Date: Tue, 24 May 2005 01:55:23 -0700
From: Gay Literature Class <gaylitclass@gmail.com>
Subject: Leaving Seminary - 2nd Installment

This story is entirely fictional; none of the events ever took place to the
best of my knowledge. Anything that seems familiar is entirely accidental.
The characters in the story are all of consenting age, though it does
portray a father and son exploring their sexuality together. If that's not
your cup of tea, then please don't read this. Otherwise, enjoy -- and
please send you comments, suggestions, etc. to GayLitClass@gmail.com

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LEAVING SEMINARY -- INSTALLMENT TWO

The Next Morning -- 7:00 a.m.

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The sunlight flooding my room woke me early, but not before Anthony. As my
mind began to clear, I sat up in bed, and briefly recounted the previous
night's events. Brief flashes in my mind, of Anthony and David's
flesh-heat, nearly searing my own skin. Every prickly hair of our bodies
like sparks on my virginal body. Something in me had changed, and I wasn't
yet sure where it would lead.

The bed still smelled of us -- the distinct smell that is only a man: a
little sweat, a little semen and stale cologne. I never wanted to leave the
comfort of the bed. Anthony's side of the bed was still slightly warm, so I
knew he hadn't been out of bed for long.

I stood up and stretched. As I headed for the bathroom, I could hear the
shower running. The door was slightly ajar, so I stuck my head
inside. Anthony was soaping up and saw my peek in.

"Good morning!" he called out over the noise of the shower, "C'mon in!"

"Oh sorry, I'll come back." I started to back out of the room.

"Oh, come back. Your tongue has been in my mouth and you've touched my
dick, I think you can see me shower." He laughed as he turned off the
water.

"Okay." I smiled and laughed. "But I gotta pee."

"Just don't flush `til I'm done." He pointed at the toilet. I realized that
my modesty was a residual effect of seminary. I would learn to be in the
presence of others without averting my eyes and reciting prayer.

I walked over to the toilet, lifted the lid and took a deep breath before
lifting my penis out of the fold of my boxers. I slid my skin back slightly
and relieved myself.

"We'll work on that modest sense of yours." Anthony laughed, noticing my
hesitation. As he dried himself off, I admired his body, and allowed myself
to savor the view. His flesh glistened lightly, and his chest hair
gleamed. I wanted to run up and embrace him. I needed desperately to feel
his flesh next to mine again.

As I returned my growing cock to my shorts, Anthony came up to me and
embraced me tight. He leaned in and kissed me square on the lips. "I can
tell that we're going to have a lot of fun together. David thought so too."
David had left after I fell asleep. I suspect that he and Anthony went on
playing together with me sleeping at their side. The combination of the
day's exhaustion and a previously unknown endorphin rush lulled me to a
swift and delicious sleep.

"Thanks. It was more than I ever expected." I told him, still being nestled
in his arms.

"Let's get some breakfast. So, what ARE you doing with your day?" he asked
me.

I stood silent for a moment. The plan for my day was uncertain. I hadn't
considered what I would fill my day with. "I don't know." I replied
blankly.

"Well, breakfast first. We'll figure it out." He smiled, leaned in and gave
me a quick kiss on the cheek. We dressed, and went downstairs to the
kitchen.


We poured coffee, sat down, and began to discuss what I would do with my
day. Just then, dad walked in. "Good morning boys!"

I flinched internally. For the last several hours, I'd almost forgotten
that my dad existed. His bedroom was downstairs, next to his office, so we
pretty much had run of the house once he retired for the evening. I prayed
deep inside that he was still a sound sleeper, and that he could hear
nothing of last night's events.

He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down with us. "So what are you
boys doing today?"

"I have lecture in... oh crap, 10 minutes. I gotta get out of here. I'll be
back around 3." Anthony dashed from the kitchen, bagel in hand, and headed
out the door.

"So what about you?" dad asked.

"No idea. I don't know where to begin."

