Authors: Chuck Stepanek
But with Timmy
,
Father Gus found no such level of impatience. In fact, it was quite the opposite. The boy intrigued him some way; made him feel something. He couldn’t quite identify it. That changed one noteworthy Sunday when the boy impulsively rushed over to the man in black and embraced him with passion. The sudden embrace startled the priest psychologically – just a little. His physical reaction, a massive boner – startled him a lot. Timmy’s arms were locked around the tall mans waist, his face buried just above the beltline. It was not the type of hug one shares when looking to be consoled. The boy did not cry; his hands did not shake, his body did not quiver. If there was any quivering that took place that day it was within the confines of Gus’ scrotum.
“There – there.” Gus offered lamely as he patted the boys head. But Timmy would have none of it. “I’m not sad.” He turned up his blemished face without so much as a speck of reservation. “I’m happy because I love you and I know that you love me.” He re-buried his head into the pastors generous mid section.
The words and the gestures taunted Gus for the next week. What he had felt was so familiar, yet also so forbidden. He longed for Sunday to come quickly, to be with the boy, perhaps even to embrace again. Then dark thoughts would enter his mind. He drove these off by willing the Sabbath not to come. He imagined feigning illness and having one of the pastors from neighboring Holy Shep
her
d filling in for him.
But he knew it was inevitable. Sunday would arrive. Whether this Sunday, the next one or the next. And so on the seventh day Timmy stayed late. And without even asking; followed him to the rectory.
The door was barely closed and Timmy was draped around the priest with arms that couldn’t reach all the way around the back. Partly due to his youthful size, part due to Gus’ many wedding
banquets and potlucks sponsored by the women’s guild. But the embrace was firm and meaningful. Gus’ reaction was just as meaningful. This time he hugged the boy back, slowly rocking his body, brushing his crotch against the boy’s chest. Gus knew that Timmy was fulfilling the unmet need of his infancy and childhood…to be held, to be caressed, to be told that he was loved. And Gus? Well Gus was fulfilling nothing…all he was doing was acting out the atrocities that had been inflicted upon him as a young boy. How could that be fulfilling? Damn it all! It was all so confusing but still so provocative.
They held the embrace for a good two minutes, neither wanting to be the first to release. Gus was off in his own world of events 30 years ago. From afar he heard a voice say ‘I love you.’ But that was all wrong. Those words had never come from the primates that ravaged his body. It was the boy. Timmy. “I love you too Timmy.” His large hands began a methodical stroking of Timmy’s back and when they lowered to his buttocks, the boy did not protest.
Three weeks later Father Gus had sex with his first altar boy.
4
And now there was this child, this Corky, who had yet to lose his baby fat. A child that radiated innocence. There would be no need for weeks of trust-building and molding as had been necessary with the older altar boys. This child was a gift. This child would not tell. This child was ready.
“So you want to be a priest.” No answer was offered and likewise none had been anticipated. After all it was more of a statement than a question. Statements created authority. Authority identified who was master and who was subordinate. And master and subordinate, two complete opposites, once united could result in ecstasy.
With his face uplifted, eyes glassy in wonder and lips fully open to accommodate the mouth-breathing brought on by the experience, the boy stood stock still in the middle of the room. Father Milliken smiled broadly, partly for the benefit of the child, mostly for the anticipation of the tryst. “Let me show you some things.” He moved a few steps toward the telescope that was aimed out the corner window. The boy had turned to follow the progress of the priest, but his feet did not follow. Noting this, the priest dropped his voice an octave, pointed to a spot on the floor and declared: “Come here.” The boy complied.
“This is my telescope. Many times in church we talk about the heavens and God above, but this lets us
see
the heavens and the stars.” The telescope had always been a good ploy with the altar boys. They were savvy enough to know that they wouldn’t get an eyeful of the Virgin Mary taking a sponge bath, but they humor
ed F
ather Gus’ just the same with a celestial chortle before taking in images of Venus, Mars and the face of the moon. “We look through this eyepiece.” He lowered his head to the viewfinder. “And then we can see the heavens.” He squinted one eye and knotted up his face in serious concentration. Then came a change. A big look of surprise unveiled on the padre’s face as if he had just witnessed something magical. Breathy ooohhs, aaahhs, yes-yes’s, and oh myyyy’s escaped his mouth. Any reservation Corky had had previously about the telescope vanished. He was on the outside wanting to be in. Far too timid to ask for a turn at the lens, he waited and observed in patience and anticipation. Yes, he wanted to see. He wanted to see too.
The priest did not need to look at the youngster beside and below him to know that his semi-charade was doing just what it was designed to do. The mute and timid child would now be aching for his turn at the peep show. But there was another matter that needed to be attended to. The matter of ‘condition.’ He would need to instill upon the child that he too could look upon the heavens
only
if he agreed to certain conditions. Glowing, he turned away from the scope and gazed above and beyond Corky. As if there were no young boy in the room he spoke aloud to himself the wonders he had just experienced: “The brilliant
lights of the pearly gates, the stars aglow around the baby Jesus, the angels floating on clouds.” He paused for the effect to sink in and then spasmed slightly as if in sudden realization that there was a guest in his room.
Corky was captivated. He moved from one foot to the other as if he had the sudden need to pee. And when the father looked down upon him and re-acknowledged his presence a brief squirt of urine actually did escape his urethra. It went unnoticed. There were more pressing matters. The magical telescope and the view of the heavens.
