From: organs@backdoor.com (Bruce)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: BB: (NEW) Altar Ego (m/b, gay)
Date: 19 May 1996 15:01:36 GMT
Organization: The Denver Exchange, Inc.
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If you are a good Catholic, DO NOT READ THIS STORY! (Of
course, if you are a good Catholic, you aren't reading this
newsgroup, right?) Yeah, right!
---------> This story is a complete fabrication! <--------
ALTAR EGO
|Ecce Sacerdos Magnus!| Behold a great Priest!
I don't know who installed it originally. Father Flanagan
(God rest his sainted soul) pointed it out to me. It looks
innocent enough: a gauche, bejewelled, pressed-wood crucifix
hanging there on the wall of the sacristy, with a tiny
bulls-eye lens in Jesus' navel. What with all the other
rubbish in the room, it goes unnoticed.
At eye level above my kneeler in the apse, there is a small
hole in the carved wooden tracery: this, too, is unseen,
except by myself. To all who wander by, it appears I am lost
in prayer. Some have marveled at my piety, since I pray a
great deal. But the truth is that I peer through that hole,
the other end of which is the lens on the crucifix, which
gives me a perfect view of the acolytes as they change into
their vestments, preparing for Mass.
The boys sometimes get carried away while changing.
Dutifully following my orders, they arrive well before Mass;
this gives them private time together they seem to have
trouble finding elsewhere. I get to watch them playing, as
boys do when there's time on their hands. I love to watch
them prance around, showing off their pubescent young bodies
to each other...
|...qui pueris mitigasti flammas ignium...|
...who subdued the flames of fire for the young men...
Since I also coach sports in our modest gym Saturday nights,
no one is surprised that I buy jock-straps for myself. I
wear them under my alb; the entertainment I view almost
every Sunday morning inevitably gives me an erection which
might be difficult to explain. On more than one occasion I
have ejaculated beneath my vestments and been unable to
clean up until after Mass. Some of my parishioners react in
interesting ways to the subtle odor I diffuse as I move
along the communion rail. More than once I have fumbled with
the host as a particularly nice-looking boy knelt before me,
his sensuous mouth uplifted and open to receive...
|Accipite et comedite; hoc est corpus meum.|
Take and eat; this my body.
Mass often commences late here at Perpetual Succor.
Fortunately, we have a buzzer to the organ console in the
balcony at the other end of the nave: I can signal the
organist when it's time to stop playing his usual vapid
stuff, and get on with the really banal music he chooses to
accompany the rites. Only the singing of the boys' choir is
worth listening to, their clear, unchanged soprano voices
floating sensuously in the nave. Our choirmaster is very
good with them. He's very good *to* them as well, I
understand. There are several particularly pretty boys in
the choir, and I've often wished I could spy on the little
room under the tower where they slip into - and out of -
their robes. But I see enough, spying into the sacristy as I
pray. I have a soft spot in my heart for acolytes; and a
hard spot in my groin, usually...
Of course, I choose the acolytes, just as Cedric chooses the
choir-boys. I never cared much for the Irish boys, so white
and pink everywhere. But choice has become more difficult as
first Italians, then Hispanics, Blacks, and now Asians have
moved into the parish. Surely, part of the Lord's work is to
promote harmony among these diverse people, and what better
way than to arrange for their youngsters to interact in
safe, quiet and non-judgmental surroundings? It has been
particularly gratifying to see integration proceed so
smoothly, aided by the regular interplay among a long
succession of charming young boys. Parents are never a
problem: they are the first to put their sons forth as
prospects for my ministry. I point out the honor that
accrues to their lovely offspring as they serve the Lord.
And me...
For example, the Santos' dropped by the Rectory last week
with Raul, their 9 year old son. Mr. Santos himself is a
good-looking Filipino, but Raul is absolutely exquisite. He
has the most perfect skin the color of dark ale, with large,
brown eyes and glossy jet-black hair. Sitting in my office
in tight white shorts, his glabrous thighs were stunning,
and I was glad I wore a jock-strap (as usual), since his
effect on my private parts was predictable: it would not
have done to usher his parents out with an erection showing
in my dark slacks.
|Mitte manum tuam...| Put in your hand...
