sister missionaries

Sister Missionary Journal

t wasn’t that my stupid boyfriend had Dear-Janed me. But it must have seemed that way to everyone else, including my companion, Sister Dannon. What really bothered me was how it had not bothered me that he was getting married to some skinny white girl at BYU-Idaho. I wouldn’t say that I was happy for him but in a way – I felt relieved.

Guilt washed over me for these thoughts. I should be devastated to lose such a good righteous Priesthood-holder, who could take me to the Temple (of course, being a missionary, I had already been through the Temple ) but marry me in a beautiful Sealing Room, the pair of us looking past one another to the mirrors on opposite sides of the room and seeing our reflections in an endless repetition on to eternity.

Eternity with Jack? I shuddered. Don’t get me wrong: he’s a great man but I just could not imagine it. The brief time that I had been serving my mission in the Florida – Fort Lauderdale Mission, I had found that the company of women was so much more – attractive.

Then there was Sister Dannon. Oh, beautiful, sweet Sister Dannon. She was perfection incarnate. Tall, Swedish-American blonde from Orem, Utah. She was not skinny but small – less like a fashion model and more like a Hollywood starlet. Her eyes were a luscious hue of sky-blue. Her lips were plump and juicy and young. Since the Church had reduced the missionary age for Sister Missionaries to twenty, the field was inundated with barely-legal goddesses so much like her.

And yet, none were like her. Her courage. Her determination. Her wisdom. Her hips that tugged at the fabric of her pretty dresses in a way that seemed to never crumple. She was like my own angel. I was the luckiest companion in the world.

I suppose you could say that I was one of those goddesses, too. I was a little frumpy around the middle but buxom upstairs, so my little tummy was less noticeable. Growing up in Monterrey, Mexico, I had taken for granted that I was as busty as other Mexican girls. Since coming to America for my first semester at BYU, I had noticed that American boys really took notice of my breasts. Jack had certainly liked them, but now he was days away from being wed to a skinny redhead from Idaho who had not even graduated High School, yet.

My BoM (Book of Mormon) Study period was a complete loss. I sat at my desk, immediately next to Sister Dannon’s, and stared at the picture of my boyfriend. The other companionship that we shared our apartment with – Sister Gerrero and Sister Olson – had gone to an early morning appointment, leaving us to study alone.

I liked white girls. I couldn’t help it. I grew up on Hollywood movies where there could only be so many girls who looked like me. American TV was better than our novelas in Mexico. American magazines were better than our magazines. Whether or not I would admit it, every slender blonde girl was Marilyn Monroe to me.

Maybe by some cruel twist of fate, our zone was mainly so-called “Zebra” companionships: companionships where one companion was a native English-speaker (and therefore white) and one was a native Spanish-speaker (and generally brown) which meant that I had only had white companions and I probably always would for the eighteen months that I would be in the mission field.

In Florida, Zebra companionships were a necessity to make the best use of the coverage of our areas. We taught English-speaking potential converts as a team but I taught Spanish-speaking Cubans, Puerto Ricans and Mexicans on my own while Sister Dannon mostly sat and smiled.

I didn’t mind any of that. I know that most people struggled to get used to being around another person 24 hours a day – even sleeping in the same room. And if she were Jack…Oh, I was back to that, again…

It was in the middle of that thought that I saw her staring at me from her desk next to me.

“What?” I smiled at her. But my smile quickly faded as a I saw the compassion in her eyes. Oh, how did she always manage to see right through me?

She stood, making my heart race for a moment. She was wearing a black dress that draped her figure with a well-tailored fit. I had seen her in her underwear plenty enough times to know that the dress was deceptively loose – she was one of those women who never seemed to get naked for long and had every reason to be proud of her flawless body.

Sliding my boyfriend’s photo on the other side of my desk and setting it face-down, Sister Dannon suddenly sat on my lap. I was stunned.

“What’s happening?” I said.

She put her arms around me and pressed my head to her ample bosom. It was so right. All that I could think was that it was just so right…for being so wrong.

My arms went round her waist. I could feel my nipples stiffen against my G’s and my pussy begin to soak into the white cotton fabric of my bottom G’s.