"Well, we need to clear out the spare bedroom if you want to start boxing
things up. I've just been using it as a spare office and file dumping
ground. Mostly, just an excuse to be lazy about keeping my own office
clean." Dad laughed.

"Sure, I could work on that." I sipped my coffee, relieved to have a
task. My days in seminary and at boarding school didn't allow for much
"unstructured time" so I wasn't really prepared to face a day on my own.

"Besides, you and Anthony shouldn't have to share a room. You need a little
privacy." He continued.

I knew he was right, and Anthony would surely need his own space. He had a
lot of work going on with school. Besides, I'd be just across the hall.

We drank coffee, talked about newspaper headlines and how I could spend my
day.

Then, dad dropped a bomb. "You know, Mick... My bedroom is right under
yours. I could hear you boys last night." My heart stopped. I couldn't
breathe; I could feel an attack of some sort coming on.

"It's okay!" dad quickly said. He hugged me tight, and I began to relax. He
could feel me trembling in his arms. He kissed me on the head, and just
told me that it was okay. "It's all right! I'm glad it was Anthony with
you, and not some random stranger in an alley."

I was feeling overcome with guilt. Guilt about what I'd done, guilt about
not feeling guilty earlier... "I don't know what happened. It was so
overwhelming, but also so..."

"Good? Exciting? Fun?" dad replied. He was laughing, and was genuinely
happy for me.

"Yes. Fun! Titillating! Relieving..." I replied quickly. "And not as scary
as I thought it would be."

"Good. Don't be afraid of your body." He hugged me tight and reassured me
that I wasn't crazy. My guilt subsided somewhat, and I sat back in my
chair.

We continued to drink our coffee, and talk. Then something dad had said
came back to me. "Why would it be some stranger in an alley?"

"What?" dad looked at me.

"You said that you were glad it wasn't with some stranger in an alley. Why
would it be?" I asked.

"Well, some people have encounters in strange places sometimes." Dad drank
coffee and summoned up some courage. "Once, when I was in Morocco, I had an
encounter with a man I met in a café."

I sat frozen. "What?" I asked.

He smiled and continued, "Well, yeah. You're old enough now. I've been
known to have the occasional affair with a man."

"What about mom?"

"I never strayed while she was alive. She knew I was bisexual, but we were
faithful to our vows."

I was stunned. Was everyone bisexual? First Anthony and now dad.

He continued, "That's why I'm glad Anthony was here. I'd always suspected
that you were struggling with sexual identity, and I knew that Anthony had
already been there. He's a smart guy, and awfully handsome." He winked at
me, and we both laughed.

"Yeah, but he's my cousin. Is that weird?"

"Well, not really... nor is he really your cousin. He's only your cousin by
marriage. Your Uncle Pete isn't his father. Anthony was from your Aunt
Doris's first marriage. I know it's splitting hairs, but if that makes you
feel better..."

I remembered that, but hadn't considered the fact that we weren't
biologically connected. But there was still some weird, residual guilt that
hadn't sorted itself out yet.

"Don't worry so much. This is your time to experiment and explore." Dad
tried to be reassuring, but only 24 hours ago, I was happy and contented in
seminary. What a difference a day makes, indeed.

"I have office hours in about 20 minutes, so I need to get out of here. Are
you going to be okay here alone?" he asked.

"Yeah. I think so. I'll start on the spare room. Maybe watch some TV." I
replied confidently. For the first time, though, I actually did believe
that I would be okay. Having a day alone would be an excellent chance to
see what I was made of.


Dad left, and I sat at the kitchen table preparing to take on the day.  I
dressed and started to make the bed, then I realized that I didn't have
to. I threw the blankets back onto the bed and felt like a rebel. I walked
past the television armoire and stopped. The videotape was still in the
player. As David, Anthony and I played, the tape had run to the end,
rewound and ejected itself from the player. I pushed the tape back into the
VCR and switched on the TV.

The screen flickered on to a scene of a young man wearing jeans and,
inexplicably, a shirt with a tie. He sat at a desk, seemingly
working. Before long, his hand wandered down to the fly of his jeans that
he promptly opened. He took out a thick, cut piece of man-meat that made me
gasp. He stroked it absently as he viewed his screen.

