Date: Sat, 31 Jan 1998 18:14:22 -0000
From: Ken Claybourne <kencly@globalnet.co.uk>
Subject: Converting the Preacher

	NOTICE: This story is fiction.  It contains explicit descriptions
of sexual acts between young men of legal age. If you are under the legal
age in the place where you are living, you should read no further.
	Still here? You'll go blind, you know!

			CONVERTING THE PREACHER
					A story by 'CASEY'

	I was in the middle of my Philosophy studies at University in a
large English city. I was working during the long summer vacation at a food
warehouse where my brother held a managerial post. I was glad of the work,
not only because it boosted my student finances, but also because the work,
physically hard, but with no need for any thinking, was just what I needed
to give my poor brain a rest.

	I got on well with the other workers. Some of them were students
like me; the others permanently employed. But there was a problem. He was
called William. He was on the permanent staff, working in the Office,
giving out orders for us to make up for the customers. Good at the job: no
problem there; but at break times he was a menace. Despite everyone's
efforts to shut him up, he monopolised the talk as we had our coffee.

	He espoused a fundamentalist religious sect, and spent every break
trying to win converts.  Many of the men had taken to going out to a nearby
pub for the lunch hour, just to escape him. I brought a packed lunch,
though, to save expense, and I couldn't escape him that way.

	I began to wonder what drove him. He was an attractive looking
youth of maybe eighteen -- a couple of years younger than me. Small,
compact build, dark hair and soft brown eyes: my type, in both sexes. I
should mention that at that time I was still telling myself I was
'bisexual'. In fact, I had never been with a girl, and only rarely, and
mildly, with other boys. I had my dreams, though, and in my dreams my
companions were always boys. In the dreams, or in waking fantasies, I did
the things that I had read about. Soft-lipped lads sucked my cock, and then
turned and offered their plump young behinds for my delight.

	I decided that a charitable act would be to occupy William's
attention fully, so that the others could get on with their lunches in
peace. So instead of turning away, I began to argue back. I knew my
scriptures well: part of my course was a study of ancient Jewish thought,
which of course meant close reading of the Bible. So I was equipped to deal
with his arguments. I soon began to realise that he was arguing 'as
instructed', rather from a genuine belief in what he was propounding. Like
too many fundamentalists, his mentors used scripture as it suited them,
ignoring what was inconvenient to their case. I stopped him one day when
the subject of masturbation came up. Sex seemed to come up rather often in
our discussions, and not at my instigation.

	"What does it actually say in the Bible, William?"
	"Genesis 38. Onan was struck dead for spilling his seed on the
ground."
	"No it doesn't. It says that Onan spilled his seed on the ground
rather than enter his dead brother's wife, and was struck dead. Not for
masturbating, but for failing in what was at that time considered to be his
duty. Why don't you people fulminate against men who don't fuck their
brother's widow? Look, William, if the Lord struck down every boy and man
who masturbated, few of us would be still here. Would you?"
	He blushed, and looked away.

	I found I was becoming rather fond of him. He began to turn up in
my fantasies, and I wondered if it was possible that I might be able to get
to know him better. And he did seem very keen on my company, seemingly
forgetting his ambition to bring others into the fold. I decided to make a
delicate approach; one that he could accept or reject without giving
offence. So one Friday morning I made a suggestion.

	"William, I enjoy these discussions. But we always have to stop too
soon. I have bed-sitting room of my own. I wonder if you would like to come
across some evening and have a proper talk? It's not much, but we could be
comfortable, and talk as much as we liked."
	"I think I'd like that, Michael. Where do you live?" I told him,
and he frowned. "It's a long way from me. Right at the opposite side of the
city. Might be hard to get home."
	"If you missed the last bus I could put you up on a couch with no
trouble. When would suit you?"
	He smiled. "Why not tonight? I don't have to work tomorrow. I'll
ask my father, but I know he'll say yes. What time?"
	"Let's say about seven."

It seemed to me that he had accepted my invitation with suspicious
readiness, and I began to wonder if perhaps his thoughts were running along
the same lines as mine. Far from refusing the offer to stay the night, he
had, it seemed to me, jumped at it eagerly. Well, I would find out soon
enough.