“My thoughts, Sister,” I managed. “Oh my stupid, stupid impure thoughts!”

Tears began and I separated from her body, crying like a baby. She stroked my hair and brought my face back to her bosom. She rocked me, gently.

“Oh, Sister Dannon,” I moaned, “I’m so sad!”

She put a hand to my cheek. “What is it, Sister Vasquez?” she asked. “Did that silly boy upset you?”

“No, it’s me.” I panted in a wasted effort to recover control. “I’m the stupid one,” I sobbed.

She stroked my hair, hushing me, quietly.

“Don’t do that, Sister,” she said. “It isn’t you. You are precious.”

The words on her lips were sweet nectar.

“Oh, Sister Dannon, it is! It’s me. I’m so messed up!”

“What language!” She exclaimed. “Messed up about what, Sister?” she asked tenderly.

“About us!” I confessed through my tears.

Sister Dannon looked distressed.

“I, I cherish you,” I stammered.

She nodded as she reached up and pulled the pin from my charcoal-black hair, letting it tumble freely down my shoulders.

“And I cherish you, Sister,” she said. “What’s wrong with that?”

“You don’t get it, Sister,” I said. “I – I want to be with you, to, you know…”

“Oh,” she said. “Yes. I think I see.”

I waited for her to jump off my lap. I waited for her to call me a wicked and lustful sinner! But she only smiled at me, beaming her perfectly-straight and perfectly-white teeth, and continued to touch my hair.

“Is that all?” she said.

“What?” I said.

“Oh, lovely, beautiful Sister Vasquez,” she whispered, her blue eyes looking down into my plain brown ones. “Did you really think that I hadn’t noticed?”

“I’ve been fantasizing about it for such a long time!” I confessed through my tears. “About you. About….about girls…”

She nodded and said: “My dear, I adore you with my whole soul. From the first instant when I met you, I’ve loved you in a way that I had never loved a companion. I’m sorry if my teasing has been hard on you.”

“Teasing!” I burst out.

“You know…the accidental walk-ins to the bathroom. The peeks up your skirt, pretending that I was adjusting your pantyhose that was not even really caught in it.”

“You what!” I blurted out, shocked.

“Oh, Sister,” she smiled. “Lovely Sister Vasquez, my sweetheart! Just come with me, will you?”

“Where?” I said.

“Where we can explore these feelings more closely,” she whispered.

“The rules,” I said. “What about-”

“We’re breaking them, already,” she said. “Come on, darling.”

She stood up and offered me her hand.

“Our appointment at…” I started.

“Can wait,” she finished for me. “Come along, Sister. I’ll do everything. Don’t worry.”

“What if I can’t…” I said.

“Then we will stop,” she answered. “It wouldn’t change my being your companion any more than my being gay has kept you from becoming my companion.”

Gay. There it was. That word. That ugly, ugly, lovely and precious secret password into Satan’s speak-easy of sinful delights.

“And what if I love it?” I exhaled with a shaky voice.

“Then I will be the last person in the world with a right to throw stones at you, sweetie,” she said, confidently.

“We could be caught!” I objected.

“We have to take that risk, honey,” she said.

The word “honey” lingered in the air between us. I was instantly in love with it.

“Angie,” she said, calling me by my first name for the first time, “trust me.”

I looked up to her, paralyzed. I wanted to call her by her own first name. I had never dared – it was so expressly against the rules. Identity on our mission was indistinguishable from respect. And respecting one another meant always addressing one another as “Sister” or “Elder”.

Melissa, I thought, silently. My Melissa. My sweetheart, Melissa Dannon. Of course we knew one another’s forbidden first names. We wouldn’t be missionaries, forever, after all.

It was so right that it brought a tear to my eye.

“What does your heart tell you?” Sister Dannon whispered.

I took her hand and stood.

Standing toe-to-toe, our breasts grazed against one another. Her breath was quickening. I knew then that she was as nervous as I was.

Our lips met delicately, squeezing tenderly together. Sister Dannon gave a slight moan as the tip of my tongue stroked her lips. Her lips parted for me and I slid my tongue between them

The kiss developed a heart of it’s own that beat with the music of our hearts as we explored one another. I touched her face. She cupped my breast. I broke off to gasp for air at the feel of her slender fingers.

