Author: Pervitron
Title: Glory Be
Summary:  A seventh grade lad's confession
takes an unusual turn 
Keywords: mM, mm, ped, humil

 WARNING: The following story contains graphic descrip-
 tions of a sexual nature. It is intended for mature
 persons only. Any persons not old enough to legally
 receive adult materials or who are offended by them
 should read no farther. Further distribution of this
 story--and all others of this nature by this author--is
 permissible only to appropriate persons and only if the
 contents and author credit are unchanged.

 NOTES:

 1. Copyright (c) January 1999.

 2. The persons and situations depicted in this story
 are entirely fictitious. Any similarities to actual
 persons or situations are completely unintentional and
 coincidental.

 3. Reader comments and feedback are always encouraged;
 send to Pervitron@Hotmail.com

 4. This story may be copied for free distribution,
 provided the author credit is retained.

 5.  This is a FANTASY.  In reality, I have the greatest
respect for the Church, and her people.  
________________________________________________________

               Glory Be
		by Pervitron

I remember that first Friday of December in Saint Decius, since
that was the first time I had been to confession in years.  I had
made my first communion and confession back in the third grade,
but since I attended public school I only had communion a few
times a year, when my parents attended mass.  I'd never been to
confession since that first time.  We weren't a particularly
religious family, my parents just went through the motions.  When
I was twelve, though, my parents moved me to St. Decius because
the public schools were becoming unsafe and unruly.  This was the
mid-sixties, when so many things seemed to become unglued.  Maybe
the unspoken reason for sending me there was to return to a time
that was simpler.

Saint Decius seemed determined to preserve that simpler time. 
The nuns still wore black habits, all you could see of them was
their faces.  They were all old, they had wrinkled heads cinched
tight in white cardboard. Their skin was gray; the only splash of
color on their faces was the red mark left when they turned their
head sharply, and the cardboard pulled back, releasing some red
flesh behind it. They were in a fighting retreat with the
changing mores of the 1960's. Playboy was out there on the top
shelf of every newsstand, the Rolling Stones were singing about
the Devil, and in darkened movie theatres across the land, real
sex was happening, both on the screen and in the darkened
theatre.
  
This was an exciting time for a seventh grader!

My first Friday at St. Decius they marched us over to confession. 
They did this every week during Advent and Lent, and there was no
way you could refuse to go.  They knew that no seventh grade boy
could go a week without a grave sin.  And they were right, for
some of us it was hard to go a few hours before relieving
ourselves, so intense were the erotic feelings we had.  It was
all we thought about, all day long we thought about "doing it,"
and whenever any of us did something, we talked about it. It was
the bond we shared, this desire.  I had already made a few
friends by bulshitting about the things I had done.  I built on
their exaggerated notion of how wild things were in the public
school. I told them that one girl in particular had given me a
blowjob.  I gave her a name, Cindy, and described the way she
looked. We'd sit in the lunchroom eating the bagged lunches our
mothers made for us, and they'd listen to me tell them what a
blow job felt like, how much better someone else's lips felt than
your own hands.  My teacher, Sister Agnes, eyed us suspiciously,
wondering what the new boy was whispering about, no doubt
wondering why I was so popular in such a short time.  Cindy was
all bullshit but the blowjob was based on real experience.  I
knew an awful lot about blowjobs.  An awful lot, and I'd die if
these guys ever found out.

So that first Friday in my new school, I was lined up in church
with the other boys.  Father James was hearing confession.  I saw
him for the first time on Tuesday. He visited our class and
taught us about Sodom and Gomorrah. Depravity that couldn't be
spoken of. The city of sin and its punishment, Lot was the only
decent man worth saving.  We got the message.  Father was a young
man for a priest, thin and wiry, with just a bit of gray hair. 
But he had the heaviest pair of eyeglasses I'd ever seen, big,
thick black frames.  His eyes were distorted behind lenses that
were heavy enough to stop a bullet.  Eyes that studied me.  He
looked at me often enough, and long enough, to make me
uncomfortable in class there. I wondered if he knew, if he could
see the shameful things I had done.

We were waiting on line, every few minutes a boy would leave one
side of the confession booth and hold the drape open for the next
boy, who would enter. We'd watch the boy who left, studying his
expression.  Some looked back at us with a smirk, like it was all
a joke, but other boys just looked down, like some exchange took
place inside that booth that was private, not shared with us. 
We'd watch the way they walked up to the communion rail.  We
noted how long it took for them to say their penance.  Each boy
was in there for a few minutes, so it was a long wait. My new
friends passed the time by teasing me.  Whenever Sister would
look away they'd giggle under their breath, saying "Make sure you
tell him all about the blow job"  One kid on line behind me, a
tall gawky kid that seemed most interested in my stories all
week, would make these loud, slurping, sucking noises, and the
guys nearest us would practically turn blue holding in the
laughter. 

The funny thing was that I was considering just that. Maybe I
would tell Father about the blowjobs.  The real ones, not the
bullshit my buddies were laughing about. The ones that made me
feel like an outcast afterwards.  My brother never forced me, I
participated at first from curiosity, and now just because that
bad part of me liked it when he blew me.  The thought of
stopping, of refusing my brother never occurred to me. No, if
anything we were doing it more and more lately. When Father was
talking earlier about Sodom and Gomorrah I felt like I
understood, because of things like this.  He spoke of forgiveness
too, and that was one of those times when he seemed to be looking
right at me.  So I was on the edge, standing there, the edge
between holding it secret and asking for forgiveness.

