The Priest by Peter

The Priest

by: Peter

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

I was a bit startled, and somewhat disturbed, when I realized that I was thinking that our parish priest was a bit of hunk. Actually, more than a bit; he is a hunk. I knew he was in his thirties, he is very masculine, well built, athletic, and good looking.

I began to get to know him through some very interesting conversations at men’s meetings I sometimes attended. He seemed intent on getting to know me as well. We discovered that we did not agree on a lot of things.

It came up one of those times that I like to play golf at a course in Indianapolis; I said Indianapolis because I hoped to work in that I went to one of the men’s’ health clubs afterwards. He expressed an interest in going with me to Indianapolis sometime. Things were going along nicely on that level till I began having sexual thoughts about the man. I was horrified at first, even to the point that I thought I should take it to the confessional, but there was no way I could tell him that I was having such thoughts about him. I kept it to myself and tried to repress the feelings. But like all things sexual in my life, I am helpless but to deal with them, for once they have emerged, they cannot be completely repressed. And once I began to “deal” with the feelings, I allowed my human emotions to come into play; i.e. I began to entertain thoughts of what it would be like having sex with my priest!! That should have horrified me more than anything, but there was one slight equalizing factor; I allowed myself to get the impression that the feelings might be mutual. And began to think of him as a man as well as a priest.

I would take this very slowly, of course. More than that, I would be extremely cautious, to be absolutely sure of him, and myself. I saw it that I was dealing with a man of God. Strangely, I received an email from a young man who confided in me that he had been involved with a priest for some years, since his first confession and communion, and was currently involved with another priest where he was going to college. I knew I dared not, but I so wanted to take this as a sign. At the very least, I had found a “mentor”, albeit a very young mentor; he was only nineteen. But obviously very experienced. The priest was not the only older man he had and was having sex with. I asked the boy if there were any negative feelings or emotions on his part, guilt or anything like it, at least at first, about having sex with a priest. If there were, how did he resolve it? Did he know if there were any such feelings on the part of the priest. If so, how did/does he “reconcile” it with his duties and vows as a priest and with the church and what it teaches?

I had already worked through the “guilt” and repression over faith, beliefs and religion, some years ago, to find peace and contentment in my life. I came out of it fine once I shed those burdens and have never been happier. But I didn’t want to slip back into that quagmire; I delved deeper and asked the boy’s views and feelings on the matter, as well as those of the two priests. I wanted and needed to get things straight in my head before I started messing with the priest’s head, or messing with anything else of his. I needed to think it through very carefully, and getting the prospective from people who had and were experiencing it would help greatly.

Conversations between me and the priest seemed to be moving from casually friendly, to friendly, and there were a couple of times where we danced around the issues, I think, for lack of a better term. But I’m not completely sure of that. As I said, I took it very slow. And I wondered about taking the conversation into the confessional, perhaps in the form of confession, perhaps not. I wondered about going to confession, and identifying myself first. I have never been to confession face to face, but I have also considered doing that; just coming out with everything. It would be easier than dancing around the issue. And if I did, knowing that he would know all about me would make it easier to converse outside the confessional. We could talk openly outside the confessional and it would not be breaking the priestly bond. I wondered if, upon hearing my confession of all things sexual, if he might not open up about himself. I thought, too, about going into the confessional…..arranging the time so there would be no one else around, waiting to come in…….and going face to face, but tell him up front that I did not want to make a “true” confession because I was not necessarily sorry for my “sins” and I could not vow not to repeat them. I would tell him I just wanted to talk to him and get his take on things. It would be interesting to see his reaction to me afterwards, when we come face to face outside the confessional.

If there was, or needed to be justification for my feelings about the priest, and priests in general, having sex in whatever form, it was this:

Before Vatican II, with the old church, when only priests could give out communion or even touch the host, then I could buy the justification that priests had to be celibate and keep their feelings under control. That didn’t happen, of course, but I would buy the concept for as long as it served me.

But then, laypeople began handing out communion and also offering the chalice. Every Sunday, there were one to three lay people handing out communion and two more with the chalices, depending on which mass. So there is the priest, and an ordinary man standing right beside him, both handing out communion; essentially doing the priest’s job. My logic was this; If the man can have had sex in whatever form the night before, or just before he got to church, and he is passing out communion, then what is so wrong with the priest having had sex the night before, or even if he just got up out of bed with a young man. It’s no different. Hell, I don’t know where that man’s hands have been before he puts the host on someone’s tongue, so what is the different where the priest has had his hands? However, it should be pointed out that I have never taken communion from a layperson, and I do not even approach the chalice. I say this with perhaps some passion because I have seen the “extraordinary minister” layperson standing up there handing out communion, knowing that we have had each other’s cocks in our mouths the night before…..or he’s had those fingers deep in my ass, prior to introducing his cock. I do not like the hypocrisy.

Having engaged in the “justification” a plan began to formulate in my head. That’s a lie. It didn’t just happen; I began to formulate the plan. I thought I would address his interest playing golf and ask him to come along to Indianapolis; I could probably get him into a car without going through the school. And we would be staying overnight so he would need to check his schedule for a time that he could do that.

That would get us alone for a period of time, let us get to know each other, and would allow for the intimate time in a motel room, to whatever end.

It would be an opportune time to ask him about the priest scandal and then rather directly ask him if he is ever plagued by those thoughts or feelings. I might tell him that he doesn’t know it, but he has counseled me more than once on the subject in the confessional, and then ask him if he doesn’t realize that no matter what, it won’t change because I can’t change it; what I am is an act of God, and see what he says about that.

