Nandita To Nandini
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Barbara And The Priest free porn video
I am writing this story at the request of a reader of my previous submissions, Pastor Thomas’ Last Friday, parts I and II. My reader wanted a love story concerning a priest. Pastor Thomas was a total degenerate who deserved all the punishment he got. But he was just a figment of my perverted imagination. In real life, I have had a couple of friends who are Catholic priests. I admire these two for their hard work, sacrifice and dedication to their calling, even though I do not share their religious fervor. These two are models by which others should be judged. For this reason, I cannot write a story that would denigrate their chosen lives. Nevertheless, they are human beings and I am sure they have physical needs that must be either satisfied or sublimated in some way so as not to betray their priestly vows. I believe I have captured some of that in this story, parts of which are based on true events.
Barbara and Father Francis
He almost missed her. She was crouched in the hollow stump of a huge oak that had toppled many years ago. She looked so pitiful in her pink bathrobe and bunny slippers. She clutched a small doll in her hands. Her face was scratched some. There were burrs in her robe and hair. She stared out at the man who stood before her.
‘Barbara, he said, you know your mommy is looking for you. She is very worried about you and wants you to come home. She is not angry with you. She loves you very much and she knows that you were scared.’
Father Francis Kelley was among the nearly 100 people searching the dense forest, north of the Finger Lakes region of upstate New York. A nasty confrontation between her mother and her ex-husband over the cost of child support erupted when he showed up drunk at their mobile home. Little children are known to assume that when their parents fight that it is somehow the fault of the child. Barbara thought that if she ran away, then mommy and daddy would stop fighting and so she slipped out and ran into the woods.
One thing about small towns is that when there is the crisis everyone pulls together. When it was discovered that little Barbara had run off, the alarm went out. Old jealousies, disagreements, nasty gossip are all set aside as the townsfolk rallied to the cause. Shops, offices and homes were deserted because clerks, hair dressers, firemen, police, National Guard people who had yet to been sent out to a worthless war, Boy Scouts, Girl Scouts and ordinary mothers and dads all gathered at the ranger station early Saturday morning in response to a call for volunteers. Father Francis was one of the first they called. He had walked these woods all his life and probably knew them as well as anyone. Teams of four were sent out to a grid drawn up by a retired Army general, Harry Foster. Father Francis was alone since he could cover more ground by himself.
* * *
The five-year-old continued to stare at the priest. He reached into the pocket of his leather, sheep wool lined coat and produced a baggy with cookies. He handed one to the little girl. She grabbed it and wolfed it down. He handed her another. Then she took a drink from his canteen.
‘Please come out, Barbara. There must be a hundred people out here looking for you. Would you like to ride in a helicopter?’ he asked. By now her confidence increased and she crawled out of the stump. Father Francis took off his coat and wrapped her up in it. He grabbed his two-way and spoke into it.
‘This is Father Francis in sector K64. I have found Barbara. She is alive and well. I am heading over to the clearing near logging road number 6. There’s enough room for the chopper to land.’
He could not understand General Foster’s reply because of all the joyful whooping and yelling at the ranger station. Finally, they calmed down. General Foster spoke to all the search teams, ‘All searchers are to return to the ranger station. Barbara has been found. She is ok.’
As he carried the little girl to the clearing Father Francis could hear the thumping of the Life Flight helicopter, donated by Memorial Hospital. As soon as it landed two people jumped out. The first was Martha Grimes, an ER nurse with whom Father Francis was on a first name basis, having been often called to deliver last rites to accident victims. The other person was barely five feet tall, dressed in what appeared to be a borrowed Navy pea coat and watch cap. Wisps of blonde hair stuck out from under the cap. As he transferred the little girl to Martha who wrapped her up in a blanket and handed Father Francis his jacket, he looked into the face of the second person. Huge blue eyes stared out at him and she said something that was lost in the sound of the prop wash. The lips seemed to say, ‘Thank you’.
