Sunday School
Buxton

 

Sunday school

When you question; do you ask because you alone want to know the answer. Or is it something you want to know for the benefit of others, so other minds can see your wisdom and judge you for what you know. Our conception of power is knowledge. And in our infinite minds we seek the answer to many questions that overall are purposeless to the track of life that we ride. But still we will ride this track even if it kills us.

One Question is all it took to set Evolution in progress. But what is Evolution without an answer?

Who Is?
____________

I sit on the floor in a room, the room is so familiar and the nasty aroma of fresh paint and new wooden panels are intoxicating. The windows in the room are circular and from them a fair view of the outside World is vacantly open for all to see. But it's Sunday. The day of the week we are allowed to vacate our sinful lives and live life as if we have just faced-off with our own souls in an attempt at seeking a greater judgement from our creator. So it doesn't matter how sunny it is outside of these windows, on the inside we sit and look at the blue sky and thank our creator that he has given this day. Or some of us do. I sit and imagine what possible adventures exist on the outside of these four walls. What life is waiting for me in 3 hours time, once this masquerade is over where will I go. What mischief will I get into? Not that mischief is cool. But having sat in a Mormon Church for 6hrs it makes me feel dirty inside, so unclean that only something as reckless as youth will have to be administered to wash out the God suds from my eyes.

I hate Sunday school. I hate Religion. I can't stand the people in this Church and for what they stand for. Am I the only one here that thinks that way?

'Graume!' Teresa shouts at me.

'Are you lestenin?' She adds

Life without religion I ponder for in a momentarily lapse of care I fail to answer quickly enough for the French Lady.

'Graume!' She shouts again in that silken voice.

'Yeah, sorry Mademoiselle. I'm here. Listening' I respond.

Teresa Vionellete, a 34 year old Mormon from Nice in France. She has got the best set of tits any kid my age could ask for, and holds the key to my attendance in Sunday school. My classmate David took me along with him to this church over 4 months ago.

'Church? Me?'

I had laughed in his face when he had asked me along originally. But on hearing more about the freebies that came along with being religious I was kind of curious to see what was going on.

'We get free food & drink and play cool games' he continued to sell the product to me.

A crummy piece of bread, some metallic tasting water and all games were indoor games. Great. But on some level I was curious about religion and needed to find out whether or not I had a religious bone. After seeing Teresa in our age group in Sunday class, it turns out that I was religious. Funny how these things work out really.

But Four Months on from my first revelation I was seriously thinking of quitting. I was nearly 10 years old and I had to think of my reputation as a young genius to consider, but people didn't take an interest in my decision-making, more my decision breaking. If it wasn't done their way then it wasn't done right. If it wasn't religion I was apart of then it would be something else that I'd hate just as equally. So I was in a bit of a rut as far as being taught was concerned. The continuation in my field was to be educated, educated until I had served my purpose. Whatever my purpose is; it most definitely isn't religion. But Teresa, the woman of my dreams and the only girl in the World that I sought after. I had seen her naked a million times in my mind and lusted after a glimpse of what I thought would be real. Those boobs. Those titties. The only objects that mattered to me, life was an empty vacuum without them, yet before I seen them on Teresa's pure body I never knew about them. GOD really did save me. If Teresa was a representation of God, then God was the man I worshipped. I say bollocks to Religion. But to Teresa I say Religion is great to emphasise the point that her teachings were fantastic and every word she spoke was as clear as an unmarred puddle. She spoke crap though; you get the gist of it right?



July 21st 1992 - The Jesus Christ Mormon Church for Latter Day Saints

'Just turn it up will ya' I requested.

'It won't budge' Dave replied through a barrage of muscular grunting.

'OK, OK leave it. Here comes an Elder' I replied noticing an old teenage boy wander down the halls.

Being a Mormon was no fun. It all started at 11am on a Sunday and took until 5pm to finish; the entire day was wasted on God I thought to myself. But every so often there was a chance to slip out of the back curtain from the mass hall and create some fun, which was bad in some people's eyes. I wasn't a Mormon. I couldn't give two nuts about Jesus, God and all the rest of the religion that spoke of condemnation and rules. I can only explain my absence of Faith to be, sense and not a lack of discipline. I just couldn't see the whole picture of God in my mind. Numbers didn't add up. Things were missing from stories I had heard. And when I watched Mormons give a speech on the stage I often wondered why they were crying over something that was meant to be the unification process. God was making them cry with joy they would claim. This one guy pretended to faint and broke his hand one time, it was funny to see all the people gather around him claiming God wanted him to feel this pain, embrace the pain Gareth, embrace it. Gareth didn't come back. I think sense hit him direct in the forehead and watching grown adults pray for your wounds to be healed under the power of God is something that will always make you question events of occurrence.