I would also mention my habit of watching porn. I might even tell him that I write porn; maybe even give him something I’ve written.

Perhaps this conversation would be after we had gone to bed, an I could jokingly ask him that now that he knows who he is sleeping with…..does he want to get up and leave, I would take him home.

The best laid plans of mice and men……it didn’t happen according to my plan. I was thrust into a situation not of my making; and again I had to wonder if it was the hand of God that “delivered” me to it. Or maybe I should leave God out of it and invoke the two gay warrior saints, St. Bacchus and St. Sergius.

It was the recent Christmas holidays. I had gone to early Mass on Wednesday. I had made it a practice to be one of the last ones out of church to give Father Brady and me a chance to chat. Such was the case that morning. We exchanged pleasantries--he seemed happy to see me—and I asked if he had the doughnuts ordered for the upcoming men’s’ gathering. He said no, he would be out of town that day to see the bishop, and while he was in the city, he wanted to visit an old parishioner who was ill. Then he surprised me by asking me if I would like to come along for the ride.

I said yes; readily. Perhaps I accepted too quickly. Perhaps not.

I met him at his house the next morning to leave at 6:30. It was snowing like hell, adding more inches to the already heavy snowfall during the night. I bounded up on the porch with my overnight bag that my wife insisted I take along because of the weather. He yelled for me to come in. I noticed his travel bag at the back door.

“I’m glad your wife suggested I take a bag. This weather is not getting any better,” he said.

“She is always prepared for anything,” I said.

We went into the garage where he asked me if I would like to drive part way. Of course. It was a pleasant drive as could be, considering the worsening weather. We talked about everything; sports, religion, me and my life, him and his life, the parish school and other affairs of the church, but he seemed to try to steer the conversation away from things religious. I thought I felt an underlying, not tension, but energy, as if there were other things we both wanted to talk about but neither of us would bring them up. Or, perhaps it was simply us being together in such close confines of the car. I felt something.

I remarked about his physical condition. “You know, Father, it doesn’t go unnoticed that you are in excellent shape,” I said.

“For a priest?” he said.

“Period. But especially for a priest,” I said. “Most priests I know are overweight and pasty looking.”

He laughed. “Well, I started using weights before I ever thought about becoming a priest, and it stuck with me,” he said. “And by the way, could you call me Scott?”

“Okay. Scott,” I said. “I thought it was neat that the men’s club bought you a set of weights for your birthday. What’re the chances of that? And why do you do it, Father….Scott? I mean, you’re not out to impress the chicks.”

“I like keeping fit and healthy,” he said. “Actually, it’s as much a duty for me as it is for you, in your work.”

“You also like the way you look,” I chided him with a side-glance and a smile. “You know the girls go out of the way to watch you when you take off running in those high-cut shorts.”

He laughed, embarrassed. “Yes, I’ve heard that,” he said. “They’re just running shorts,” he added with a shrug.

“Have you ever had any of them confess to impure thoughts about your legs?” I joked.

He laughed easily at that. “No.”

The conversation was lending itself to things I wanted to touch on, but I was still reluctant. He had said nothing, not even a hint that led me to believe that he had an impure thought of his own. But I decided to query him on that exact point.

“How about you, Scott, do you, as a priest, ever have impure thoughts?”

He smiled. “There must be thousands of people who would love to ask a priest that question, but you are the first to ever voice it.”

“And are you going to be the first to answer it?”

“Yes”

“Yes, the first? Or yes to having impure thoughts? Like coveting thy neighbor’s wife, that sort of thing?”

“Of course I have impure thoughts, if that’s what you want to call them. God created me a man before he called me to the priesthood. I can’t say that I have coveted anybody’s wife, but I am not averse to appreciating the beauty of a woman. Man and woman are God’s creations; and many are beauty to be admired.”

We were entering Parkersburg and I asked directions to the Bishop’s residence. He looked at his watch.

“We’re a bit early,” he said “Considering the weather, I think we should find a motel and reserve a room, before things get worse. I can visit my old friend first, then see the bishop.”

“All right. I don’t know Parkersburg,” I said.

He directed me to a Red Roof Inn. He got a room. I took out my wallet but he said the parish would pick up the tab. I took our bags and headed to the room; Scott took off to see his friend. I was surprised to find only one bed; I didn’t remember hearing Scott asking for that, but I was glad. Still, I called the front desk and asked about a room with two beds. They didn’t have any; in fact they had only two rooms left vacant in the whole place.

I hung around the room and watched TV, showered; I even flushed out, just in case. Then I got nosey and checked out the priest’s travel bag. I had to smile when I found condoms, lube, and even two Fleets. Yeah, he had come prepared too. My discovery made things that much easier. So he DID have impure thoughts!! Not only that, he acted on them! Or was prepared to.

He returned late afternoon. He was upset but relieved that he had visited his old friend, who was nearer death than he had realized. He didn’t mention what his visit with the bishop was about. We decided to order pizza instead of going out; I wasn’t dressed, and he said he wanted to shower. And the weather wasn’t inviting to go out; it was much more inviting to stay in. I pointed out the bed.

“You see we’ve only got one bed,” I said. “I called about getting us switched to a two-bed room, but they’re full.”

“That’s the reason I thought we should check in early,” he said. “I have no problem with it if you don’t.”

“Only that you’re used to sleeping alone, and I’m afraid I might end up on the floor before morning,” I joked. I hadn’t meant it as such, but as I said it, I thought it might be an opening for him to comment. He didn’t.