My cock twitched to life. I sat back on the bed and took my own cock out,
emulating his strokes. As my on-screen friend stood up to remove his jeans,
I followed suit dropping my own chinos to the floor. I watched him stroke
his enormous tool and breathlessly following his instructions, I
manipulated my own dick. He kicked his leg up onto his desk, by the
computer, and began to lift his smooth balls and circle his finger nearer
and nearer to his hole. His weighty ballsac seemed to obscure his target,
so he grasped it firmly in one hand and lifted it with some force.

I grabbed my own balls, and surprised myself with the pleasure it gave. I
pulled firmly on my own scrotum, and felt a surge of buzzing energy that
seemed to generate from my solar plexus. This new discovery of an erogenous
"hot zone" was exciting. So much focus had been placed on my penis, that I
hadn't considered that other body parts could be so enticing.

On screen, my video tutor took a tube of lotion and began to smear it all
over his fingers. He deftly circled his waiting anus, and began to probe --
I followed suit. I had only saliva to lubricate my own. Gently at first, I
explored my tight hole. I managed to get to the first knuckle on my index
finger in, and gasped in relief and delight. I began to speed the pace on
my own throbbing dick. I moved my finger gently around my anus and began to
feel the pulses of the coming orgasm. Onscreen, he had procured a dildo,
and fucked himself wildly with it, as he jerked his throbbing, leaking
cock.

Watching his anus tighten and swallow the toy was more than I could bear. I
began to pound my own cock in a frenzy. My balls bounced and thumped
against my body. The buildup began, and surged through me. Heat coursing
through my veins, I felt the flush of heat and began to come again. It felt
as though I were shooting fire through my cock, as globs of semen poured
out.

Spent, I fell back on the bed as the beautiful young man on television came
in near comical torrents of hot cum. I laughed quietly to myself at having
"interfered with myself" and how terrible it would be when I went back to
seminary to confess it. I considered keeping a checklist of my
transgressions, so I'd be certain to seek absolution for
everything. Strangely, the pangs of guilt, that previously would have
churned like molten lava deep inside were fading.

Without cleaning myself up, I simply pulled my boxers and trousers up, and
felt the sticky warmness smear all over my balls. It was like my own wet
secret that I would enjoy.


Dad wasn't kidding when he said the spare room was a dumping ground for
files. The room was darkened by blinds and drapes over the windows, that
had clearly not been opened for quite some time. The thin coat of dust on
everything swirled into a cyclonic cloud when I opened the windows and let
in a gust of wind. A few errant papers blew around in the dust.

The room was filled with boxes marked obscurely with names like "1978
ANTH488 -- DEAD."  Each was crammed full of files, and papers. I moved the
dated boxes to the hall, so I could find the way into the closet, and
hopefully make room for them there.

Hidden below the file-boxes, was a smaller, brown cardboard box filled with
my dad's travel journals. Each was meticulously labeled with the name of a
country, and seemed to date back well into the 1970's, while my father was
still in college, long before my parents had married.

Quickly, I sought out Morocco in hopes of finding more about my father's
encounter, but found that there were three Morocco journals. The first
titled "Marrakesch" another titled "Nomad" and another titled "Personal."
For a moment, I considered my father's privacy, but decided that he would
have to know that I would be seeing everything in here, or he wouldn't have
asked me to clean this room. Perhaps there wouldn't be anything terribly
salacious in here after all. The bottom line was that I wanted to know more
about my father's encounter in Morocco, and knowing what a meticulous note
taker that he is, he would surely have recorded every detail.

The first pages of the "Personal" journal were charts of statistics --
mostly place names, neatly in a column, alongside times and dates. "FEZ,
16:00, lundi 7 Février 1972" - It seemed to be a log of a journey, with an
occasional marker for time. As I began to thumb though the dusty volume, a
small envelope slipped from the book. It was tied with a thin red cord,
that had dried over the years and did not manage to keep the envelope
closed. Inside of the envelope was a stack of old black and white
photographs, browned with age from being poorly stored. They were simply
snapshots of the scenic locales of his travels. They were meticulously
labeled on the back, with location names, dates and even some were labeled
with times. Beautiful images of ancient mosques, street bazaars where women
shopped, wearing white robes, and long veils.

