Date: Thu, 08 Feb 2007 21:01:01 -0700
From: Joseph Farrin <bigblaise@hotmail.com>
Subject: THE VICAR OF BLANCHARD - PART 2

THE VICAR OF BLANCHARD - 2

PART SEVEN

When I put him down beside the bed, we both tossed our
pajamas aside and once in bed, both totally naked, both
totally erected and in the throes of passion, our lips
locked us together in our first act of sex.

No oral sex took place.  No penetration took place.  But
bound together in our embrace, we climaxed very soon
and at the same time.  Our whole bodies jerked in unison.
It was the first time for both of us at having sex.  We were
surprised when, almost immediately, we both climaxed for
the second time.

With my arms still around him, I rolled over on my back,
pulling him with me so his legs were between mine, his
boy cock and mine both softening together in the pool of
semen that had just oozed out of our piss slits.

We didn't move for how long I really can't say.  Neither
spoke. In the silence, our breathing was audible.  Michael
was the first to speak, asking, "Is all sex like that?"

"I don't know.  I think maybe we just experienced love
instead.  Michael if I were to die right now, with you on top
of me, I'd die happy.  I can't describe how I feel,
especially about you."

"Don't try Morgan, I know because I feel the same way."

We didn't move all night but even with him atop me I
never slept more soundly.  At 7AM when he awoke to go
to the bathroom, I got up, too.  After he'd used the
bathroom he went back to bed. I stayed up, made coffee
and pancake batter -- pancakes were not a popular
breakfast in England but one I remembered from my
childhood and still fancied now and again and I didn't
have to do anymore with them until he woke up.

PART EIGHT

Very rarely, because I didn't like doing it, I decided
against using today's Gospel as the subject of my
sermon, which some ministers did too often, believing the
Gospels were written in parables and needed
interpretation rather than taking them literally. I preferred
another approach and did so, today, because every time
Michael talked about his mom he seemed filled with anger
and it concerned me.

So, I began, "In some denominations, the members
address each other as Brother John, Sister Jane, or My
Child if a child is involved.  They are right in doing so as
we are all children of God - all brothers and sisters and
God is our father."

I continued with: "One of God's commandments is that we
shall love one another as we love ourselves.  That
includes loving your pastor (everyone smiled.)  In fact it
includes more than your pastor -- people who drink too
much, people who murder, people who steal, people who
cheat on their spouses, people who sell their bodies for
money.  Why?  Because they, too, are children of God.
They, too, are our brothers and sisters and children.
To love them, we might first have to forgive them.  We do
not know the circumstances that surrounded their deeds
and to not forgive them develops into hate and hate will
consume us, consume us totally -- both our body and our
mind and that is not what God wants us to do.  So, what I
ask of you today my brothers, my sisters and my children
is to try, try forgiveness in lieu of hatred.  It will help to
qualify ourselves, help us deserve everyone's ultimate
hope -- a place in Heaven."

"To make this easier, let me say that to love and to like
are not the same.  You can like ice cream but you really
can't love it.  You can love your child but sometimes when
he's being naughty, you won't like him. 	So remember
this difference when you're having trouble loving your
neighbor. Don't be quick to form opinions of people that
you read about in newspapers or hear about on the
television. If you were to meet the person face to face you
might not hate him, after all. It might turn out that you like
him, think he'd been falsely represented and feel sorry for
him -- which is a first step toward forgiving and forgiving is
the first step toward loving. I predict that to practice
forgiveness will have a cleansing effect, even make you a
happier person. And, please remember, forgiveness is
one of the keys to your fulfilling God's commandment to
love thy neighbor.  Also it is worth remembering that
someday we might need God's forgiveness.  Might he be
more apt to forgive us if we have forgiven others?"

Sunday afternoon, Michael and I walked up to the
deserted Lead mine, explored the ruins and sat on the
remnant of an old, stone wall before returning to
Blanchard. We discussed this and that, including all the
castles and cathedrals that we could visit on weekends,
because they were so close and I responded to Michael's
question about where all the people came from that were
in church, explaining the parish extended beyond
Blanchard, including the newer housing beyond the
courtyard and even a few, small surrounding villages.  We
each smoked our two, self-allotted cigarettes for the day
and finally, Michael said,  "Morgan, your sermon this
morning was for me, wasn't it?"

"Yes, I wondered if you were going to mention it.  And
Michael, remind me never to give a sermon on
temptation."

His hand moved over toward mine, a gesture that he
wanted to hold it, but I moved mine away, saying,
"Michael, I have something to explain.  In the seminary
they told us all sorts of stuff -- how we would be plagued,
at times, with lust -- how masturbation was an impure
deed, frowned upon by God -- how we had to keep
ourselves pleasing to God if we were to represent him
here on earth.  Then Friday evening when I opened the
door and saw you and when you told me what had
happened and how you wanted to stay with me, all I'd
learned became unimportant, unrealistic, in part a creed
of old men, some of whom had lived too long in a
monastic world far removed from the real one. I've
thought about it more since and I want you to stay with
me.  I need you to stay and I hope you do, too.  I've
decided that we don't need to worry if we're cautious.
That's why I didn't want to hold hands out here -- some
damn birdwatcher with a pair of binoculars might
accidentally catch us in his lens."

Then I added, as concerns masturbation, I've done it and
you've done it.  So has every male on earth."

"He replied, "Thanks Morgan.  I've never been the subject
of a sermon before.  I love you and I want to stay.  I'll be
careful when we're away from home.  And I've just
thought of a question for you."

"Ask it then."

"Can we masturbate each other when we get home?"

I laughed and said, "You horny little bugger.  Of course
we can. If I weren't the local Vicar I'd pull your trousers
down right now and jack you off right here!"