I drew the heavy red drapes aside and entered the dark booth.  I
knelt down on the small kneeler, leaned my elbows on the wooden
shelf, and waited.  The sliding door was closed.  I was nervous,
I ran my fingers along the surface of the small shelf by the
sliding door.  It felt rough, pitted.  Hundreds, maybe thousands
of other sinners had scraped it with their nails while waiting. 
Just like me.

Father was hearing the confession of another boy. I tried to
remember who the boy was who entered the other side, but I was
too scared by the time I had gotten near the front of the line.  
One thing I did remember about confession was that sometimes you
could hear the person on the other side of the priest. Sometimes
it was even a grownup, and you hear some neat stuff.  But I
couldn t hear anything Father Jim said. I could tell he was
saying something, but it was just the faintest whisper, as if it
was something especially secret.

Suddenly, the wooden door slid open. I could see the outline of
Father's face in the dim light on the other side of the screen.  
The screen had a pattern of meandering vines.  I was startled,
jolted into starting before I had made up my mind what to say.
"Bless me Father for I have sinned.  I has been three years since
my last confession..."

"Three years?"  Father seemed surprised, I could see his face
turn towards me, the outline of his black eyeglass frames
swiveled my way, as if he was trying to see who I was.  I had the
feeling he quickly realized I must be the new boy, the boy he
kept looking at in class earlier this week.  "You must come more
frequently.  I'm sure a boy your age must have lots to confess."

I just wanted to get started. "I stole from a store twice.  I
fought with my brother a whole buncha times..."  

"Listen."  Then he started whispering, I could hardly hear him. I
leaned closer to the screen to hear. "It's been a long while. 
Lets just do the really serious sins today."

Serious.  Oh. I figured I'd start slowly, kind of hint at it, to
see how it felt. I whispered as softly as Father had.  "I-I-I've
had impure ... thoughts...Father"  "Impure Thoughts" and "Impure
Acts,"  those were the words that nuns used, that was all they
said about it, knowing that young boys knew exactly what was
involved.  It was like a code, so they could warn you, make you
feel guilty without having to go into detail.

"What kind of thoughts?"

I wasn't expecting a question!  I felt a lump in my throat. "I
mean, like, you know, ... girls?"  I didn't know what else to
say.

"Do you do anything to. uh, ...  encourage... these thoughts."

"Uh, well, ummm ..."  I couldn't tell what he meant.  Encourage? 
"Um, no, Father..."

"You know..."  Now he was really close, his voice softened, it
took on an understanding tone.  Like it was man-to-man. "We all
have these feelings....certain desires come over us.  We give
into them."  We. Just between us guys.

There was a long silence.  Absolute stillness, I couldn t even
hear the background shuffles from outside.  It was like the world
stopped.  I had to say something.

"I-I-I mean, like my brother, he has these magazines..." 

Father's head moved quickly, like a bird. "Magazines?  What sort
of magazines?  Magazines about what?"

What was with this guy?  Did I have to draw him a picture?  "You
know, like, ummm ... Playboy?"   Jeez, this was weird!  Would he
even know what I was talking about?

"So when these feelings come over you, you like to look at the
woman in those magazines.  You like ... whores, filthy young
things, showing off their bodies to get the devil all stirred up
in you."  Yeah, I'd day he understood perfectly.

"I don't mean to Father.  Its only when...um, you know, this
feeling comes over me."

"Listen carefully, young man."  If it was possible, he was
talking even lower now, his words had an intensity that didn't
need volume to be heard.  I expected a stiff talking to, some
heavy penance, he'd probably ask me to get rid of the magazines.
No way I'd get my brother to go along with that. I was relieved
in a way that I never told him, well ... everything. But no, we
weren't done. "You're in danger here, boy, this is where your
life changes.  We need to work on this.  These sins are deep, 
you can't absolve yourself with just a few Hail Marys."  What was
he getting at?  "I want you to come back to confession after
school - I'll be here, we'll have time to do a real examination
of conscience then, really get at what's eatin' your soul inside
then.  Will you come then, James?"

James?  Oh, Man!  He knew who I was. I knew he wasn't supposed to
do that, the nuns had told us years ago that a priest would never
let on, even if he recognized you.  There was something wrong
here, but I had enough guilt about the things I had done that I
half believed he sensed it.  He knew!

"Ok, Father."

"Good, then.  Be sure not to tell anyone.  This is between you
and God."

I certainly wouldn't tell anyone.   I went up to the communion
rail like I was doing penance.  When we got outside, on the way
back to school, my friends were all over me.  "Did you tell him?" 
What did he say?"  

"No, why should I?"  I was trying to sound cool, while inside I
wondered about my appointment.  All the rest of the afternoon it
hung over me like a cloud.  I knew that without a line of boys
outside, Father would take his time, and it sure sounded like he
was the type who asked questions.  Let me just get through this. 
I'd carry my sins, and my shame to the grave.

                 
=====================================================

When I entered the church after school it was almost empty.  Just
a few old lades, slumped on their kneelers, their rosaries
clattering against the pews in front of them.  The red light was
on in Father's confessional. 

As soon as I drew the drapes aside, his window slid open, like he
was anxious for me to start.

"Bless me father for I have sinned.  It's been.... 3 hours....
since my last confession?"  I felt stupid saying it.