“Is that okay?” she asked in a breathy voice. She took advantage of an opportunity to kiss my exposed neck.

“It’s wonderful,” I whispered, honestly.

Even as I felt the Spirit leaving me, my heart lifted up. This was the companionship that I needed: Sister Dannon, my own, personal constant companion.

“I promise it won’t go too far,” she whispered.

“I think that I need to go too far,” I said.

She grinned and kissed my lips once more, my hands stroking the delicate skin of her long, elegant neck. She had bit tenderly on my lower lip and pulled it out in a sexy, drawn-out kiss. Then, she licked the flavor of my lip gloss from her lips.

“I want you,” she confessed.

In our bedroom, we sat on her bed. Sister Dannon had closed the blinds to the only window and closed the door, though there was no lock on the door, per our mission’s rules.

She lifted the hem of her dress, exposing her G’s beneath. She wore a very simple bra over them: plain foam padding, no lace or frills of any kind. I reached around and unhooked it for her.

She peeled of the top of her sacred underwear, exposing two pale perfect breasts that drew my gaze. I felt lightheaded.

“Say something,” she whispered.

“You’re amazing,” I said.

Her eyes softened as she kissed my lips, again.

My hand rose to cup her breast. So sweet, tender and firm. Her own hand discovered my breast, as well. She traced the faint outline of my swollen nipple with her thumb throught the cotton of my dress.

“Let’s get you naked now,” she said.

I disrobed quickly and sloppily, where she had done so prettily. But as she watched me, her eyes were wide with wonder.

“My God, your body’s amazing!” she said.

I was definitely not ready for that. As I slipped my bottoms to the floor to reveal the last of my nakedness: my tightly-trimmed black bush, she bit her lip, seductively.

She removed her own bottoms to show that she had completely shaved bare.

“Why do you shave it all !” I exclaimed.

“I think it looks sexy,” she shrugged.

“But you’re a missionary! No one can see it,” I said to her. We didn’t date on our missions. Heck, we weren’t supposed to masturbate, even when we were at home.

She shifted nervously for a moment and said: “You can see it.”

I put my arm around her and shifted my weight so that Sister Dannon was instantly on top of me on the bed. My hands ventured to get a tender hold on her firm and round bum. Pulling her tight against me, our legs interlocked.

I could feel my labia, hot and wet against her skin. I could feel hers against mine.

Sister Dannon angled her back, grinding against me.

Guilt washed over me, adding fuel to the fire of passion that Sister Dannon had lit inside of me.

Her tongue traced down my sternum, between my breasts. Kissing my belly button so carefully, my heart pounded like it would wear out my breastbone and burst

She kissed my patch, nuzzled her nose delightfully in it.

“You smell delicious,” she whispered.

What a nice thing to hear, even if it wasn’t true.

The first lick, sent electric shocks through my body. As she tenderly tasted my pussy lips, though, I felt like I was riding a sunbeam straight to Heaven.

“OH GOSH, Sister, I could…I could just…!” I wheezed, my hand groping down my abdomen to my pussy.

She snatched up my hand. “Just bask it. Sister Dannon doesn’t want for you to cum, quite yet,” she prodded.

Licking her fingers, she carefully slipped one inside of me. It felt better than I expected. At first, she had to go slow: I was still quite tight as it was my first time. But as my body gave way to her, she was able to place a second finger inside. Sharp pain was masked with overwhelming pleasure.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

I nodded my head as my breath escaped me. I had not realized that I had been holding it.

I hoped she would not tease me, knowing that I had obviously never done this before. And she didn’t.

“Yes, Sister,” I moaned.

Her mouth moved onto kissing and licking my tummy while she fingered me more and more firmly. My mounting lust for her ebbed and flowed like an ocean of pleasure.

“Oh, yes!” I whispered, “I – love – it!”

I felt her fingers enter me, again as her mouth climbed to suck ever-so-gently at my hood. My clit ached with a mounting, accelerating desire.

