Asian Catholic nun's charity - part 2 - Sex Stories

Asian Catholic nun's charity - part 2

... old, beaten and worn Volkswagen Dasher and started the engine. One of the many joys she had discovered in her time with the Church was that she loved the thrill of driving the narrow, winding streets of the village and relished every opportunity that arose allowing her to use the Parish car. Secondly, that her rounds about the town would be completed very quickly indeed (the way she drove, anyway), allowing her to spend a good bit of extra time this afternoon with Mr Bishal. She was quite familiar with the 90 years old's tale, unfortunately a common one in this poor town. Born in Nepal, he and his family immigrated to been here when the town was still booming and converted to Catholicism and had been a long-standing member of the Church. He and his wife had many children who worked with them in their bakery and their many progeny thrived, taking jobs in the other local industries. Then, the economic collapse scattered his once-close family to far away lands seeking jobs while he and his wife stayed here, too stubborn to give up. After she had passed away and the bakery had long-since closed, all that was left was the poor old man living alone on his meager savings. As the years passed, his senility and infirmity also increased bit by bit and caused him great hardship to attend Church services on his own. Even walking or using the sporadic public bus was quite difficult for the elderly Mr Bishal and it soon passed to the loving care of the Father Mahara and the Nuns to keep a ...

... watchful eye on him, to take his welfare check to the store for groceries every month and to provide transport to the church when he felt able to attend. Sister Mary gunned the old Volkswagen along the ruin paved road, eying the many abandoned buildings posted with repossession signs from the banks, grimly warning of “No Trespassing”. Finally she reached her destination, a plain and simple little house that, like it occupant, was in a state of decay. The front door was open, blocked only by a screen to keep out flies; knocking on the wooden frame, Sister Mary peered in to the dark home, spying the elderly man sitting in his chair in front of the television, having dozed off. Her knock awakening him with a jerk, the old man rose unsteadily and made his way slowly to the door. The Nun's cheery, "Hello, Mr Bishal!" brought a smile to his wrinkled old face. The Nepalese man was becoming quite bald with just a sparse amount of gray hair left on his liver-spotted brown head, his silver beard not as full as it once was, but his big bushy eyebrows turned up with surprise and delight and his eyes twinkled as he recognized his most favorite visitor. Not wanting him to make the trip all of the way to the front door, Sister Mary opened the screen door and stepped in, laden with her hamper of food and supplies. As she made her greetings to the old pensioner, she let him steady himself against her strong young body as they made their way to the kitchen. His trembling hands held her upper ...