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From: Pervitron <pervitron@my-dejanews.com>
Subject: Story: Glory Be [Mm, inc, teen, blasphemy] 2 of 2
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I came to know that I wasn't the only boy that did this.  There seemed to a
few of us that came regularly.	I was the only one from St. Decius. The other
boys were from the neighborhood, I could tell this was the only time they
came inside a church. I stood out in my school uniform; they had white tank
tops or dirty T-shirts, and torn jeans.  Most of them had manes of shoulder
length hair.  Long hair wasn't allowed at St. Decius. If there was more than
one of us we would sit separately, suspicious of each other. We'd see each
other in the back of the church, we'd glance at each other while we waited
our turn with knowing eyes, we all knew what was going down. Just taking care
of business.

One boy was different though. He was the same age as me, but his skin was
brown and his hair was jet black. He had a round face and heavy lidded eyes.
Asiatic, probably a Filipino.  For some reason I considered him dangerous.
Maybe because he seemed more ballsy than the other boys; Instead of lurking
in the back of the church, looking nervous and uncertain, he laid back in the
pew like he owned the place.  When we were both there he kept looking at me,
and after a while he would start making suggestive gestures.  He'd be sitting
in the church pew, and he'd hold his hands by his crotch, moving them like he
was whacking off, and looking right at me.  Sometimes he'd flick his tongue
like a snake, a look that send shivers through me.

I liked this boy.

One afternoon I went to church to get off, but the light wasn't on in
Father's booth.  So I waited, feeling the frustration in my balls, I had a
hard from the anticipation.  But he never showed.  After about ten minutes of
waiting, the pressure within me got too intense.  I had to get relief, so I
said, fuck it, I'll just whack myself off.  I left through the back of the
church, knowing there was a vestibule there with a bathroom off on the side.
I figured I'd stop there and jerk off.

My Asian friend arrived in the vestibule just as I was leaving.  He looked
straight at me with his leering eyes, and said "Hey, Father treat you good
today?"

I smiled. "No, shit, man. Fucker never showed"

"Some bullshit man."  He looked mad, then he started to grin, and a gleam came
into his eyes.  "I need to get myself done."  He was holding his hand by his
crotch.

We were thinking the same thing.  "I was going in here."  I smiled back, and
went into the bathroom.  He followed me in, as I knew he wood.	We both
glanced at the bottom of the two stalls at the same time.  We were alone.  I
went into a stall.  He was right behind me.

He unhooked his jeans and pulled them down while I latched the door.  I could
see the shape of him through a pair of thin, ragged underwear.	I felt a wave
of adrenaline moving through my body; There was something in me that loved
the illicitness of what we were doing, the danger of it.  When he pulled his
underwear down, I saw an uncut cock for the first time.  I was fascinated by
the look, I loved the fatness of the head, the luxury of an extra fold of
warm flesh.  I unbuckled my belt, and pulled my school pants down. When I
pulled my cock free, he said: "Man, you're really built."  Oh, it thrilled me
to hear that, I was so proud of myself, my big cock.

We hugged each other, and we reached for each others cocks. We held our
embrace, and started jerking each other off.  I could hear his short breaths
by my ear as he became more excited.  At one point, a jolt of fear ran though
my body when I heard the bathroom door open:  a man was coming in!  We stood
absolutely still, almost breathless, locked in the frozen embrace while we
listened to him urinate, and wash up afterwards.  He seemed to take forever,
he just stood there as silent as we were, maybe looking at himself. What was
he doing? We waited. Maybe he just dematerialized! Our world was balanced on
a ridge between fear and passion. But as still as we were, as careful as we
were to remain hidden there, we started rubbing each other again.  I made
small, furtive little movements of my fingers on my friend’s cock. 
Sensations I knew would keep him hard as a rock. I could feel him respond;
His fingers moved on me as well, an answering caress, so thrilling, there in
the stillness.	Finally the man left, we heard him step out the door, and
before the door was fully closed behind him, we were going at it again, in
earnest.  He started groaning, spitting out some words through clenched
teeth, dirty words in some language I'll never know.  I felt his hot juice
spill out onto my thighs, and run down my legs. A moment later, I felt my
own, glorious release.

I never saw him again. I remember everything about this boy.  I can close my
eyes and feel the shape of his young torso, the perfect warmth of his body,
and the feel of his shoulder on my cheek.  I can see in my minds eye the
blackness of his eyes, and if I'm quiet, relaxed, I can imagine the way he
used to look at me, that leer in his face, the smirk and the flick of his
tongue, and I can feel once again that delicious shiver.