I needed a private word with little Raul - just to check on
his catechism, of course. He was happy to sit in my lap as I
tested his knowledge and assessed his other qualifications.
He didn't mind my palm on his leg at all, and wriggled coyly
as my fingers slipped under the hem of his pants... The
Santos' were delighted when I told them Raul had passed with
flying colors; I sent them along to my secretary, and back
in my office fantasized future intimacies with Raul as I
relieved myself.
|...flumina de ventre ejus fluent...|
...out of his belly shall flow rivers...
After all, what is a pastor to do, when a handsome young
member of his flock confesses he masturbates every night?
What good is thirty "Hail Marys" or a dozen "Our Fathers"
going to do? No one would believe it today, but I was once
young and horny. Perhaps God knows how many penances I
recited, but I lost count years ago. Now I am old and horny.
The wonderful promise evident between the legs of a young
boy is something better to worship than some stuffy notion
of a mysterious trinity.
And, worship them I do! Many of them have worshiped me in
various ways, too: who am I to deny an innocent boy's
desire to kneel before his spiritual father and drink in the
essence of maleness his own father will not provide? Boys
yearn for expressions of male affection; too many parents
fail to understand this! Their sons turn to me, a surrogate,
and learn...
They learn their bodies are not something to be hidden and
clothed, but something to be proud of! They feel the energy
that flows from my erect penis into their hands as they
fondle me. They experience the religious fervor of
ejaculation - surely a more profound event in their lives
than the harangue of a boring homily. (Certainly a more
common one!) They learn that a mouth has uses beyond the
spouting of platitudes; that the laying on of hands can be
more than just an expression; the *real* meaning of "Christ
is Risen!"
|Puer natus est nobis...| Unto us a boy is born...
Why, I am now ministering to the sons of men I knew first as
boys! Take Victor, for example: can he possibly have
forgotten the many times we played together in my study?
Though it was twenty-some years ago, I remember as if it was
last month: how he responded shyly every time I touched him
as I taught the many complex movements to be made as we
served Mass together. One day, as I showed him how I would
kneel, my eye fell on his crotch, where it was evident he
was excited. How could I have been so clumsy, in trying to
rise, as to bump my head against that tender spot? His
instant blush told me of his acute embarrassment, so I had
to put him at ease. That day's lesson was completed in my
study, where he brightened perceptibly when I explained to
him that a hard penis would be something he would deal with
often as he grew up, and that there was a pleasant way of
making it become soft again - at least for a little while.
I was, you comprehend, forearmed with the knowledge that
Victor liked to experiment, for I had watched him in the
sacristy. He was an early bloomer, entering puberty while
still not quite 12. The signs were unmistakable, as that
remarkable metamorphosis commenced. Subtle, tantalizing
changes in his structure quickly became evident: a
thickening of muscle here, a loss of baby-fat there, and the
typical growth-spurt. Cedric had banished his awkward rasps
from the choir. Wisps of curly black hair appeared around
his uncircumcised penis, which quickly lost it's little pig-snout
as it filled out. Although he was a shy boy around
adults, with his mates he was flirtatious and fun-loving,
often "accidentally" groping them as they cavorted while
changing. With my years of experience, I knew *exactly* when
he was ready...
He stood between my legs, that first time, as I sat on the
old wooden pew salvaged from St. Ubaldus' after the fire. He
raised no objection when I unsnapped his pants and pushed
them down over his slender hips. His staff pushed out the
brilliant white cloth of his tiny briefs, but I let my hands
wander over his wonderful legs - so smooth and soft.
Emboldened, he steadied himself with a hand on my shoulder
as he stepped out of his pants. When he bent to pick them up
and smooth the wrinkles before setting them on a chair, I
feasted on a perfect view of his ravishing buns, to which
his shorts clung most alluringly. Then, he stood again,
dutifully awaiting my instruction.
|Flectamus genua.| Let us kneel.
