Incest
2002-12-04
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 bullshitting 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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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 David 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.
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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 bunch of 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 .
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. . 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, . .
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. encourage. . . these thoughts. ""Uh, well, ummm . . . " I couldn't tell what he meant. Encourage? "Um, no, Father. . . ""You know. . .
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" 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. .
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. " 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 say he understood perfectly. "I don't mean to Father. Its only when. . .
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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.
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Just a few old ladies, 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. . . . three 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.
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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, it's 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.
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The nuns thought 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. .
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. 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.
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"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 .
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. . 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.
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""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.
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"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.
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" 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.
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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 it's 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.
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"Go ahead boy, do it!" He sensed what I was doing. "It's 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. . .
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"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.
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. . "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.
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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.
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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.
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"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 an old sailor on shore leave. "Sure, OK Father. " I wanted to show him, show him what I had.
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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 brothers, 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.
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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 .
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. . 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.
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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.
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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 lay 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 sent shivers through me.
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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 hard 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.
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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 wood. 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.
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" 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 other's 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.
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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, it's sheer, glorious wattage was sending rivers of erotic tingles all over our naked bodies.
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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 lying 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 on 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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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 pack 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 shipwreck 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 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 hard-on. 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.
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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 these 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.
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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 lie 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.
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Footsteps. They were coming from the altar, I pulled my mouth of 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.
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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.
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" 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 usWhile 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, while we were licking each other, 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.
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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 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.
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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 it's like a ten-minute vacation, the world outside, and any cares or worries fall away. It's 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.
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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. These are the churches of my world today. There, and there alone, I can let my undersoul surface, and drink its fill of faceless I'd love to hear from you, no matter what you thoughtof my story. Comments and story ideas are welcome INCEST PICS, STORIES, CARTOONS AND MOVIES AT THESE SITESTRUE INCEST&INCEST CARTOONS&INCEST THEATER.
