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From: "Joris Huysmans" <jkhuysmans@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Confessional with Father Ryan (MM)
Date: Mon, 21 May 2001 11:10:03 -0400
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"You wanted to see me, Wilson?" Father Ryan said.

"Yes, I want to talk to--somebody," I said in my best troubled teen manner.

He motioned to the chair and I shut the door to his tiny office behind me.  
Father Ryan was one of the few young priests at St. Brendan's, tall and trim 
and reasonably good-looking, but not incredibly bright, it seemed to me.  At 
least not as bright as the Jesuit teachers at the school, who were as 
hardnosed and cynical as cops.  There was something trustingly placid and 
plain about Father Ryan, which would make our discussion easier.

I pulled up a chair and bit my lip.  "I've been thinking a lot about... 
stuff," I said, with typical teenage inarticulateness.  I could see him 
settling in for the long haul of dragging it out of me.

"What kind of stuff?" he asked.

"Um, you know..." I said, as he waited patiently.  "Sin and stuff.  Like... um... 
what makes us want to do certain things."

I could see the wheels turning in his head.  He had it figured out--I was 
beating off 40 times a day thinking about the time I touched one pubic hair 
on Mary Ellen O'Cocktease, and felt guilty about the fact that my sheets 
were as crusty as a meringue.  And he expected about ten more minutes of me 
stammering and halting to get there, to the moment of truth.  "Are you 
talking about certain... urges?" he asked.

I gazed up at him in amazement as if he were Sherlock Holmes, deducing my 
occupation from the mud on my boots.  "Yeah," I said, admiringly.  "Like... 
there are things I think about... and I know they're wrong... but I don't care... 
I really want to do them, you know?  At least try them."  I stared right at 
him.  "Have you ever felt like that about an urge, Father?"

Startled, he looked away.  "Uh, well, you know, we all feel that way at some 
time, uh, especially at your age when the urges are very strong and you 
haven't had much practice resisting them," he said.

Yeah, that was pretty dumbass planning on God's part, I thought.  "Really?" 
I said, as if I were about to cry at his insight.  "I'm not the only one who 
has them?"

"No, of course not," he said.  "I'm sure every young man in this school is 
tempted by the thought of having, uh, relations with some young lady."  He 
was going to continue but I suddenly looked dejected, and he stopped.  "Is 
something else--"

"Father, that's not what's bothering me," I said.  "I'm not talking about 
those kinds of urges."

He seemed surprised.  "What were you talking about, then?"

I hesitated.  "You have to promise that you'll never tell anybody," I said.  
"Like in the confessional.  In fact, maybe we better make this official."

He seemed taken aback, but when he saw I wouldn't go any further, he said 
the words that initiated the sacrament of confession, and bound him never to 
reveal what I told him.

"It's been six weeks since my last confession," I said in anguish.  "But I 
don't know how many times I've had these urges, and I've never confessed any 
of this before, so I suppose my confessions haven't been any good for a long 
time--"

"It's all right," he said.  "This one will make them all good.  Just tell 
me, like you were going to before, in plain English and don't worry about 
the number of times."

"Okay," I said.  "Well, so I have these urges, and I think about this stuff 
a lot, and--"

"What stuff?"

"Um, I think about, uh, cocks," I said.  "I mean, I think about a big hard 
beautiful cock with a fat purple head, sticking up at me, and I think about 
licking it up and down, and feeling it fill my mouth, and what it would be 
like sliding up and down until finally it shot, you know, sperm in my 
mouth--"

He stiffened, I mean his whole body did, and he turned kind of redfaced, but 
he also had this look that was almost stricken.  And that was when I knew 
what I had suspected had to be true.  A good-looking guy like Father Ryan 
didn't become a priest unless he came from a good Catholic family that knew 
they'd never marry him off.  The priesthood, it was where all the queer sons 
of those kinds of families went, straight into the kind of all-male 
environment where they could discover what they were, and get comfortable 
with it--and with the fact that they were going to be part of an organization 
dedicated to oppressing who they were.  Oppressing gays, even as it was 
about the biggest group of gays on earth.

He knew the anguish I was pretending to have as I described my dreams to 
him: "--And I think about what it would be like to lie in bed with another 
guy, and kiss him and feel his ass and play with his asshole, and have him 
play with mine until he was ready to jam his dick into my ass and fill me 
up, slowly, with his meaty rod--"

"Okay, I, ahem, get the picture," he said, trying to cut me off from going 
any further.  I looked at his black trousers and could see that, yes, he did 
get the picture.

