Humanitas/Invidia (Kindness/ Envy)
She had never been one to be jealous of her friends when she was a child. Knowing what she wanted and what she couldn't have as an adult, however, changed that.
"He was the perfect gentleman, actually," Chummy smiled, looking down at the table.
"Damn! How disappointing," Trixie groused.
"Trixie!" Cynthia scolded.
"But you are a woman, Chummy, and Constable Noakes is a man, so I imagine that the natural progression of this relationship," Sister Bernadette started.
"Steady on!" Chummy hastily muttered, a slight blush tinting the tips of her ears at the thought that a nun may be about to give her the talk.
"Will eventually entail some sort of flirtatious behaviour, outside the realms of what is considered gentlemanly conduct," Sister Bernadette finished, unfazed by the interruption. She had a smile playing about her lips, no animosity or judgement burning in her gaze, but rather a look of kindness for the woman at the head of the table that always seemed to feel so awkward in her own skin.
"Were there any other future outings planned at all?" Jenny queried, trying to hold in her own laughter at the thought of a woman of the cloth talking about sex.
"He did ask if I'd like to accompany him to the dance next week," Chummy answered. Sister Bernadette only half paid attention to the rest of the conversation, throwing in a comment about the dance just to be safe before the groups was interrupted.
"I take it Constable Noakes is the source of all this excitement? It's true what they say, then.
There is a sock for every old slipper," Sister Evangelina said, startling Sister Bernadette out of her own mind, bringing her quickly back to the state of the kitchen and the table full of young, romanticising nurses. She gave them a smile before retreating after Sister Evangelina and heading into the sitting room so that she could listen for the phone should it ring.
As she sat with a book she found her mind wandering to the thought of going to a dance. She had admittedly never been, instead focusing on her studies and her faith when she was a girl before entering into the convent. But now she found herself wanting; wondering what it would be to get dressed up and go out at night with a man. To dance until the wee hours of the morning, drinking, and perhaps being the recipient of some ungentlemanly conduct herself.
The phone ringing shook her out of her thoughts, forcing her to dash from her chair and lift the receiver, an image of Doctor Turner leaning in towards her in the dim light of a dance hall slipping from her mind as she went to work.
XxX
It wasn't until she was on the way home from a call the night of the dance that her desires raised their heads from within her. She was walking back to Nonnatus, having chosen to leave her bike as the house was only a block away and the night was still warm enough not to give her a chill. The lights on the block were dim in the fog that was streaming in off the Thames, casting shadows throughout Poplar. She stilled as she neared an alleyway, her pulse increasing at the strange breathy noises she could hear from the blurry abyss. Taking a deep breath she slowly inched her way close, unsure of what she was about to find. Instead of a something horrific she felt herself blush, quickly backing away from the alley and heading towards the convent much quicker than she had been previously walking.
In the shadows of the alleyway she had witnessed Chummy and Peter in a passionate embrace, the policeman having pushed the nurse up against the wall, kissing her firmly as his hand clutched at her hip. For her own part, Chummy's hands had been pressed into Peter's hair.
Sister Bernadette fled up the stairs and into the main hallway of the convent, her cheeks still painted red as she took her bag to the clinical room, dumping her instruments on the table to be cleaned as she tried to rid herself of the image and the feelings that arose in her as a result. She couldn't help it, jealousy raging within her chest unbidden. She hadn't realised how much she wanted physical affection from another person until that moment. She wondered what it would be like to have a man press her to a wall, to have his tongue invading her mouth, his hands all over her body. Shaking her head she tried to concentrate on what she was doing, feeling her hands shaking as she turned on the autoclave. She managed to distract herself from her envy for twenty minutes, finishing her cleanup before she headed for her cell, her mind already whirring back to life.
As she changed for bed she found herself hesitant, deciding to lock her door and forgo her nightgown, lying on the bed naked and letting the chilled fabric of her sheets cool the heated skin on her body. She closed her eyes, trying to quiet her mind but it was useless. The second she was no longer looking at the ceiling she saw the image of a passionate embrace within her mind's eye – although not it was not Chummy and Peter, but rather herself and Doctor Turner.
