Date: Thu, 20 Dec 2012 17:10:02 -0500
From: Bi Cruiser <bicruiser@hotmail.com>
Subject: A Matter for Confession - Chapter 2

A Matter for Confession - Chapter 2

"Bless me father for I have sinned..." I said it so loudly, just as the
little door beneath the dark screen only inches from my face slid open,
that I startled myself and I think Father Flannigan too but I softened my
voice and continued with the most difficult confession to that time in my
young life. My voice quavered as I revealed my decadence to the priest and
before God almighty. In that moment, all I felt was fear of punishment and
not sorrow for my sin.

Even as a young boy, I wondered why sex was a sin. The way my dad had
explained it to me during our "birds and the bees" discussion, sex was a
beautiful thing, but he emphasized it was to be constrained within the bond
matrimony. None the less, the picture he painted was that sex was something
special and to be enjoyed and was necessary to make babies. It was the
church that put the shackles of sin around sex; not my dad.

Regardless, the fear of God's punishment drilled into me by the nuns was
driving me that day in the confessional and I was in dire need of
absolution in case of my sudden death. I didn't want to spend eternity
roasting in the fires of hell so I almost begged Father Flannigan for
forgiveness. He clearly understood my desperation and charitably tried to
calm me down as I broke into tears and powerful sobbing. I don't know what
shocked me out of my involuntary outburst more; the realization that I
wasn't going to be loudly excoriated within earshot of my classmates or the
fact that Father Flannigan called me by my name, Billy.

My God! He knew who I was! Another of my naive beliefs toppled with the
realization that confession was not really anonymous. That just added yet
another burden to my already heavily laden conscience. I would never be
able to look Father Flannigan in the eye again. I would have to avoid him
at Mass and when he visited the school which, fortunately for me, was not
frequent, and in public since my parents and I use to run into him in and
around town all of the time. Almost everything we did was centered on the
church. I would now have to hang my head in shame when I was anywhere near
him.

If all of that wasn't enough, He asked me to describe what happened and to
describe it in embarrassing detail. It became clear that I wasn't going to
be able to hide anything. He didn't let me gloss over a single detail and
continually pressed me for more information. I had to describe just what I
did, blow by blow so to speak. I found myself tantalized at describing all
of these intimate salacious acts to another person and delved into
describing the dirty things I did with accelerating enthusiasm. When I
finished, Father Flannigan was silent for quite a long time. I was hoping
that he wasn't taking all of that time to plan a major penance or, God
forbid, excommunication.

Eventually, he did speak and it was in a very calm and soft voice that put
me at ease, at least less anxious. He asked me if anyone had ever talked to
me about the facts of life and if there was anything going on in my house
that made me feel bad or "dirty." Of course, I protested that nothing could
possibly be wrong at my house. I had a great family and felt safer there
than anywhere else in the world. He accepted my answers, even if they may
have come across a bit terse, and gave me a truncated birds-and-bees talk
and cautioned that I need to exercise some self control, and then came the
proclamation. He condemned me to becoming an altar boy.

I protested and even begged not to be forced into doing that. I was too
old. Candidates were always selected or more accurately, abducted from the
ranks of the fourth grade. I remember slinking down in my seat as far as
possible trying to disappear under my desk when Father Gerard came into my
fourth grade class unannounced and began selecting his next set of victims
for the altar boy concentration camp. They would be forced to memorize the
prayers and responses said during Mass in Latin. They would also have to
get up early enough in the morning to serve at 5:30 Mass. There was no way
that I wanted to get up that early in the morning. The only consolation was
that the altar boys got out of classes in the morning when needed to serve
at funeral Masses. I have to admit; they also got to go on lots of outings
and did neat things as a group. But still, I was much too lazy to put up
with the rigors of learning Latin and getting up that early in the
morning. Well, it didn't matter what I wanted, then or now. If I didn't
want to burn in hell for all eternity, I was now going to become an altar
boy.

When I told my parents that I was becoming an altar boy, they were both
shocked and a bit skeptical. They too thought that I was too old for that
and questioned my belated motivation. I wasn't about to tell them that I
was condemned to this fate in confession. I just smiled and tried to act
altar boy-like. I'm sure my dad saw through my masquerade but didn't let
on.