On my knees in a trice, I slipped his shorts down, taking
care not to bend him in the process, then grasped his hand
and curled his fingers around his pretty penis, the purplish
glans of which was now fully exposed by a retracted
foreskin. I showed him the proper motion, telling him as I
did so that in a few minutes he would feel *wonderful* (by
the grace of God, of course...). Boys are such quick
learners! Within minutes Victor discovered how strangely
pleasant it is to masturbate; his eyes closed as the
unfamiliar feelings swept over him; perhaps my busy hands
appreciatively massaging his firm buttocks had something to
do with it.
|Venite meus...| Come unto me...
Victor expressed no surprise when he noticed I had taken my
own penis in hand and was emulating him. He must have
instantly realized that the wonderful sensations washing
over his youthful body can be enjoyed just as much by
someone older. Interrupting both of us only momentarily, I
returned to my pew and pressed him down on my bare leg,
where his compact buns burned their way into my thigh. I
held his lovely penis, rock hard, just briefly in my hand,
feeling its rhythmic pulsations as his blood engorged it.
|Bibite ex hoc omnes. Hic est enim sanguis meus...|
Drink all of this...
That's when Victor's tiny hand tentatively reached for me.
His delicate fingers coiled around me loosely, and he slid
them up and down, not gripping me, just gently feeling the
heft of my rigid manhood. The sensation was electrifying, as
usual, and I felt seed rising in my loins. After a few
moments of this, his hand returned to himself, and mine to
me. Our paces quickened as the inevitable orgasms
approached; he stood on his toes and croaked a boyish "oh"
when the end of his rod exploded, and glistening droplets of
his gelatinous boy-essence were flung out, like so much Holy
Water from my aspergillum, to splash on my other leg and
forearm.
Mindful of the admonition not to spill seed upon the ground,
I spilt mine upon his curvaceous thigh instead, moments
after his anointed my leg. I sacrificed a snowy purificator,
and mopped up his effusion, then mine, which gave me further
opportunity to appreciate the perfection of his sturdy young
legs. Then I pulled up his shorts, and helped him into his
pants, safe in the knowledge that he would repeat this
lesson with me many times.
|Benedic annulum hunc...| Bless this ring...
Victor was my star pupil for several years. By the time he
entered St. Procopius Prep, he was a strapping youth much
admired by all. Admired by Angela most of all, it seems, for
in due course I married them, as I have so many of my
students. And now, their oldest boy, Ruben, is snuggling in
my lap as I type. He's only 8, so we have not done anything
together yet, but I have watched him through Jesus' navel
and I know I shan't have long to wait. He's the spitting-image of
his dad at the same age, and I know I'll have the
opportunity to guide his awakening when the time comes.
|Nigra Sum, sed formosa...| I am black, but comely...
I flip the pages of my breviary idly, appearing to privately
address our Lord as I peer through my private peep-hole;
but actually, I am undressing Jesse in my mind's eye. He is
a splendid little black package of innocence, eleven years
old and just entering puberty.
|O Radix Jesse, qui stas... O Root of Jesse, which stands...
He's a brash young fellow, showing off his root to his
friends, who (like myself) are amazed at its prodigality: he
has a full inch more than his brethren even now. This
moveable feast on legs has my own root in a turmoil as I
imagine the banquet that will soon be spread before me...
|Qui manducat meam carnem...| He who eats my flesh...
I will soon find a way to savor that succulent morsel; I
won't just toy with it, as my charges are doing now, or
admire only its size. I will devour it! I will drink in his
boyish bouquet as his dusky blackness sears my face with its
heat, and imbibe his sweet wine, poured forth for our mutual
pleasure from his glistening chalice.
But, for this I must wait: not long. I think Jesse will be
ready in just a few months. I will know the signs: how often
I have witnessed the blossoming, the discovery, the
revelation! For that matter, I have been the instrument of
that revelation more times than I can remember. But Jesse
will find this wondrous thing out for himself - it's only a
matter of time.
|O admirabile commercium...| O wondrous fellowship...
