The Confessions

I still cannot utter the words out loud. I pray for assistance, for the courage to find the right words as I sit in front of Father Umberto to confess my sins. But the words never come out. I have used to believe it to be a sin and yet, if it is so, the only way to wash my soul would be to confess it. To bring the truth to my fellow man and let him absolve me. But I cannot.

I sit here tonight with a notebook Dino has brought me. He knows I'm an avid reader and he asked if I liked to write. I told him I once did. He told me I should continue to do it. Or to start again. What better way to do it? If I cannot profess my words out loud, maybe I can rush them into writing. Here, I confess.

My name is Giorgio Salieri. I am, today, 32 years old. I was born in Florence and I lived there most of my life. But not anymore. After my father's death, I, already a priest, moved to this small village, up in some godforsaken valley. There are few of us here, living in old houses that have been renewed and turned into a center of some kind of touristic appeal. Frozen in time, with not many comings and goings, but still alive. And the chances to sin are tremendously high. Sometimes it leaves me with my palms wet with sweat from trying too hard to pray the thoughts away.

But oh, I am weak.

Before I started this confession, I lay down in bed. In my hands, my shaky hands, I read once more the letter Rocco sent me two years ago. I have the words memorized already. They are burned in my thoughts. Each word, each letter in his rough and deep caligraphy. Sometimes I imagined the sound of his voice as I read the words. His intensity, his need. And just that simple imagination is enough to keep me awake at night until I take it off and drop my seed on an old rag.

I should have forgotten his face. Some days I think I do. But recently Rocco has haunted me. An angry ghost that keeps howling at my ear, demanding my attention and my thoughts. He is a terribly jealous ghost and he has come to mock me. To call me weak and to avenge himself. I did him wrong. Oh, I know I did. But my intentions had been pure, I suppose. I wanted to save our souls. To give us the happiness that was promised after a troubled life. Rocco deserves it because he is the love of my life.

And yet, I damned myself tonight. Like an addict who falls from grace, I too fell in the arms of a man.

Dino.

Dino Caprioli.

My Dino. Who are you? Who are you to tempt me with such a delicious promise of hell that I blindly throw myself into its deeper, darker pits? Dino. A young, innocent, lovable farmer. A young man who cares more about everyone else, who smells like earth, and the woods. Dino. With his rough, scruffy short beard, his blond short hair, his dark hazel eyes that shine with mischief when we are alone. As if we have been friends forever. As if we share a secret that no one else does. Forgive me, Rocco. Forgive me, dad. Forgive me, Father. But Dino...

He came by this morning, sweaty from riding his bike up the hill. The parochial house lingers just a few meters from the church, at the higher square of the village. The boy rushes through every morning with the milk from his father. For generations, it has been like that. He brings it with cheese sometimes. Bread his mother backed early in the morning. Marmelade and sweets, on good spring days. His basket was full when he brought it in. I opened the door since Father Umberto was out in his garden. He glistened of sweat, my Dino. He smiled at me his usual 'Ciao' and came in, leading me deeper into my own house.

I still wonder now, at this very moment, how come today I couldn't resist my own impulses? What force has led me to comply with a suggestion that has always been there, on the sidelines of our relationship?

Dino came to me a day before his 25th birthday. I had met him already, he and his family are assiduous in their presence in the church. Every night, at least one of them is there, sitting to watch us through the mass. But until that point, we had kept our distance. I had kept my distance. It was an obvious decision. Dino is handsome. Dino is like a man that has come from the legends of a greater, older empire. Dino has muscles that are natural to his built as a farmer, he has a smile that can melt any heart of ice. He is the sun. And my body reacted with fire the moment I saw him first.

His confession came with deep honesty. Dino told me he was gay. Dino said he was afraid to go to hell. He was afraid his father would hate him. And his little siblings. Dino just wanted to feel normal. Oh, Dino. I don't regret a little bit that day when I told you not to worry. I don't regret one day telling you something I wish I believed for myself. Be happy. God loves you no matter what. We will find a solution, but don't feel sad. He was one of God's works. He should love himself. Besides, I told him, there is nothing wrong with you. “So you are capable of love? Tell me how can that be a sin.”

He smiled and from then on, our friendship was deeper than any I have ever had in life. Dino was always around. Or maybe gravity had done its work and I was a satellite to Dino's star. For a whole year, we have been like that. Close friends. We drink together wine on cold winter nights. We eat together under the sun on warm Spring afternoons.

Dino made me lighter, and I paid him in kind.

Until today, we were as prude as our bodies allowed. We restrict the clear flame that burned between us as we could. But today, it was different.