I never learned his name.

	===============================================

About a year later, during my last month of eighth grade, I told my brother
about Father James.  I hadn't planned on it, I had set my mind not to; My
brother and I had become more comfortable in our relationship, we had sex a
lot, it was almost routine. But strangely, my brother was becoming even more
secretive.  So I avoided any talk of Father James, since he knew about us.

My brother and I were just goofing off one late spring afternoon. It was one
of these days in late May, that first really warm day of the year when you
remember again how good the sun feels on your body.  We both cut school, we'd
been smoking hash all day.  We were trying to make each other come for, oh,
maybe the fourth time.	"Stairway to Heaven" was on, its sheer, glorious
wattage was sending rivers of erotic tingles all over our naked bodies.  My
brother loved that song, he loved to shoot off just after the initial, early
crest of the music, when it begins the long, descending, roll, the perfect
music for that onrushing, irreversible wave of pleasure.  I had his cock in
my mouth, I knew he was ready to unload, and something made me do it.  I went
under his balls and I licked with my tongue till I found his spot. Father's
spot. When I found it, his ass started jumping wildly off the bed, I had to
hold his body steady to keep my tongue where it belonged, until he was
finished, fully spent.

Afterwards we lay back in the bed, next to each other.	I was laying with my
head by his feet, wiping the jism off his thighs.  This was something we
always did for each other in the quiet when we were done.  He was drained,
but I was hard as a rock. I was still feeling the thrill, the rush of making
him cum so hard. By that point, we'd been doing it with each other for almost
two years. I was quite the boy whore. He just looked at me strangely for a
few moments, before asking what was on his mind: "Who else has been blowing
you?"  He knew from the on the ride I took him on that someone else was doing
me.  I was touched, because he looked concerned, even a little jealous.  So I
told him. It took me about an hour to convince him that I wasn't lying, and
then all of the next day, and the day after to convince him where we did it.

Of course he had to get some himself.  My brother always took what he wanted.
So later that week I took him to church after school.  It was later than my
usual time with Father, I knew he'd be in the sacristy, finishing up after
Benediction. I knocked on the sacristy door. Father was shocked to see me,
and scared to see me with someone else.  I could see his eyes light up behind
his coke bottles, the bright light of fear.  My brother was quick and strong
for a seventeen-year-old, he had the hard look, the wild hair and flaring
eyes of a Hun.	It was just a look, Billy didn't show his kind side to other
people the way he did with me.	So Father was scared, figuring Billy for an
older friend or a relative, afraid of either getting a beaten, or, perhaps
worse, being exposed. He just stood there with his mouth open.

My brother just walked in, without asking, and I followed. It was a dark room,
lit by two small stained glass windows and some dim overhead lights.  Three of
the walls were covered with mahogany cabinets, and one of them had a series of
glass doors.  The other wall had a pair of sinks;  I knew from school that one
of them was only used for washing chalices. "Hey, Father, Jimmy here tells me
that confession is, well,  ... good for the soul?"  He had an evil grin on his
face.  He was holding his hand in front of his crotch, like he was holding his
dick.  Father could see right away that his secret was out.

He looked over at me:  "This is your brother...?"

I nodded, then smiled. "Remember I told you about Billy.  The things we
liked?" Father glanced at him.	"He wanted to meet you."  I had the most
extraordinary feeling; this was the first time in my life that I had the
upper hand over an adult.

Billy was enjoying this. He put his arm around my neck, and drew me close.
"I gotta thank you Father, Jimmy gives the BEST blow jobs since he's met
you."  He smiled as he said this, but Father was still wary, figuring that
Billy was just toying with him, playing with him before he kicked his ass.
Billy drew me even closer.  "Oh, yeah, Padre, Jimmy’s a real ... peach."  And
with that, he gave me a kiss, just an innocent peck on the cheek, but it sent
chills down my spine. Even an innocent kiss between boys was wrong, ...
sinful, especially here.

Billy wasn't even looking at Father anymore.  He was looking at me.  He
turned me towards him, and put his hands on my waist, and then gave me a kiss
on the lips.  "Jimmy told me how much you liked to HEAR about us."  Another
kiss, I leaned into him like a lover, and he pushed his hands down the pack
of my pants. He started pawing my ass.	One more kiss, slightly longer, then
he turned back at Father.  I did too.  "Wanna ...  watch?"