As the Elder disappeared around the corner, I immediately looked at the thermostat. It had some sort of lock on it, which would explain the lack of movement from David's attempt. I flicked the small setter pad with relative ease, and turned the central heating up. Within twenty minutes Teresa would be a contestant from a Miss wet T-shirt contest, those boobies would sweat through her white shirt and we would have lift off. A great thing about Teresa was, she never ever wore a bra. I was always happy about this. And every so often as she leant over to help someone at the table a view a sheer joy would dazzle my eyes. But it wasn't enough. I needed to see more. I wanted to see the full thing. It was my mission in life.

Now as your aware Mormons have missionaries, the annoying door-knocking type, probably the worst type of messengers to send, but they believed that God wanted it to be this way such was their belief. . I wasn't a door-knocking missionary, but wood was most definitely knocking and the mission was not to find God but to find boob. I believed in Boob so much that I was willing to sacrifice my life for it. The turning of the thermostat was the latest on ingenious ideas that had been crafted by myself. Every week I would go with some hook, some possible way of seeing the boob. I asked a lot of questions when we eventually sat down at the tables rather than asking them when I was below her on the floor. It was always an awkward moment for me, trying to understand the answer to the question I had just asked and at the same time glance down her top to capture a mind-photo that would be cherished a lot.

Sometimes, and only sometimes luck would come my way and one of her buttons would be undone halfway down her White shirt, a small cave of skin opened up that sowed the seed of a shadowy bump above it. I would be screaming in my head for her to just rip the bloody shirt off and show us how nature works.

Needless to say as a 9-year-old I was a fast developer, I wanted to know it all and in some cases I did know it all. Or so I thought. Sex was the Mt. Everest of my age, like all of a sudden something had switched on in our heads and now woman where everywhere, it was almost sickening to think of all the missed opportunities in the previous years before hand. Being in the Woman's changing room for swimming whilst my mother changed me. Toilet visits. Just an overall empty feeling of missed opportunity lingered in my heart. But now all of those opportunities would be a culmination of attempt into the unknown, as the future would be paved with Boobies and maybe one day, even touching them. I couldn't think of anyone else I'd rather share that experience with. Teresa from Nice. Teresa the French-girl. Teresa the Mormon. The fact that she was deeply religious seemed to be the only obstacle I faced. It was the ACME Bomb factor. The challenge I was ready to face and take on.

The thermostat had been on high heat for around 15 minutes as we took our seats at the desk. Teresa had been waffling on about God; I had been intent on her words. And David was thrown out of class for the day after tormenting Malcolm. I felt sorry for Malcolm, his parents were devout Mormons and one of the laws suggested that no food should be consumed before mass, which meant the poor bastard had to wait until 5pm to get some food on a Sunday. Luckily David and myself didn't stick to this rule. We would sit in class with Malcolm every Sunday and throw bits of food on the ground and watch him fall to his knees and eat anything that we discarded. I did feel sorry for him, I really did. But I was 9 years old and it was too good an opportunity to pass away. Every week we would get in trouble for doing this as we offered temptation to Malcolm. On this occasion David had been eating Digestive biscuits, he wasn't throwing anything on the ground, crumbs naturally just fell off the biscuit. Malcolm hit the ground under David's section of the desk like some dog looking for scraps from the dinner table. It was funny. Yet saddening.

'Gees c'Est trop chaud dans ici.' Teresa quietly said to herself as she passed by the back of my desk.

She never spoke French in front of us; the words feel from her lips like cherries from a bush. Beautiful they sounded, goosebumps gently shivered down my neck despite that rising heat. An alarm clock in my heart would signal every two minutes, CHECK, I could feel myself asking. Wondering if Teresa's shirt had become see through yet. Nothing but the tease of her shirt being buttoned down as always to he brow line of her breasts were on view, which was nice in itself. Just a couple more buttons and life would be complete I often thought. I'd actually got to the point where a completely tactless manoeuvre of just ripping her shirt off to reveal those boobs would have worked for me, but the morality of doing it in God's house overcame that. For now. Besides this plan was flawless. David and I had everything figured out.

10:34am

We arrived early. We arrived so our plan that had been meticulously derived over the last 2 days would be completed without any hiccups. This plan was so finely tuned, the military would have been proud to use it.

Step 1
Make sure all windows in the church were open. Make sure our classes window was closed and the key was out of site.
Step 2
Make sure we turn the thermostat all the way up.
Step 3
Sit back and enjoy the free-view of boobs.

We had even came up with a Step 4, 5, 6, 7 and 8 but decided not to complicate matters with unnecessary measures, besides, we didn't have enough money for a video camera and Vaseline. Seeing those boobs through her shirt would most definitely be enough, we were both confident that the plan would work. But Malcolmisation, something very unexpected had taken David out of the OP in the field of War. But I stood, the lone solider, I stood and faced those boobs, one of us would be exposed today I swore in my mind. I put my arm up to signal a fake rugged incompetent question that would need her to come back to my desk. Our eyes met.

We had 11 people in our class, 10 discounting Dave who was forced to join the lower age group for today. He would miss something that may be historic. I could actually tell him anything and he would have to believe me. Either way, tales of me seeing Boob would happen whether I saw them or not.