The room was warm and I was sitting around in my shorts. Scott went to shower. I heard the shower turn on but a few minutes later I heard the toilette flush, and I was sure he had flushed out. He took quite a while in the shower; he came out just as I was paying the pizza guy. I didn’t bother putting anything else on, and I was surprised when I saw Scott standing there with a towel around his waist. He was surprising relaxed being naked in front of me, at least I thought so. I figured he would be a lot more modest. I watched him remove the towel and put on a pair of nice fitting stretch boxers, taking particular note of his manhood. It was the first I’d ever really thought of a priest of even having manhood. He filled out his boxers very nicely.

We sat on the big bed, cross-legged, with the pizza between us and ate and watched the television.

“Listen, we could probably make it back yet this evening if you want to leave,” he said.

I wasn’t expecting that, and I didn’t know why he made the offer. I didn’t want to go back, and I didn’t think he did either.

“We’ve already got the room, and you wouldn’t get a refund, we might as well stay,” I said.

“All right, but call your wife.”

“Yes, Father,” I said, laughing.

We finished eating then stretched out on the bed to finish watching the movie we’d gotten involved in. It seemed natural to put as much space as possible between us, but Scott was the one who didn’t bother with the covers so I didn’t either. I watched him out of the corner of my eye, taking in his muscular physique. I had to keep telling myself that he was a priest. Finally, I stopped telling myself that.

The movie ended and we turned out the lights. He had left the bathroom light on and it cast a soft light into the room; I had to wonder if he’d done it on purpose. We crawled under the covers, still with the proper space between us. In case you’ve never been in this situation, no matter how hard you try, it’s difficult to ignore that you are in bed with a priest. I wasn’t ready to go to sleep and I was sure Scott wasn’t either. I decided to engage him in conversation, and it was natural to talk about things priestly.

“You’ve probably noticed that I’m conspicuous by my absence in the confessional,” I said.

“I don’t keep a tally,” he said. “Besides, unless you went to confession face-to-face, I wouldn’t know how absent you’ve been.”

“I’ve briefly considered face-to-face, but I’ve got a problem with it,” I said. “I’ve got a lot of problems with things Vatican II.”

“Yes, you’ve said that.”

“And you’ve never tried to change me,” I pointed out.

“That has to come from within.”

“Have you noticed I never take communion from a lay person?” I said.

“A lot of people don’t,” he said. “I see several people switching lines to avoid the lay person.”

“Guilty,” I said. “And I’ve never approached the chalice. I never will.”

He didn’t say anything.

“I wish they had left things alone.”

“Most people think the changes were for the better,” he said.

“Sorry, but I don’t really believe that, Father.” I laughed. “It seems appropriate to call you Father when we’re talking about things religious. I think it’s just that people got used to it after it was forced on them. If there had been a referendum, it would have been defeated. There was resistance at every turn when they began instituting the changes. I think it’s just a matter of people having no choice. I think that was wrong on the part of the Church. Face it; there is no reason for the laypersons to be up there on the altar. In the first place, if they hadn’t come up with all the changes, there wouldn’t be a shortage of priests, and most of the time there aren’t enough people at mass to warrant all that extra help.”

“I believe it was more designed to bring the people into being part of the liturgy,” he said.

“Why not let a lay person hear confessions then?”

He laughed. “You know the answer to that. I can’t see that ever happening.”

“Don’t count on it,” I said. “In a previous conversation, you admitted to having impure thoughts. Who do you confess to?”

“To another priest,” he said.

“What happens when you have an impure thought, say, an hour before time to say Mass, when there’s no time, nobody to confess to? You still have to say the Mass and take communion.”

“You’re really trying to get inside my head,” he said, laughing.

“No, inside your heart, and your conscience,” I said.

“I relegate it to a venial sin, and confess later, if I remember,” he said.

“That’s very convenient. So having impure thoughts, that’s a venial sin. I’ll have to remember that. I’m glad to hear that. I stopped going to confession so often--and stopped confessing a lot of stuff when I did go--because I knew the “I firmly resolve with the help of thy grace to confess my sins, do penance and amend my life” wasn’t going to happen. The first two, okay, but amending my life wasn’t going to happen.”

“You can only try.”

“No, I don’t try anymore, because it doesn’t work. It has never worked and I don’t hold out any hope that it ever will. You know what else? I’m no longer really all that sorry for my sins, because I know I’m going to go right out and do them again.”

The conversation went on. I voiced my opinion about celibacy, and lay people giving out communion, about my logic about the lay person having sex in whatever form, the night before, or just before he gets to church, and he is passing out communion, then what is so wrong with the priest having had sex the night before.

“The lay person hasn’t taken a vow of celibacy,” he said.

“They why should you? It doesn’t make sense.”

“I can see your logic in all of this,” he said. “I just can’t agree with it.”

“You said you can’t…. but you would like to, if the church would allow you to,” I said. “Tell me something father…. the recent scandal over the priests…. have you ever been plagued by those thoughts or feelings?”

“Yes, of course,” he replied, without hesitation.

“Over boys or girls?” I asked.

He didn’t seem surprised by my bold question but he didn’t answer right away. I went on. “You don’t know it, Father, but you have counseled me more than once in the confessional about a lot more than impure thoughts, and I’ve wondered who counsels you.”

“Another priest, when I seek it,” he said.

“You don’t seek counseling?” I said.

“Pete, you have realized by now that I am a man as well as a priest. I was a man before I became a priest, and becoming a priest doesn’t change that. You are the first person I’ve said this to, but you and I are in the same boat in that regard. I know that there is a lot about me that I can’t change either, and I don’t devote a tremendous amount of time trying. I do the best I can, just like every other man, and try to live up to my vows as a priest as best I can. God knows I can do no more.”