“Is Father Umberto around?” He was wearing a cotton white shirt that hung open in a small v shape where honey-colored hair painted his chest. I could see the tiny silver and golden collar with the small sign of San Francesco on it. I could see the small droplets of sweat on his skin and they made me weak as if I was thirsty for them.

“He's outside, taking care of his plants.”

“I see.”

He looked at me. It was a warm summer day. I had old shorts on, the ones I used when I stayed home, not on duty. I had an old white t-shirt that hid my lean body. That protected it, or so I thought.

“Mama has made you more Marmelade, Father. I told her you were very fond of the peach one.”

What was I thinking? I can't recall, honestly. I can't remember what I answered. I can't remember what words opened the gates and let the river roll in, flooding all of the valleys with a force only Nature still has. But we kissed in the kitchen. I have no memory of how I ended up in his arms. I recall moving. Me. I remember approaching and seeing his face get misty, out of focus, and then I remember his taste on my tongue, his warmth on my chest.

His cock between my fingers.

It was instinct, sure. It was something I had thought I had forgotten how to do because since I left Rocco, I had not done it. I had thought I wouldn't know what to touch and how to kiss. I had thought I was beyond what the flesh had to offer me. And yet, my fingers were deft. They worked under his old jeans, his tight undies. I made him hard and when we came up for air on that kiss, I brought my finger to my mouth. He had oozed precum over it. I tasted it, looking deep into his hazel eyes. His honey was on my tongue and I felt like I was looking the sun straight with my eyes. I burned.

Dino pushed me against the wall. For one year or more we had been playing these roles. We had been pretending not to flirt, when all we did was flirt. The glances, the touches, the jokes, and the confessions at twilight. He pushed me so hard against the wall I thought I would break into pieces, but his hands were on my waist and I was one, and I was his. I was Dino's. He kissed my neck and pulled off my shirt as I was doing the same to him. His sweat was salty but oh, I could have licked him clean of it. I would if we were not in such a hurry to catch up for all the lost time, all of the days; long, long days in which we kept the desire in a bottle deep inside ourselves.

Dino sucked my nipples and put a hand over my mouth so I wouldn't scream. Thinking about it now, I assume we knew we could get caught, but we were willing to risk it. Burn them all, I must have thought as I moaned against his hand, my tongue licking him as if I craved to know the taste of each part of his body.

He kept going down and he was kneeling in front of me, pulling my shorts to my feet. He put his face against my crotch and sniffed me, so loud I could hear the air entering his lungs. He looked up and smiled at me before he opened his mouth and took me in. I am not above average, my uncut cock is a bit chubby by the head but average on its length. Dino couldn't take me in. He seemed to know what to do, but just barely. As if the seed was there, but the plant needed watering. Still, he licked and suckled on the inches he could take, hand moving up my torso, pinching my nipples. Another hand moved between my legs as if he was curious to see what could be hidden under the layer of hair I had down there.

Were you impressed by my male body, Dino? Was it all that you expected of a man? I ask because he told me after, this had been his first time. His first kiss. His first surrendering.

But at that moment, he sucked and he made my toes curl and he made me whimper as I tried to hold back, not wanting the moment to end. It was the paradise I had craved for in lonely nights. I always thought of Rocco, but with Dino, he was not there. Not even when my seed flooded into my farm boy's mouth. Dino swallowed every last drop and when he got up again, we kissed and I could still taste my cum in him.

The chopping of grass, the whistling of an old man. Those were the signs I looked for as I got down to my knees. Father Umberto was still working in his garden. I too wanted to drink. My knees were on the floor of the kitchen and I took Dino's cock in my mouth. I took all of it in my mouth. I had imagined the size of it a few times. I had wondered how big Dino would be. I confess to that sin. And I was happy that my expectations had been matched and even surpassed. He had a thick cock all over, veiny and heavy. Rocco too had a big cock like that. I remember now how much I enjoyed holding it when we slept together in the back room of the garage he worked in, in those old, dirty sheets where we tangled. How I would only fall asleep when it was warm in my hand.

Dino's cock throbbed between my lips as I kept my eyes up, watching his face transforming as my tongue caused waves of pleasure to run up his body, take his muscles, take him hard. With my nose against his pubes, I could smell the musk of a working morning, of his farm and his nature. His sweat. His masculine scent lingered over my nose throughout the day and even now as I write these words down. I took it in because I wanted that smell and all it would bring me. To hell with it all. I held that cock in my throat until breathing in his scent was impossible until my eyes stung from the lack of air. And I pulled back just to catch my breath and do it again.

