I, Priest

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 I, Priest

My vows were sealed.  I was in it for life; and I felt like I was drowning as I assumed my duties at my first parish.  Three things that I brought with me from the seminary kept ringing in my head. 

Shortly after I arrived at the seminary, when I’d made friends with another seminarian, I expressed to him my doubts about becoming a priest.

“It’s not too late to back out, but why are you doubting yourself?” he wanted to know.

I didn’t want to voice it but I’d seen the almost rampant sex among some of the seminarians, even experienced some of it myself, and I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to keep my vows.

He laughed.  “Hell, a lot of them are in it for the sex,” he said. 

I didn’t see how he could laugh it off so casually.  I nursed my doubts and charged on in my studies.

The second thing was another priest telling me, “You’re just too damned good looking to be a priest.  Certain members of your flock are going to be attracted to you and many of them will ignore your collar.  Try not to let the temptations overwhelm you.  But if that happens, don’t beat yourself up over it.  Keep this in mind—priests are as human as any other man.”

The other thing was an older priest--old to me, he was thirty eight--who I’d had sex with several times, who told me about hearing the confessions of teenagers and young boys. He said that nearly all of their sins that they confessed were of a sexual nature and he how difficult it was to hear their stories so often told in such great detail.

“It’s like they think that the more they tell you, the more forgiveness they’ll receive.  I swear, sometimes, especially just before holy days when everyone is dragged into the church for confession, I set there for hours with an aching hardon just listening to their escapades. I want to tell them, ‘My God, stop feeling guilty about it, go celebrate your sexuality.’”  He laughed.  “You’ll be amazed at what boys will do to get relief.  Well, maybe you won’t be; you’re not that old yourself.”

When I expressed to him my concerns and doubts, he gave me what he called his sage advice.  He told me, “If the urge gets too great, just don’t let it happen during the confession itself; not during the ritual.”

I was stunned at what I thought he was saying. He saw it, and also sensed my questions.  He smiled and said, “Yes, my boy, it happens in the confessional.  And why not?  It’s such a wonderfully convenient setting. You’re sitting there listening to a boy’s most intimate secrets while he’s probably got a hardon reliving it and telling you about it.  And consider the structure of the confessional itself.  You’re sitting behind a screen that you can see through and when he stands to leave…well, it’s just so conducive to say “Wait.” And it’s completely private. Note, I said not during the ritual of confession.”

I considered his splitting hairs a serious breach of trust and it haunted me for days. A strong part of me said I should get out, but an equally strong part of me clung to what I was convinced was my calling. So I was ordained and sent to a parish to assist the elderly priest there and relieve him of any duties that he wanted to pass on. It was a small church with a thriving school system that encompassed first through sixth grades and separately, seventh through twelfth grades.

The last advice I got--and probably the best--was from the monsignor. I asked him if he had any sage advice for me as I was leaving the seminary.

He said, “You’ve taken your vows.  But there is one vow that is not bestowed on you by ordination. It’s a secret vow that I took unto myself that encompasses all your vows.  It’s from the Hippocratic Oath; First, Do No Harm.”

I tucked it away, not fully understanding the meaning of his advice at the time.  I would later on.

I was most eager to take some of the load off of Father Hicks who was in poor health and nearing retirement, but I assumed only the duties that he handed off to me. He was glad to be relieved of the weekday masses as well as the early morning mass on Sunday. There was one thing that he was almost adamant about; that I take over hearing confessions of the school kids. It was a madhouse before holidays, he said, when they were all marched into the church to contemplate their sins and prepare for the dreaded confession. He said it was something he thought a younger man could better handle. I had no problem with it.  I had no problem with anything Father had me do. He became like a grandfather to me. He advised me on what I would be hearing the most in the confessional from the boys and the girls, and even offered suggestions of the penance I might give out for the various “juvenile sins” as he called them. He said he was sure some of the kids actually made up “sins” so they would have something to confess. He said I should be kind and gentle but stern with the kids, especially the girls. Boys, not so gentle, he said; needed a sterner hand.

So I donned the purple stole and walked to the back of the church where I knelt in the back pew and offered a quick prayer that I would do this right. Then I took my place behind the partition and waited for someone to enter. There was no face-to-face confession. Father Hicks believed that anonymous confession would reap more sins, especially from the kids. He said the only kids who would go to confession face-to-face would be those who had no real sins to confess.  

To say I was nervous the first time I stepped into the confessional would be an understatement. But it was good that I got to practice on the older parishioners. The nerves hit a high edge the day I had the church full of kids from the grade school. 