Father looked at us the way a shipwreck would look at a roasting pig. I could
see the realization on his face.  He wasn't going to get turned in,  he
wouldn't be called down to the Bishop's office.  No, life was going to go on
just like before, but ... even better. Two boys were going to ...  DO IT!!
Right here! And he could watch!  He looked around the sacristy, his eyes
scanning the chalices, the crucifixes, and the candelabras.  There was a
moments hesitation, a drawing back, like he was taking a last look before
heading over a precipice.  But at the end of that moment we were still there,
and still willing, and when would he ever get this chance again?. He walked
over to the open door that led out to the altar, and he gave a quick outside.
 Seeing no one there, he closed it behind him.

For a moment the three of us stood there.  Just how do you do something like
this?  My brother still had his hand down the back of my pants, one hand on
each cheek. He knew I loved that, and that all he had to do was rub the crest
of my ass with a light touch, ever so slightly, and it was instant hardon.
He spread his hands, starting to push my pants down.  My cock sprang out into
the air.  I never had to do anything to start Billy.  Anytime we started
doing it he was already up.  I didn't wait for him, I took off the rest of my
clothes, and he did too.

Some of my older friends had girlfriends.  I'd seen them together, holding
each other close,  caressing each other with their hands. They didn't mind
that we were watching.	No, they even seemed to like it.  I was jealous. 
Even though I'd had far more "action" than any of these boys, I had to hide
mine, no one could see me enjoying myself the way my friends did with their
girls.	There was a shame in forbidden love, and the desire was born in me to
do it, and be watched.	Just like "normal" lovers.

And so here we were.  I looked at Father, and I got down on my knees and took
my brother into my mouth.  I gave him lots of wet action, rolling my tongue
around the head of his cock, as much for Father's benefit as my brother's.
My brother responded with inner shudders that I could feel, I could tell from
the rhythm of his breathing that he liked what I did.  And Father.  Father
looked right and left, as if there were ghosts that might be around, even
here in this sacred place.  He started unzipping himself, looking like he was
in a trance.

The room was carpeted.	My brother told me to lay down, he came around by my
head, then he lay down on top of me.  I grabbed his waist, and bulled my
mouth up onto his prick, while I felt his tongue licking my balls.  I could
feel the ridges of excitement build on my scrotum.  I couldn't see Father,
but I could hear him, the fevered breathing of his arousal, the steadily
increasing rhythm of his masturbation.

Billy and I settled in for the long haul.  There were some days when we did
this for what seemed like hours, we had done this so often in the past year
that we knew all the signals that told how close we were.  We could draw it
out, extend the pleasure that we gave each other.  We were so good at this
that on more than one occasion Billy would come home from a date with his
girlfriend and he'd want me.  Even though he got a blowjob that night, he'd
say it just wasn't the same, its so much better when the other person enjoys
it.  So here, on the floor of the sacristy, we were in no hurry, no hurry at
all.  I settled my head back, and pulled his loins lower, so I could rest my
head back on the rug.

After a few minutes, I started to hear things, or rather feel them since my
head was resting on the carpet.  Footsteps.  They were coming from the altar,
I pulled my mouth of Bill's cock, so I could move my head to see Father.  He
hadn't noticed, he was too lost in the scene before him.  Billy stopped, not
because he heard anything, but because I had.  "What's the matter?"

I was about to tell him when we all heard the door open.  It was behind me, I
swiveled my head around and saw Sister Agnes in the open doorway, holding a
communion paten. She was standing stock still, in total shock.	I could see
just her eyes move, she saw two boys engaged in the rankest act of debauchery
imaginable.  The paten fell to the floor. She opened her mouth, but no sound
came out.  I could see the redness sweep over her face like a storm, she was
trying to gather enough breath to scream.

Then she saw Father, Father with his swollen, dripping cock in his hands. And
in an instant her world turned inside out. This wasn't two boys acting like
devils, it was Father himself, a man she though was a beacon of Gods light,
acting like Satan himself. I could see the awareness of what was happening
rise up in her, and I knew she would explode; she'd cry out and scream what
was happening!

Father stopped her dead in her tracks:	"Maybe next time you'll knock, you
old cunt!"  Billy and I were as shocked as she was, we looked at him like he
was possessed. His eyes were like torches, he spat the words out like a rabid
dog. "You ... didn't ... see ... this!"  She looked at him, still as a
trapped mouse. He started towards her, the shock of seeing a man approach her
must have chilled her like ice water.

