Date: Sat, 7 Jul 2001 23:50:28 EDT
From: TheNastyParrot@aol.com
Subject: SINDONE

All the usual warnings apply.  Copyright by the author, play safe at home,
okay for Nifty and ASSGM to archive for free. . . .  Comments welcome to
thenastyparrot@aol.com


Sindone, by The Nasty Parrot (M/M, oral, anal, mystery)

    I held my breath as the guard walked past.  Over the last couple of weeks
I had been living on my wits.  When the door creaked shut, I let it out.  It
was time for me to move.

    With as much courage as I could muster, I poked my head out from under
the laundry basket lid.  I looked around, but there was not much to see.  The
sole light in the room came from under the cell door across the hallway.  The
light flickered as movement emerged from inside.

    Gingerly, I removed myself from the basket and proceeded to the doorway.
I punched in the six-digit code that had been provided to me and heard the
click.  I sucked in my breath and entered into the room.

    "Father Pio?" I said softly, covering my gaze briefly.  Despite the
softness of the light in the room, my hours spent in the laundry basket left
me blinded as I looked into the room.

    "Yes," creaked a voice from the floor.  I looked down and saw the elderly
priest sitting on the floor.  His collar frayed and his body a contortion.
Although only in his late fifties, he looked decades older.  How he ended up
in this situation was something I was here to discover.

    "My name is Mike Torino," I explained, my voice still barely above a
whisper, "I'm a reporter with the National Reporter.  I've come here to ask
you about the Sindone project."

    The priest's eyes bulged out and he let out a gasp.  "Sindone," he
growled, his voice a mixture of fear and amazement, "la sacra Sindone."

    Over the next half hour, I asked the old man as many questions as I
could, making as many notes as I could, but it was hard.  He had a story to
tell, but wouldn't reveal it.  He was too damn scared.  The time I was able
to spend alone in the room with him was drawing near, but I finally coaxed
him off the floor, assisting him as I moved his small frail body moved to a
small writing table.

    Father Pio demanded my pen and, with it, he wrote down a phone number.
It was somewhere in Washingt5on, D.C., I could tell by the area code.

    "Tell him. . . tell him, you have money and want to meet him," said the
priest, who began to cough incessantly.

    Finally recovering, he said "once you meet him, you will understand."



    I picked up the phone and dialed.  The comfort of the hotel was a
departure from the dank cell I had left.  As I heard the ringing on the other
side, I visually checked all the equipment atop the desk.  The sophisticated
scrambler and routing device was lit up, the recording equipment in good
order. . . I suddenly heard the other side pick up.

    "Hello," came the soft voice from the other side.

    "Um, hello," I grunted out.  "I'd like to meet you.  I have money."

    "What time?" asked the sweet voice.  I was having trouble figuring out if
I was talking to a man or a woman.

    "Uh, is now possible?"

    "Sure," the voice responded, "where are you?"

    Reluctantly, I gave the address of the hotel room.  All my equipment was
blinking green.  If there was a tap, not even the CIA equipment could find
it.  But, still, this was dangerous.



    I heard the knock on the door and arose from my chair.   From behind the
door, I peered through the keyhole.  There was only one person out there.  Or
at least it only seemed to be one person.  Holding my breath, I opened the
door slowly.

    On the other side of the door was a frail young man.  Brown haired, he
bore a thin face, longish hair and the wisps of hair in a poorly cultivated
goatee.  I could tell that he didn't have to shave all that often.  Late
teens perhaps.  His dress was Bohemian, a throwback to the sixties hippies,
it seemed.

    "Hi, I'm Aaron," said the boy, his voice as delicate and effeminate as
the rest of his body.  With the skill of a pro, he walked into the room and
plopped himself down on the bed.

    "This has to be quick," he explained, "my boyfriend and I are going out
dancing."

    I nodded.  "I understand."

    "Could you put the money on the night stand over there," he said as he
started removing his clothing.  I did as he asked and walked back over to
him.  By this time the youth was nude, a patch of barely visible pubic hair
under his arms and around his groin was the only confirmation I had that he
was actually an adult.

    The teen grabbed my belt and began removing my trousers.  I trembled,
never having been in this predicament before.  I watched Aaron's eyes as he
uncovered my cock and balls from their covering.

    "Oh, they're huge!" he practically squealed, as he took my still softened
shaft into his mouth.

    From there, it was a torrent of sexual activity as the youth serviced me
and allowed me to penetrate his anus.  I released into the youth as I pounded
his frail body, his voice moaning pleasure as I raped his ass.

    My seed spent, I relaxed atop the youth until my cock, sufficiently
softened, plopped out of the boy's well worn hole.  After only a few seconds,
Aaron shimmied out frm underneath me.

    The boy took the money from the night stand and dressed quickly.

    "Ta-ta," he said at the door as he blew me a kiss.  I fell back on the
bed and covered my eyes.



    I mustered up enough strength to pull myself out of bed.  Still nude, I
went over to my lap top, opened it and began going through my notes.

    The first part of my story was already completed and saved, the
background part.  I describe how Father Pio, a respected physician working
directly for the Vatican had been assigned to the Archdiocese of Turin in
1978 as one of the first acts of the newly enthroned Pope John Paul II.
There he and a team he assembled was charged with investigating what the
Italians called "Il Sindone" -- The Shroud.

    A little too ahead of his time, Father Pio's team managed to isolate a
single fossilized white blood cell from the debris.  The chromosomal material
was removed and then cultivated, a young woman's womb was carefully chosen
and the experiment began.

    I started to write the next part and the snappy headline hit me: The
Second Coming. . . Out?


END