"We never really finished the last one, my son.  That wasn't a
real confession, was it?.  You weren't really being truthful. You
need to tell me more about what happens when these ... feelings
happen." 

"Well, it's like, you know when I start thinking about girls,
ummm..."  Just keep it on girls, normal stuff, stuff any kid
would do.

"But it's not the thoughts boy, its what we do about them! You
mentioned something about magazines.   Don't beat around the
bush.  Be honest, purge yourself completely, you won't get this
devil out of you till you fully confess."

Purge myself.  I thought about how ugly I felt, the shameful
things I had done. We were alone in the confessional, the church
was nearly empty, and I was speaking to a man who was sworn to
silence.  I thought of the stories that the nuns told, about the
priests behind the Iron Curtain, suffering torture and execution
in a failed attempt to break the secrecy of the confessional. 
The nuns through we'd feel more secure in their secrecy if they
described the exact particulars of the torture.  Electric shocks,
needles, bamboo shoots driven up under the fingernails.  Maybe
confession was the one place where I could be safe talking about
it. 

I decided to test the waters, to see how father reacted to a few
nuggets, to see how this sat within me before I touched on those
really dark areas.  "I mean, I like to look at pictures, then,
you know, ummm..."

He brought his head close to the screen. "What sort of pictures?"

What was it with this guy?  C'mon, what did he think?  Pictures
of model airplanes?  "Pictures of girls, with no clothes on." 
There, I guess I had to spell it out.

"Tell me about them"  I could barely hear him, my face was
probably less than two inches from his, divided from him by the
thinnest latticework.  Still, I could barely hear him, he sounded
so far away.

"There's like, you know, a few different girls in each magazine,
and, ummm... they each look different."  I knew it sounded
evasive, just double-talk. I was starting to think about them.
That dirty feeling was gathering in my balls.  So intense.

"Do you have a ... favorite."  

It was like he could see inside me. I was thinking about her
already, but it didn't seem right to speak of her here, in this
holy place.  "Oh no Father, none in particular."

"Don't lie to me, boy!  There must be one, one that you like best
of all."  There was an urgency in his voice, even though he said
it softly.  "There's one that gets deep down in you, you can't
resist her."  

"Um, well yeah, there is one, one that s, like ... ummm, real
nice."  So nice that my brother made fun of me, teased me when he
realized that I kept that magazine separate from the other ones
we shared.  I kept it folded inside the boxspring under my bed.
I'd take it out only when he wasn't there.

"Nice in what way?"

I could see her again, there in the dark, she held a place of
honor in my brain.  "She's wearing this short skirt, it's white,
like cotton.  She's standing up, whoever took the picture is ...
behind her."  Was this what he wanted, a description?

"Go on, tell me exactly what it is that gets you ... excited."  I
guess so.

I could feel my cock start to stiffen in my underpants.  "She's
bending over, the skirt is so short, you can see, umm... see 
she's not wearing anything under it, the camera is down ... low." 
My heart was beating faster, I was talking in low, short bursts.  
Father was still, motionless, waiting for more.

"And you really like that, seeing all of her under there."

"Oh, shit, yeah Father!"  I said it without thinking.  "Oh,
sorry, I-I-I didn't mean that."

"Sure you did."  That was the turning, there was an edge in his
voice, a secret sharing.  "You change inside when you see her, or
when you think about her. Something comes alive in you, something
strong, something powerful. You want to do bad things."   He
knew. He knew what it felt like. "It gets your dick hard, seeing
her like that!  Doesn't it?"

Did he say that?  Dick?  In confession!  "Yeah, it does, Father." 
It was hard now, hard thinking about what I was telling Father,
getting even harder because a demon was coming alive in me.  A
demon that saw right through Father, that heard the desire, the
longing in his whispers. He was a dirty sinner just like me,
maybe even a little jealous of me. The words rose up in me like
fire.  So you want confession, eh? "My dick is hard now, thinking
about her."

The silence was electric, charged with potential energy.  We were
on some inner precipice. "Tell me more ...  Tell me all about
her, what it is about her that makes you like her so."  His voice
had a faraway, distant sound.  like a part of him had flown away,
and the rest of him was defeated, beaten. I glanced at the closed
curtain, reassuring myself that we were alone. The guilt and the
shame were still there, but they were receding into the
background.  Another feeling rose up. I wanted to see how far I
could push this.  "You know, some girls have sunburn lines on
their ... ass."  I waited just a second to see if there was any
objection.  There was none - Father was hanging on every word. 
"But this girl is the same color all over her underside, a real
deep brown, you know, like the girls in suntan lotion ads. She
looks like does nothing but lay on beach every day, feeling the
sun warm her on her butt."

I could hear some movements on the other side of the screen, some
shifting in the chair.  "Sweet Jesus, she sounds ... so, so....
nice."  More movements.

I could tell I was getting to him.  I felt real nasty. "Father
her ... ass ... is so perfect, perfect round cheeks, so deep.
There's even , like, a-a tilt to it, like she's doing this little
dance. And above it of it you can see her eyes, looking back at
you. She's ... smiling.  Smiling, its like she knows what you
want, she wants you to look at her down there."

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!"  Now I could hear rhythmic sounds, a
hand sliding on flesh.  He was doing himself!  I felt a kick
inside.  I knew it!  That was the feeling in his voice that I
heard. I was making this happen: Father needed it bad.  I felt a
surge within my cock, it was pushing out the side of my
underpants and snaking down my trouser leg.