At ten past seven he turned up at my door. He greeted me with a warm
grin. "Dad says he'd rather I stayed the night with you than risk the rowdy
types on the last bus. Is that all right, Michael?"
	"Of course it is, William. Come on in. But look, stop calling me
Michael. That's for weddings and funerals. Call me Mike."
	"OK...Mike."

	It was a hot sticky evening in July. I decided to see if a bit of
exhibitionism would help. "Do you mind if I strip down and wash,
William. I'm sweating like a pig in this heat."
	I didn't wait for an answer, but removed everything except my
pants, and washed myself at the sink. Then I filled a bowl with water, and
put it in front of the couch. I got a couple of beers from the `fridge, and
handed one to him. I sat beside him, and put my feet in the bowl.
	"This feels good. Cool beer and cool feet. Don't you feel hot in
that jacket? Take that off, at least!"
	"Yes, it is hot. In fact, I'd like a go with that bowl myself. I
had to walk around quite a bit to find you, and my feet are killing me."
	He took off his jacket, and his shoes and socks, and then, after
some hesitation, his trousers. I could see why he had hesitated: the bulge
in his pants was not a spare handkerchief! I knew now that we were of like
mind. I felt it was time to open things up.

	I put my arm casually across his shoulders. He flinched, and I
immediately withdrew. He turned and looked at me, and as I began a clumsy
apology he shut me up by taking my hand and placing it back on his
shoulder, and slipping his own arm about my waist.

	"Sorry, Mike: just an instinctive reaction. I'll explain.
	"When I was nearly sixteen I had a crush on a boy at school. I
didn't altogether understand at that time quite what it meant. One day I
was talking to him in the toilets and he put his hand round my shoulder --
like you did just now -- and told me that he liked me a lot. I was glad,
and I put my arm round him, much as I am now with you, Mike. That was when
I first felt different. But then another boy came in and saw us, and spread
it round the school that we had been hugging and kissing in the toilets
like a couple of 'puffs'. My life at school became hell. I left as soon as
I was sixteen, and got this boring job. I would have got good exam results,
I know, and maybe got to University, like you."
 
	"My experience, Will, was quite like yours, but much happier," I
replied. " I'd be about thirteen, and I was in the showers with my best
friend. We had been friends since we first went to school, and so were
totally at ease with each other. We were the only ones there, as we had
been clearing away the gym equipment, and the others had showered and gone
already. I found myself looking at him in a new way, and he noticed, and
smiled back at me.
	'Care to soap my back, Mike'?
	He turned away, and I soaped his back, and the soft feel of his
skin brought my cock up hard..  I looked over his shoulder, and he was in
the same state. He turned towards me again, and looked down at my cock, and
at his own. I reached out and touched him there, and he did the same to
me. What might have happened next I don't know: well, yes I do! But the
teacher's voice told us to get a move on. We dried and dressed, and
left. As we passed the teacher, who was waiting to lock up, smiled at us,
and said something I'll always remember.
	'Life is for enjoying, lads. Enjoy it while you can'.
	We went round to my friend's house, and his parents were out. He
invited me up to his room, and we carried on with the explorations we had
started in the shower. Our new sort of friendship continued until his
father got a new job in the south of England, and they had to move."

	William nodded ruefully. "Yes, you were lucky. And , you've done
more than me. I've never so much as touched anyone else in that way. The
trouble is, I want to, and don't want to. Can you understand that?"
	
	I realised that this was not the time to go any further.
	"Of course, Will. You have to work things out for yourself, in your
own good time. But I'm glad you feel able to share a friendly hug with me."
	The evening was getting cooler, and we dressed, and went to the
nearby Pizza Palace for a meal. Then we came back to the room, and talked
long into the night. I made him a bed on the couch, and we settled down for
the night.

	Our friendship grew. Gone was any thought of 'being charitable'. I
valued Will for himself now. Yes, I still fantasised about him;
particularly as, now that he stayed the night quite often, he had become
much less shy about his body. One morning, he even laughingly flourished
his morning erection at me as he dressed!
	"Just teasing, Mike!"

	But then it happened, and it was Will who took the lead. We had
been out to the local pub for a few drinks, and came back nicely relaxed,
and settled back on the old couch with a couple of cans we had brought back
with us. I realised that Will was looking at me thoughtfully.
	"I want to tell you something, Mike."
	I waited, wondering at the seriousness of his tone.

