Lights, Camera, the Nun's Seduction

Hello Sister Cris Gómez.

With affection from Natalia Peralta.

Dear friend, I am aware of most of the events you recount to me.

However, some situations described in your letter are new to me; every morning and night, whenever I pray the rosary, I pray for you.

Don’t think that I am sad or upset or perhaps disappointed; that is not the case. On the contrary, I am glad to hear from you.

But please understand that it is not easy for me to accept this situation, to know that you have changed so much. If it’s true that I was already aware of most of what happened, from what I have read in the first of many letters I will receive, you are no longer the girl who played with me at the convent.

I didn’t want to believe what they told me about you.

Now I know it was true.

Although everyone wants you far away, I want you here, by my side. After all, you are my friend; more than that, you are my sister.

Do not hesitate to tell me about all the events you have experienced in these last years.

I know I will be scandalized more than once, but the world of men is very contaminated, and often, it drags good children of God along with it, using seducers and alluring devices that sell sin as if it were good, disguising what it truly is.

I feel it is my duty to ask you—and I hope you don’t mind—about the girl you had.

I believe, if I am not mistaken, that she is now twenty-five years old.

I want to know her name, who her father is, and what has become of her life. If you would let me help her, that would be wonderful; she is not to blame for the bad turns of fate.

Without anything more to say or to want to know, I do not want to be imprudent.

Therefore, I bid you farewell and will eagerly await your next letter, which will probably give rise to my next questions.

Yours sincerely, your friend and sister in faith, Sister Natalia Peralta.

P.S.: I still keep the doll.

Dear Sister Natalia,

You are, as always, so formal. I will save the greetings and exaggerated formalities for the envelope of the letter.

I must admit that this way of communicating is very poetic, personal, and therapeutic.

It makes me forget my problems and worries a little.

My friend, I am glad to know that you are willing to know everything, because that was my greatest concern. However, I did not realize you were aware of so many things, including the existence of my daughter. I wanted to speak with you more in detail about what has happened over these years, but given your desire to know about my daughter, I will briefly summarize the events that occurred during these years. I remember that in the previous letter, the last thing I told you was when I arrived at the estate. However, I didn't describe the place itself at that time; I think I was somewhat desperate to tell you about my first time with a man. But I will make a parenthesis in this letter to describe the estate; afterwards, I can explain what a gang bang is and how I became the best at it.

To get from the town to the estate, it took about 15 minutes by car. The road underwent modifications due to soil erosion, changing from a cement highway to a plain dirt road. When you reached the entrance of what you thought was the estate, there was a wire fence; there was always a guard responsible for opening and closing the poorly made wire gate. After passing the insignificant fence, there was a huge path lined with gigantic chaguaramos (a type of plant), and the path changed from dirt to a perfectly constructed stone walkway. At the end of the walkway, a large black gate awaited us, reinforced and massive, guarded by two guardhouses, a gatekeeper, and three dogs.

When the gate opened, I finally entered the estate; I found myself in a magnificent place. It was a two-story estate shaped like a U, with only sliding glass doors and windows. It had a covered swimming pool, a game room, a home theater, a futsal (indoor soccer) field (also a gym), and very spacious bedrooms (we all shared rooms—six rooms for all the actors, but they were really comfortable). We had three bathrooms at our disposal, and the master bedroom of our owner and lord was at the end of the hall on the second floor (it was the largest). There were two bedrooms on the ground floor for the staff, two bathrooms on the ground floor (one for the security men and one for the female staff). The kitchen looked like it was from a cooking contest; the dining room was enormous (the idea was for everyone to eat together as a family). It had three living rooms, a library, a terrace, and a small but cozy classroom for us.

About a hundred meters away was the house of the employees who were not part of the main house but responsible for the surroundings of the estat.

At the back of the estate was the recording studio, three rooms for different online events, another room where movies were filmed, two bathrooms, a dressing room, the production studio, and a small lounge area.

I will describe the party hall later.

In fact, it was an estate, a finca; that was the theater they set up to avoid the law.

I'm talking, dear friend, about a coffee plantation estate, one of the largest in the country. Everything was a show, but that was not the worst part. They also worked with priests and nuns from major churches in the city; but we all were unaware of that. It took us many years to discover it.

The place I liked the most to rest inside the estate was located behind the studio; because there was a small lagoon, rich in fauna and flora, with a swing to relax on. Whenever I wanted to escape the daily hustle or the toxicity of my coworkers, I would simply sneak away from the beautiful manor at any time of day; slipping past everyone, I would end up taking refuge in my little lagoon.

My friend, I can tell you with complete certainty that you would have loved the estate's library, as much as I did, because it housed all the books we once wished to read but were not allowed to, as they were not suitable for future nuns.

My third favorite place was none other than Salvador's room. It was my fortress of defense and emotional control center. Although it was just an object for him and he never loved me as a woman, I feel that deep down he did care for me, or at least I tell myself that to clear my conscience.

One day, unintentionally, after three years at the estate, I discovered a door in the floor; it led to a basement. I took a risk and went down that sloped staircase. At the end of the stairs, there was a sort of apartment with bedrooms, a kitchen, and a dining room—gleaming bathrooms, two in total, one even with a huge bathtub, which at that time I didn’t know the true name for (Jacuzzi). In my next letters, dear friend, I will tell you what they did in that place.