Her fingers slid deeper into me and curled lusciously against my tender roof. I had never felt so girlish in all my life. She owned me so thoroughly as my whole body bathed in a toasty baptism of fire.

I came. The burning explosion of joy and sweet pain rushed inside of me. It shot through my whole body through me as I gave a long cry of orgasmic satisfaction.

She slithered up to lie close to me as I returned to my body.

“I’ve needed to do that to you since the day you strolled into the Chapel for transfers. You are so delightful.”

We kissed again and I savored the essence of myself in her mouth.

I snuggled into the hollow of her neck, kissing her soft skin.

My hand went down to her pussy. As I kissed her pretty breasts, my fingers played at the smooth baldness of her mound, tracing the wet contours of her soft-but-firm crotch. I traced the silky folds of her labia with my finger as she gasped and panted, arching her back and gulping for air.

“Ooooh, don’t stop!” Sister Dannon pleaded.

I licked my fingers and then kissed her red lips. Then I kissed a long trail of loving, sweet and worshipful kisses down her stomach to the pretty paradise of perfection between her knees. As I gazed at her sex and saw her pussy a  bright pink against her pale skin, I took a careful whiff of her sexy aroma.

It was lighter than mine, not so musky and just as sweet as sugar.

I looked up into Sister Dannon’s eyes. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips blushed red with excitement.

“Taste me, Sister,” she said.

I pressed my tongue against her pussy and wiped upward in one, flat, long stroke.

She began grinding against my face, causing me to have to hold her hips open and caress the insides of her soft thighs to keep her legs from popping head open.

Her breathing picked up pace as I buried my tongue inside of her.

“Yeah, baby,” she exclaimed, quietly.

Her breasts rolled to her sides as I made her whole bed move,   digging deeply into her pussy. Her tummy was firm but every ounce of her bosom shook wildly.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you,” I answered as I came up for air,

I played with my nipples, my pussy already on fire as I worshipped at her beautiful temple.

“It’s been so long,” she said, breathily.

Her flavor changed, suddenly. She became wetter. I swallowed her in large gulps as I devoured the flavor of her pretty little love taco.

“Oh!” she exclaime suddenly.

“Yeah?” I asked.

“Yes!” she said with a puff of excitement from her lungs

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, oh, yeah, baby!” she clamored as she brought one fist to her lips and bit down hard into her flesh to keep quiet.

And then, her hips raised, her legs flexing as her toes curled under.

Suddenly, she burst into my mouth. It startled me with the first spurt. Then I tasted it. A little salty but a powerfully lusty hint of sweet.

“Yummy,” I whispered.

She grabbed me by my hair and brought my mouth back to her warm and wet pussy.

“Fuck my pussy, Sister,” she begged.

I put two fingers inside of her and worked her clit with my mouth.

“Oh!” she exclaimed.

I drank every drop and greedily licked up every stray dribble while she noisily splashed on my face, my hair, my neck.

“Come on me, Melissa,” I said. “Come on my face.”

“Such- a -pretty – face!” she said between red-faced breaths. She palmed both of her breasts and worked them hard as she massaged herself in time to my lovemaking. She pinched her nipples in her pretty fingers.

“Say it, again,” she begged.

“Melissa,” I said as I continued to shallowly dive and lick, dive and lick. “My Melissa. My sweetheart Melissa.”

She erupted another delicious fountain of sex.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Ohhhhhhhh!”

I looked up to her lovely blue eyes as I licked every drop from her.

“Come here,” she commanded.

I obeyed.

She kissed her moisture from my lips, devouring them, hungrily.

“We’re in a lot of trouble,” she whispered to me. But she smiled because it was impossible to care in that moment when it felt so good to be loved by someone.

“I thank God for bringing you to me,” I whispered to her.

She looked confused: “Do you really think that Heavenly Father brought us together?”

I knew what she meant. It could not possibly be doctrinally sound. But somehow, I found myself nodding.

“I’m sure of it, Melissa. With all my heart: I’m sure of it.”


