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”The thing that bothered Sister Agnes was that she had not used the closet door dildo for several weeks after an unfortunate incident that left her with the broken off end of the device inside her rectal channel and in need of a medical process to remove it from her person. Fortunately, she had a close friend that worked in the emergency room at Saint Vincent’s that took care of the entire thing. She was eternally grateful but was severely distressed over the fact that the young man was laughing the entire time. It was lesson she learned the hard way and after that she decided to chance random coitus with strange visitors in little encounters that were fraught with danger and excitement at being caught in the act by one of the other sisters certain to accuse her of breaking her vows.Her last union of that nature was with the man that delivered the bottled water to the school hallways. He was quite muscular because the water bottles were heavy and difficult to change without. Must have washed to shore, he thought wearily, content to rest where he was. Eventually his subconcious caught up with his rational mind, and he noticed something that had been bothering him on some level, or rather the absence of several things that had been causing him to tense up, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop, or the next ploink of the dripping faucet. What was missing were sounds, smells that were so universal to his existance that he hardly ever noticed them, but he was very aware of their abscence. There was no sound of waves sloshing against the shore or chirping against pilings or boats. There was no scent of fish, seaweed, salt, that defined the scent of the shore. There were no cries of seagulls feeling lonely or squabbling over scraps, no raven's croaks, in fact, the only sound was the susurration of the wind against sand. The dry, powdery, hot sand.John noticed that instead of the moist smells of the ocean, the smell was a flinty, ozone scent, and the air was.
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