I was ordered to show up at the rectory at 10:00 am the next day,
Saturday. It was a good thing that I didn't have much time to think about
it or I may have chickened out, but I didn't and showed up 15 minutes
early. It was a very hot day for early May and neither the church nor the
rectory had air conditioning in those days. The house matron answered the
door and sat me in one of the very old large wooden chairs with padded
leather seats that lined the wall and then she poked her head into the
parish office to tell Father Flannigan that I was there. Those couple of
minutes sitting there were difficult and anxiety ridden. I was wearing my
school uniform of heavy pants, white shirt and tie. Needless to say, I was
sweating profusely and I could feel the wetness under my ass where the
leather seat felt like it was the top of an oven. The hallway was dark and
the air was hot and heavy to breathe because the matron had shut the big
wooden door behind us cutting off most of the light and any hope of a
breeze.

Father came out into the hall in a bright and cheery mood despite his
complaining about the heat, all the while with a big smile on his face. His
buoyant demeanor immediately drained all of the anxiety and fear from
me. He bounded over to open the front door while loudly protesting the
matron's habit of closing it even when it was so hot. He pondered out loud
about what she was afraid of being that this was a church rectory which
would be just as safe as being in the church right next door (obviously
things have changed since then).

Upon opening the door wide, he turned to face me and with the sunlight
glaring through the door and around him, I thought he looked like an
angel. The light reflected off of his shoulders made me imagine he had
wings and the light shining through his hair reminded me of a halo. He
offered his hand and I grasped it in as manly a fashion as I could. My dad
taught me the handshaking protocol and to grasp firmly but not excessively
and never let my hand be squished by an overly aggressive
counterpart. Well, Father gave me a secondary squeeze, I think as a test,
and I returned it with matching pressure causing Father's smile to get even
broader on his handsome face.

He guided me into his office and when he got out of the sunlight, I could
see that he was shirtless, wearing only his roman collar and a Rabat
covering his chest and stomach, it being apparently too hot for his white
broadcloth shirt. He was a very handsome young man and amazingly
muscular. His black hair was so shiny that it even shone in the comparative
darkness of the office. It seemed to reflect every ray of light that came
through the floor to ceiling windows that opened to the wraparound porch of
the old Victorian building. If it weren't that the open windowpanes blocked
half of the opening, you could have used them for doors. I took a seat near
one of them to sit in a breeze while Father Flannigan filled out a few
forms and had me sign them and gave me a folder containing written
materials that I would need and he told me that he was happy that I brought
my Saint Joseph daily missal that contained all of the prayers I would need
to learn only this time I would have to use the left hand pages that were
written in Latin.

I stood there pleased with myself and watched as Father reached to unfasten
the strap on his side holding the Rabat to his chest and after unfastening
the clasp; he then reached up to the back of his neck to release the
garment and let it slide away from his body and he placed it on the desk
between the two of us. He then reached back up to unfasten his roman collar
and had to catch it as it sprang away from his neck and he placed it too on
the desk. I was shocked to see a priest standing there naked from the waist
up. He looked like a movie star and not a parish priest. His chest was
muscular and well formed, accented by a manly array of black hair. He was
an Adonis. I was starting to get frightened for thinking of him like
that. What the hell was I thinking!

He quickly threw on a white teeshirt and covered his amazing upper body
while inviting me to join him and others in the sacristy of the church next
door. As we walked over together he talked to me like I was a friend and
not just a student or not just a little boy.

As we walked through the door of the sacristy, who was the first person I
saw but Robert. My God! Did Father know it was him who I sinned with? Did
Robert confess to him too? All of my anxieties instantly returned and I
felt my eyes begin to well up with tears. Seeing that, Father put his arm
around my shoulder and gave me a little hug and told me that everything
would be all right and with that I was instantly calm again.

There were quite a few boys in the room and they were all about my age or
older and there was one other adult; Deacon Paul who read the epistles and
lead the faithful in singing hymns during Mass. It was Paul who instructed
us all to take seats on the benches that lined either side of a very long
table in the middle of the room; Acolytes like me on one side and Knights
on the other. It turned out that it was the knights, who were experienced
high school aged altar boys, who were going to teach us acolytes how to be
altar boys. Father Flannigan announced that Deacon Paul would be
responsible to oversee us all and quickly turned on his heel and sort of
sprang from the room. It looked as if he was running as he flew through the
door.