The last photo in the stack caught my attention, though. Leaning against a
broken, clay brick wall, was a Moroccan man, wearing a white tunic and
pants, but in the photo, he had his white pants dropped to his knees, while
he lifted his tunic showing off an enormous dangling penis. He was maybe 25
years old, beautifully dark skinned and thin framed. My eyes continued to
gravitate to his crotch. The shadows in the photo made his exposed genitals
seem to sway back and forth in the image. It hung a third of the way down
his muscular thigh, along with equally impressive balls. The circumcised
tip of his cock seemed to glisten in the light of the photograph, as if
wet. His lips were parted slightly, as he smirked for the camera, with a
sexy, sly smile.

Who was this man? Why did my father have a naked photo of him? Immediately
I turned it over, seeking more information. It was cryptically labeled,
"Nabil, 14 Février 1972." Presumably, his name was Nabil. Was this one of
my father's early conquests? In 1972, he would have just begun graduate
school -- perhaps this was an early adventure. A horny 24-year-old in a
country far from home, surely, would have experimented. Dad did admit to
having had affairs with men, perhaps this young man is part of my father's
history. Was this his Moroccan adventure?

Voraciously, I dove into his journals looking for information about
Nabil. Finding my way to February 14th in his journal, I found only one
page with that date, containing an entry entitled "Le Jour De Saint
Valentine". Valentine's Day! Enticed by the prospect of a scintillating
story about a secret Valentine's tryst, I began to read on:

"Today, I met a young man selling oranges at the street market named
Nabil. He carried only the one basket of fruit -- strange, as the others
dragged trolleys loaded with fruit, grain, pots, pans and anything else
they could tie to it. Nabil surprised me by speaking English. Apparently
attended school in the UK. Only sells a basket of fruit for spending
money. I am supposed to meet him later for Maroc tea, near the square after
prayers at dusk. He smells strongly of oranges, hashish and
peppermint. Somehow, the heady combination is intoxicating. Bright green
eyes and smooth bronze skin. One wonders what is happening under the
caftan. Perhaps my Valentine is Moroccan?"

After this entry, there are several unintelligible scribbles, only "Maison
Andalous" was readable. A hotel perhaps?  On the following page, a brief
entry is dated - Mardi 15 Fevrier 1972 -- and reads simply "Mon Marocain
etait fantastique. Vive la Valentine!"

Quickly, I tucked the photos back into the journal, marking where I closed
the book. Clearly, my father had followed through on this tryst, but to
what extent, I knew not. I was hungry for details. I wanted to know every
lascivious detail of my father's tryst. Normally, I would have been
repelled by the very notion of my father in any sort of sexual context, but
as a man from 30-some years ago, in a far-off, exotic land, he was more a
character in a story for me. As if he didn't exist in my reality -- only in
the context of the sordid tale that I wanted to hear more about.


I moved the last of the boxes into the storage locker in the garage, and
went back to the spare room to begin actual cleaning. I vacuumed and
dusted, and managed to make it look more like the spare bedroom that it
was. I managed to exhume the old twin sized bed that was buried beneath
books and boxes and spray it with air freshener, in hopes of taking away
some of the "stored away" smell that lingered on it.

It was nearing 2, and Anthony would be home in an hour. I quickly went back
into the other bedroom, stripped off my clothes and headed for a hot
shower. I could feel the grime and dirt of the spare room, rather my new
room, caked on my skin. I turned the water on as warm as I could stand and
scrubbed away the dirt and sweat. The steamy spray of the shower was
meditative in a way. I began to recount the past 24 hours -- the protective
layer of my life had been stripped away, and I was laid bare to the
world. But instead of being consumed by the cold and harsh realities of
this mortal coil, I was rescued and introduced to a whole new world of
options. Emily Dickinson once said, "I will dwell in possibilities." And
this would be my new motto.