“Do you ever watch porn, Father?” I asked boldly.

He was obviously taken aback by my question.

“You’re really digging into my soul, aren’t you?”

“No, your soul is between you and God. I’m just asking a question.”

“I have,” he admitted, sounding rather reluctant.

“Venial or mortal?”

He hesitated again.

“You don’t have to answer that,” I said. Then I added, “Check out BuffMuscles. I’ve got a sub-domain there.”

That really surprised him. “You write porn?”

“Yeah. I’m on some other sites too. You might have read some of my stuff. I’ll email you a list, you can check it out.”

There was a long, silent pause. He didn’t tell me not to email him the list.

“Now that you know who you’re sleeping with, Father, we can get up and head back if you want.”

“No. Can I ask you something now?” he said.

“Sure.”

“You could go back to calling me Scott now,” he said first, then he asked, “Do you write gay or straight porn?”

“Mostly gay.”

“You’re married.”

“I’m bi….., Scott,” I said.

There was another silence, and I purposely waited for some response from him. I had slammed the ball into his court; I wanted to see what he would do with it.

“Do we, uh…. have a situation here?” he asked in measured tones.

“Could be,” I said with a sly grin. “Have you ever had sex with anyone since you became a priest? No, let me rephrase that. Have you ever had sex?”

“Yes. I lost my virginity when I was fifteen.”

“Wow! No kidding.” I wanted to ask him if it was with a boy or girl but I didn’t. He went on to volunteer it.

“She was eighteen. We worked at the same place and she offered to drive me home after work.”

“Was that what made you decide to go into the priesthood? Guilt over it?”

“Heavens no. I enjoyed it immensely. The idea of becoming a priest didn’t enter my mind till two years later.”

“So you were well on the road to being a regular horny teenager,” I said jokingly.

“You could say that.”

“Back to my original question; have you had sex with anyone since you became a priest? With a guy, I mean.”

He replied without hesitation, “Yes.”

“Oh.” I must have looked surprised. I was, sort of.

“You look surprised,” he said.

“I guess I am.”

“You might be more surprised to know that it was in the confessional.”

I was more than surprised, I was stunned. “Damn. No shit!”

“It wasn’t one of the altar boys,” he said, as if to reassure me. “He was a boy, an athlete, I knew from the high school where I was a teacher there. He was home from college that summer and he came to confession face-to-face. It was Saturday afternoon, and if you’ve ever been to confession on Saturday afternoon, you know there’s not a lot of traffic in the church. He came in wearing a tank top and cargo shorts, all tanned and even more muscular than he was when he was in high school. We chatted for a few moments before he began his confession, while I was trying to block out the visuals of him sitting there in front of me. He confessed the usual sins of a normal, healthy, horny college boy, a bit more in detail than usual, and then toward the end he blurted out, “And God help me, father, I’m getting a hardon just telling you about it.”

“Geezuss, what’d you do?” I asked.

“He sounded rather upset with himself, almost distressed. I offered some calming words. I told him that having an erection was not something he needed God’s help with, nor even God’s forgiveness, no matter where it occurred. I assured him that God gave him that wonderful ability to have an erection and he should celebrate that, not feel guilty about it.”

“He was so relieved. He laughed, rather nervously, and said, But Father, you know how I’m going to be celebrate, so I feel like a hypocrite even being here. I told him, “Don’t. Don’t give up on yourself.” Then I just blurted it right out, that I had an erection from hearing his confession. That really shocked him--it surprised me too--but not nearly as much as what I did next. I don’t know what in the world prompted me, but I reached down and grabbed up a handful of tissues and handed them to him. He took them, looking confused. I told him he should take care of it before he left; it wouldn’t be a good idea to walk out of the confessional with an erection. He said, “You’re serious.” I assured him I was, that he could step around to the side and do it. He hesitated and slowly stood up. He started to move around to the side but I told him he could do it right there, and jokingly added that it was nothing I hadn’t done myself. If he might have been having any doubts about the situation, I think I shattered them. He suddenly got a funny look on his face as he started undoing his cargo shorts. I sat there with my eyes glued to his big, strong hands undoing the buttons then the zipper and then shoving them down, along with his shorts, and it took my breath away when I saw his cock. I’ll cut it short by saying that, at my urging, he moved around to my side and I sucked his cock. It was the first time--first time for him, too, he told me afterwards--and I loved it. It lasted about ten minutes then he was out of there.”

He stopped and I thought he was finished.

“Wow!”….was all I could say.

“I can’t describe the remorse that came over me,” he went on. “I sat there in a daze. I heard two more confessions--more correctly, I went through the motions--then all was quiet and I sat for a long time just thinking about what I’d done. I took some solace in that it hadn’t been a young altar boy, but I still had the taste of the innocent young man’s semen in my mouth. It was a mind-altering experience, in more ways than one. I swore it would never happen again in the confessional, and it didn’t.”

I still didn’t know what else to say. Finally, I asked, “You said it never happened again in the confessional……”

“It never happened again, period,” he put in.

All the while, we were lying on our backs, looking up at the ceiling, still with that safe distance between us. I didn’t want that distance between us.

“Father…. Scott…. God help, me, I’ve got a hardon just listening to you tell that,” I said huskily, still without moving.

He said, “So have I.” He didn’t move either.

I hesitated then asked, turning onto my side to face him, “Did we decide if we have a situation here?” I thought that he might have for some time been wanting to make an emotional and physical connection to me. He had repressed that one incident so deeply and it had suddenly resurfaced. He had the strangest look in his eyes…. he has beautiful eyes, by the way… something akin to searching, wanting, longing, I don’t know…..