The two rushed their new charge into the helicopter and it took off. General Foster again came on the radios, ‘Ed Bailey is coming down logging road six with a couple of hay wagons if anyone wants a ride. Thanks to all of you who helped out. This was a successful operation due to all your efforts,’
Father Francis decided to walk back. He, more than most, appreciated the beauty of these woods on a crisp October day. By the time he reached the ranger station, the TV trucks had packed up and left. One lonely radio reporter spotted him and tried to get an interview, peppering the priest with all sorts of stupid questions. Father Francis indulged him for a few moments and headed for his car. He had a Sunday school lesson to prepare for tomorrow.
* * *
Sunday afternoon was Father Francis’ personal time. He loved to sit in his shorts and a T shirt, read the Sunday New York Times and listen to classical music. And so, after church, he managed to escape from the throngs of well wishers and back slappers in the narthex and hurried home. He lived in his parents’ house where he moved in right after he graduated and was ordained. As he parsed the book reviews, the doorbell rang.
‘If that’s another reporter or TV station bugging me I just may lose my temper. Lord, help me keep my cool, ‘he mumbled as he looked through the peephole. What he saw truly shocked him. There stood little Barbara in a crisp blue dress and white sweater with white socks and paten leather shoes. Next to her was her mother in a smart linen suit and ruffled silk blouse. The two carried a wicker basket between them. He opened the door
‘Father Francis, I’m Sandra Collins and I guess you already know my daughter Barbara. We want to thank you for bringing Barbara back home and we brought Sunday dinner for you.’
‘Please come in, ladies. I’m sorry that I did not expect guests today and my house is a mess.’
‘We tried calling you but your line is busy. The operator said the phone must be off the hook.’
‘Yes it is. I got tired of all the reporters calling me for a statement. But please come in. The dinner sounds like a great idea. Why don’t you take it into the kitchen and I’ll run up and get changed into something more presentable.’
Mother and daughter walked into the kitchen and Father Francis dashed upstairs to change. He reappeared in his black shirt, slacks and white collar about the time the girls had set the table. It was a fabulous dinner of fried chicken, green beans, cottage fries and apple pie. They chatted about inconsequential things, the two adults trying to avoid discussion of the events of Friday night and Saturday. When they finished, they were clearing the dishes and Father Francis said, ‘I’m sorry the dishwasher is broken so we will have to do it the old fashioned way. You wash and I’ll wipe.’ He had to find a wooden soda crate for her to stand on to reach the kitchen sink. She was looking out the window when she cried out in alarm, ‘There’s a huge dog out there in the back yard with Barbara! She’s terrified of dogs!’
‘Oh, not to worry, said Father Francis, that’s my dog Queenie. She is a retired Police dog. She was the dog they used to take around to the schools to show the children. She loves children. Barbara
is completely safe with Queenie. She has developed arthritis in her hips. That’s a common problem with German Shepherds. It doesn’t look to me as though Barbara is afraid of her.’
* * *
They watched as the tiny girl and the huge dog walked around the backyard.
‘Queenie has already bonded with Barbara. If anyone ever tried to hurt her, the dog would tear their face off.’
Father Francis looked over at Sandra. She was crying. At first he wasn’t sure what that was all about.
‘This is the way it should be, she sobbed. Sunday afternoon after a nice meal in a nice home, a child playing in the back yard with a beautiful dog, two people washing dishes and talking in a civil manner to each other. All that this little girl has known is a ratty mobile home in a filthy trailer park. An alcoholic father whose favorite past time is slapping his wife and child around. It just isn’t fair. She deserves better than that.’
Father Francis put his hand on her shoulder. ‘It doesn’t have to be that way anymore. Your ex is in jail for violating the restraining order. Barbara is safe now. Perhaps you can regain some order in your life.’
‘Maybe but we have to be out of the mobile home by next Friday. The judge said that since it was titled in my ex-husband’s name, he gets the trailer. We have to find some place to live. He even gets the truck so we have to take a taxi everywhere we go. It just isn’t fair!’ she sobbed anew.
Father Francis paused for a moment, thinking to himself. He said, ‘Leave the dishes for later. I want to show you something.’ He led her to a door which led down to what was once a very large family room.