"So its this neat picture of HER, just her ass and her face,
looking back at me.  Like she knows I have my cock out.  I'm
rubbing myself. Like she wants me to do it!"

The words flew out of him like a lament: "Oh, They want you to
get it hard for them!"

"Oh, yeah! And right in the middle of the picture, right where
all the curves come together, there's this mound... "  I
unbuckled my belt, holding the metal tongue so it wouldn't make
noise against the buckle.  Father was stroking himself more
rapidly now. He was breathing harder.  When my belt was open I
unzipped myself, my hard cock sprang free into the dark air.

"Go ahead boy, do it!"  He sensed what I was doing. "Its good,
this feeling in our cocks, the way these whores provoke us.  They
want it, the, the ... cunts!"

God, this felt great : "You know, father, that picture of her has
all these stains on it!"

"I know, I know what that's like, they look.... " He could hardly
get the words out, he was so excited, "...so good! You can't help
it, it s the way God made us!  Gave us these things, these
monsters between our legs that make us crazy!"

There was a few seconds of silence, both of us masturbated in the
darkness..

"You mentioned your brother ... these are his magazines..."

This was the area I was afraid of when I came in.  But now I had
my pants down and my dick was out in the darkened confessional.  
Shame and guilt had no meaning to me when I was like this.  I was
doing what I had to do. All that mattered was that need in my
balls, and how I loved being with my brother, feeling his hands
on me. "Yeah, Father, we look at them together."  

"How old is your brother?"  He was still stroking himself, but
slower, and his breathing wasn't as fast. He seemed to have drawn
back from his climax.  For some reason he was holding off...

"Sixteen."  This all started a year ago, when I was twelve and he
was fifteen.

"He got you started."  It wasn't a question, he knew about these
things.  "How long ago?"

"About a year ago, I guess...."  I thought back on that first
night, the winter night I heard him over in his bed, jerking off. 
He did that every night, but this night was special. He called me
over, he asked me to come into bed with him.  He "wanted to talk
to me."  He pulled the covers aside and I climbed in. Our
childhood beds were now old and rickety, his groaned over the
weight of another body. I was afraid my parents would hear
downstairs. The mattress sagged in the middle, pressing us close
together.  Oh, the thrill, the sensation of another body against
mine for the first time!   He held me close like a lover, and he
spoke softly in my ears, about secrets, mysteries of life he had
learned about. Like girls, and unlike my father, he told me what
I really wanted to know: what they felt like, their tits and
their pussies. Oh it was nice with my brother, nice even when he
held my hand and pushed it down between his legs.  Nicer still
when I felt his hand moving down my belly, and under the elastic
of my underpants. When he told me this was our secret, and he
showed me just how good it was to be twelve years old ... 

"C'mon, lets hear about it.  What do you boys do?" Father was
anxious.

I had drifted, lost in the feeling of that first time with my
brother.  I had forgotten all about Father, about this game he
was playing.  Suddenly, though, I realized that I was thinking of
my brother with fondness, with love instead of shame.  All of the
guilt was gone, and any anger I had felt towards my brother for
making me feel that way was gone.  Father had demonstrated that
all men are like me.

And so I reached my hands down between my legs, and I started
rubbing my cock with one hand, and caressing my balls with the
other.  "Usually, we'll look at his magazines, he's got some that
have woman that shave, umm, their... "  I was enjoying this, I
loved the feeling.  " ... pussy."  I said "pussy" like it was a
prayer, knowing by then that Father would like it that way.  "You
can see all inside it, some of them pull it open so you can see
inside."  I was digging this.  "My brother showed them to me, and
then he pulled his dick out and started rubbing it."

"Shit!"  He was gone now, I could tell Father was just a helpless
bug now, wishing he had someone to fuck with.

"Yeah Father.  He reached into my pants and started feeling me. 
It felt ... so, so, fuckin' ... goooooood!"

"Oh, Mother of God!"  It seemed to give him a thrill, saying
that.  God this was hot!  I felt like my cock would explode, like
I'd blow a hole in the wall separating us.

"Let me see it.  Stand up. Let me see your cock, boy!"  All
pretense of dignity was gone; he sounded like a old sailor on
shore leave.

"Sure, OK Father."  I wanted to show him, show him what I had. I
knew I was built.  I was a little small for my age. I was short,
but my cock was huge, just as long as my brother's, and even a
little wider, despite the fact that he was a full foot taller
than me.  Sometimes my friends and I checked each other out. 
We'd unzip, they'd pull their underwear aside you'd see their
little knob.  Me, I had to reach in, work my hands a bit to get
the right angle, and then struggle to pull the full length of it
free.  It would hang out of my pants like a boa, and I loved the
look in their eyes.  The envy. 

I stood up in the confessional and held it there for him.  I
could see the frame of his eyeglasses flush up against the
screen, peering down, trying to get an unbroken view through a
break in the lattice. "Stand on the kneeler boy, get real close!" 
And I did, this brought me right to his eye level, just inches
away from his face through the screen. My cock was outlined in
the dim light that fell from his side.  I was fat and thick,
angling upward slightly from the nest of small blond hairs.  I
was close enough for him to smell me.  "Oh, my Lord!  Oh, you're
going to have fun with that big thing, boy!"