He swallowed, hard, I heard him, and he said, “We’re not in the confessional.” Then suddenly he got up and gathered up his priestly garb, and his collar and put them in a drawer, then climbed back in bed. “And for now, I’m not your priest.”

I can’t describe what a feeling went through me. He still just lay there, looking at me….. the covers were gone now and he was like devouring me with his eyes. But it was I who had to make the first move and I did. I laid my hand on his hip. He immediately put his hand on my hip, and it was like an electrical current went through us.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen such desperate want in a man‘s eyes. Unless I had the same look, I don’t know. So here’s how it went down, as well as I can remember. I ran my hand down his thigh and he did the same thing. He seemed to be waiting and following my lead. (This is the reason I think he was being truthful about the college kid being the only guy he’s ever had any kind of sex with). I ran my hand back up his thigh to his hip. I did it just to test; sure enough, he did the same thing to me. I wanted to break him out of that.

“You don’t have to follow my lead, Scott,” I told him. “You know what you want, go for it.”

He smiled, a rather weak, lopsided smile, and he broke out. He said, “What I want is to kiss you.”

“Then go for it,” I told him. “I will kiss you back.”

Without hesitation, he moved closer to me and our lips met, as natural as you please. He was a great kisser, and I had to wonder if the only other time he’d kissed anybody might have been the girl he fucked. He wasn’t even tentative about it. The passion was almost jolting. We both whinnied when our tongues touched and that turned into louder groans as we moved closer and pressed our bodies harder together, wrapped our arms around each other and began writhing against each other. I felt his hardon and I knew he could feel mine. It felt food. He parted his lips just enough to gasp, “Oh, Godd!” then he literally devoured me. I groaned and pulled him really tight and rolled over, pulling him on top of me. His muscular weight felt wonderful, and he ground his loins hard against mine.

“Godd, I have wanted this so bad, for so long,” he whispered.

“You’ve got it, Scott. Anything you want, for as long as you want.” I called him Scott, but this was a priest I held so tightly in my arms, and nothing, not even those muscles, could drive that fact out of my head. He didn’t feel like a priest and he sure as hell didn’t kiss like a priest, and it didn’t matter that he was….. but he was.

He said, “Don’t say that unless you mean it.”

“I mean it,” I assured him. “We’ve got all night.”

“I want this.” He rose up and leaned down and began kissing my chest, nibbling on my tits. He kissed me all over; I don’t think he missed one inch of my upper body as he worked his way back and forth across my chest and down my stomach. He even nuzzled his face in my armpits and kissed and licked me there. He didn’t stop when he reached the waistband of my shorts, except to explore the outline of my cock through my shorts where it extended across to my hip. All the while he was doing that he was pulling the waistband down to expose my cock. It emerged rather triumphantly, swinging up from my hip to throb in appreciation for being freed. He kissed the full length of my cock, up and down, several times before he concentrated on the head. He licked all around the head, causing it to swell and quiver, then he let it swing up across my stomach. He kissed up and down the underside, dipping in low to kiss my balls.

I couldn’t help saying what I did. “Are you sure this is your first time. You sure know what you’re doing.”

“If you only knew how many times I’ve rehearsed it in my mind,” he said. He nuzzled my balls and kissed them, then made his way back up along the underside of my cock. When he reached the head again, he pulled my cock upright. He licked the head a few times then reared back and just looked at it. “It’s absolutely a work of art.”

I laughed and joked, “Don’t ever teach art appreciation, Scott.”

He licked the precum off the head then he went down on me. I don’t know how he “rehearsed” actually sucking cock, but My Godd, he was good. He wasn’t adept at deep throat, but that didn’t matter. I wasn’t sure he was even aware that he could, and I didn’t encourage him in the least. I’m big, and he was doing fine; I couldn’t expect more. He loved my cock. He murmured and moaned softly his contentment. He sucked me with a hunger. At the same time, he was lying astraddle my right thigh and humping it steadily.

“Scott…. Scott, if you turn around and bring that up here, we can make this more mutually satisfying.”

He rose up from my cock with the oddest look on his fast; almost a look of confusion or mild disbelief that I would make such an offer.

I smiled. “I said I was Bi. I like to suck cock too.”

He maneuvered around so he was on his knees beside my shoulder. I urged him to bring his leg over me and straddle my face. I pulled his shorts down off his butt to free his cock. It sprung out over my face, long and thick and proud. Talk about a thing of beauty. He wasn’t as big as me…. not many guys are…. but he was big; easily eight inches and a great handful of meat.

Before I started on him, I told him, “Just so we get it out of the way, Scott, you can cum in my mouth.”

“Yes! You too,” he said excitedly. “It’s been so long since that college boy.”

I warned him that I cum quite a lot.”

“So do I, I think,” he said. “I don’t have any basis for comparison.”

“More than normal,” I warned. “Don’t think you have to swallow it.” With that I pulled his cock down to my face and took it in my mouth. The position was perfect--sixty nine always is--and his cock slid right into my throat, his balls resting on my face. His groan around my cock sounded like a little scream of pleasure and he actually trembled on top of me. There was just so much built up inside of him that was suddenly being released, and I felt really good about being a part of it. His cock throbbed in my throat and I clasped my hands around his butt to hold him tight. I’m pretty good at deep throat, and the position we were in, I didn’t want him to pull back. I held him like that for a moment then eased him up a little so I could suck him.

