The Young Nun Visits The Doctor

It was on a day just like this that she had finally decided to become a nun.

The sky was clear and bright, but the weather remained wintry. She left her coat undone, since she wanted all nature and the world to see her nun’s habit underneath. The debris from the pine trees crunched underfoot. Her navy court shoes took her delicately through the narrow park which was the main barrier between her part of the suburb, where the convent was, and the more northerly part where her old friend had his surgery.

Her friend had been to the boys’s equivalent to the Catholic girls’ high school she had attended, and they had briefly gone out, after meeting at a school “social”. They had made quite a handsome couple, people noticed: he with his blond hair and mature demeanour for his age; and she with her dark hair, slender build and pale-skinned prettiness.

But their schools had been a good mile apart. And there had been high school exams looming. And ultimately they simply went to different universities. He became a doctor, and joined that special tribe of initiates; and she followed another vocation and became a nun.

She had a lingering affection for him, growing rosier and warmer in her memory. And he remembered her. He had recalled her clear, bright eyes; the sprinkling of freckles like the “girl next door” in an old Australian summer; and her straight figure and long limbs. Her bob of dark hair had been like a halo around her pale face.

He had imagined her naked at his hands. He had imagined her with her contrasting black and white colouring, like a freshly opened book or a piano keyboard.

But he had lost her to her vocation: and in a way, she had lost him to his.

He had not married yet, partly because he had imagined himself working in one of the mission territories, and had studied tropical medicine, intending to specialise. However a short stint in a mission clinic in Indonesia had been followed by an illness that laid him out, and his convalescence had been humiliatingly protracted.

So he was back home, working as a locum in a general practice in his home suburb.

He had seen the name on his list of appointments that morning, but he had assumed it was a different woman. Her name was not that unusual. And he did not really believe in happy chance meetings. Meeting old friends after several years was something that mostly only happened in novels.

But it was her.

He could not imagine that anything would be seriously wrong with her to make her consult a doctor. After all, what can happen to a young nun living quietly in a small convent?

“Hi, Ann. It’s been a while”.

“Yes”, she smiled, but his spirits sank as if submerged by a wave of pained recollection. She still looked good, and the slight severity of her modern habit simply served to make her look neat and businesslike.

“We should catch up properly! Anyway … what brings you here?”

“Oh, just a silly thing. I like to work in the garden at the convent sometimes. I must have brushed against something and now I feel kind of itchy all over. Like an allergy.”

“Well, I will have to examine you. Would you prefer another doctor?”

“No, I don’t mind … do you want me to undress?”

“Well, you will have to if you want me to check your skin.”

“OK. It feels most itchy on my back. But a bit all over …”

And so, it came about that the “girl of his dreams” undressed in front of him. Not for him, exactly. For Medicine. But she stripped easily enough.

“Come over here and I’ll have a look.”

She walked over to where he indicated. They smiled professionally at each other, and she had the grace to look a little shy.

After he examined her, she put her habit back on.

“I don’t see much indication of a rash. I will give you a prescription for some topical cream if you do get more irritation and something systemic as well, an antihistamine to take. Try to work out which plant or bush might have given you the reaction, and avoid it, obviously.”

It had all been so businesslike, like a businesswoman getting quickly through a difficult item on the agenda. And yet he had glimpsed her subtle mixture of shyness and pleasure, as if it were indeed something she had wanted to tick off on a list of important things to do. And he had been able to fill in the portrait in his mind’s eye: the pertness of her breasts, the pinkness of her untried nipples, and the intriguing little dark patch between her legs.

Afterwards, she retraced her steps through the crisp pines, feeling the slight bounce of her breasts as she stepped over the log barriers at the northerly margin of the park. Going to a part of the park that was not frequented much, she dropped to the ground, rolled around for a few moments, and then stared upwards for a quarter of an hour at the sky as if it were a strange bedroom ceiling. Then, brushing some stray pine needles off her dress and stockings, she made her way back to the convent.


7 responses to this post.

  1. Posted by some dude on July 10, 2015 at 10:25 pm

    Good stuff. I like these little vignettes.


    • Thanks, some dude. I rarely write fiction. But I have been reading a bit more than usual, including some of JG Ballard’s SF stories, and got interested in trying a couple of short stories myself.

      “Vignettes” is a good description and maybe I will try a couple more. I can think of one, based on a chance meeting in a chemist shop yesterday.

      The above story is based on some people I once knew, but it does not describe any real events of course.


  2. […] Two previous vignettes, “The Novice Nun” and “The Young Nun Visits The Doctor“. […]


  3. […] The black and white effect reminds me of a line from a short story I posted here recently: […]


  4. Nice one. It could have been so many different stories.


  5. Cf.

    late for work —
    pine needles
    in her hair

    A senryu by Paul David Mena

    (Whereas in my story the girl remains true to her vocation as a nun and a “bride of Christ”.)


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