I was the first to sit and Robert came over to sit right next to me. He
nudged me in a friendly way after he squeezed onto the bench between me and
another kid who sat close to me. We all introduced ourselves and exchanged
greetings. Every one of us was older than most of the altar boys I knew so
I assumed that they all or most of them ended up here via the confessional
like I did. But, if that were the case, why Father Flannigan would put a
bunch of sexual perverts together was a mystery. I didn't know why buy I
was happy that I wasn't put in a class with little kids.

I was looking at this as my penance but Robert apparently was not. He
continually pushed his butt against mine on the bench and he grabbed at my
crotch a few times under the table when he thought no one was looking but
he was mistaken. As we were to find out later, a few other boys saw his
movements and knew exactly what he was doing. I became aware of the
attention we were getting and became embarrassed and tried to move away
from him but had nowhere to go. There I was, happy not to be with younger
kids but finding Robert's behavior just as embarrassing but I found myself
turned on thinking about what we had done together.

Most of us were quick learners and were soon serving Mass. Amazingly, I was
teamed with Robert and we were together every Sunday and at least twice
during the week serving Mass. Since we went to different schools and lived
so far from each other, we had little chance of being alone to pick up
where we left off. Even though nothing was happening between Robert and me,
my self-control was still wanting. Jimmy and I found lots of opportunity to
continue with our sexual exploration but seemed to be stuck at mutual
masturbation. I was willing to notch things up a bit but Jimmy wasn't quite
ready to advance.

One day during the summer break Robert and I were assigned to serve a
morning funeral Mass. It was a rather large gathering for a funeral. The
dead guy must have been a pretty popular person. It was a beautiful mass
with a full choir to fill the church with beautiful but mournful song. With
the Mass over, Father Gerard, the celebrant, followed the funeral
procession to the cemetery and was scheduled to attend the luncheon that
followed leaving Robert and me alone to clean up and put everything away
before leaving for home. Father Flannigan was on a retreat and we were the
only people there except for the old matron lady over in the rectory.

We stored the vestments neatly and with reverence in the vestment closet
adjacent to the sacristy. Rather than a closet, it was an area cordoned off
with an ornate wooden paneled wall with a high ceiling opened to the entire
sacristy. It was lined with similarly carved and paneled drawers and
cabinets where the vestments and holey vessels were stored. I was just
closing the last of the drawers when I felt Robert come up behind me and
press himself to my back. Feeling uneasy, I spun around only to have him
pressed fully against the front of my body with my eyes looking directly at
his Adam's apple since he was significantly taller. He started humping
against me with his hips and slid his hands directly to my crotch. I was
beginning to spring to attention.

I was just beginning to enjoy the feeling of body against body when Robert
suddenly dropped to his knees in front of me and unfastened my pants and
pulled them down exposing my privates. Reflexively, I tried to cover them
with my hands but Robert grabbed each of my wrists and pulled my hands out
of the way while he leaned into me and sucked my somewhat limp penis into
his mouth. This was a first for me. Even though it was the act of sucking
him off that got me here, I had never had anyone do it to me before. I
didn't know what I thought of it at first. His tongue felt a little raspy
on the head of my cock and the suction was a bit uncomfortable but it only
took a few seconds for me to get use to it. The bigger problem was the fear
that someone would find us doing this disgusting thing in the holy of
holies. I complained to Robert but he assured me that no one else was
around and that he locked the door so we could be totally alone.

Once I convinced myself that we would not get caught, I settled back and
allowed myself this new experience. I began to enjoy the rough texture of
his tongue in contrast to the comfortable warmth of his mouth. His fumbling
and sporadic movements evolved to rhythmic undulation as he pressed his
head down forcing my cock deeper into his mouth and then pulling back until
the head of my dick was right behind his teeth wrapped by his lips. The
feeling was exhilarating and caused my cock to swell with each downward
plunge of his head. He was making all kinds of noises as he slurped and
gulped at my dick. I could actually feel the fluid leaking from the head of
my hard cock. My balls were pulling tight to my crotch when he pulled off
of my cock and licked them and sucked at the skin of my scrotum. My knees
started to buckle as I closed my eyes to lose myself in the joy he was
giving me. He very slowly licked a path from my balls, along the bottom of
my shaft and up to the tip of my dick before plunging down again in
resuming the blow job.

Robert continued sucking my cock, alternating with licking my balls for
many minutes before the pleasure became so intense that I loudly yelled out
that I was going to cum. I shut my eyelids tighter as the feeling overtook
me and I grunted out my climax. My cock never felt that large as it began
to erupt. While I emptied my sperm into his mouth, I was remembering the
feeling of his sperm filling my mouth when I was the doer of the deed. I
recalled the feel of his sperm hitting my pallet each time I spurted onto
his.