For that couple of minutes, I really didn’t pay attention to my own cock or what Scott was doing to me. I didn’t expect him to last long, and he didn’t, and I wasn’t disappointed when he suddenly started to convulse terribly and began emptying his load into my mouth. I was awash with emotion as I took his heavy load. He was right; he came a lot, and I didn’t lose a drop. There was something special, even precious about this man’s cum; almost as if I were taking communion of sorts. What a terrible image, I thought, but I couldn’t block it out.

His breathing was heavy and irregular, almost as if he was gasping for air, but he kept sucking my cock. I eased him up from my face.

“Father…. Scott…. you don’t have to keep doing it. We can take a break,” I told him.

He rose up and turned around so he was resting back on his haunches at my shoulder, his powerful chest heaving. It was the first I’d really noticed the nice mat of hair on his chest. His cock lolled out in a rubbery arch. I leaned up and kissed it.

“That’s an impressive hunk meat you’re carrying around,” I said.

“Not as impressive as that,” he said, nodding to my cock. “I should finish it. I want to,” he said.

“You can, but you don’t have to right now. Just lie down here with me.”

He lay beside me and I shoved my arm out for him to put his head on and when he did I crooked my arm, bring his head onto my chest.

I told him, “That was awesome. Your load was awesome.”

“It was the most wonderful thing that’s ever happened to me,” he said.

I crooked my neck to look at him. “Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider that statement? You’ve had a lot of pretty awesome things take place in your life. You got ordained, for chrissakes.”

“Heaven help me…….” But I shushed him.

“Don’t say it,” I said. “This was a few short moments. Your ordination is for life.”

He said, simply, “Yes.”

I have something I have to say….. confess to you.”

“It won’t be a valid confession,” he said.

“I just have to say it; how it felt when you were cumming in my mouth. I felt something special about it. Special because I was receiving it from a priest, and so special that I couldn’t lose a drop. In my head, I was thinking…… it was like I was taking communion. That was a terrible thing to be thinking. Can you make any sense of it?”

“Yes, I think so. If you think of it as a communion of men…. if that will ease your conscience.”

“I wasn’t trying to ease my conscience, but I like that… communion of men,” I said. “But what about your conscience? Will you confess this?”

“No.” He replied quickly.

“How will you reconcile…….”

“Do we have to talk theology?” he cut in. “My collar is in the drawer. I will be your priest later if you need me to be, but what you see before you is a man, not a priest.”

“All right. I’m sorry.” I pulled him tight against me and he rolled over on his side and put his leg across my middle. His cock was hard again. “Damn, you’re like a teenager,” I chided him, pressing against his cock.

“I feel like one,” he said.

I don’t want to be repetitious so I won’t describe every stroke and moan and slurp. Suffice to say that I maneuvered us back into a sixty-nine, which is my favorite position, with me on top, and Scott did an outstanding job of taking my cock, although he never did manage to take me all the way. I am expert at holding off, and being his second go-around, he lasted a lot longer as well, so it was a long, even languid mutual suck. Scott seemed to savor every stroke. It was like he was making up for lost time.

I flooded him with my load. I am a very heavy and hard cummer. He choked on it but he wouldn’t let go of my cock. I heard and felt him swallow but when I rose up, there was cum all over his chin and neck where he had lost much of it. He wiped his mouth, apologizing. I turned around and hunkered over him and began licking up my cum. He was almost urgent in guiding my face to his to engage me in another passionate kiss, this time fueled by the taste of my cum.

There was still this overriding curiosity over younger boys, because that’s what I’d been led to believe was the overriding problem; priests “molesting” young, impressionable boys. I came right out and asked him.

“Scott, in light of all that’s gone on and been brought out about the church, how have you managed to steer clear of younger boys? They seemed to be the target of most priests.”

“I don’t know, and I don’t know how much longer I can,” he replied with candid honesty. “The temptation is there constantly…. such beautiful boys at that age. Boys longing to be men, and to be taught.” His voice trailed off to his own private thoughts. Then he looked at me. “You don’t know how many times, when I’ve heard a boy’s confession of masturbating, I’ve wanted to tell him, ‘Show me. Show me this sin you have committed.’ And then tell them it’s not a sin at all, but to come back to confession. The temptation has been great; it will be even greater now, after this.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, don’t go blaming me,” I said, laughing. “What about that college guy? He deserves some of the blame, doesn’t he?”

Scott laughed with me.

“Will you tell me?” I asked. “When it happens?”

“Why not if it happens?”

“Because I believe you think it will happen. Will you tell me when it does?”

“Yes. You may become my confessor,” he said.

And yes--you’re wondering--I fucked him. It was at his request. He sounded almost afraid to ask, and even apologetic in the way he told me he had “prepared” himself. I didn’t tell him I had done the same thing. Something held me back from telling him; a feeling that he wanted me to be the dominant one. He wanted to be totally taken, and consumed by worldly lust. And I was ready. He had the lube at the ready. I took it but laid it aside. I wanted to rim him, to bury my face in that excellent priest butt and pull his taut athlete’s butt muscles apart and drive my tongue up inside him till he begged for forgiveness. But I also wanted to play the role he wanted of me; to dominate him, and I didn’t think he would think rimming him would fulfill that role. It was strange how I didn’t want to disappoint him. But I found a way out.

“There’s a saying, Scot, that a real man doesn’t fuck anything he wouldn’t eat,” I said as I moved down on the bed between his legs which he spread for me.

He lifted his head to watch what I was going to do. He blinked with surprise when he realized I was going to lick his ass with my tongue. He let out a little “Oh, my Godd!” when I started doing it. I smiled. I licked and kissed and tongued his perfect hole till it was clenching and palpitating anxiously then I pulled it open and drove my stiff tongue up inside him.