‘My parents built this out for me when I came home from seminary. They thought that on a young priest’s salary, I could not afford a decent apartment. There is a bedroom, kitchenette, complete bathroom, a laundry room and second room that I was going to set up as a weight room. I never got to live here because a drunk driver crossed over the line on the interstate and ended their lives. I just live upstairs.’
He waited to see her reaction. ‘It’s beautiful, ‘she said, not knowing what else to say. Then he said, ‘Why don’t you and Barbara stay here for a while until you find a permanent place? Would $100 a month be too much?’
‘Oh my, we couldn’t impose ourselves on you. You have already done us a great favor.’
‘Nonsense. I would love to have some company. Is the rent too high? I don’t know much about such things.’
* * *
‘No, it’s not that….. she paused, thinking. It would be just temporary, right? Until we find a permanent place.’
And so it was that a bunch of Father Francis’ friends showed up that Sunday evening with boxes and pickup trucks. In an hour, they had loaded all of Sandra and Barbara’s belongings into the trucks, brought them over to the house and unpacked everything. . The women arranged their clothing in dressers and closets. The men moved furniture and other belongings. They all left, convinced that they were answering a prayer. These were good people who loved their priest and were pleased that he no longer lived alone. Queenie insisted on sleeping next to Barbara.
The months began to fly by and the thought of moving to another place became less and less urgent. The unusual ‘family’ often had dinner together. Father Francis frequently was called upon to pick up Barbara from school when Sandra’s job as a court reporter ran overtime. No one in the church raised an eyebrow at this arrangement. No one doubted Father Francis’ honesty, integrity, dedication to his calling and above all, his vow of celibacy. Sandra felt completely at ease in his presence, day after day.
A year went by, and then another. Barbara was progressing well through elementary school. Father Francis’ program with the youth of the church was such a success that enrollment doubled. He often traveled to other diocese, teaching others how to set up his programs for behavior modification, abstinence, and commitment to community service.
He was always there for Barbara when she was upset over teasing and bullying that so often occurred in school. He helped her with her homework. He was a constant source of comfort and companionship to Sandra who had a tough time getting her life back on track. Having to write down every word in a court that heard cases of child abuse, murder, larceny and brutality, bothered her and having someone to talk to who she knew would not be judgmental was a great comfort for her. Occasionally, she would go out on a date and Father Francis would stay at home with Barbara. In fact, this gentle, intelligent and dedicated man became the most positive role model of manhood that either of the women had ever been exposed to.
By the time Barbara was ready to graduate from high school, the bond between Father Francis and the two women matured to the point where they no longer thought of him as a Catholic priest. He was Francis and that was it. But in Sandra’s case, there was something else. She wouldn’t admit it to anyone but she knew deep in her heart that she was in love with Francis. On those rare occasions when there was incidental physical contact, her body trembled inside. At night, alone in her bed, she would finger herself, fantasizing that his lean naked body was intertwined with hers. She began to wonder how long she could stand being so close to him and yet so far away.
* * *
Barbara was equally enamored of her father figure. Her love for Francis was that of a daughter and yet, as her own body matured, she, too began to experience something that she could not explain. Her body went through all the changes a woman experiences when she reaches puberty with the exception that her breasts seem to grow at their own pace. During her fifteenth summer, her mother was buying a new bra about every 30 days, or so it seemed. At her graduation ceremony, Father Francis hugged her tightly and praised her for graduating fourth in her class. The effect of Barbara’s huge breasts as they were crushed against him was not lost on his psyche. For a brief moment, he was not her father, not her Father Francis but just an ordinary man. He immediately pushed those feelings back as he had all his life. But he also knew in his heart that something was changing in his relationship with these women. Barbara knew it as well.
That summer Barbara took a job as a nurse’s aide at Memorial Hospital. Martha Grimes pulled several strings to make it happen. Barbara worked in the children’s ward and loved every minute. She and her mother were so busy that summer that they saw little of Father Francis who often traveled out of town. Then came the day that no one will forget.
