There was silence for a moment while the three of them pondered this perverse parable, and then Marisia, the irrepressible, piped up with a cry of joy: “The maidenhead, mon Pere?”
“Yes, truly, but not from the sight, Marisia. The hymen is that hidden barrier to bliss which nestles just inside the soft lips, but it is not the answer to my riddle.”
“I have it, mon Pere,” Louisette gleefully expounded. “It is the hair over the con!”
“Exactly, my daughter!” he jubilantly cried. “Nature, to protect us from unfriendly elements, when man and woman were cast out of Eden eternities ago, did contrive to hide those most sensitive parts of our anatomy with body hair. And so it is true that the hair over a virgin's cunt shields her first of all from both the eyes and the prick of the male who covets her maidenhead. Before first taking your maidenhead, therefore, my daughters, my colleagues will have to reckon with the hairs of your tender cunts. And if you would say to them that you have vowed to give yourselves only to him who can guess the exact numbers of the tender silky tendrils which conceal your virginities, it may well be that your vow will be respected.”
“Oh, yes, I see now,” gurgled Louisette. “But you will know the answer, will you not, Father Lawrence, and so it will be you who fucks us after all!”
“You are as witty as you are beautiful, my daughter. So, while this light of the lamp is not the best, I will go back to the porthole to look out upon the calm sea and to say my orisons, while you hasten to count, each of you, each silken strand of the down which so modestly veils your virgin cunts!”
“Oh, mon Pere,” Marisia squealed, “you have saved us for yourself! But do you mean that we must count them one by one?”
“Yes, my child, and you must memorize the total number and never forget it, so that when one of the worthy brethren at the seminary demands that you open to him those gates of paradise, you will tell him of your vow. You will permit him to guess, although it may be that if he is a doubting Thomas, he will insist upon the prerogative of counting them himself, and that you must submit to, my child. But even under that latter circumstance, should he err in even so much as one tender silk-bearing follicle, then you can honestly and truthfully say unto him that your vow is still secure and that you must, in all humility but honesty refuse his desires.”
“But we will tell you, will we not, mon Pere?” Denise's husky voice queried.
“I do not ask you to do this, my dear daughter,” Father Lawrence sounded more benign than I had ever heard him do before. “And it must be of your own volition, for I seek no preference. I stand – as does the polarity of my manhood – totally on my merits.”
I feared that the good Father would expound once again ad infinitum on this by now somewhat tiring pun, but he did not. He waited instead for the response from his three charming wards, and it was not long in coming. Louisette now spoke: “Why, then, it would be well for us to begin the count now before we reach the Seminary, mon Pere. But the light from this oil lamp is dim. It is difficult to see and perchance we might count one where there are two and so be in error ourselves and in peril of losing that which we might prefer to bestow upon you, our dear protector and savior!”
“I am at your disposal, always, my daughters. If you wish me to do the counting, I would be privileged and accurate, too, I can tell you,” he eagerly responded.
Now I had greater admiration than ever, for here was a man of good faith and pious works, who, like the three young Israelites who allowed themselves to be flung into the fiery furnace of Nebuchadnezzar, of his own free will was offering himself up as sacrifice to the most lewd and exciting of temptations. He was about to enact the very parable of St. Anthony. I felt certain that he would be more than equal to the test which a lesser mortal belonging to the laity could hardly be expected to pass. I remembered the story of Thais who showed herself in the desert to that mournful priest Athanais who had cried out in contumacy against her lubricity and yet how he had succumbed to mortal sin. But Father Lawrence was made of sterner stuff.
I felt that there was a symbolism to this also. Here I was, ensconced within a little sheaf of fragrant love-hairs which had enshrined the pussypetals of gentle Laurette, and now these three girls were about to protect their maidenheads by taking cognizance of the same intimate substance. Perhaps, if I could have the power to radiate the expressions of thought through this accursed metal locket, I might yet contrive to reach the eclectic mind of Father Lawrence and get him to open that memento at long last. I do confess, dear reader, that I was anxious to behold how he would go about the counting. Now there are Zulu chieftains who, though adjudged ignorant and stupid by the standards of so-called civilized men, yet can tell you to the last doe how many deer are in their herd or how many cows down to the very last and puniest of calves. They have, you see, their own methods of counting, and their history is far more primitive and ancient than that of the European. But I had never before heard of tallying the very follicles of silky hair which entwined so mysteriously and lovingly over the tender love-chasm of a human female.
I now heard the rustling of sheets from the lower bunk where Denise and Louisette were quartered, and then, amid suppressed giggles and sighs, Louisette's muffled voice saying: “Mon Pere, my sister and I have decided to count by ourselves, one serving the other.”
“What a charming and original manner of tallying is this!” the English ecclesiastic exclaimed and his voice sounded suspiciously inflamed from the visual excitement the two minxes were evidently providing to his enraptured eyes. “But turn a little to the side, my daughters, so that you will catch, each of you, the widest benefit of the illumination of the lamp – ah, that is better. Louisette, you are above your sister which is mete, since you are the older. Now do not be distracted in this good work, although I do not think the task should take too long since you are both too young to have amassed, as is said of ancient generals, your thousands and tens of thousands.”
How graphically and yet how euphemistically the good Father described his visions! I was indebted to him for furnishing me eyes where mine could not see through metal. Yet the position which Louisette and Denise were taking was, contrary to his laudatory praise, hardly original, though it was certainly charming. It was known as soixante-neuf, and so I had the setting delineated for me to my imagination's content: Louisette knelt astride Denise with her face peering at the silky curls of the latter's pussy, while from below Denise gazed up into the sweet confines of Louisette's cunthole.
I heard more giggles and a stifled, “Ma foi, that tickles – ooooh, Denise, you naughty girl, attend to the matter at hand and do not distract me so or I cannot count correctly what I am trying to tally.”
“Would it not be better, mon Pere,” Marisia now sweetly queried, “if I did not descend from this perilous perch so high above the floor and came down on your level so that you might assist me in my own reckoning?”
Father Lawrence gave a soft little groan, by which I knew his own temptation of St. Anthony was commencing in the most inflammatory way.
Finally he responded, “Very well, my daughter, since you asked for my aid and I am your guardian, I will assist you. I will sit down here atop this sturdy stool, for the vessel now keeps an even keel thanks to my prayers and the good seamanship of our worthy captain. Do remove your nightshift and sit upon my lap with your legs well spread and your arms about my neck so that I may apply myself to the task and have a clear view of the proceedings.”