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Writers
say when you don't know which way to develop a story turn to your own experience
to reveal a hidden truth. |
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I was
raised to become a priest. It was atonement for my family's lack of faith.
They never even liked to go to church and I was the only one that had to
trek to the confessional booth every Saturday. The church was in Varysburg,
in the middle of Wyoming - Wyoming county that is. A remote farm town
in the middle of Western New York. The town used to be populated by hardworking
German Immigrants. The only qualification that Father Ott had was that he
was German and a sadist when it came to listening to my confession. Everyone
in town knew he was fucking a live in housemaid mistress. Both were in their
forties. She never came to Church and nobody that I knew ever bothered to
pay them a visit. |
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My family
did not know we were dysfunctional die-hard Catholics at heart. When I rose
to puberty, I used to have this fantasy of being roped and tied to stakes
on a jungle floor. Then I was raped by a redheaded Amazon woman. Before
I would jack-off I used to get my glowing Virgin Mary and re-charge her
with moonlight. A flashlight would work when there was no moon or I was
in a hurry. I would pray that my grandfather in the bunk below would fall
asleep. I would listen for his third snore before I took out my handkerchief
and placed it over my eyes. Religiously I washed it out the next day but
the stains would not come out and it created a translucent film that made
the glowing Mary look auburn. |
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As I
was learning to stroke myself, the bedsprings would squeak and it would
wake up my grandfather and he would yell out that I should stop "feeling
myself". That yell I knew would sound the alarm for my mother to tell
me that I was going to go to confession. My stepfather really did not want
to take me on a drive 6 miles away on Saturday and wait in the car. |
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So in I went
to the confessional booth. I did not tell the Father about the Amazon's
or the ritual with the Virgin Mary. Somehow I knew that would between God
and me. I used the sandwich confession method. I began the ritual with a
couple of venials to start things off. Then I would rush over the part of
"playing with myself" and then have a few venials left over to
finish things off. As I mentioned before, Father Ott was a sadist.
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He used to back me
up to the "playing" part and he wanted details on where, how many
times. He also pretended he was hard of hearing and made me talk louder
for the details of the "mortals". When I received the penance,
I left the booth and rushed out to say my act of contrition. In the back
of the church were all the grandmother's of the hottest girls in town. The
chorus of tongues clicking at my "mortals" did not seem fair to
share with God and gossips. |
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Father
Ott coerced me into become his main alter boy. I learned his secret love
of wine when he would lift his wrists up with the mixing of lots of wine
and a drop of water. I learned about the staining of wine two weeks before
Easter when I spilled some on his vestments. After the first mass he ordered
to take them over to his housekeeper for cleaning. She scared me when she
started to caress my left arm when I turned the garment over her to wash
and told her of my clumsy spill during mass. She spotted my hairy mole and
started to pull at the hairs. My body was frozen and got a hard-on. She
asked me to stay while she washed the garment, but something in me told
me to call my dad and pick me up early. |
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That night I whacked off even harder and my ejaculation burst higher than
usual. Somehow a younger version of the housemaid's face came into focus
and I couldn't look at Virgin Mary that night. I stopped confessing masturbation
for months. I felt that I would never be forgiven if I told about the housemaid.
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Now
during Easter services there was a tradition of using incense and a bucket
of blessed water to sprinkle the congregation. Another bad boy, who bragged
to me of screwing a virgin farm girl in a hayloft, was the second alter
boy for the high mass. He liked the incense and that left me with the bucket
and sprinkler. Somehow the devil crept into my soul that day as I saw all
the grandmothers with their innocent children on the outside aisles of the
crowded congregation. Easter mass was mandatory. Everyone would go to hell
if they didn't show up in their finery. I smuggled some wine and mixed it
with the blessed water. I got close to all those grandmother's and spottled
them good with the tainted water. I couldn't help but smile as I saw them
all kneel as I saw the wine spots all over their virgin white hats and Easter
finery. |
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There
my confession is over. I hope you enjoyed it. |