For several summers, Father Duggan took my place while I
took charge of our Parish's summer camp in the Sierra
mountains. Here, close to nature, boys come to life! Away
from the stifling city, and from their parents, they "cut
loose", displaying their many charms unabashedly. The
swimming pool, with its water constantly refreshed by the
stream that ran through it, was their favorite place - and
mine. In those years, boys swam nude, as did we all, and no
one thought anything about it. It saddened me greatly when
the new permanent Director, Father Downs, forbade it. A dour
man, he seems oblivious to the dazzling beauty of a clutch
of tanned and shiny young bodies cavorting in the hot sun. I
certainly did not appreciate his snide references to "the
Fondling Fathers"!
|Manducaverunt, et saturati sunt nimis...|
They ate and were filled exceedingly...
Perhaps he would be more impressed by the same bunch
cavorting in the cabins at night: I certainly was. Under the
circumstances, the boys all knew what the others looked like
in their birthday suits: but nightfall gives rise to an
intimacy among boys that daylight usually dispels. This is
the time when curiosity comes to the fore - when the first
vestiges of love appear, to amuse and confuse, but always to
give way to lust. It's a time of "pals": tonight for sure,
maybe forever...
I gave up years ago trying to predict who would wind up
sleeping with whom! Some boys would utterly ignore each
other by day, and sleep knotted like pretzels at night.
Others appeared to be everything to each other in the
daytime, but never touched. It is fascinating to watch. And
of course, boys can be cruel at times. One who became erect
at the pool would be taunted and embarrassed; a warm mouth
would find that same erection by night. Then, too, there
were a few adventuresome chaps who were out of sync, who had
to find a quiet spot in the woods to indulge themselves on a
warm afternoon.
|Virga tua et baculus tuus, ipse me consolata sunt.|
Your rod and your staff , they comfort me.
But I was in sync with them all, and since most of the boys
had dallied with me at one time or another, they knew their
shenanigans would be overlooked, so long as I was included
in at least some of them. Nights when the moon was full were
especially nice...
One such stands out in my memory: the summer was nearly
over, and the boys were probably contemplating their return
to the city - and to homes where siblings and family often
interfered with the kind of amusements to which they were
accustomed after six weeks in the mountains. Two chaps
without such worries, though, were Chuck and Butch: they
were twins, and had been fooling around together ever since
I seduced them at age 11; they were now 13, very precocious,
and very hard to tell apart. They thought with one mind, it
seemed, and when they weren't playing with each other were
cavorting with someone else. For their part, the other boys
thought it keen fun to be with two boys at once who were
carbon-copies of each other; that there was nothing either
one would not do, if given the chance, made them even more
popular.
Every camp seems to have its "odd man out"; ours that year
was Mark, who, despite having a body that anyone would envy
and the face of an angel, saw fit not to participate in any
hanky-panky with anyone - not even, it appeared, with
himself. Studious and quiet, he could sleep through the most
raucous antics of his mates, seemingly oblivious to the
noise, innuendoes, and smells that pervaded the sleeping
quarters night after night. His mates teased him mercilessly
about being "sex-less", but Mark refused to be intimidated,
joining in all the other camp activities with enthusiasm,
excepting only anything having to do with sex. Only I knew
Mark's secret; but as this knowledge had come to me in
confession, there was no way I could betray his trust.
Besides, I had forgotten it!
|Haec est virgo sapiens...| This is a wise virgin...
At camp-fire that night Mark was nowhere to be seen. No one
noticed, for he often spent time alone, which he seemed to
prefer. As the fire died down and the moon rose, an unusual
hush fell over us all. There was a touch of sadness at the
impending end of our time together, mixed with awe at the
mystical beauty that surrounded us, and we fell quiet, each
with his own thoughts. Our mood was interrupted by the sound
of someone approaching: out of the trees, to our
astonishment, there came the most lovely young girl! She
walked towards us slowly, hips swaying seductively, an
enigmatic smile on her lips; long golden locks swirled
around her resplendent face from beneath a tiara of wild-flowers.
She wore a diaphanous gown so thin we could see the
outlines of her shapely legs as she moved, back-lit by the
moon, into the glow from the fire. She stopped just outside
our circle and stood, nymph-like, the very essence of
femininity, in the brief silence that followed her
appearance. Suddenly, as one, our boys brought forth a
chorus of wolf-whistles and cat-calls. The expression on her
face suggested she had found the answer to a maiden's prayer
in this forest gathering of horny young boys; *their*
reaction suggested a few of their prayers had been answered
as well.
|Adeste supplicationibus nostris.| Hear our prayers.