“AAAAwhhhhh!…. AAAAwwwhhhhhh!” he cried out. “Oh, My Godd, what’re you doing!!!” He tossed his head back in agonized pleasure.

I rimmed him for a good twenty minutes or so. I drove him nuts. Then I introduced my finger. I’ve never seen anyone register such total surprise as when I shoved my middle finger through his hole, and he was almost aghast when I found his prostate through the thin, delicate wall of his ass. His eyes flew open, then his mouth as he drew in a deep breath, and he held it for a long moment. He let out a tiny squeal as I began rubbing his love nut with my fingertip and it turned into a louder, surprised groan. I inserted another finger and wriggled them around deep inside him, tapping on and off of his now swollen prostate, and he started writhing and squirming around on my hand.

I groped for the lube in the tangled bed covers. He found it and handed it to me. When I didn’t move fast enough he reached down and took hold of my wrist.

“Godd…. please, I want it to happen, I can’t stand this,” he whispered hoarsely.

It was evil of me, but I couldn’t help teasing him. “What?” I asked. “What do you want to happen, Scott?” as I massaged his prostate with both fingers.

He let out a yowl of pleasure and told me, “Ohh, Geezuss, Pete, you KNOW what I want. I want you to fuck me! There, you made me say it, now do it; fuck me!”

Smiling, I pulled my fingers out and squeezed some lube into his still gaping ass and his hole swallowed it up. I squeezed some more and rubbed it around his asshole, then drizzled some onto my cock.

“This is going to hurt,” I warned as I moved up between his legs on my knees with my cock aimed.

“I don’t care,” he said.

“You might,” I said. “Stop me if you need to.”

“I won’t,” he said. “I won’t stop you and I don’t want you to stop till you’re all the way in.”

“Scott, the first time….. I’m awfully big…. we should take it slow”

“I know how big you are. As Red Riding Hood would say, All the better to fuck me with.”

I laughed, shaking my head as I positioned myself over him.

“What?”

“It’s weird, hearing a priest talk like that,” I said.

He only smiled and lifted his legs higher and spread them out wide. I took hold of his ankles and pushed his legs over his head, tilting his fine ass up at the perfect angle. I looked down at it, his taut buns spread so deliciously inviting, his nearly smooth asshole clenching anxiously.

“It looks anxious; it’s winking at me,” I chided him.

“Stop teasing.”

“Oh, I’m not teasing, just admiring,” I said, and leaned down and kissed his asshole and licked it a couple of times. Then I rose back up and positioned the head of my cock at his hole. He closed his eyes. I hesitated…. I don’t know why…. but a feeling came over me, and I thought, “I’m going to fuck a priest. I’m about to enter the body of a man of God, and become one with him. If I’d thought about it a moment longer I think I might have backed out, and I didn’t want to do that and I knew Scott wanted this even more than I did, and it had somehow become an obligation that I give it to him, to show him the worldly pleasures of a man being with a man in the truest sense of the word.

So I pushed and his asshole stretched and spread for me and I entered him. It was painful, I could tell by his face, but I didn’t stop. He wanted it; he would have to endure the pain like every other man who had done this since the beginning of man. I didn’t stop till I was pressed hard against his spread, trembling butt muscles and my cock was lodged deep in his guts. I was surprised how easy it went, how my cock seemed to find its way through the maze of bodily organs in its path to nestle its head in the very depths of his body. I held still and let my cock throb deep inside him. He kept his eyes shut as he took in controlled breaths of air.

“My Godd!” he said finally, a loud, whispered gasp, and opened his eyes.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said emphatically, his eyes clear and focused on mine. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more okay in my life. My Godd!”

“You said that,” I joked.

“I can’t believe how this feels.”

“Sorry I hurt you. It couldn’t be helped,” I said.

“No, the pain was nothing. This…..” He squirmed his hips a little.

“Are you ready to be fucked?” I asked.

He laughed, it was partly a sob, and his tight abs rippled.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” And I eased my hips back. He took in a long breath that lasted the full length of my withdrawal, then I shoved back in. He let the breath out. I eased back again and began fucking him. He moaned and closed his eyes and settled his head back in the pillow.

So I took a priest’s virginity. I know, he was, by his own insistence, a man under me, but nothing could blot out the fact that I was fucking a priest. It wasn’t a feeling of guilt, either. It was as if him being a priest only elevated it to a higher level.

We were silent except for our soft moans and breathing and the soft, wet sounds at our juncture.

At one point I asked him, “How am I doing? Is it okay?”

He didn’t open his eyes. “If I could only tell you….. it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Is transcendental the right word?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know what you’re feeling,” I said.

“Pete, it’s like…. it truly is like I’ve died and am floating off to heaven. This is the euphoria of heaven. Nothing should feel this wonderful on earth; this has to be what heaven is like, like there is pleasure in dying. This must be the true meaning of the communion of men. My Godd, I want to cry.”

I was feeling the same, unexplainable feelings; for me it was almost a supernatural thing.

But I soon brought it out of the realm of the supernatural and back down to earth, back to the sweating, groaning, rutting of two men in the throes of hot sex.

He was amazed at how long I fucked him, and reveled with eager delight in the positions I had him in. We did it bareback and I deposited a hard, heavy load deep inside him. I was so happy that he followed within seconds…. he was on his back, I was back on my haunches, cumming like crazy and jacking his thick cock and he shot all over himself. He made a lot of noise. Then he was quiet. Eerily quiet.

I stayed there for a moment and watched him, his eyes closed, his muscular chest heaving, till he was more relaxed, then I leaned down and slipped one arm under his waist and brought us over onto our sides. He started to ease away from me.