I heard the door open and when I heard the person on the kneeler I slid back the heavy curtain from the grille.  The voice was that of a young girl but I couldn’t tell how young till she began telling her sins. They were the sins of a very young girl, insignificant to an adult but important to her. She came well prepared. Most of them did. I learned that the teachers taught the kids how to be well prepared and concise so they wouldn’t take up so much time. I also learned that school-day confessions were by classes, from about the third grade through eighth. There were a few doozies that took more time--all boys--but most of the confessions took only two or three minutes so it didn’t take nearly as long as I’d expected. 

Father Hicks was right on point.  The universal sins of the younger kids were talking back to parents and being mean to brothers and sisters. It was like listening to a recording; as if someone had handed out talking points. Once in a while there was cheating or stealing and those were most often the only sins confessed, and I laid down the law on those. But sometimes the standard “little sins” were followed by more serious ones, and most often had to be drawn out, especially from the boys. If a boy was stumbling about, it was usually over something he’d done and didn’t want tell or didn’t know how to tell it so I drew him out, like I was trained.

Over a relatively short time I learned more or less what to expect, and also to recognize “repeat offenders.” Because I sometimes taught religion and boys’ PE classes I even began to recognize many of the kids’ more distinct voices.

Before holy days there was confession for the entire school.  I was always in the confessional every day for one hour before mass but before the holy days they all the kids were taken from class and herded over. The sins “matured” with the ages of the kids, and there emerged a certain pattern for the boys and for the girls.  For example I pretty much knew what to expect from a boy whose voice had changed, whose thoughts had gone from cooties to sex.

I established what I liked to call a scale of penances. I didn’t dispense harsh penance for boys who confessed that they’d jacked off five or six times a week.  That got them three Hail Marys, one Our Father and the Hail Holy Queen--I called that my “triple crown”--along with an admonishment to try to cut back.  I never told them to stop altogether; that would have been an exercise in futility. It might sound silly for a priest to be telling a boy to cut back on sinning but it would be downright ridiculous to tell him to stop this particular one altogether; that just wasn’t going to happen.  My goal was to instill in the boys some degree self-discipline.

A boy who jacked off with another boy got ten Hail Marys, three Our Fathers and the Hail Holy Queen.  If they jacked each other off I gave them the entire Rosary.  In every case I admonished them to try to slack off and keep things under control.  I never told them to stop doing anything they told me they were doing. Quite honestly, I credited God with their sexuality and to me, that deserved to be celebrated to a certain extent.

The first time I heard a boy confess that he’d had real sex with another boy, i.e. sucked his cock, my first inclination was to throw the book at him. But he sounded so timid and scared that I went easy on him.  I gave him the usual triple crown with a warning that if it happened again his penance would be more severe. He was so relieved and promised he would never do it again but I didn’t hold out much hope for that.  I’d been there, done that, no way was it not going to happen again.

One day when I slid the curtain back from the grille I heard a voice that I had not heard in the confessional; that of Brian Hill, an eighth grader. I knew his voice well but just not in the confessional and wondered what had brought him here. The reason I’d not heard him before was because, as he stated, he had not been to confession since before school started. But I knew it was him by his distinctive voice; his tone was deep and always so firm and commanding.

He rattled off his litany of venial sins then moved right into, “And now, Father, I’ve got a big one.”

“Yes, go on,” I said, suddenly filled with anticipation.

“I’ve had sex with a girl.”

“Just one time?”

“No, more than once,” he said.

“How many times?”

“Four.”

“How old are you?” I asked.

“Fourteen,” he replied.

“How old is the girl?”

“She’s fourteen, too.”

“When was the last time you had sex with this girl?”

“Last night.”

“And the other times?”

“Last week.”

“You’ve had sex four times in two weeks,” I said, to clarify the situation a little more.

“Actually seven days,” he said.

I was thinking, what a little stud; he was having more sex than more married men.

“What prompted you to confess now, rather than after the other times?” I asked.

“I couldn’t honestly say I was sorry for it, Father.”

“But you are now.”

“I….I don’t know what to think, Father. It’s hard to believe anything God made feel so good could be wrong.”

“If you feel that way, then why are you here?”

“I think I might’ve hurt her,” he replied.

“How did you hurt her?”  There was a long pause.  I asked again, “How did you hurt her?”

“I’….I’m pretty big, Father, and she’s so small.”

Okay, nothing in my training in the seminary had prepared me for this; I was flying by the seat of my pants.

“Has she said you hurt her?” I asked, finally.

“No, she would never tell me I hurt her.  She’s in love with me; or says she is.”

“Tell me, just how big are you?” I asked.