But, who was this, and how did she come to be here? Then I
remembered! It was an astonishing transformation, but I
recognized a familiar up-turned nose, a certain stance, and
I knew it was Mark, transmogrified into Maria. He was not
the first boy to tell me he liked to dress up as a girl once
in a while, so I had not paid much attention to his
confession. Now the question loomed: how far was he willing
to go with this charade, and what would the boys think when
they discovered the truth? Or would they?
|Manum suam aperuit inopi...|
She opened her hand to the needy...
The twins were the first to rise and join this apparition.
Without a moment's hesitation, she giggled girlishly and
lasciviously groped them both as they approached, then
turned and ran gaily off into the woods, the twins in hot
pursuit. The other boys were a-buzz and wide-eyed; they fell
silent again as the occasional squeal of delight drifted out
from the trees across our clearing. Soon Chuck re-emerged,
his hair disheveled and his shirt hanging out of his pants.
A short time later Butch came into the light of the fire,
zipping up his shorts and patting down his erection. At his
nod, Joe jumped up and ran into the woods, to re-appear a
while later, grinning from ear to ear. One by one, every boy
took his turn, utterly thrilled with the knowledge that they
had *finally* gotten their first "piece of ass".
And so they had! When the last of them had spilt his seed in
Maria's commodious bum, I kept them by the fire as long as I
could, and when we trudged back up the hill to the crude
dorm, we found Mark sound asleep, as if nothing whatever had
taken place.
In the wee hours the next morning, I was awakened by a quiet
tap at the screen of my little cabin. Rubbing my eyes, I
went to the door - and there was Mark, once again
transformed as before. In the moonlight, he really *was* a
perfect girl. Every movement was feminine; even his voice
was high-pitched and girlish as he asked me quietly if I
would hear his confession! At such an hour!
|O Quam Pulchra es, amica mea...|
O how fair you are, my love...
Of course, we all know what she confessed - except for her
last recitation: she wanted *me*! That's when *I* had to
confess: I had never buggered anyone in my life! Anal
insertion had always seemed to have about it an aspect of,
well, "normalcy", that put me off. But Maria would not to be
put off: she cast away her sheer dress and lay on my little
cot, her alabaster bottom a vision of loveliness, with a
nubile pair of legs below, spread invitingly for me. She
wiggled her tender pink bum invitingly, turned and smiled
sweetly. Despite my inhibitions, I found myself erect and
ready; the cot groaned as I knelt on it and fondled her
fleshy globes. Parting these gave me a glimpse of her anus,
a trifle red from its previous drubbing, but clean and
beckoning. I stretched out and entered her with ease. The
sweet scent of the wild-flowers mingled with her natural
muskiness, the finest aphrodisiac. I found the sensation of
slippery warmth surrounding my penis irresistible, and as
she knew just what to do, and did it well, I deposited my
seed in her warm behind within minutes. The sensation was so
very different from the hands to which I was accustomed -
*deliciously* different! Oh, rapture! Oh, ecstasy! In a
blinding revelation, I realized what I'd missed all these
years. My release was incomparably more satisfying, more
lasting, more *complete*! After a brief respite, Maria
hugged me, slipped into her gown, and skipped out.
|Fiat Lux!| Let there be light!
I returned to my cot to ponder the night's events, astounded
by my discovery of a previously unknown route to pleasure.
So, *this* was what all the fuss was about! And, if a
girlish boy's backside was so wondrous, what must a young
girl's vagina be like? I determined to explore this new
avenue ofjoy again as soon as possible.
A week later I spoke to Cedric about starting a mixed
choir...
|Pax Vobiscum| Peace, brothers!
--Bruce Bramson, 1996
Author's note: Most of the Latin passages are *freely*
extracted from the St. Andrew Daily Missal, ed. 1936, and
just as freely translated. I have NO qualms about this:
folks have been "freely extracting" passages from another
holy book for years to "prove" whatever point they wanted to
make... BB