Father Gus was encouraged by what he saw, this was by far the easiest conquest he had ever known. So easy that even the uncomfortable feeling of trepidation was absent from his mind. Looking down at the child he chose his words carefully and delivered them as solemn and gravely serious as if he were presiding over a funeral. “The heavens are there to be seen. But they can only be seen by a special few.” The expression of consternation on the boys face was precisely what he had aimed for. “Seeing the heavens is a secret that I don’t share unless I know that that person can keep the secret too. Can you keep a secret Corky?” Corky shared that yes he could keep a secret. Father Gus still appeared unconvinced and pressed the boy further. “Do you know what a secret is?” He raised his eyebrow dubiously. Corky did indeed know what a secret was. “You don’t tell.” He said with all of the confidence he could muster. Father Gus still seemed unconvinced. He raised his hand to stroke his chin, looking first at the telescope, then back at the boy and again to the telescope.
In a show of bravado Corky reiterated his statement: “You don’t tell.” And amended it with the powerful word: “Nobody.” The father was duly impressed. “Nobody” he repeated. That would mean your mom, your dad, your brothers or sisters.” He didn’t recall if the boy had siblings but threw them in there just to be on the safe side. “You won’t tell.” It was not a question but a statement. “No.” Corky flatly declared. He couldn’t help his eyes from being drawn to the magical telescope.
Planting the seed of ‘conditions’ was just as important before the act as was the reinforcement of the ‘conditions’ afterwards. In the case of this boy however, the fact that he was so young and naïve meant that he would not have the savvy to recognize that anything wrong had occurred, let alone the ability or chutzpah to verbalize it effectively. Father Gus was moving rapidly, very rapidly with this little prospect. No series of ‘getting to know you’ sessions strung out over weeks. No modeling of behavior with words of endearment in the sacristy eventually leading to hugs and gropes in the bedroom. And he was being turned on in a huge way. “Well…” He ruminated. “If you promise not to tell. God would be very, very unhappy with you if you told.”
Whoa. That salted it for Corky. He wasn’t just making a promise with the priest, he was making a promise with God. A God that threw people into a fiery pit called hell and made you sit on hot coals while devils took red hot pitchforks and stuck them in your stomach. He didn’t want any of that. He wanted the angels and the clouds and the gates of heaven. So he promised. It would be a secret. He would tell no one.
Gus seemed satisfied. But Corky still had to wait. First the father retrieved a three legged stool and positioned it before the telescope. This encouraged Corky because he knew that it was intended for him. Soon he would be sitting or kneeling upon the stool and looking into the viewfinder. But then the father busied himself gathering other objects. From a nightstand he retrieved a tube of some sort of hand cream, a somewhat dingy shoestring and a funny little rubber ring that looked like one of the gaskets mommy used when canning tomatoes but would be a better fit for a baby food jar as opposed to a wide-mouth mason. He set these objects on top of the nightstand and then turned to Corky.
“Okay, it’s time. Now you remember what we said.” Corky did not grasp the question. During the father
’
s preparations he had been in his own world imagining what he was about to see. Then clarity returned and with it the words: “Yes, a secret.” Satisfied, the priest motioned him to the stool. Corky came eagerly.
“Climb up here.” Corky climbed the stool like a squirrel being chased by a
Rottweiler
and reached for the viewfinder. “Oh no, not so fast, don’t touch, don’t touch!” The priest admonished. Corky caught himself and immediately stiffened. The priest was in charge. He would only do what the priest said. “I’m going to need you on your knees.” The father
’
s breath seemed to be coming more rapidly now. There was no need to explain the request, Corky recognized that it would be necessary for him to see better. He complied and looked longingly at the business end of the telescope that was now no more than six inches from his face. The father had moved behind him now, perhaps to help him better aim the device at the heavens. But what Corky heard had little to do with astronomy. The unbuckling of a belt, the telltale zzzzz of a zipper unclenching its overbite. The breathy floomp of pants abandoning the waist and finding the floor. These sounds did not alarm Corky in the slightest, they were sounds he heard
every day
and the acts that they represented were as common as the sounds. He focused his attention on the uncommon, the telescope before him, captivated.
Gus had intended to first get the boy looking through the scope before starting his discrete preparations. But damn, if the boy weren’t just the most cooperative thing he had ever met. Besides, his boner was throbbing. So he slid
off
his pants and reached for the accoutrements. The shoestring came first. He looped it under his ball sac and then up and around the top of his shaft, pulling tight. He then draped the loose ends below his
testicles
and criss-crossed them over his scrotum before again meeting at the top of his shaft. This time he pulled -
hard
- lifting and separating each ball in its own sequestered place of pleasure. He tied off the shoestring and savored his hardness created by the constriction of blood flow. Hurrying now, he uncapped the tube of KY gel and slathered a generous handful up and down his shaft. Best not to skimp. The boy was small and would be very tight. Finally he placed the cock-ring over the head of his penis and, working back and forth, shimmied it the length of his pole where it would provide its own form of constriction; not to the blood supply but to the pe
nding explosion of white hot semen
.
It was quite a sight. Pants around the ankles. Cock and balls tied up in contortion. Glistening gel on his palm and shaft. A small boy perched on a stool and waiting patiently, oh so patiently for this new experience. To see it all before him was one thing, but in his
mind’s
eye it became so much more. He fantasized a
n orgasm
that starts in the brain and then races through a labyrinth to the base of his groin-gathering, gathering, tingling and gathering until exploding in a massive surge and then throbbing with a multitude of aftershocks. The thought sent endorphins buzzing through his body and he felt like he was on the verge of the most cataclysmic of
climaxe
s. And as much as he wanted to savor, he knew he needed to hurry.