My Dino didn't last long and I felt his cum in my throat and falling over my tongue as I moved back. The last splash crossed my face, tainting me, painting it as his. He tasted of the sun. He tasted of salt but also a delicious sweetness. He tasted of a pleasure I had denied myself too long.

He helped me up and we looked at each other, still breathing hard, our chests heaving, our mouths twisted in smiles of incredulity. We discovered a new land after long miserable days lost in the sea. Was it a dream? He reached for me and caressed my face.

“Father Giorgio, I'm-”

I knew what he would say, so I stopped him before it could be done.

“Thank you, my Dino.”

His smile spread wide, truthful. It was warm and he was relieved. He held me there, our cocks still hard, still throbbing from their orgasm, their work. I took a moment to catch up, but I too embraced him, my hands taking him by his back, my fingers marking his sun-kissed skin.

When we got back from it, we dressed quickly. I washed my face on the kitchen sink, despite not wanting to. I wanted his cum to dry over me. I wanted to have him still now.

“I gotta go.” He said as he rubbed his hands over his old jeans.

He moved to the door. I should have had let him go. I know I should have.

“Dino.”

He stopped and turned. In his eyes, I could see the expectation I felt in my chest. I could see myself in them.

“I will see you this afternoon. You promised to help me fixing the church's-”

“Of course, Father. I will be there.”

We lingered watching each other. I knew that feeling. The desire. The inevitability of separation. And of secret. We built, in one glance, a whole continent we had discovered alone.

“Father. Arriverderci.”

“Arriverderci, Dino.” He left me standing in the kitchen, lost as if the floor under my feet had been pulled away. I walked on clouds through the day. Dangerous, soft, comfortable clouds.

But oh, Dino, what crazy doom have you brought upon me?

* * *

I had to pause a moment. Writing about it made it impossible to continue.

A fire has started and it is burning through me. Nothing will be left, I imagine. I can see the exit, but I don't move towards it. I embrace the flames.

I embraced them.

I went to bed to try and pray away all these thoughts but the clarity of prayer brought me something unexpected. I still burn. My cock is hard. Achingly hard. But when I sat down again on my desk, I wrote on a different paper. My dear Rocco, I started.

The words of two years that I seemed not to be able to find were written on paper as if my hand was being guided by a ghost. Rocco. I see your face everywhere. After Dino left, you were everywhere too. Rocco. Rocco. Rocco.

I wrote you a letter. I am throwing more wood to this fire, I know, but I am a simple man, a mortal, a sinner. And oh, Rocco, please understand I was afraid. I am afraid. But I will send you the letter tomorrow. We may never see each other again. Are you married now? You had such plans. Are you happy now? I always thought you were doomed to a certain gloom that would taint even your happiest hours. Can you forgive me, Rocco? Can you forgive a coward who ran away from the fire once?

When I first met you, we were both lost causes. You had been in a fight, I had been caught trying to sneak out of college. We were so young, but we got along. While we waited for our parents to come after being called by the priest to talk some sense into our heads. Your mom was a single mother, she owned a store downtown. Your uncle had a garage and you were already working on it after school. I was the fifth child of a middle-class family. I was alright, but my grandma had promised me to God already, even if I still didn't know. My grandpa was sick, you see? The men of my family have always weighted on my shoulders the heaviest. Since I was the last man born, all of their failures fell upon me. But when my grandpa got through, my dad and my grandma had already prepared my path.

Did they know, on that day, how you would come and mess it all up?

I was shy and sad and you are a brute with too much anger. But we got along. You liked my books, I liked your songs. I hated your girlfriends and you kept introducing new girls to me. You were watching when I had my first kiss with a girl I can't remember the name. I knew you watched. I cried at home that night. I was 17 and I was crying like a baby because you weren't my first kiss.

And one week later, you fought me. I threw a book at you and you left and I thought that was it. But you came back and you were furious and you kissed me and we did what we could with what we knew and we were done before we even knew we had begun. It was our first time. Of many. Even though I knew what it was expected of me. Even though I showered twice that night and went to church for two whole weeks and confessed my sin with such shame I thought I could die from it.

But after all that, after all the struggle I caused myself, I saw you. And you took me into that bed, in the back. And we did it again. It lasted for years, Rocco. I was 30 when I left. I was 18 when you fucked me in the ass for the first time. We were never a thing. You had girlfriends, I had the monastery. You had your fights and your drinking and I, my prayers and my studies. But when we fucked...

