Raphael

Before my reacquaintance with Abraham, I did as much exploring as the nuns allowed me to do. There was so much to do and see and touch and smell. I discovered the good and bad smells, like the delicious aroma of bacon and the rancid smell of the dumpster out back. And the scent of soap and shampoo, sensing the suds trickling down my face and back as I washed my hair... the sting of the shampoo in my eyes. I quickly learned to close my eyes when washing my hair!

Discovering what my body could do was a thrilling journey, bringing indescribable joy and happiness, which made all the future struggles and hardships worthwhile.

My body did such amazing, yet peculiar, things. I was more like a child instead of the thirty-two year old man I was meant to be.

From the beginning, my body and all of its parts intrigued me, but it wasn't until the third morning when I woke to the most unusual thing that both startled and confused me. My male body part protruded against my underwear, long and hard, not its usual shape. A wave of panic washed over me as I kicked off my underwear to get a look at my body's transformation. I sat on my bed, stroking it, trying to get it to go floppy and smooth again. Instead, it throbbed in my hand as I experienced the most miraculous sensation.

The sudden release of warm liquid brought a sigh of relief as I collapsed on my bed, a mix of worry and utter contentment filling my senses. I couldn't tell what was normal and what wasn't. The liquid, thick and oddly whitish-gray, was clearly not urine—but then what was it? Was it normal or was there something wrong with me?

I didn't care if it was abnormal—the urge to do it again consumed me.

As I indulged in pleasuring myself, I didn't hear the subtle knock on my door. With my hand firmly wrapped around my body part, my eyes met Sister Catherine's as she stood in the doorway. She stumbled backward, her face contorted with a mixture of disgust and terror. As she slammed the door shut, I realized self-pleasure was wrong and unacceptable. My body and actions disgusted the nuns, and I started to resent myself.

But how could something that felt so good be wrong?

Seconds later, Sister Agnes entered my room just as I was cleaning myself, dragging a towel over my stomach.

"Hello, Raphael," she said. "We need to have a talk."

I threw a blanket over my lap, covering my manhood that everyone found so offensive.

"Sister Catherine told me what you were doing," Sister Agnes said, sitting beside me. "We understand that this is all very new to you, but there are some things that just aren't appropriate. You mustn't desecrate your body in such a way. Masturbation is a sin, Raphael, and a selfish act that prioritizes personal pleasure over the sacredness of sexuality. The Catholic Church teaches that sexual activity is reserved for a man and a woman within the confines of marriage, its purpose being procreation."

Most of what she said confused me more than I already was. Masturbation and procreation? I didn't understand what either word meant.

"What's procreation and masturbation?"

"Oh, dear," she said with a sigh. "I'm not equipped to teach you such things."

"Then who is? I want to know about this sexual activity."

Sister Agnes got up and retrieved a book from the night stand. "I think you will find this sacred book useful. You will learn many things from it."

I'd spent the last two days reading the Bible, the only book in the room. I found it unhelpful, not satisfying my curiosity in the slightest. "I already read the Bible. I didn't find it helpful. It's all parables and metaphors. How do I know what are facts? The Bible never even uses the word masturbation. Please, Sister, I need to talk to someone. You must know someone."

"I will bring you some educational materials. For now, I recommend you lock your door."

"Thank you, sister."

For hours, I remained glued to the books Sister Agnes brought me, learning all about human sexuality and the male and female human bodies. Because I'd spent most of my time with children, I never learned such things. Sexual intercourse seemed quite interesting, and I hoped to have the chance to explore it.

But there was something missing in the books Sister Agnes gave me.

Despite all the knowledge I gained, a part of me was still confused. If the point of sexual intercourse was to create life, then what happened when a woman was past childbearing age? I sensed something was amiss, and the books Sister Agnes offered, while interesting, lacked the scientific depth I desired; their simplistic explanations were unsatisfying. In other words, I believed the books adhered mostly to Catholic Doctrine, reflecting its teachings and values in their narratives and themes. I wasn't so sure I followed such a doctrine.

The books defined marriage and sex as solely between a husband and wife.

None of these books addressed people like Abraham.

Abraham never had an interest in finding a girlfriend, someone who could potentially become his wife. When he was fifteen years old, he banished me because I interrupted his kiss with James, another fifteen year old boy. He told me all about Ryan, the boy in his seventh-grade science class. I helped him write the most heartfelt letter that he never gave to him. From the time Abraham was twelve, it was clear he was not someone who would ever search for a wife.

"I need other books," I said to Sister Agnes the next time I saw her. I'd been in this room, alone, for hours, only leaving for meals. I wasn't sure how long I'd be able to live like this.

"What kinds of books?"

"Not Catholic books... scientific ones and books that talk about people like Abraham."

"What do you mean 'people like Abraham?'"

"Abraham always fancied boys. You look at me as if that's wrong. Is it wrong?"

