Last night was the big date with Mandy. The so-called rehabilitated Mandy.

To be honest, I picked up the phone twice with the intent of cancelling the date. I had a few canned excuses ready to serve, like "I'm not feeling well (*coughcough*)" or "Sorry, I have a blog article to write to tell everybody how much of a bi-atch you were to me in the past." In the end, though, I put the phone down because there was something in her tone of voice that sounded different from before. Also, I figured that the best way for me to deal with Mandy wasn't to avoid her, but to see if I'd recovered enough to be around her without slipping and ending up inside her. (Don't laugh! It happens, you know!)

Anyway, I showed up at Starbucks, half-hoping one of us had gotten confused as to WHICH ONE we were supposed to meet at, and that this whole thing could be averted. When I got there (a bit early), there weren't many people; half the place was empty. Most of the clientele was the usual type: students with laptops flipping through reams of class notes; animated groups of friends redesigning the fundamental mechanics of the world; boyfriends-girlfriends making gooey eyes at each other; and a pair of nuns.

Yeah. Nuns. Two of them. One of them was -- I instantly recognized her -- my very own Mandy. She saw me coming and whispered something to the other nun. They both got up to greet me. Mandy's companion was chubby but had a pleasant smile. Mandy was still hot and no amount of black & white fabric could hide (or even contain) that fact. Mandy introduced her companion (we'll call her Sister Agnes), who was here as a chaperon. Mandy (now Sister Madeline) said she was better, but didn't trust her feelings around me. She reiterated that she really only wanted to SEE me, to test her own resolve.

She did most of the talking. Sister Agnes was listening. Me, I was looking. At her face. At her gray eyes. At her lips. At the locks of hair I could imagine tucked away under that coif. At her chest (but only just a little, I promise). I was reliving in my head all my (rather pleasant) experiences with her exquisite lady-parts. Sure, she'd been a monster to me, but as monsters go, you couldn't find a better-looking one. And I knew that monster inside her wanted me really bad, and a part of me (located below the belt) find that rather pleasant. All that stood between that beast and me was a little black & white fabric. Something I could rip up in seconds if I wanted to. For a moment, I forgot where I was and my fingers shook, ready for action.

Then -- snap! -- I got my senses back. I was still distracted, but able to focus on the words.

I think I got most of her history: a lot of depravity, enough broken hearts to fill a phone book, then she hit rock bottom. She was found and rescued by some guy who did some mumbo jumbo and apparently exorcised her. She entered a convent and is now... better. I'm sure she looks and sounds better, but really?

She said her piece, then asked me to forgive her for her sins. It was all very Twelve Steps, and with the other nun there, I didn't feel I could say what I had on my mind. Which was something between "screw you for what you've done to me" and "screw you right now on this table, in front of all these folks." (Which, incidentally, would not have been the first time.) Anyway, I felt cornered, so I lied. I said there was nothing to forgive, that I'd moved on, and was wishing her happiness. We talked a little bit more, then I said I had to go -- other commitments and all. We got up. She said she couldn't hug me, so she took my hand and kissed my fingers. (I would have preferred the hug, honestly -- those chest pillors are DAMN comfy!)

And that was that. Then I went out for drinks with my guy-pals Barrett and Brooke, and didn't come back until the wee hours. I slept soundly and had a lot of erotic dreams involving sexy nuns.