The best remedy is to look at Christ’s cross and let ourselves be challenged by his final cry. He died crying out his love for each of us: young and old, saints and sinners, the people of his times and of our own. We have been saved by his cross, and no one can repress the joy of the Gospel; no one, in any situation whatsoever, is far from the Father’s merciful gaze. Looking at the cross means allowing our priorities, choices and actions to be challenged. It means questioning ourselves about our sensitivity to those experiencing difficulty. Brothers and sisters, where is our heart focused? Does Jesus Christ continue to be a source of joy and praise in our heart, or does its priorities and concerns make us ashamed to look at sinners, the least and forgotten? || Pope Francis
Have a blessed Palm Sunday everyone! 🌿


After @ezlo-the-cap posted about his mission call earlier this week, I’ve had a few people ask me questions about Mormon missionaries.

One of the questions someone asked me over a private message was, “Do women ever go on Mormon missions?”

Yup!! We have a pair serving in our ward (local Mormon congregation) right now. They came over for dinner tonight, and when I told them about my blog and the questions I’d been getting, the offered to have their photo taken with my kids. (My two daughters are in the photo, but I don’t know where my son had gone off to.)

Thanks for asking the question! :)

National Sisters Day

Every first Sunday in August is apparently a National Sisters Day so wishing all you sisters (by blood or a missionary tag) a happy day! It’s not always easy getting along but knowing that they’re always there for you makes it worthwhile.

Plus, an occasional cupcake here an there is always a big heart warmer (and a belly pleaser).

I AM NOW A SET APART MISSIONARY FOR THE CHURCH OF JESUS CHRIST OF LATTER DAY SAINTS!!! 😭😍 I will be retiring from tumblr for the next 18 months starting now. Since the nature of this website can be highly untrustworthy, inappropriate and there is so many people who want to drag you down I am leaving my blog open but will be coming away from tumblr immediately.

See you all in 18 ❤

What feminism looks like in Mormon culture:

• Male primary teachers
• Taking the Young Women to a shooting range
• Teaching the Young Men basic home making skills
• Single fathers herding children into sacrament meeting
• Sister missionaries being invited to sit in ward council
• Male mission nurses/girls’ camp nurses
• Female Sunday School teachers
• Female seminary/institute instructors


*blogs dedicated to mormon/lds women, please DO NOT reblog this*

Dear Sister Duncan,
You are hereby called to serve as missionary of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. You are assigned to labour in the Canada Edmonton Mission.
You should report to the Provo Missionary Training Center on Tuesday, July 25, 2017. You will prepare to preach the gospel in the English language.

I cannot believe thisssssss


Jesus, You couldn’t have given me a greater gift than this. Being your beloved in the consecrated life ♥️ For I am Yours and You are mine.
Posting it again. Pictures taken during my final vows ceremony (wearing black habit ☺️). Thankful for my vocation 🙇‍♀️ Perhaps someone will need it today. Prayers 🙏
A person that’s in love with Jesus will be the most mysterious kind of attractive to the rest of the world. Be so wrapped up in His love that the world becomes attracted to Him through you @lifeteen
The only thing I yearn is the applause of the pierced hands ||Janella Elaine
#consecratedlife #religiousvocation #missionarysistersoftheholyfamily #nunsrock #february2nd #finalprofession #religiousvows #foreveryes #lovestory #prayforvocations


Woke up to this today! 😍❄️👌
Jesus wants to transform your life one hundred percent from the inside out. He wants your salvation to be worked out with fear and trembling, so that your heart so trembles at the reality of what God says that what people say can no longer tremble you, because you fear God and not people. It’s so important. What if you were more afraid of holding God back than you were of approaching somebody? What if you were more afraid of holding back what God wanted to tell somebody than you were of that person rejecting you? What if the rejection of people no longer bothers you because you realize you’ve been accepted by the Father? And what if your acceptance is everything? When you’ve been accepted by God nobody can take away what they didn’t give you - what only the Father gave you - because the Father accepted you. No man, woman, child, colleague, boss, co-worker; nobody can take it away || Todd White
I realise there’s something incredibly honest about trees in winter, how they’re experts at letting things go || Jeffrey McDaniel
#winter #myphotography📷 #whitewonderland #missionarysistersoftheholyfamily #letgoletgod #thankful #changes #godsgrace