He hesitated again then replied, “Nine inches. A little over.  And real thick.”

I blinked with my private surprise. Fourteen with nine plus inches!

“Did you use a condom each time?”

“Yes, but….well, one time I got pretty rambunctious and it broke.  But she said she’s not pregnant.” 

“Has enough time passed that she would know that for certain?” I asked.

“I…..I don’t know. But that’s not all, Father.”

“Alright, go on,” I said, wondering what the hell else he could have to tell me.

“I said it was big….actually, it’s….well, it’s pretty huge, and that’s part of the reason I’m here….so much piling up on me.”

“Go on,” I said again.

“We got caught,” he said.

“By whom?”

“By her mother. She came home early and caught us in the girl’s bed. She told her daughter to go downstairs, and she got a robe for her to put on.  Then when we were alone, she just stared at me; it was a real scary look.”

“Had you started getting dressed?”  I asked.

“No, I started to reach for my clothes at the foot of the bed but she grabbed them and tossed them away.  I tried to cover myself with the sheet but I knew she already saw me.  When she broke in on us and I pulled out her eyes bugged out when she saw my….when she saw how big I am. She said she was going to tell her husband and he would come after me and tear me apart.  I’ve seen her dad.  He’s a muscle head; he could break me in two.”

“Well, you took that risk, didn’t you?” I said.

“Yes, but she’s not going to tell him if……..”

“If what?”

“If I have sex with her.”

“Did you?”

“No, her daughter was downstairs.”

“Are you going to?” I asked.

“If it’s a matter life or death…I guess I will.  But there’s something else, Father.” My Godd, what else could there be! “There’s a teacher.”

“You’ve had sex with a teacher?  Here at this school?”

“No, not yet, but she’s here at this school, and I’m afraid it might happen. Pretty sure it will.”

“And what makes you think there might be sex between you and this teacher?”

“My grades.  I’m not a whiz at science and I gotta pass it, you know.  She’s held me after class a few times to go over the lessons and she comes back to my desk and bends over me with….everything practically hanging out in my face. She said she understands a boy my age having trouble concentrating on school work and she said she’s available to help me in every way she can.”

“That doesn’t necessarily suggest sex,” I said.

“When she’s bent over with both of ‘em about to fall out in my face, it suggests something to me,” he said. “I want to know, Father, if I have sex with this teacher, or that girl’s mom, seeing they’re both adults and I’m a kid, wouldn’t it be them doing the sinning, not me?”     

“I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way,” I said. For them it would be more than just a sin; it would be a legal matter, having sex with a minor. For you, it most certainly would be a sin if you want along with it willingly.”  It occurred to me that the boy might be playing games; bragging about having a big cock, and even about the sex, just for his own jollies. “When did you turn fourteen?” I asked. 

“Four months ago.”

“And you’re carrying over nine inches.”

“Yes.  You don’t believe me? I wouldn’t lie to a priest. But I could prove it, Father.”

“No, no, I’m not saying you would lie. I must say, it’s a little hard to imagine as I try to grasp the ramifications of a boy your age being built like a grown man, and with four or five years left to grow….I’m grasping for a way to counsel you.  You’re a boy with a man’s body and obviously a man’s desires.”

“I can’t change any of the facts, Father.”

I needed to regroup and win back his trust or I might never hear him in the confessional again. And I needed to do it fast; I feared he might flee the confessional. I could feel the weight of his sins on my shoulders, personally. Finally, I said the only thing I could think to say.

“Of course you can’t. But this sex at your age has to be curbed. You’re not old enough to accept the responsibility of a child if that were to happen. So I must advise strongly that you not have sex especially with these two women, and not with the girl.”

“But she’ll think I don’t like her.”

I didn’t have a good response to that and I didn’t try. I simply stuck to my guns and went by the book, and assigned an entire rosary as penance. As I listened to his promise to “sin no more” I was doubtful.  Very doubtful.  I’d done my best. I would either have the boy back, repeating the same sin, or I would not have him back at all. He stood up but I didn’t hear the door.

“You don’t believe me, do you, Father?” he said.

“Why would I not believe something told to me in the confessional?”

“From your tone I just don’t think you believe me,” he said.

“If you’ve told me anything that’s not true, that’s on you.  And I strongly suggest you get it straight before you leave here.”

“Everything’s true father, except for the part about not sinning again.  I don’t know if I can hold true to that.  I know I can’t.  The girl loves me and I can’t turn my back on her.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to have sex with her.  Just be her friend.”