I would see stars when your cock would shoot its cum deep in me. I knew it to be the highest of my happiness, when I laid under your heavy frame, your warm body, your sweaty and messy moans. And when I slept later in your arms, I was in the promised land.

I stopped confessing this sin when I was 25. I remember the last time. You had fucked me so hard, so deep the night before that I screamed your name out loud to the night. How many positions did we experience that night? How many times did you cum on me? In me? You said you wanted to see my face painted with your cum. I agreed. I let you cum all over me.

I traveled to a different city to confess. I took the train and took a day off and I told a priest I had never met all about you. He told me I should get help. Fast. Before the sin would turn me into a monster. I didn't look for help. But I think had I done that, maybe we would be in a different place now.

You found me at home that night and I didn't want to let you in, but you did convince me. You held me all night. We said that would stop. We promised each other it would. You didn't want to be a fag. But we slept holding each other tight all through the night, knowing that if we let go, we would drift into space. Forever.

And after that, we had our best time. How long was it? Five years of happiness? We never lived together, but we found places we could hide. We traveled often, we were in every cheap hotel in the region. We counted our coins to buy time.

But my family's curse came back. My father became sick too. My grandpa had been long gone. And when I visited my Babbo, all he had to say was that he knew about you. And that he was sad, but he would die happy if I finished what I had started. If I fulfilled their promise. “Please, son. Or else none of us, not me, not your grandpa and not you, will ever rest in peace.”

My Babbo stayed with us just enough to see me through the priesthood. It was hell. Our happiness was gone. Meeting you was like a knife through my chest. Guilty, again. I couldn't stop coming, but my hurting was hurting you and you were always easy to explode. You were angry, I was mean. How did we survive those days?

I remember our last night. It was just a few days after I did it – became a priest. You were a bit drunk. You smelt of beer and of gasoline. My dad was back in the hospital and you called telling me you needed to talk. We were to break up, you told me.

But then we were naked in your tiny secret garage bed. You were not as rough as the last times. You were gentle as if you wanted to mend something we had broken apart. You licked me down my back until you buried your face between my cheeks, your tongue licking over my hairy hole while your hand held my hard cock. I wanted you in. I needed you in me. I remember thinking I would quit it all for you. Do you believe me if I say so? Your tongue could do that to me. You licked me until I was rolling my eyes and I could not think straight. You forced your tongue against my twitching hole. It was loose. It knew your body as if it was part of me. It let your big cock slid in, forcing it through the muscles, which simply allowed your intrusion. We made love. You fucked me while kissing my neck, my shoulders. I moaned and begged for you to go harder, but you were in control. You did as you needed it to be done. You went harder when our bodies wanted and when you were looking in my eyes, you were slower, making sure I could feel every inch of that thick length spreading my insides. I came and you cleaned my belly with your fingers. You took me in your mouth. Every last drop I had wasted. All while your cock was still inside me, moving so slow that it was an agony only ecstasy could compare. I reached heaven and you pushed me further. Beyond heaven. My cock didn't even grow soft as you kept moving your hips, fucking me. Harder again, at that point because you were seeking release too. I held your chest, grabbed your muscles, and pinched the excess of them. You were always bigger than me – strong, fit, defined muscles that bulged with a little bit of extra fat but well distributed all over. You were the most gorgeous man I had ever seen. You still are.

The second time I came that night was when you were shooting your load in me. We grunted like animals in heat, your body falling over mine as we hugged só tight over my second, more liquid seed. I felt so full of you.

We slept with our bodies covered in cum. We slept hugging each other tightly. In the morning, I left you while you were still sleeping. I tried not to make a sound as I put on my pants and skipped through the door. It made the usual and loud metallic noise but you only stirred while I sped through the exit and out into the street while still putting on the rest of my clothes. My last image of you, Rocco, is of you lying down over your stomach, your right leg slightly bent. The dirty sheets covered your left leg and your black hair messy, locks falling over your closed eyes. Your shoulders moved as you took in air. Your ass was perky, round, slightly opened, offering me a view of a thin layer of black hair that flowed out of it on your lower back in the form of a small triangle.

To imagine Rocco, of all nights! My heart was so happy with Dino's light today and yet, it is Rocco and the shadows of the rooms we shared that I think as I finish this first entry. One love fades, another is born. I suppose life plays its own song.

But I have written Rocco's letter. And tomorrow morning I will send it. Give it closure.

I hope my dear Rocco is happy. I hope my dear Rocco has found the way out of the dark rooms we have put ourselves in. I do hope so because today I feel hopeful. After all, tomorrow morning I will see my Dino again.