She closed her eyes, and held them tight for a moment, the bulging knot in
her forehead showing the effort of blocking all this out.  When she opened
her eyes again, she had a calmness about her, an unreal serenity.  "No,
Father, you were never here." Something had snapped inside her, a part of her
had left the real, never to return.  And slowly she bent down and picked up
the communion paten; she resumed her duties like she was sleepwalking.	She
walked over to one of the mahogany counters, and took a linen cloth, and used
it to wipe the surface of the paten above a large gold chalice. She did this
in slow, circular motions, knowing that even the smallest molecule was
infinitely precious. When she was finished, she carefully refolded the linen
cloth, and placed the paten inside the wooden cabinet.	She turned and walked
out, never once looking at Father, or at us

While she was doing this, Billy and I had started in again. The shock of
Sister Agnes’ appearance, followed by the reassertion of our right to ball
each other - by Father! - had brought our lust to a new level.	She was
there, in the room, while we were licking each other, and when Father dumped
his load on the sacristy floor.

                   ==================================================

After I graduated from the eight grade, we moved away and I never saw Father
again.	Still, I see him in my dreams, sometimes I awaken at night and I'm
back in that confessional, not getting head, but just talking to him. I tell
him about all the secret thrills I've had, things that no one else would ever
understand. He knows.  In years to come, other people would teach me about
the mechanics of sex.  Others taught me where girls like to be touched, and
what to whisper in their ears to get one to take it up her ass.  What I
learned that first Friday of December was that we live our lives in two
worlds.  There's the daylight world of decency, of marriage and families, of
the long, hard work of living a good life in the world.  And then there's
that other world, the world we boys fist glimpse the night of our first wet
dream, the underworld of thrills and desires that beckons to us.  We were
made to live in that world too, we were born to ride the passions in our
bodies.

Some men shut down, they hide the animal part of them - they try to satisfy
their lusts in conventional, sanctioned ways. But our bodies were not made
like that.  Father taught me that real men embrace the underside of life,
they pay homage to the daylight God, but have no qualms about getting a piece
of stray ass when it becomes available.  He was a good priest, a kind, loving
heart to all that knew him.  But he kept his inner fire alive, the joyous
feeling of getting rocks off and his knowledge that more often than not its
another man that knows how to do it right.  So I have the daylight world, I
have a family I love and a life I can be proud of. Yes, I do go to church.
But every once in a while that old feeling comes over me.  I'm a little late
getting home that night.  I get "caught in traffic."  I need to play.

The places I go to are packed with men, men just like me, all looking for a
quick release of animal energy.  These are amusement parks for the little boy
in us.	I do different things, depending on my mood. Some nights I'll rent a
"One-on-one" booth for a few minutes.  Its really more like a private room,
with a door you can lock on one end and floor to ceiling window on one end.
I stand there and its like a ten-minute vacation, the world outside, and any
cares or worries fall away.  Its just me and my girl, the girl I paid to
watch. I have my dick out before she even appears.  She looks at me and
smiles, and then starts shakes her ass in a way that she knows will get me
going.	When I'm ready I get closer to the glass, she bends down and gets her
mouth by my cock, teasing me while I rub myself. She brings me off by the
expression on her face.  I blow streams of hot cum onto the glass by her
face.  She looks so happy, so triumphant in her desirability. She can make a
man cum by just looking.

Once, long ago, I did this in private, paging through a secret magazine for a
photo that got inside me, and I felt ashamed enough of my desire to feel the
need to confess it.  I wasn’t alone in that feeling, because every church had
an active schedule of confessions; sometimes you'd go and there would be a
line, a line of boys and men, confessing to sinful wishes. The confession
booths are gone now; shame has been vanquished.  In its place is an industry
of self-gratification, every industrial park and marginal city neighborhood
has one of these places, a temple of desire.  Come.  Make yourself
comfortable.  Jerk off all you like, jerking off is fun, it's what we all
like to do.  And if you want an extra thrill, we have booths with windows, so
you can watch your neighbor, your "buddy", doing the same thing, worshiping
the same God.

These are the churches of my world today.  There, and there alone, I can let
my undersoul surface, and drink its fill of faceless pleasures.


#######################################################
  I'd love to here from you, no matter what you thought
 of my story. Comments and story ideas are welcome at:
 Pervitron@Hotmail.com
 #######################################################




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