I lay my head back against the wooden cabinet enjoying the afterglow of the
best sex I had until that point in my life. My eyes were still closed and
Robert had stopped blowing me having let my cock drop from his mouth but I
still heard a rhythmic sound and assumed he was jerking himself off. But,
then again, I thought I could feel both of his hands rubbing the back of my
thighs and buttocks.  I opened my eyes and stared at the top of the wooden
partition across from me while trying to discern what I was hearing. It was
kind of a wet slapping sound like someone was jacking off.

As I brought my head down, I could see a figure silhouetted in the doorway
and it only took a fraction of a second to recognize it as Deacon Paul. He
was looking straight at me with a big smile on his face and that was very
strange for the usually dour Deacon. I detected a slight movement at his
shoulder and as I dropped my gaze I could see that he had his dalmatic
pulled up to his waist and was stroking his cock. I couldn't believe what I
was seeing. He apparently watched us for quite some time. His stole was
lying at his feet and he was leaning against the door jamb like he was
there for awhile enjoying the sight.

Once he noticed that I saw him, he dropped the hem of the garment and
walked over until he was standing directly in front of me only a couple of
feet away. I was frozen in place with my pants around my ankles and my dick
hanging limply between my legs. As embarrassment took hold of me, I could
actually feel my dick shrinking as it tried to pull itself inside my body
like a turtle would pull in its head. My knees were again quaking but this
time from fear.

The Deacon made a dismissive motioned with his hand for Robert to move
aside and he then took the opportunity to visually examine my genital
display unencumbered by Roberts mass. He again smiled and commanded me to
kneel at his feet which I clumsily obeyed. It was uncomfortable with the
bare skin of my knees crushed under my own weight against the hundred year
old unvarnished hardwood floor. I was mortified and didn't know what to do
or what would happen. I greatly feared Father Flannigan finding out what
Robert and I just did.

All kinds of things were spinning through my mind when I finally realized
that the Deacon himself was just masturbating while watching what we were
doing. I was pretty confident that he wasn't going to tell Father Flannigan
anything. I figured, if he did, I would tell the priest what I saw him
doing; after all, turnabout is fair play.

I still knelt there in silence waiting to see what was going to happen. To
my surprise, the Deacon commanded me to fold my hands in prayer and then he
turned to Robert and commanded him to do the same. Both of us were kneeling
there like the altar boys we were only I was right in front of the man's
bulging crotch.

Deacon Paul then led us in prayer: "Confiteor Deo omnipotenti, beatæ
Mariæ semper Virgini, beato Michaeli Archangelo, beato Ioanni
Baptistæ, sanctis Apostolis Petro et Paulo, omnibus Sanctis, et vobis,
fratres: quia peccavi nimis cogitatione, verbo et opere: mea culpa, mea
culpa, mea maxima culpa..."

As we were praying, he pulled the hem of his dalmatic up until his naked
genitals were staring me in the face. I couldn't help but stare since I had
never seen a grown man's genitals before and these seemed overly large. His
balls hung low in his sack and they looked as big as golf balls only more
oval in shape. His penis extended way out away from his crotch in an
enormous arc. The tip of it was covered with the same skin as the shaft
revealing only the general shape of the head beneath but the very tip
peaked out from its cloak of skin covering as if it was trying to come out
of hiding.

We continued to pray as he tucked the bunched up fabric of his garment
under his left hand and grabbed his swelling penis with the other. He began
to slowly stroke it only inches from my face. With only a few strokes, it
had grown so large that it was touching my cheek. He took a step back so
that he could jerk it barely hitting me with it. I was amazed at its
size. It looked to be a foot long and was getting longer. Each time he slid
his hand to the base of the monster, the massive bulb of the head of his
cock would come out of hiding and leak its clear fluid which dripped toward
the floor but tenaciously hung onto the massive cock. I had never noticed
the texture of the head of an uncircumcised cock before and maybe this one
was different from my uncut friends in our circle jerk club. This one shone
like it was wet; not really wet but waxy looking. It was much smoother and
shiner than the circumcised cocks I know like Jimmy's and Robert's.