PART NINE

Immediately upon entering and closing the door, I asked,
"And where do you want us to masturbate?"

"Where do you usually do it during the day?  I thought and
answered "The toilet or my study, and you?"

"The toilet at home or the one at school."

"It seems toilets got the most votes."  So that's where we
went.

"Let's take off our pants, I want to try something that I've
never done before."

I took out my already erected, seven inches and pushed it
into one side of his new thongs and through his groin
between his genitals and his left leg.  I neither knew nor
cared what a girl was like down there, but his groin felt
wonderful with its moistness and it's warmth and the
unbelievable softness of his young skin.

He immediately grasped the idea, parted one side of my
jockeys and guided his erection between my legs.

I backed him against a wall and began dry fucking him.
Suddenly he grabbed, first my and then his shorts and
pulled them down and out of the way. Then we locked our
mouths together.

In the process, we missed a few strokes but no one was
counting and the journey to climax ended when we felt
the other's semen pouring down the inside of our legs.

I didn't mention it to Michael, but I hoped that our trigger-
happy balls would settle down soon and give us more
time to enjoy our lovemaking.

PART TEN

Michael went to school on Monday and around 11 o'clock
I went, too.  I thought it best to tell James Killian, the
Principal, and my first new friend in Blanchard, what had
taken place with Michael during the weekend.  Like me,
he was shocked and angered by the time I finished.

His reaction was that it was strange, saying she must
have had one of her male friends help her, as there were
no intercity busses through Blanchard after dark and to
pack her clothes, leave a note with money enclosed all
seemed to indicate it had been preplanned, despite
Michael having related that she was inebriated at the
time.

I was impressed with his perspective on the situation and
told him about buying Michael new clothes, the fish and
chips and baptizing him plus saying both Michael and I
had bonded rapidly and we both wanted to stay together.
Then I asked if I should inform the police that he was
living with me and why.

Morgan, it would probably be the honest, most forthright
thing to do, but my gut feeling is that you shouldn't.  He'd,
most likely end up in the custody of the County and sent
only God knows where.  From what you've told me, I think
you already realize he is a warm and sensitive boy,
despite his past, and that would only do him further harm.
"Do you want my advice?"

"Please."

"I really feel that you, Michael and I should enter into a
conspiracy.  In my files I have sufficient hand written
notes from Lillian, his mother, regarding  admittance
forms and excuses for absenteeism that I could forge a
note reading, roughly:"

I have been called away on an emergency and it is
necessary for me to leave my son, Michael, in the custody
and care of Vicar Morgan Townsend for as long as may
be required." Signed Lillian Longley.

If it's not dated, there will always be a significant question
as to how long it is relevant.  And I might add, conspiracy
or not, it would spice up my life a bit.  And, one more thing
while we're on Michael's case, he is listed with National
Health.  That is required information when a pupil starts
school, in case of an emergency.  I assume you know that
if you switch him to a private physician he cannot return to
the National Health System -- one more of our
bureaucratic stumbling blocks.

When Michael got home from school, I had milk and
cookies waiting for him and told him of what Mr. Killian
and I had done and why.  The next day he brought a
school friend home with him. I told the boy he better call
home so his mother would know where he was. (I later
learned that Michael had been invited to other boys'
homes on occasion but he had never reciprocated, for
reasons we can all understand).

Midweek, George Fisher came over with his bag of
Newcastle Brown Ale and against my objections poured a
small drinking glass partially full for Michael.  Michael was
in his glory taking part in the conversation between two
adults and especially with listening to George's risqué
tales about past parishioners. I noticed he didn't like the
ale but sipped it ever so slowly so as not to offend
George.

PART ELEVEN

Friday was Molly's day to clean.  Luckily I had changed
the upstairs bedding to flannel sheets and warmed the
room with a portable electric heater before he retired so
Molly wouldn't catch us sleeping together.  I could never
count on her time of arrival -- it varied between 6 and 8
AM at her convenience.

All my plans were for naught, though.  At midnight,
Michael was standing by my bed shaking me and saying,
"Morgan, I can't sleep."  So, I grabbed my alarm clock, set
the alarm for 5 o'clock and followed Michael upstairs,
cuddled up to his back, threw an arm over him and tucked
my hand under his stomach and neither moved a muscle
until the alarm sounded.

I was up, showered, dressed and drinking coffee when I
heard Molly come in.  I told her the highlights of Michael's
story and when he came downstairs she fell in love with
him as fast as I had.

He came home to find a big slice of Chocolate cake on
the table and watched as Molly poured him a cup of tea.  I
was out but returned within an hour to smell dinner
cooking.  The butcher's van had come by and honked so
Molly had bought a small pork roast and was fixing it
along with potatoes.

As she walked out the door to go home, she admonished
me, "Now you take care of that boy and feed him
properly."

I don't recall exactly but it was at least two weeks later
when Michael bombed into my study and said, "Morgan,
can I ask you a question?"  He knew he could, so without
waiting for my answer, asked it.  "What does the word
'Blow' mean?  I heard a couple of older guys in school
using it."

I knew, and I knew that he knew, the word had many,
similar meanings -- blow your nose -- blow a horn -- blow
up a balloon, even to blow it (as in to make a mistake).  I
also knew that the two boys he'd heard using the word
were using it in none of the above contexts.

Then, again, instinctively I knew, and I knew he knew that
the boys he'd overheard had used it with some sexual
connotation.

Oh the pangs of parenthood - or, the pleasures in
Michael's case.

AS IS USUALLY THE CASE I MADE A FEW GOOFS IN
THE FIRST CHAPTER AND I'M SURE SOME READER
WILL FIND SOME IN THIS CHAPER.  IF SO, PLEASE
WRITE ME.  I AM NOT SENSATIVE TO CRITICISM.

TO BE CONTINUED