He drew his head back from the screen, and I could feel a rubbing
on the wall.  I was puzzled, and bent down  to look through the
screen.  His hands were working at something off on the side
where I couldn't see.  He saw me looking, and said, "Stand up
again boy, I want to keep seeing you."  So I did, and held my
dick by the screen again, waiting for him to finish whatever he
was doing.

Then something magical happened: He popped the screen out,
leaving an empty hole in the wall!  I looked down and my cock was
now bathed in a wash of now unbroken light.  My heart started
racing, I felt like I was in some magical world, and Father was
some wizard in his lair next to me.  Before I had time to think
about it, his hands reached though the hole and touched me, and I
was lost in the fevered warmth of his touch.

When my brother sucked me off it was just to get it over with,
just payment for what I did for him.  But I could tell from the
feelings between my legs that Father LOVED this.  His lips had
the lightest touch, they moved so slowly up and down my slick
cock, drawing out the feeling, knowing the secret of a
thirteen-year-old body.  I thought I would die, the feeling was
so exquisite.  And what added to it was the danger, the exposure,
the knowledge that I was in church, in the darkened house of God,
where prayers were even now being said.  All someone had to do
was think the confessional was empty, and draw the curtains
aside.  Some old lady would see me standing there with my pants
around my ankle, her eye would fall first on my butt cheeks.  A
millisecond later she'd realize from my position exactly what
kind of absolution I was getting!  I grinned at the thought,
almost hoping to be discovered, to be seen in all my boy glory. 
I felt so ... so... lewd!.  Like a God myself!  Fuck it! I was
getting what I wanted!  I started rocking my hips, pumping into
his mouth, forcing myself deeper. I was top dog! His eyes shot up
at me, I was grinning, and he knew the meaning of the look in my
eyes.

Father knew his stuff.  He pulled his mouth back from my cock, he
reached his hands between my thighs and spread them slightly. His
head dove under my balls.  Christ!  There was a spot there that
he went for, some cluster of nerves between the base of my
scrotum and my asshole that seemed directly wired into my brain. 
When he licked the edge of his tongue on that spot a shiver
began there and rose up inside my body.  All at once I threw my
head back, overwhelmed. I felt the thrill of a trillion synapses
exploding with light.  My juices flew out of me in one clean,
continues jet, like the last, releasing push of some dark birth. 
When it was over I saw a thin streak of my spunk on his left ear;
the rest must have been running down the opposite screen of the
confessional.

We said nothing.  He placed the screen back in its frame, and
fastened it at the corners.  I pulled my pants up, and buckled my
belt, not caring any longer about the sounds. I zipped up.  I
left the confessional and walked back out into the church. The
church, and the world outside, was changed forever. I walked up
the aisle, and went and knelt down at the altar rail.  I waited a
few moments, occasionally looking back at the confessional.  I
wanted to see the look in his face when he came out.  I wanted to
look into his eyes knowing I had taken him. The read light
remained on. Father was staying there.  After a short while I got
up and left the church.

I didn't say any Hail Marys.

There were other times with Father, other days that year, and the
next, when I went to him in the afternoon.  I'd be sitting in
school, dying from boredom, feeling like a trapped animal in my
schoolboy uniform. Sister was on another planet, her lips were
moving but the words just drifted uselessly around the classroom,
just lukewarm air drowned out by the incandescent heat of young
boys.  Other things, more compelling things, filled our minds. 
I'd daydream about the way women looked in those magazines, the
pride they took in look of their cunts, the knowledge in their
eyes of how desperately we want to feel that inner crevice.  The
sounds my brother's girlfriend made, the filthy things she said
while he was fucking her in the bed next to me, and the way my
brother and I laughed about her afterwards. Some days those
thoughts had an energy, and an urgency, that was too delicious to
waste just jerking off.  So I'd think: "What the hell, maybe I'll
stop off and see Father on the way home!" Years later I learned
an expression that fit that feeling perfectly.  I needed to dump
my load.  

                ===================================

I came to know that I wasn't the only boy that did this.  There
seemed to a few of us that came regularly.  I was the only one
from St. Decius. The other boys were from the neighborhood, I
could tell this was the only time they came inside a church. I
stood out in my school uniform; they had white tank tops or dirty
T-shirts, and torn jeans.  Most of them had manes of shoulder
length hair.  Long hair wasn't allowed at St. Decius. If there
was more than one of us we would sit separately, suspicious of
each other. We'd see each other in the back of the church, we'd
glance at each other while we waited our turn with knowing eyes,
we all knew what was going down. Just taking care of business.  

One boy was different though. He was the same age as me, but his
skin was brown and his hair was jet black. He had a round face
and heavy lidded eyes.  Asiatic, probably a Filipino.  For some
reason I considered him dangerous.  Maybe because he seemed more
ballsy than the other boys; Instead of lurking in the back of the
church, looking nervous and uncertain, he laid back in the pew
like he owned the place.  When we were both there he kept looking
at me, and after a while he would start making suggestive
gestures.  He'd be sitting in the church pew, and he'd hold his
hands by his crotch, moving them like he was whacking off, and
looking right at me.  Sometimes he'd flick his tongue like a
snake, a look that send shivers through me. 

I liked this boy.   