I was mesmerized by him masturbating. That clear string leaking from him
grew longer and longer but wouldn't break. It eventually reached the floor
but stayed intact with pulses of new effluent oozing from the tip and
sliding down the crystal clear aqueduct to the floor where a small pool was
forming. Sometimes the pre-cum conduit would be swept out with the foreskin
on his upstroke but would reconnect upon retraction and the flow to the
floor would continue.

Our prayer completed, we knelt there in silence while the Deacon stroked
his penis faster and faster until the first glob of milky white sperm shot
out of its tip and headed right for my face. I dared not flinch and
absorbed the powerful blow on the bridge of the nose slightly toward my
right eye which took the largest amount of the spurt until by sheer volume,
it collapsed and flowed down my cheek, over the corner of my mouth and down
to and off of the side of my chin. I could feel it drip onto the upright
fingers of my hands folded as in prayer at the middle of my chest.

Only by reflex did I extend my tongue to lick his semen from the edge of my
lips but it was through my own will that I drew a sample of it into my
mouth to examine its taste and texture. My mind was awhirl as my senses
became overloaded as I tried to compare it to the only standard I had which
was Robert's cum. This sample was much more flavorful and thicker on the
tongue but it was only a very small specimen. I needed more.

I opened my mouth slightly to extend my tongue to collect another sample
but was met with a deluge of semen from the Deacon's second massive volley
before I could get my tongue beyond my teeth. The leading edge of his sperm
wave hit me on the bottom lip and the surge that followed flowed directly
into my mouth. I opened up as wide as possible so as not to lose any of the
sperm tide but there was too much of it and its stream seemed to follow the
movement of the throbbing cock which was bouncing around with the movement
of his jerking hand. Once he realized that I my mouth was opened and tongue
extended like I was receiving communion, he tried to steady his cock and
aim his shots directly into my mouth.

I was in a state of ecstasy as my mouth filled with his delicious sperm. My
taste buds were alight with its flavor and its thick texture weighed
heavily in my mouth. My mouth could hold only one of his massive spurts so
I had to swallow as much of the swill as I could with each of his shots. I
didn't want to miss any of it by having my lips closed while he was
shooting so I swallowed with my mouth open which was very difficult since
his fluid was so thick and sticky. I wondered what it looked like from his
vantage point as the level of the milky fluid dropped while he was
continually trying to fill it. I don't know how many spurts I captured but
I do know that after swallowing all of that cum, I felt as full as if I
just ate Thanksgiving dinner.

Even with all of that swallowing, my face and clothing were all covered
with his sperm. I could see Robert in my peripheral vision staring at me
with an expression of shock and amazement on his face. I dared not break
the spell by turning to him. I concentrated my attention on the massive
phallus before me. Finally, I glanced up and made eye contact with the
Deacon. I wanted to bring my gaze back down to his cock again but our eyes
were locked and I couldn't break his spell. I could hear the material of
his robe drop as he brought his hands into my view and folded them for
prayer with finger tips touching his chin. I just knelt in place, covered
with his ejaculate and my hands similarly folded in reverence.

The aroma of his sperm, much less delicate than Roberts or Jimmy's, wafted
through my nostrils and began to stimulate my penis to erection. I wondered
then what we looked like from Roberts vantage point; me as a supplicant
with a hard-on and he now with an air of piety. Oh, how things look
differently when you can select the instant of time to make the
observation.

The smile had melted from the Deacon's face returning it to its normally
glum appearance. He stood there in his pure white dalmatic like a holy icon
of piety and purity. It was as if he just fed me viaticum rather than
drowning me in his cum. He reached out with his right hand making the sigh
of the cross over me. My knee-jerk response was to bow my head and mirror
the signing of the cross with him and then all three of us said, "In nomine
Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. Amen."

He then lead us in saying the act of contrition: "Deus meus, ex toto corde
poenitet me omnium meorum peccatorum, eaque detestor, quia peccando, non
solum poenas a Te iuste statutas promeritus sum, sed praesertim quia
offendi Te, summum bonum, ac dignum qui super omnia diligaris. Ideo
firmiter propono, adiuvante gratia Tua, de cetero me non peccaturum
peccandique occasiones proximas fugiturum. Amen. "

Knowing that a deacon has no authority in the sacrament of penance, I was
surprised at what he said next: "Dominus noster Jesus Christus te
absolvat..."

He had no ability nor right to absolve me of the sin we had just committed
and I had to take all of this new burden back into the confessional if I
was to be saved. What would Father Flannigan say to this one?