"No, it's not necessarily wrong to be gay. It's sinful to engage in sexual activity with someone of the same sex."

"Because two men can't create a baby? I don't understand your doctrine. You make Abraham sound like a bad person when he's not. He's a good man."

"No one said he's a bad person, Raphael."

"Please help me, Sister," I said, my eyes pleading for her help.

Briefly looking down and away, Sister Agnes nodded. "If I provide you with more educational materials, you must not tell anyone, okay?"

"Yes, of course," I said.

I was so thankful Sister Agnes found exactly what I needed. One book actually stated masturbation was 'totally healthy, and totally normal,' challenging some religious beliefs.

After reading the book, I was no longer ashamed for what I did with my body.

With nothing else to do in the room besides read, I found much amusement in pleasuring myself, and I remembered to always lock my door. I figured that my growing tiredness stemmed from my frequent self-gratification, not any underlying sickness.

Overcome with a profound sense of fatigue, I suddenly lost my appetite. Maybe it was because the nuns no longer let me leave my room for fear of Mother Superior Rosalee finding out about me. Curled up in bed under the blankets, my lunch tray remained untouched. I hadn't eaten breakfast, either. I just felt unwell, the complete opposite of the euphoria I'd been experiencing.

In a raspy voice, I responded to the knock on the door. "Come in."

"Well, hello there," Sister Evangelista said, entering my room with a tray of food. "I brought you some dinner."

Hours of solitude left me craving some kind of socialization, and even a few minutes of company was a gift. I stumbled through conversations, my naive questions revealing my lack of social graces.

"How old are you?" I asked as Sister Evangelista placed the tray on my nightstand.

"Don't you know it's rude to ask a lady their age?" she said, removing the cover from the bowl of soup. "I know you're not feeling well, so I brought you some soup. I hope you like chicken noodle."

"I'm sorry for being rude. Thank you, sister, for the soup."

"Now, make sure you drink lots of fluids, too. Someone will come check on you later."

"Thank you."

She headed to the door, but paused before leaving. "If you really want to know, I'm fifty-two."

"Thank you, sister."

"You're welcome, Raphael."

My body ached, my head throbbed, and the small room's confinement was becoming unbearable. I needed to figure out how to get to Abraham. I had no money and no phone. I didn't even have a pair of shoes. The sisters had yet to find my size among their donated items.

There must be a way...

Sitting on the edge of my bed, I gazed out the window, mesmerized by the soft, silent snowfall, the flakes catching the early morning light. I'd seen snow many times before, but I'd never felt it, and it seemed like such a waste for me to just sit here and watch and do nothing.

The nuns warned me repeatedly to stay in my room, fearing Mother Superior Rosalee. Since my arrival, I'd heard lots of things about the Mother Superior. Based on everything the sister told me, I hoped never to meet her. As head of the convent, she oversaw the spiritual and administrative needs of the nuns, responsible for the well-being of the sisters. According to my newfound friends, she was the strictest and most rigid mother superior they'd ever known. They feared she would expel them from the community if she found out about me.

But I couldn't stay hidden in a tiny room all day and every day.

I disobeyed my new friends.

With slow, deliberate movement, I cautiously opened my door, looking both ways to make sure the area was clear. The hallway was usually silent, except for the occasional, quiet footsteps of the few nuns who knew I was there.

Once in the stairwell, I ran down the stairs and out the backdoor. As I swung open the door, an arctic wind caught me by surprise, nearly knocking me off my feet. My curiosity got the better of me. Despite the biting wind and the icy ground beneath my bare feet, I ventured off. With no shoes, coat or hat, I folded my arms across my chest, shivering in the most comfortable way as I walked past the overflowing dumpster, heading to the snow covered trees. Between two trees, I stared up into the sky, blinking as snowflakes stuck to my eyelashes. The sense of taste was one of my favorite senses, so I couldn't resist the urge to taste the snow. With a childish glee, I stuck out my tongue, tasting the pure, crisp snow as it landed.

The icy ground sent a searing, sharp pain through the soles of my feet, a stinging sensation that strangely captivated me. The crunch of snow underneath my feet was both painful and oddly fascinating, but this fascination quickly waned. After a few minutes, I realized I yearned for the stinging to stop, and I couldn't wait to get back to my room; however, I lost my way, blinded by the heavy snow and my foggy brain. The air grew thin as I passed religious statues and leafless trees, a throbbing pain growing in my head. Nothing was familiar. My heart raced faster and faster with the realization that I was nowhere near the convent.

The novelty wore off and fear set in. The cold seeped into my bones, making my legs feel heavier and weaker, my feet frozen in place. I could no longer move. Exhausted, I dropped to the ground. Lying in the snow, I closed my eyes, falling into an unwelcome sleep.

Words: 1971

Total Words: 9392