One afternoon I went to church to get off, but the light wasn't
on in Father's booth.  So I waited, feeling the frustration in my
balls, I had a hardon from the anticipation.  But he never
showed. 
After about ten minutes of waiting, the pressure within me got
too intense.  I had to get relief, so I said, fuck it, I'll just
whack myself off.   I left through the back of the church,
knowing there was a vestibule there with a bathroom off on the
side.  I figured I'd stop there and jerk off. 

My Asian friend arrived in the vestibule just as I was leaving. 
He looked straight at me with his leering eyes, and said "Hey,
Father treat you good today?"

I smiled. "No, shit, man. Fucker never showed"

"Some bullshit man."  He looked mad, then he started to grin, and
a gleam came into his eyes.  "I need to get myself done."  He was
holding his hand by his crotch.

We were thinking the same thing.  "I was going in here."  I
smiled back, and went into the bathroom.  He followed me in, as I
knew he would.  We both glanced at the bottom of the two stalls
at the same time.   We were alone.  I went into a stall.  He was
right behind me.

He unhooked his jeans and pulled them down while I latched the
door.  I could see the shape of him through a pair of thin,
ragged underwear.  I felt a wave of adrenaline moving through my
body; There was something in me that loved the illicitness of
what we were doing, the danger of it.  When he pulled his
underwear down, I saw an uncut cock for the first time.  I was
fascinated by the look, I loved the fatness of the head, the
luxury of an extra fold of warm flesh.   I unbuckled my belt, and
pulled my school pants down. When I pulled my cock free, he said:
"Man, you're really built."  Oh, it thrilled me to hear that, I
was so proud of myself, my big cock.

We hugged each other, and we reached for each others cocks. We
held our embrace, and started jerking each other off.   I could
hear his short breaths by my ear as he became more excited.  At
one point, a jolt of fear ran though my body when I heard the
bathroom door open:  a man was coming in!  We stood absolutely
still, almost breathless, locked in the frozen embrace while we
listened to him urinate, and wash up afterwards.  He seemed to
take forever, he just stood there as silent as we were, maybe
looking at himself. What was he doing? We waited.  Maybe he just
dematerialized! Our world was balanced on a ridge between fear
and passion. But as still as we were, as careful as we were to
remain hidden there, we started rubbing each other again.  I made
small, furtive little movements of my fingers on my friend's
cock.  Sensations I knew would keep him hard as a rock. I could
feel him respond; His fingers moved on me as well, an answering
caress, so thrilling, there in the stillness.   Finally the man
left, we heard him step out the door, and before the door was
fully closed behind him, we were going at it again, in earnest.  
He started groaning, spitting out some words through clenched
teeth, dirty words in some language I'll never know.  I felt his
hot juice spill out onto my thighs, and run down my legs. A
moment later, I felt my own, glorious release.

I never saw him again. I remember everything about this boy.  I
can close my eyes and feel the shape of his young torso, the
perfect warmth of his body, and the feel of his shoulder on my
cheek.  I can see in my minds eye the blackness of his eyes, and
if I'm quiet, relaxed, I can imagine the way he used to look at
me, that leer in his face, the smirk and the flick of his tongue,
and I can feel once again that delicious shiver.  

I never learned his name.
 
     ===============================================

About a year later, during my last month of eighth grade, I told
my brother about Father James.  I hadn't planned on it, I had set
my mind not to; My brother and I had become more comfortable in
our relationship, we had sex a lot, it was almost routine. But
strangely, my brother was becoming even more secretive.  So I
avoided any talk of Father James, since he knew about us. 

My brother and I were just goofing off one late spring afternoon.
It was one of these days in late May, that first really warm day
of the year when you remember again how good the sun feels on
your body.  We both cut school, we'd been smoking hash all day. 
We were trying to make each other come for, oh, maybe the fourth
time.  "Stairway to Heaven" was on, its sheer, glorious wattage
was sending rivers of erotic tingles all over our naked bodies. 
My brother loved that song, he loved to shoot off just after the
initial, early crest of the music, when it begins the long,
descending, roll, the perfect music for that onrushing,
irreversible wave of pleasure.   I had his cock in my mouth, I
knew he was ready to unload, and something made me do it.  I went
under his balls and I licked with my tongue till I found his
spot. Father's spot. When I found it, his ass started jumping
wildly off the bed, I had to hold his body steady to keep my
tongue where it belonged, until he was finished, fully spent.

Afterwards we lay back in the bed, next to each other.  I was
laying with my head by his feet, wiping the jism off his thighs. 
This was something we always did for each other in the quiet when
we were done.  He was drained, but I was hard as a rock. I was
still feeling the thrill, the rush of making him cum so hard. By
that point, we'd been doing it with each other for almost two
years. I was quite the boy whore. He just looked at me strangely
for a few moments, before asking what was on his mind: "Who else
has been blowing you?"  He knew from the ride I took him on that 
someone else was doing me.  I was touched, because he
looked concerned, even a little jealous.  So I told him. It took
me about an hour to convince him that I wasn't lying, and then
all of the next day, and the day after, to convince him where we
did it.

Of course he had to get some himself.  My brother always took
what he wanted. So later that week I took him to church after
school.  It was later than my usual time with Father, I knew he'd
be in the sacristy, finishing up after Benediction. I knocked on
the sacristy door. Father was shocked to see me, and scared to
see me with someone else.  I could see his eyes light up behind
his coke bottles: the bright light of fear.  My brother was quick
and strong for a seventeen-year-old, he had the hard look, the
wild hair and flaring eyes of a Hun.  It was just a look, Billy
didn't show his kind side to other people the way he did with me. 
So Father was scared, figuring Billy for an older friend or a
relative, afraid of either getting a beaten, or, perhaps worse,
being exposed. He just stood there with his mouth open.  