"But that's not the worst thing, Father," I blurted out, ignoring his 
attempt to end the descriptions.  "The thing that really upsets me is... who I 
imagine doing these things with me.  Ever since I got this person into my 
head, I can't get him out--I just want to see his cock and feel it pounding 
my asshole and--"

"Wilson!" he said, cutting me off.  "Who... exactly..." he asked, but he had to 
know what my answer would be.

"It's you, Father."

His head dropped into his hands and I moved closer to him.  "I know it's 
wrong, Father, a holy man of the cloth like yourself, you'd never have these 
kinds of thoughts, even when you were my age and trying to decide about your 
sexuality and all.  But I just think of the beautiful cock you must have and 
I want to suck it all into my mouth--" I had my hand on his leg, now, moving 
closer to the holy relic itself--"and so I just think, maybe, if I was to do 
it just once, I'd get it out of my system and then I could confess the sin I 
just committed to you and I'd never be tormented again."  I was rubbing his 
hard cock inside his pants.  "Once, just let me suck it once, suck the whole 
big long throbbing cock in, and then I'll confess it and I'll never need to 
do it again," I said, as I found the zipper and pulled it down to see a 
white cotton knob pop up.

I spread his legs and knelt between them as he reached over and pressed the 
button to lock his door. I reached into his black pants and found the warm 
snake inside his shorts and pulled it out.  He did have a handsome cock, 
circumcised of course, and as I licked the purple head he leaned back with 
his eyes closed.  I ran my tongue along the whole length of it, 
deep-throating him and burying my nose in his hair, and it wasn't long 
before he grabbed my shoulders, like Oral Roberts faith-healing somebody, 
and I felt his cock jerk and spurt in my mouth as I swallowed his priestly 
seed (hey, didn't want to spill it like Onan, that would have been a sin).

I let his cock flop out of my mouth and stood up to kiss him.  As I did he 
grabbed hold of me and I felt his tongue go deep into my mouth.  I pulled 
his shirt up (not sure how you undo those collars and played with his tits 
as he rubbed my bulging crotch.  He unbuckled my pants and pulled my shorts 
down, then stared at my teenage cock, as straight as a bishop's sceptre.  He 
seemed to think about it for a second, then took it in his mouth and sucked 
me furiously with his eyes shut, so vigorously it nearly hurt (or maybe I 
wasn't used to a tongue that was ten or fifteen years older than my own or 
my fellow students').  He played with my ass at the same time and I spread 
my cheeks to encourage him.  It wasn't long before I felt his finger slip up 
my lubricated ass (I come prepared to confession, believe you me).  I 
started pulling on his cock again and it didn't take long to feel it 
hardening in my hand.  I was ready to shoot so I started frigging his mouth 
really hard and in no time I was spraying his mouth with my juice.  He 
swallowed like an old pro.  Well, they call it seminary for a reason.

His cock was hard again and so I pushed him back in his chair and sat on 
him, positioning his cock at my asshole.  I relaxed and let it slide in as I 
sat all the way down in his lap and he rubbed my thighs and nuzzled my neck. 
  I slid up on his pole, nearly letting it pop out, and then forced my 
asshole down on him again, feeling his cock plumb my insides and fill me 
better than anybody had before.  I rode him up and down for a couple of 
minutes and then I felt him lean against me, shuddering, and his cock 
exploded in my ass, spurts of sticky juice spattering my insides.

I slid off of him and pulled my pants up.  "Uh, I guess I have to confess 
all of that, too,' I said.

"Just, uh, try to resolve not to do such things in the future," he said, 
nervously tucking his shirt in and trying not to look J.C. on his stick in 
the eyes.

"Actually, Father, there's something else I was meaning to ask you about."

He looked at me with a mixture of anticipation and nervousness.  "What's 
that, uh, Wilson?" he stammered.

"At the rectory house, I know sometimes you guys have students over for 
overnight visits," I said.  "I think I'd like one of those, tomorrow night.  
And if you have anybody else in mind that you'd like to invite over, you 
know, any special friends from seminary or anything, feel free.  Just leave 
some time penciled in for confession the next morning, okay?"




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