Martha came running breathlessly into the children’s ward and said, ‘Barbara, come with me. They’re bringing Father Francis into the ER!’ They dashed down two flights of stairs and watched in horror as the EMTs wheeled the stretcher into the ER. ‘He’s had a stroke, shouted one technicians, and we don’t know how long he’s been out. He fell off the front steps of the church.’ They wheeled him into a bay and several doctors immediately began to work on him. Barbara was convulsed and sobbing. She could barely stand and Martha had to guide her to a chair. ‘Call my mother, call my mother!’ was all she could say.
Thirty minutes had passed when Sandra came into the ER. The two women held each other and wept. Father Francis had not yet regained consciousness. The lead physician told them that he was stable now and resting comfortably. ‘We won’t know whether there was any brain damage until we could run some tests later.’ He urged them to go home and come back tomorrow. They didn’t want to leave but Martha insisted and so they finally left, shocked and depressed.
The next morning they were in his room. He was still sleeping. The senior priest was there along with the Mother Superior from the convent. The room was full of flowers and unopened cards hand delivered by anxious parishioners. The pro
gnosis was not all doom and gloom but until he regained consciousness, no one could tell the extent of his injury. Throughout the day, a constant stream of well wishers arrived at the hospital but none were allowed in the room. Sandra and Barbara kept a silent vigil, praying constantly. Each woman was engulfed in her own feelings of love, despair, and anxiety.
* * *
They worried over the condition of their friend, savior, confessor and father figure. But deep inside both of them, there was something else, an unnamed, indescribable emptiness and fear.
These two loved this man in their own separate ways on so many levels. Neither could deny that some of that connection was physical. They would not put it into words to their dying day but they each knew that it was there, pulsing, demanding, forcing them to try to think of something else to distract their thoughts.
That night, the nurses came in to clean him up and shooed the two women out into the hallway. They looked at each other and without saying a word, they knew each other’s thoughts. They were not competing for his affection. They simply shared it. They both knew the futility of even hoping for something more, something deeper, and something more intimate. They knew that would never happen but their hearts yearned just the same.
When the night nurses had finished, they allowed the mother and daughter to return. ‘Visiting hours are over in 20 minutes,’ one of them said. They stood by his bedside. Barbara reached over to touch his hand. ‘My God, she cried, he’s freezing cold.’ They adjusted his blankets. Then, impulsively, Barbara took his hand and thrust it into her uniform, into her bra and using her left hand, pressed the limp, icy fingers into her breast. ‘Mom, get his other hand.’ Sandra was at first shocked at her daughter’s move but then as if on auto-pilot, she did the same, thrusting his other hand into her own bra, clasping his hand into her own abundant breast. The priest stirred slightly and groaned a little. As his cold hands began to warm in the confines of the two bras, something else began to happen.
The two women could not help but notice that a lump appeared in the light blanket that covered his groin. Mother and daughter looked at each other and again, in that unspoken telepathy that mothers and daughters share, they knew what was happening. Barbara reached over and lightly touched the erect penis, still covered by the blanket. Francis’ moaning began to increase. She looked at her mother, as if to seek some sort of approval or rebuke. Sandra said nothing but continued to stare in disbelief at her daughter. As Barbara lightly rubbed the priest’s erection, a thought began to form in her head. Surely such an event would never have taken place if Father Francis was awake.
But now, in his hour of need, their roles had changed. Now Barbara was the rescuer and the priest was the little boy lost in the woods. She felt a strong need to do something to ease his pain, to sooth his mind as he did for her thirteen years ago in the forest. For Sandra, her daughter was doing something she herself had dreamed of for years but was unable to admit, even to herself at times. She reached up and pulled down the blanket.
* * *
The flimsy hospital gown was now tented. The women looked at each other again and as if the act were rehearsed, they lifted the gown. There they saw a pulsing penis, erect and dripping preseminal fluid. Sandra touched it lightly and then began to move her hand up and down the shaft. The eyes of both women were now filled with tears. The tears came from seeing the pain of their dearest friend, from the worry that he might not wake up, that the unique ‘family’ was threatened…
They had prayed and agonized for hours, hoping that he would awaken and that everything would be as it was. They felt helpless, nonetheless, because there was really nothing they could do but wait.
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