“No, stay like that. It’s not over yet. I want to stay inside you.” I meant my head was still spinning with the euphoria of it all. I had fucked a priest. I wanted my cock to stay inside him, as a reminder that I had fucked a priest….. as proof that it was not a dream. I wasn’t ashamed. Not that I had done God’s work by showing this man the earthly pleasure of man sex, but I felt no guilt for having done so.

The night was, I believe, one of absolutely contentment. We slept in each other’s arms, our bodies entwined like two lovers. We woke each other up several times changing positions but each time moved together in naked embrace and slept again. I came awake sometime in the night and lay and watched him in the soft light from the bathroom. I couldn’t help thinking what a beautiful male he was, and I couldn’t help wondering if that male beauty had something to do with him being called as a priest; that he might inspire other young men. Probably not, but it was a nice thought that made my idea of the priesthood rather lofty, I thought.

Scott woke up and found me looking at him.

“How long have you been awake?” he asked sleepily.

“I don’t know.”

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I’m fine. Do you want to fuck me now?” It words came out almost before it became a thought.

Scott laughed softly, and said, “Yes. I very much want to. I was afraid to ask.”

“Why?”

“I wasn’t sure you would want me to,” he said.

“You know how good it felt,” I said.

“It felt wonderful.”

“Then why should I not want you to fuck me?”

Scott fucked me. For a first timer, he was pretty awesome. He duplicated my moves and maneuvered me into the same positions I had used on him. I helped guide him by letting him know in no uncertain terms what he did to make it good.

“You’re too good at this to be a virgin priest,” I told him.

“I was always a good student,” he said. “How long can we go?”

“For as long as you want.”

I was very surprised at his staying power; it didn’t seem like he was even trying to hold off, but more like he was intent on exploring every inch of my ass with every inch of his cock and draw out every bit of pleasure he could for both of us. He shot off so hard we shook the bed. He collapsed on top of me and I held him like that for a long time.

Later in the early morning we woke up again and showered and tumbled right back into bed in a sixty nine.

Driving home, we were surprisingly completely at ease with one another. We talked openly about the experience, in detail. Scott could hardly stop talking, trying to explain how it felt. He even said, jokingly, that he wished he could do a sermon on it, to try to erase the taboo and portray the pleasure of it.

I asked him, “So, do you think you will pursue this newfound pleasure with younger boys now?”

“I must say no, but I know I’m lying. Yes, I will, as the opportunity presents itself. “

“Sometimes you have to create your opportunities,” I said with a sly grin.

“That will take some thought,” he said.

“But I think you can do it,” I told him. “Your physical stature alone attracts and commands admiration and respect from young boys.”

“Wouldn’t it be great if I could conduct classes?”

“Classes?” I laughed.

“Yes, hold Saturday morning classes for young boys and teenager… maybe you could assist me, even with demonstrations…. you know, if I let myself think about it, the real wrong in all of this is denying young men and boys the pleasure of their bodies. We condemn it. That is the real wrong, that we condemn something so intensely beautiful that God Himself gave them. I don’t know, Pete, if I will be able to give absolution or even assign penance to boys who come to me with their so-called sins of the flesh. I’m afraid I might have to start telling them they have not sinned…. to celebrate their bodies and the God-given feelings they have. Am I going to go to hell for that?”

“I don’t know, you’re the one holding the keys to the kingdom of heaven and hell,” I said, half joking.

“I’m not sure I do,” he said.

I reached over and squeezed his knee. “Do not start doubting your calling as a priest,” I said sternly. “You do good work. Too many people need you.”

“I’m not doubting my calling. But I’m afraid I might start doubting my purpose in that calling.”

I drove a couple of miles when we didn’t say a word. Then he turned in his seat and asked, “Do you think we can do this again?”

“Yes. How private are your quarters?”

“Very private. But I don’t think I can or should invite young boys to visit,” he said.

“No, boys coming and going would not go unnoticed,” I agreed. “Those opportunities need to be away from here.”

“I don’t see how I’ll ever manage anything like that,” he said. “I can’t just take a boy to a motel out of town.”

“A camping trip,” I said, the wheels turning in my head.

“That would raise just as much suspicion, wouldn’t it,” he said.

“Not if it was two boys and two adults, one of them being a lay person.”

“I would have no idea where to go.”

“Leave that up to me, I know an excellent place.” And I told him about my nephew and me. “It’s an ideal place for a winter camping trip.”

“I know a parishioner who has all the camping gear, a large tent,” he said eagerly.

“Uhhh…. you also have to pick the boys,” I told him.

So, a winter camping trip is the planning stages.

I was curious how things would go at Mass the following Sunday. I sat up closer to the front than I usually do so I could observe Father Scott going about his priestly duties. I saw nothing out of the ordinary. The real test would be when I went up for communion. I admit to a slight twitch of nerves as the line moved slowly down the center aisle and I came closer and closer to my “judgment.” Would God strike me down?

When my turn came and I stepped up to Father Scott with my hands down in front of me, he placed the host on my tongue I lingered for a couple of extra seconds as our eyes met, unwavering. I thought I saw a trace of a smile.

And so, that’s the story of my descent into the depths of lust with a man of God….. or the ascent. I tried to capture as much of the dialogue as I could remember, as well as the activities that took place between us. I can’t say that I’m “worried” about what we did, and if there is concern, it is for Father Scott more than myself, for it was I who left the door open a crack and then invited him in. Maybe I want some reassurances, for him as well as for myself, for he says he will not discuss it with any fellow priests. In the end, it won’t really matter, though, because if Scott calls me that he has found two boys to go camping, we will go.

The End

Posted: 03/30/18