Respect all, fear nun - part three
By Diana the Valkyrie
The Westingfield Baptist Church


I thought that things were going well. We'd avoided the possible
defunding, we'd avoided being closed down on hygiene grounds,
and the future looked rosy. Hah!

We'd even managed to get an increase in funding, on account of
Oakfield Developments repenting of their sins, and the world looked
golden. Hah!

The kids at the orphanage were happy, we three nuns were happy (they
even named a brand of tobacco after us), and the dogs, as ever,
were happy. Happiness bloomed all over. And, for the third time, hah!

Satan had not finished throwing his tribulations at us. The first
sign that something was going wrong, was when I heard chanting
coming from the road outside the orphanage. I listened hard. It
sounded like "Stop the bestiality".

I had to google that, and what I found was totally shocking. I called
a staff meeting; me, Mandy and Nora. And I explained to them what
bestiality is, and they were as shocked as I was. "I have to ask,"
I said, "but are either of you ...?" "Certainly not!" and "No way!"
were the answers, followed by "I'm surprised you even thought you
needed to ask!"

"Well, I said. "Nuns have been known to ..." "To what," said Nora.
I looked hard at Mandy. "What?" she said. "Candles," I said. She
blushed.

I don't think it violates our vow of chastity; I'm not even
sure that it's a sin. No-one gets hurt, and an essential itch is
scratched. There's no sin in scratching your nose, so why would
this be different?

Candles come in many lengths and diameters, and I think you'll find
that many nuns have a favourite shape and size. No-one talks about
it (and I was very reluctant to even raise this topic, for obvious
reasons) but we all knew that it went on.

"OK," I said, "enough about candles. That's not the issue. Who
are these people outside chanting, and why do they think ... what
they think?"

I went outside to have a look. There were about two dozen of
them. Men, women and children. They were pacing up and down on
the other side of the road, holding placards and chanting vile
things at us. Things like "God hates beasties" and "Exodus 22:19". I
checked. That says "Whosoever lieth with a beast shall surely be put
to death." Also "Leviticus 20:16" which says "If a woman goes up to
any animal to mate with it you shall kill the woman and the animal;
they shall both be put to death; their blood guilt is upon them."

Yes, the bible is totally against bestiality. I already knew
that. And I'm also against it, because animals can't give consent
to sex.  But why are they picketing us?

I soon found out who they were - the Westingfield Baptist Church,
led by Ferdinand Poppy. They're a bunch of "Christian" nutters,
who specialised in making a nuisance of themselves. I don't think
I'd call them Christians. So I called the cops.

Anthony turned up soon after. Anthony is my favourite cop, because
he sometimes visits the orphanage to pray with us. And, I suspect,
to ogle Nora's 26 inch arms, which she accidentally shows when
she puts her hands over her head and lets the sleeve drop. There's
something going on there, I think, but "Don't ask, don't tell".

I explained the problem, and he shook his head. "They aren't
committing a crime," he said, "it's the free speech thing." "But,"
I replied, "they're lying.  It's defamation." "If you think it's
defamation then you can sue them in court. It's a civil case."

Yes, right. And then, a few years later, after immense lawyers
fees and much grief, they stop ... and badger someone else, and the
whole circus starts again. "Vow of poverty, no money for lawyers,"
I told Anthony. He shrugged. "Not a crime, nothing I can do." "But
it's upsetting the children!" He shrugged again. I got my revenge on
him by escorting him out of the building, giving him no opportunity
to ogle Nora.

Feh.

I told the Mother Superior back at the mother house, and she gave me
the answer she always gave. "Fiona, you're smart and resourceful.
You'll find a way to handle this, and if there's anything I can
do to help, you only have to ask." I thought, I just asked, and I
got bupkis.

Feh again.

So I called another staff meeting, for just after compline. "Anyone
got any ideas?" I asked. "I could go out there and kick seven kinds
of heck out of them," suggested Mandy. Mandy has massive thighs,
her kicks can be lethal. But even if she toned them down, that's
still violence, and we (like all other nuns) are non-violent. Nora
had a better idea. "How about we invite them to pray with us?" "I
like that," I said. "I'll talk to them tomorrow."

So, just after terce, I strolled out to where they were pacing up
and down and chanting, and held up my hands, inviting silence. They
ignored me, of course. So I approached Ferdinand Poppy. He spat at
me, and called me "Whore of Babylon" which is totally undeserved
because I have never worked as an actual prostitute, and I've not
even visited Babylon. Which, I gather, is in Iraq, 55 mile south
of Baghdad. In case you're interested.  Yes, I'm a pedant. And yes,
I have worked in a brothel, but not as a whore.




Read the rest of the story on https://www.amysconquest.com