She imagined the doctor with startling clarity, the feeling of his skin still printed into her senses from when she had helped him with his shoulder. Would all of his skin feel like that, were he to press his body to hers? Would all of it be soft and pliant beneath her fingers?
She bit her lip, blindly removing the cap from her head and letting her hair fan out against her pillow, the white fabric being tossed onto the floor as she let her hands wander, skimming over her stomach before one slid up her chest, cupping her breast between small fingers. His hands were so much bigger than hers – they would feel so different. She imagined his large digits spanning across her chest – they would cover her breast with ease, calloused fingertips pressing into her.
Would he be gentle and teasing, just dragging his hand across her in a whisper of motion? Or would he be hard and rough, pawing at her with abandon? She gripped herself tightly, fingers digging into the flesh beneath her palm until it made her gasp slightly, the pressure causing a surge of wetness between her thighs.
She reached down, letting her fingers skirt her labia, biting her tongue at the moan that wanted to break free at the sensation, the skin sensitive and swollen with arousal. She jerked her hand away clenched her fists, knowing that she had promised herself that she wasn't going to do this again – that she would resist against the temptation to touch herself after she had succumb to her own desires that day before the clinic. But now, with her mind running rampant with jealousy and desire she couldn't help herself. She grabbed the spare pillow that she kept beside the bed, shoving it between her thighs in an attempt to stem the yearning to put her hands there, but it only served to arouse her more. She whimpered, rocking her hips against the feeling of the fabric sliding against her most sensitive area.
She imagined the doctor pressing against her, his shirt missing but trousers still on, a firm thigh parting her legs and pressing up against her centre. She feels his chest drag against her breasts, her nipples pebbling as he paws at her hip, grinding against her as they kiss. She imagined the feeling of his tongue against hers, slick and parting her lips, their breath mingling as he manages to bite at her, drawing a moan from her throat as his cloth covered erection presses into where her thigh meets her pelvis, a long hard line beneath his trousers.
"God, yes," he moaned into her ear, pulling her tightly against him, her hips frantically dragging against his leg, wetness smearing across the fabric as her arousal mounts, his own desire flooding her senses as the smell of sex started to permeate the air around them. His hand moved from her hip to her breast, starting to grip the flesh there as his fingers found and started pulling at her nipple. She could hear his breath increasing in frequency, the motions of his hips quickening in their pace and severity, his teeth dragging from her lips down to her neck, latching onto the sensitive skin of her collarbone. Without warning she felt him stiffen, a loud groan ripping from his throat as he jerked against her, spilling to his pants in long, thick pulses. The feeling of him twitching against her causes her own hips to increase their rhythm, quick circles interspersed with to and fro motions that rapidly spin her from on the edge to crashing into an orgasm, her entire body lurching at the release.
Panting, she opens her eyes as the waves ebb, finding herself alone in her room, one hand pressing bruises into her breast, her nipple practically purple from how tightly she had been tugging on it. The pillow that was between her legs was covered in her arousal, the damp fabric a horrifying testament to her actions. Flushing bright red, she pulled it from its location, hissing as the cloth slid against her engorged clit, sending an aftershock through her body and causing her to expel another pulse of fluid from her centre.
Taking a deep breath she removed the pillowcase, tossing the pillow across the room and wincing as she cleaned herself off with the already ruined fabric. Standing on shaking legs she found her nightgown, tugging it on over her naked body, hating how the cotton dragged across the bruises she created, almost tempting her to pleasure herself again. Instead, she placed the pillowcase in the tiny basket of laundry she was gathering up, forcing her hair back up under her cap before curling back onto the bed, a shuddering breath escaping her.
She was glad Chummy and Peter seemed to be getting along. They both deserved to be content, and from what she had seen, they made one another very happy. She made a mental note to tell Chummy that in the morning when the nurses were sure to be gagging for more details about the dance and subsequent aftermath.
If she still had the fleeting notion that she wished she had been to the dance, that she was the one to be on the end of someone's gaze, she decided to ignore it. She had done enough sinning for one night.