“I don’t think that’ll work, Father.  She’s had a taste of it….sex, I mean….and if I don’t do it with her she’ll turn to other boys.  She’s a little bit of…..well, what the guys call a nympho.  She’s sick for sex.”

“You can’t take that burden on yourself, Son,” I said.

“But if she’s going to turn to other boys I might as well be the main one, ‘cause I know I can satisfy her better than any other boy. And since I’m the one to break her in and showed her what it’s all about I think I sort of have an obligation.”

“You have an obligation to yourself, and your own soul, and you were about to walk out of with your soul cleansed of sin,” I said. “But I feel there’s more you want to say. If you do, it doesn’t have to be in the format of confession. Your confession is over.  Is there anything further you want to say face to face? You can step around the partition.”

He didn’t, but he didn’t leave either. Then I was aware of him standing at the confessional again. I waited but he didn’t kneel.

“There is something I’m curious about,” he said as he pushed the grille aside.

“What’s that?” I asked. He didn’t reply but I could see his thick fingers start unbuttoning his jeans. I was both horrified and excited, in equal measures.

“About priests liking boys,” he said as he undid one button after another.  He had pulled his T-shirt up, revealing a slab of abs to die for and the waistband of his shorts.  “Just wondering if you might be one of them.  Some of us guys were wondering about that.  So if you are, maybe you’d wanta….well, have a look and decide for yourself.”

With that he tugged the waistband of his shorts down and tucked it under his hefty balls when they fell free with his cock suspended out over them.  Not yet hard, he was a good seven inches or more and so thick it was unimaginable for a boy his age. I watched, mesmerized, as his cock grew bigger by the second.  It was like it was marking the seconds, pulsating every second, getting bigger and harder.  Everything in my training screamed that I should reject him but it was against my very nature and I wondered, painfully, if this was what I was really born to instead of the priesthood.  Or perhaps the two went hand in hand. 

I resisted to a point.  I didn’t push the grille aside.  He did.  I slid back with a horrible grating sound and there he was, fully and beautifully exposed in the square opening; his muscular upper thighs, the deep ridges of his teenage abs, and in between his magnificent man-cock throbbing violently in my face.

There was a moment of deafening silence, then he spoke.

“If you’re not…..one of those priests….I guess I’ll have to make another confession before I go.”

I swallowed hard to find my voice but I abandoned the thought of using words to tell him he wouldn’t be having to make another confession.  Instead, I reached through the opening and cupped his impressive balls and tugged on them to pull him against the partition.  The partition gave a little as he pressed against it and there he was, the most important part of him or any boy suddenly on my side of it;      all nine inches of it.  He hadn’t exaggerated. My Godd….what was I to do!  My sin was my own but to pull this young boy into it……!

I sat gazed at the incredibly large cock, throbbing wickedly, and quivering each time it throbbed.  Precum was forming in the wide slit till it was pushed out and about to drop. I quickly leaned in to capture it and I was hooked.  I’d intended to simply lick it off, ever so lightly, but I suddenly engulfed the head of his cock and lavered my tongue all around it.

“Awww, Father!” he groaned.

I said I was hooked; the taste of his boy juice was intoxicating; like a drug. The tasting was over; I wanted more.  I slid my lips further down the shaft till the head pressed against my throat. I was fairly adept at deep throat when I was in the seminary but I was out of practice. Still, this magnificent piece of meat deserved no less than my full attention.  I pushed against the head till it slipped through the tight opening of my throat. Once past that barrier it was easy for me to swallow his cock all the way down…..all the way, till my chin pushed against his hefty balls and my nose smashed into his pubes.  Godd, it was wonderful to be back!

I held him deep for a long moment then he eased back several inches and began fucking my mouth, pushing all the way into my throat.

“Awww, fuck, Father,” he moaned softly.

I wondered fleetingly how many priests had ever heard that phrase in the confessional.  To me, it was music to my ears. He reached through and clasped my head in his hands to pull me against him as he thrust into my throat.

Suddenly I heard the door.  I froze. 

“It’s occupied!” the boy snapped and the door closed once more.  I heard the lock click and he resumed.

As he became more rambunctious the partition between us began to creak.  I eased back and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

“Do you want to come around to this side?” I asked hoarsely.

He didn’t answer but he drew back through the opening and I heard rustling on the other side.  When he did appear in front of me he was naked from the waist down, down to his T-shirt. I nearly swooned at his magnificence.  He was built for sex!  He stood straddle my knees and thrust his cock at me.  I accepted it, down to his balls. He was rough and I choked but I held on.

After a short while he said, in a quite tone, “Hey, I’ve got an idea. You get on the other side and kneel down; I’ll be the priest.”

