope that you and I will become the
best of friends.'"
At this point, Cardinal O'Connor briefly interrupted the story. "I
remember Ingrid Eriksson, but she seems to have disappeared completely.
Whatever happened to her?"
"After her film career began to wane, she decided to return to her male
self," said Angelica. "He had those magnificent breasts removed
surgically and went back to using her birth name of Ingmar. He is now
runs a small art gallery in Lund, is happily married to a woman who
knows about his past, and has two beautiful daughters who don't. We are
still the best of friends and keep in constant touch. Every summer the
Eriksson family spends two weeks with me, cruising the Mediterranean on
my yacht."
"To return to my story," she continued. "I was in heaven for a period of
two years, a princess of Roman society, on the arm of a rich and
powerful man, whom I loved with all my heart, and who in turn loved me
no less. Then, as in all real-life stories, tragedy followed happiness,
and Umberto suffered his first major stroke. He had the best medical
attention available, needless to say, but the situation was touch-and-go
for a long while. In the end, he was left with his mind intact but the
lower half of his body totally paralyzed. He was also no longer capable
of any sexual activity whatsoever. During the next six months, I nursed
him around the clock. I pampered him, fed him, read to him, and made him
feel as loved and wanted as I possibly could.
Umberto had always been interested in religion and it was during this
period that we began to seriously read the Bible together and then the
works of the Church Fathers and other theological works -- including
some of your books, I may add. We prayed together and strengthened our
feelings of love for God and our Savior. It was then that we also began
making large contributions to Catholic charities, a task which Umberto
asked me to undertake without involving him directly, since he was
afraid that the charities may not want to accept money ?tainted' by his
questionable business practices directly from his hands.
One day, Umberto called me to his side, and told me, very seriously,
that he had two questions to ask me. The first was whether I had ever
desired to remove the maleness from between my legs. I answered,
truthfully, that I had always dreamt of it, but that I would never even
consider actually doing it, since I knew he preferred me as I am.
?Well,' he said, ?since I am no longer capable of enjoying your favors,
now is the time to fulfill your wish.' Then, almost as an afterthought,
he added ?The second question will wait until this is taken care of.'
With his customary efficiency, he immediately arranged for me to fly to
a private clinic near Geneva where, within a week, I was operated on by
doctors flown in from Bangkok for the purpose. After I returned, and
proudly showed him the results of the operation, he hugged me and said
?And now for the second question I needed to ask you.' With that, he
pulled out of his pocked a small box, and opened it to reveal the most
beautiful diamond-encrusted ring I have ever seen. ?Angelica, my
darling, my love,' he said, ?you have already made me happier than I had
ever thought possible. Will you be my wife?'
A week later, we were married in a small private ceremony, personally
conducted by your colleague Cardinal della Rovere, who is distantly
related to Umberto and a close personal friend."
For the ensuing 15 months, I was constantly at Umberto's side, easing
his pain as best I could and, at the same time, helping him to make his
peace with himself and with God as best he could. When his second, and
fatal, stroke came, I felt that he had done that, and that he went to
the next world in peace and faith as a true Christian. That, then, is my
story."
"It is a very touching story," replied Cardinal O'Connor, who was most
genuinely moved. "But why are you telling me all of this?"
"After Umberto's death," replied Angelica, "I realized what a great part
of my life our love had been, and felt rudderless without him. While I
inherited his entire estate, I did not have the business sense nor did I
possess the fierce desire to succeed that he had. I therefore arranged
to sell off most of his enterprises, putting the money in sound and
prudent long-term investments, which needed little day-to-day tending.
The whirl of society, without Umberto at my side, bored me and I began
refusing many more invitations than I accepted. I spent more and more of
my time in spiritual reading and contemplation of this world, and of the
next.
In the societies of the Orient there is a custom that the widow of a
powerful man retires to a convent for the rest of her days, and I began
to see the wisdom of that tradition, and resolved to do likewise.
However, I was shamed and shocked to find out that most orders of nuns
would not have me as soon as they learned that I was not a genetic
female ? a detail I refused to hide or lie about. I have therefore
resolved to set up my own order of nuns, one into which women like me
and you will be welcomed (though, of course, this will nowhere be
written down explicitly). It will not be a cloistered order, but one
which will run hospices or shelters for girls disowned by their parents
(and especially girls like us); a place where they can find
understanding and love, as well as a chance to contemplate and plan
their future. If they decide to continue on their path, we will help
them and welcome them into our ranks, should they so desire. If they
decide to revert back to their male life, as did Ingmar Eriksson, we
will help them do that too, and continue to love and support them."
"It is a noble plan," replied Cardinal O'Connor, "but I am not sure I
can help you fulfill it. I have very little power in Vatican circles
these days."
"Oh, I do not need your help for that," replied Angelica. "There are
still many members of the Curia and the College of Cardinals who owed
favors to Umberto, and I have not cancelled those debts. And there are
others about whom, let me say, I know things that they would rather not
become public. They will help me too, I am sure. More than that, I
intend to endow the proposed order with all of the funds at my disposal,
and three billion euros can speak most elegantly.
I do, however, need your help in something else, and that is in finding
candidates for this order. I imagine that since your own transformation,
many since Catholic transsexual women have contacted you to help them
find their place in the church. Among them, there are, I am sure, 20 or
30 who would be perfect for this planned order. Would you help me locate
them and make contact with them, and turn this dream into reality?"
--------------------
It took over five years of pressure, persuasion, and (in a few cases)
outright blackmail, but in the end Angelica Montaperti's dream was
realized, and the Order of the Poor Sisters of St. Fanchea did become a
reality. The order's first hospice was opened later that year, in that
building not far from the Vatican, where Angelica was first employed as
a whore when she came to Rome many years before. Others were planned for
Los Angeles, Bangkok, and Montreal. The last of these was also going to
include a companion hospice for female-to-male transsexuals, which was
appropriately named Pelletier House.
Later that year, Cardinal Mary-Anne O'Connor, the first woman cardinal
of the Catholic Church, wrote a letter to the His Holiness, petitioning
to be allowed to resign from the College of Cardinals, and continue her
service to the Church as a simple nun. Her request was granted.
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