My brother just walked in, without asking, and I followed. It was
a dark room, lit by two small stained glass windows and some dim
overhead lights.  Three of the walls were covered with mahogany
cabinets, and one of them had a series of glass doors.  The other
wall had a pair of sinks;  I knew from school that one of them
was only used for washing chalices. "Hey, Father, Jimmy here
tells me that confession is, well,  ... good for the soul?"  He
had an evil grin on his face.  He was holding his hand in front
of his crotch, like he was holding his dick.  Father could see
right away that his secret was out.  

He looked over at me:  "This is your brother...?"  

I nodded, then smiled. "Remember I told you about Billy.  The
things we liked?"  Father glanced at him.  "He wanted to meet
you."  I had the most extraordinary feeling; this was the first
time in my life that I had the upper hand over an adult.

Billy was enjoying this. He put his arm around my neck, and drew
me close.  "I gotta thank you Father, Jimmy gives the BEST blow
jobs since he's met you."  He smiled as he said this, but Father
was still wary, figuring that Billy was just toying with him,
playing with him before he kicked his ass.  Billy drew me even
closer.  "Oh, yeah, Padre, Jimmy s a real ... peach."  And with
that, he gave me a kiss, just an innocent peck on the cheek, but
it sent chills down my spine.   Even an innocent kiss between
boys was wrong, ... sinful, especially here.

Billy wasn't even looking at Father anymore.  He was looking at
me.  He turned me towards him, and put his hands on my waist, and
then gave me a kiss on the lips.  "Jimmy told me how much you
liked to HEAR about us."  Another kiss, I leaned into him like a
lover, and he pushed his hands down the back of my pants. He
started pawing my ass.   One more kiss, slightly longer, then he
turned back at Father.  I did too.   "Wanna ...  watch?"

Father looked at us the way a shipwrecked sailor would look at a
roasting pig. I could see the realization on his face.   He 
wasn't going to get turned in,  he wouldn't be called down to 
the Bishop's office.   No, life was going to go on just like 
before, but ... even better. Two boys were going to ...  DO IT!!
Right here! And he could watch!  He looked around the sacristy, 
his eyes scanning the chalices, the crucifixes, and the candelabras. 
There was a moments hesitation, a drawing back, like he was
taking a last look before heading over a precipice.  But at the
end of that moment we were still there, and still willing, and
when would he ever get this chance again?. He walked over to the
open door that led out to the altar, and he gave a quick look
outside. Seeing no one there, he closed it behind him.


For a moment the three of us stood there.   Just how do you do
something like this?   My brother still had his hand down the
back of my pants, one hand on each cheek. He knew I loved that,
and that all he had to do was rub the crest of my ass with a
light touch, ever so slightly, and it was instant hardon.   He
spread his hands, starting to push my pants down.   My cock
sprang out into the air.   I never had to do anything to start
Billy.   Anytime we started doing it he was already up.  I didn't
wait for him, I took off the rest of my clothes, and he did too.

Some of my older friends had girlfriends.  I'd seen them
together, holding each other close,  caressing each other with
their hands. They didn't mind that we were watching.  No, they
even seemed to like it.   I was jealous.  Even though I'd had far
more "action" than any of those boys, I had to hide mine, no one
could see me enjoying myself the way my friends did with their
girls.   There was a shame in forbidden love, and the desire was
born in me to do it, and be watched.  Just like "normal" lovers.

And so here we were.   I looked at Father, and I got down on my
knees and took my brother into my mouth.   I gave him lots of wet
action, rolling my tongue around the head of his cock, as much
for Father's benefit as my brother's.   My brother responded with
inner shudders that I could feel, I could tell from the rhythm of
his breathing that he liked what I did.  And Father.   Father
looked right and left, as if there were ghosts that might be
around, even here in this sacred place.   He started unzipping
himself, looking like he was in a trance.

The room was carpeted.  My brother told me to lay down, he came
around by my head, then he lay down on top of me.   I grabbed his
waist, and bulled my mouth up onto his prick, while I felt his
tongue licking my balls.  I could feel the ridges of excitement
build on my scrotum.  I couldn't see Father, but I could hear
him, the fevered breathing of his arousal, the steadily
increasing rhythm of his masturbation.

Billy and I settled in for the long haul.   There were some days
when we did this for what seemed like hours, we had done this so
often in the past year that we knew all the signals that told how
close we were.   We could draw it out, extend the pleasure that
we gave each other.  We were so good at this that on more than
one occasion Billy would come home from a date with his
girlfriend and he'd want me.  Even though he got a blowjob that
night, he'd say it just wasn't the same, its so much better when
the other person enjoys it.  So here, on the floor of the
sacristy, we were in no hurry, no hurry at all.  I settled my
head back, and pulled his loins lower, so I could rest my head
back on the rug.

After a few minutes, I started to hear things, or rather feel
them since my head was resting on the carpet.  Footsteps.  They
were coming from the altar, I pulled my mouth off Bill's cock, so
I could move my head to see Father.  He hadn't noticed, he was
too lost in the scene before him.  Billy stopped, not because he
heard anything, but because I had.  "What's the matter?"