As I finished rinsing off, I was struck with the realization that there
still remained an expectation that I would return to seminary. At least the
other seminarians thought that. And Father Carlos, who had been so good to
me. My mentor and defender. He took the time to come and protect me in my
most brutal hour, and now I couldn't help but feel like I was disappointing
him. Not just because I'd participated in a sexual act, not because I'd
done so with a man, but because I had no remorse about doing so. I feared
what I might tell him.

I turned off the water and stood naked and dripping in the shower for a
moment. I slowly lowered myself onto the warm wet surface of the shower
floor and sat for a moment over the drain and considered what I should do
about Carlos. In my haste and rhapsodic joy of my new discoveries, I'd
forgotten that I might very well be disappointing the only one who could
truly identify with the pain of what I'd lost in seminary. As much as
Anthony and my father were supportive and loving, they didn't understand
why I wanted to pursue a life in the service of God. I knew I wouldn't
disappoint them by having a change of heart, but I knew Carlos would be
another story.

I sat for a few minutes on the floor of the shower, engrossed in my own
thoughts, until I heard the front door open. Quickly, I jumped to my feet
and got out of the shower. I opened the door slightly while I dried off in
hopes that Anthony would walk by and see me naked. The slight tingle of the
exhibitionist's thrill went up my spine and I heard him ascend the
stairs. He'd walk by any second. And just as I bent over to dry my feet, my
ass opened toward the door, he pushed the door open more and let in a cool
breeze that caused my swinging scrotum to tighten against my body.

"Hey there." Anthony said as I stood leaning in the doorframe.

"Hello!" I gleefully responded, turning around to face him. I tossed the
towel over the top of the shower door, in a flagrant gesture to show him
that I was making an effort to surrender my modesty.

"Very nice. You've conquered nakedness in the presence of another." He
smirked at me and set his backpack down in the hall. He entered the
bathroom and I froze, waiting for him to touch me -- hug me, kiss me,
molest me in some way -- instead he lifted the lid to the toilet, heaved
out his dick and began to take a piss.

"So," he began, "I thought tonight, if you're up for it, we could take your
education up a notch."

I was apprehensive, but intrigued. "Okay, how do you mean?"

"Well, I don't think David can come over tonight, because he has plans, but
I can introduce you to a few new concepts on my own. I brought home a few
things that we can try out."

I was stunned, but still standing naked, my cock began to signal my
interest in what he was proposing.

"I thought so." He smiled, shook off the last drops of piss into the bowl
and flushed.

He walked over to me, and took me in his arms. As he pressed into me, my
cock moved to the high noon position and pressed against his belly. He
reached down and grabbed it in his strong, but gentle hand, and positioned
it between his legs and tightened his thighs around it. I sighed heavily,
and the smooth, silky sheen of his track pants played across the smooth
skin of my cock.

He rocked, teasingly back and forth, holding my body in his arms in a
powerful bear hug. I didn't resist -- I rode the waves of his grinding and
rocking. It was like he was jacking off my whole body all at once, instead
of just my cock. The rock hard lump of his own throbbing member, trapped in
his pants, collided with my belly. The thumping was bringing me nearer and
nearer to deep and fiery orgasm.

Suddenly he stopped, and kissed me deep.

I hadn't come yet, I felt as though I might if I moved even slightly. He
simply held me tight until the wave passed. I'd successfully avoided coming
between his legs, but felt as though I had. The same warm wave of
endorphins rushed my body.

"You'll have to save something for later." He told me, as he backed off my
cock.

"You can't tease me like this." I said, holding my cock, now shiny and
dripping with precum.

"Trust me. You'll enjoy what I have in store for you." He assured me as he
picked up his backpack. "By the way, do you know where I can find an
extension cord?"


The next installment is coming soon. Your comments are greatly appreciated!
Thanks!

GayLitClass@gmail.com