'Yes Graume' She asked in that soft voice. My name is Graeme. But in her native tongue it seemed to hard to say without messing it up and anyway I wouldn't condemn her for mispronouncing my name when she was the Queen of my heart. She could have called me Shit and it would have sounded like Heaven to me. Then all of a sudden I turned to face her; her tits were right in the way of my face, still covered by the white shirt. I turned back to the paper drawing of Jesus.

Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob.

'Yes Graume?' Her voice was becoming ever more impatient as a question wouldn't come to me. OH Christ! Just ask her something. Anything.

Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob.

Nothing. I couldn't even slur. My mouth had totally given up on me. Oh NO. I felt a searing hole burn through me as my face went bright red. Oh No. A sweating sensation erupted all over my body, as I couldn't stop thinking about those boobs that were practically touching my ear. I had a cascade of thoughts racing through my head. All Boob related. Nothing else existed in my head but boobs.

'Did e' you want to ask me something Graume?' She asked.

Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. Boob. � Then.

'YES' I shouted as I scared us both.

'Ohh-k' she replied.

'What. What does 'God is my father' mean in French?' (What the hell was I asking?) I asked myself.

'Um. Dieu est mon p�re' She replied with a slightly scrunched up look on her face as if to ask why I asked such a random question.

'My dad. He wants me to learn another language. So you know. I thought I'd start with some religious context. I'd say French is one of the best languages to learn and I guess he would agree. So yeah. Thanks' I quickly fired out the explanation she required in the most awkward of circumstances.

'Oh very good'a Graume. I home-teach French. I want you to come over to suck my nipples' She said. She said?

'Wha�?' I exhaled a demand to repeat what she just said.

'Yes. I teach home teach French to the English speaking, and English to the French speaking.' She said. What the hell had I just done to distort the sound barrier in this Religious classroom?

'OK that's good to know. I'll speak to my dad about it.' I replied. She eventually left and gave me the opportunity to peel my T-shirt from the chair I sat upon.


As the time of the class wore away, the heat was a continual factor. The classroom window was not going to open as I had the key in my pocket, even though I was sweating myself I had to stay strong to the cause. I couldn't falter now for only the weak falter and if I was to walk out of here without seeing Teresa's breasts then I feel it would all be over. That somehow this mission has no conclusion. She will fade into the memory of eternity and be forever a grain of hope that I lusted after once upon a time.

If this were the case then my cause had to be stronger now then ever before, if it came down to it, I would do the one thing that would disgrace me in the House of God forevermore. But we are talking about the Mormon house of God if that equates to any form of sense in ripping Teresa's shirt accidentally on purpose to capture the pure essence of adulthood.

'OK children. Ve are going to go outside for a while, as it is very hot in ere yes?'

A congealed reaction from the rest of the group wanted to go out. But No, God No. This plan was nearly working I could see what looked to be rubbed grease on paper appearing around the armpits and rib area. It wouldn't be long now before her nips were present for me to see. 10 more minutes and they would be clear for me to see. I made a decision. They would get air, but only by my hand would they get air, I reached into my pocket.

'Mrs Vionellete?' I piped up as I pretended to pick something up from the ground below my desk.

'I found the key to the window. Couldn't we just open a Window as I need to learn more about this', Classy Graeme, classy I thought to myself as Teresa took the key and prepared to open the window.

Now as I've said I'm not a religious man at all. But some things I've seen in life make me wonder about this benevolent force that everyone goes on about. This force that lubricates our lives and makes it all go smoothly. I must contest that since the window opened I have begun believing in a force that made me question.

Teresa changed her mind and the kids sat back down. She had a job to do. She had to teach us the rules of God and all the Mormon principles that make them who they are. I had failed this week's task, but the thermostat would definitely be a source of plotting from now on. Or so I thought.

As she clicked the key into place the window opened slightly, it slightly jammed, it would require a small push to open it to its full width. This next sequence happened in slow motion.

Teresa used the base of her palms to nudge the window open. And I swear to this day on what happened next. Out of nowhere a wind flew through the Church, presumably from all of the other open windows. And as if some pressure had been unleashed the window swung full tilt away from Teresa the window handle caught her white shirt from the seam on her ribs and tore it right off her body, it blew out of the window and was gone. Teresa spun around and there they were. The greatest sight any Man could ask for.

A relief shattered me internally and I could feel a possession of strength take over. I wanted to cry like all of those people upon the stage, I wanted to speak about this wonderful sight to as many people as I could, I would even knock on doors to tell them of this beauty. Nothing had to make sense for the whole 2 seconds Teresa stood they're topless in front of her class. Nothing had to make any sense anymore. I had seen Boob. I had so seen Boob and that was the only thing that ever mattered.

14th August 1992

'OK one more time Graume' Teresa demanded.

'Qui est' I answered.








The End

 

 

Copyright © 2007 Buxton
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"