I was about to tell him when we all heard the door open.  It was
behind me, I swiveled my head around and saw Sister Agnes in the
open doorway, holding a communion paten. She was standing stock
still, in total shock.  I could see just her eyes move, she saw
two boys engaged in the rankest act of debauchery imaginable. 
The paten fell to the floor. She opened her mouth, but no sound
came out.  I could see the redness sweep over her face like a
storm, she was trying to gather enough breath to scream.   

Then she saw Father, Father with his swollen, dripping cock in
his hands. And in an instant her world turned inside out. This
wasn't two boys acting like devils, it was Father himself, a man
she though was a beacon of Gods light, acting like Satan himself.
I could see the awareness of what was happening rise up in her,
and I knew she would explode; she'd cry out and scream what was
happening!

Father stopped her dead in her tracks:  "Maybe next time you'll
knock, you old cunt!"  Billy and I were as shocked as she was, we
looked at him like he was possessed. His eyes were like torches,
he spat the words out like a rabid dog.  "You ... didn't ... see
... this!"  She looked at him, still as a trapped mouse.  He
started towards her, the shock of seeing a man approach her must
have chilled her like ice water.   

She closed her eyes, and held them tight for a moment, the
bulging knot in her forehead showing the effort of blocking all
this out.  When she opened her eyes again, she had a calmness
about her, an unreal serenity.  "No, Father, you were never
here." Something had snapped inside her, a part of her had left
the real, never to return.  And slowly she bent down and picked
up the communion paten; she resumed her duties like she was
sleepwalking.  She walked over to one of the mahogany counters,
and took a linen cloth, and used it to wipe the surface of the
paten above a large gold chalice. She did this in slow, circular
motions, knowing that even the smallest molecule was infinitely
precious. When she was finished, she carefully refolded the linen
cloth, and placed the paten inside the wooden cabinet.  She
turned and walked out, never once looking at Father, or at us.

While she was doing this, Billy and I had started in again. The
shock of Sister Agnes  appearance, followed by the reassertion of
our right to ball each other - by Father! - had brought our lust
to a new level.  She was there, in the room, when we brought each
other off, and when Father dumped his load on the sacristy floor.

                  
==================================================

After I graduated from the eighth grade, we moved away and I never
saw Father again.  Still, I see him in my dreams, sometimes I
awaken at night and I'm back in that confessional, not getting
head, but just talking to him. I tell him about all the secret
thrills I've had, things that no one else would ever understand.
He knows.  In years to come, other people would teach me about
the mechanics of sex.  Others taught me where girls like to be
touched, and what to whisper in their ears to get one to take it
up her ass.  What I learned that first Friday of December was
that we live our lives in two worlds.  There's the daylight world
of decency, of marriage and families, of the long, hard work of
living a good life in the world.  And then there's that other
world, the world we boys fist glimpse the night of our first wet
dream, the underworld of thrills and desires that beckons to us. 
We were made to live in that world too, we were born to ride the
passions in our bodies.  

Some men shut down, they hide the animal part of them - they try
to satisfy their lusts in conventional, sanctioned ways. But our
bodies were not made like that.   Father taught me that real men
embrace the underside of life, they pay homage to the daylight
God, but have no qualms about getting a piece of stray ass when
it becomes available.  He was a good priest, a kind, loving heart
to all that knew him.   But he kept his inner fire alive, the
joyous feeling of getting his rocks off and his knowledge that
more often than not its another man that knows how to do it right.  

So I have the daylight world, I have a family I love and a life I
can be proud of. Yes, I do go to church. But every once in a
while that old feeling comes over me.  I'm a little late getting
home that night.  I get "caught in traffic."  I need to play.

The places I go to are packed with men, men just like me, all
looking for a quick release of animal energy.  These are
amusement parks for the little boy in us.  I do different things,
depending on my mood. Some nights I'll rent a "One-on-one" booth
for a few minutes.  Its really more like a private room, with a
door you can lock on one end and floor to ceiling window on one
end.  I stand there and its like a ten-minute vacation, the world
outside, and any cares or worries fall away.  Its just me and my
girl, the girl I paid to watch. I have my dick out before she
even appears.  She looks at me and smiles, and then starts shakes
her ass in a way that she knows will get me going.   When I'm
ready I get closer to the glass, she bends down and gets her
mouth by my cock, teasing me while I rub myself. She brings me
off by the expression on her face.   I blow streams of hot cum
onto the glass by her face.   She looks so happy, so triumphant
in her desirability. She can make a man cum by just looking.

Once, long ago, I did this in private, paging through a secret
magazine for a photo that got inside me, and I felt ashamed
enough of my desire to feel the need to confess it.  I wasn't
alone in that feeling, because every church had an active
schedule of confessions; sometimes you'd go and there would be a
line, a line of boys and men, confessing to sinful wishes. The
confession booths are gone now; shame has been vanquished.  In
its place is an industry of self-gratification, every industrial
park and marginal city neighborhood has one of these places, a
temple of desire.  Come.  Make yourself comfortable.  Jerk off
all you like, jerking off is fun, it's what we all like to do. 
And if you want an extra thrill, we have booths with windows, so
you can watch your neighbor, your "buddy", doing the same thing,
worshiping the same God.



#######################################################
  I'd love to here from you, no matter what you thought
 of my story. Comments and story ideas are welcome at:
 Pervitron@Hotmail.com
http://www.asstr.org/files/Authors/Pervitron/
 #######################################################