I liked the position he was in but I obeyed him.  He stepped back and I stood up. As I did he reached under my robes and found my hard cock. 

“Hey, not bad, Father,” he said.  “Take it off.”

Again, I obeyed, and revealed that I was naked under the robes.

“Do you always run around naked under your robes?” he asked.

“Sometimes; mostly in the confessional,” I admitted.

“Makes it easier to jack off when you listen to all of our dirty little secrets,” he chided me.

When I was naked he sent me around to the other side.  I dropped to the kneeling bench to face the boy’s huge cock aimed through the opening.  He thrust it through and I took it.  I liked the kneeling position; it was where I belonged, on my knees worshipping the boy’s magnificent manhood.  In the moment, it was my God-given duty to service the boy. My lust mounted. Unbelievably.  I had to force myself to keep my hands off my own cock.

I heard the door again; someone trying to come in. I was suddenly overwhelmed with lust and oblivious of the consequences, I reached back and unlocked the door. I didn’t have to worry about a girl coming in for this was boys’ only confessions.  But the person went away and t was several minutes before anyone tried the door again.  This time it opened.

“Ohh!”

Without letting go of the cock in my mouth I waved the person in. He came in and the door was locked again.  I groped blindly behind me and he moved closer, within my reach.  He took my hand and put it on the front of his jeans.  I was glad for the bulky lump I found there.  I fumbled with his buttons and he undid them for me.  His jeans fell and I was groping his shorts.  He quickly shoved them down so I could feel his cock.

“Ohh, Godd, another one,” I thought as I explored his manhood. I was beside myself; I felt my lust consuming me. I felt of his upper thighs, finding solid muscle.  I started to feel upward and he took my hand to explore his rock-hard abs and on up to his hard, thick pecs.  He felt more mature than the boy on the other side except for his cock. I had the bigger one in my mouth.  But this one felt like easily seven plus inches; still impressive for a young teenage boy.

I fumbled for his belt and he undid it himself and opened his fly.  I tugged on his jeans and he pushed them down. I pulled the front of his shorts down the shoved his shirt up.

“You want me naked, is that it?”  I nodded.  “Sure, why not.”

I watched his clothes being tossed to the side.  When he was naked I reached back for his cock.  He it into my hand and I stroked him for a moment then took his hand and put it on my butt.

“No fuckin’ shit!” he exclaimed.  “You want me to fuck you?”

I nodded again.

“First, who’s on the other side?” he asked.

The boy I was sucking leaned around the partition.

“Brady!” he exclaimed.

“Fuck, Ron, who would’ve thought we’d be doing this,” the newcomer said.

“You gonna fuck him?” Ron asked his friend.

“He wants it; can’t very well turn him down now, can I?”

“You should never deny a priest whatever he wants,” Ron agreed.

“Yeah he could keep you in the confessional forever,” Brady joked.

All the while they were talking, Brady was probing my ass with his thick fingers, causing me to moan and whimper like a girl.  I was so worked up I was ready to scream.  Finally, I grabbed his cock and pulled it to my butt.  He laughed and assumed the position behind me. I felt the heat of his cock against my hole, then his pressure.  I braced myself.  When he shoved through I choked down a gasp with the help of Ron’s cock and managed to stifle any undue sound till he was all the way in.  I heaved a sigh around the thick cock in my mouth as he started fucking me.

I was getting it from both ends, as only two horny teenage boys can do.  They got a little rough and the partition started creaking.  I was afraid it might give way and collapse, and how would I explain that. Finally, I pulled off of Brady’s cock.

“Wait, come around do this side,” I told him.

He came around, all smiles and when I took his cock in my mouth again the two boys high-fived each other.

“This is what you call a spit-roast, isn’t it?” one of them said.

“So I’ve heard on the porn sites,” said the other.

I did the stupidest thing, then.  I reared back from the stiff cock I was sucking and said,  “Neither of you boys has confessed watching porn.”

The fucking stopped and the boys stared at each other.

“What the fuck!” Brady said, laughing.

“Yeah, what fucking time to worry about that!  Get back to what you were doing.  And while you’re at it, move your ass a little more; act like you want it.”

My face red with embarrassment I took the cock again that was thrust at me and shoved back hard on the one in my ass and twisted my hips around to give the boy more of what he wanted.

“Aaaaahhhh, Yeah!  That’s more like it!”

At the beginning I said my vows were sealed; I was in it for life. But I wasn’t drowning anymore.  And I wouldn’t drown as long as I had life preservers like these two young studs’ magnificent cocks to cling to. I was where I belonged. I was doing what I was born to do.

The End

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