	"I keep having the same dream, and it's about you. I'm standing up,
usually, although sometimes I'm lying down. My hands are tied behind me,
round a small tree, or something. You are in front of me, smiling. You
slowly unbutton my shirt, and stroke me. Then you unfasten my belt, and
lower my trousers. I can't say a word, for some reason. You ease down my
pants, and start to touch me down there, and you keep on until I have an
emission. That's when I wake up -- if I was ever asleep -- with cum all
over my belly. And I'm on my back in bed, with my hands behind me."
	During this recital my cock had grown to a full hardness. Sex was
very much in the air. It was so close to the dreams I had been having, it
was uncanny -- except that in my version, his hands were as busy with me as
mine were with him.
	"What are you telling me this for, Will?"
	"What does it mean, Mike?"
	"Well, I'm not a psychologist, Will, but I would guess that it's as
you said that first night you stayed here. You want to, and you don't want
to. I think your hands being tied means that you want it to happen, but you
don't want to take responsibility for it. It's not on, Will. I have
thoughts like that about you too, you know. I would like to be doing the
things that happen in your dream, but not with you helpless to prevent me."
	"What should I do, Mike?"
	"You know quite well what you should do, my friend."
	He looked at me, and smiled. "Yes, I suppose I do!"
 
	He gently put his hand on my swollen member, and stroked it through
the thin material of my trousers. I lifted his hand away, and pulled them
down, and replaced his hand. He looked at me, smiling, and took his own
pants off. We sat there, holding each other, for quite a time.

	Then I drew him to his feet and took him over to my bed. We lay
down together, holding each other close, caressing each other, touching
each other everywhere. I felt a new contentment. Then he bent his head to
my middle. He looked up at me.

	"Mike, this is what I do in another of my dreams." He took my cock
gently in his mouth, and kissed and sucked at the end of it. Then he took
more of me in, and began to suck in earnest, while feeling around under my
balls, right down to my hole itself. I found myself responding, and pushed
towards him, parting my legs so that his hands were free to explore
wherever they would. Then I felt my juices beginning to need release, and
told him so. He withdrew his head, and watched as I shot spurt after spurt
onto his chest and belly.

	"Thank you, Mike. I've wanted to do that so much -- and I think you
enjoyed it too."
	"It was lovely, friend. And now it's your turn "

	I was determined to give my best. I had never actually done this
before, but I had read plenty, and I had just been given a good lesson, and
I wanted to do even better, if I could. I laid him on his back, and parted
his legs, and knelt between them. I took his stiff cock in my mouth, and
tongued the tip as he had done for me. Then I moved down the shaft, kissing
and nibbling at it, until I reached his compact ball bag. I took the whole
of it in my mouth, and could feel the tender globes through the skin.  I
moved on down, to his pink hole, and licked around it, and got my tongue a
little way into the rose itself. He loved it. Then I moved back up the way
I had come, until his cock was back in my mouth.  But I left a finger
behind!

	As I sucked, I pushed my forefinger slowly into his anus. I got it
well in, and then started to suck at him rhythmically, moving my finger in
and out of him in time with my sucks. He was moaning with pleasure, and I
heard him start to say something, but before I could respond I felt the
hotness of his spunk flooding my mouth.

	Funny how you think at moments like that! If he had asked me if he
could finish in my mouth, I'd probably have said no. But here it was, and I
found myself thinking that this was a pleasure I could give him, and which
was costing me nothing. So I pulled him into me, and sucked, and sucked,
until no more came. And I swallowed it, not having anywhere else to let it
go!

	"I'm sorry, Mike. I tried to tell you, but everything happened so
fast.
	"Don't apologise. I swallowed it so fast I never tasted it
properly. A bit salty was all I got of it! Anyway, it can't do me any harm
-- unless I find in a couple of months that I'm having your baby.  And then
I'll make a fortune from the newspapers! Can't be bad!"

	"Oh. Mike! I think I love you!" He paused, and looked at me
thoughtfully. "No I don't. It's better than that. I LIKE you, Mike. I like
being here with you. I like talking to you." He suddenly looked
serious. "But I love Peter."

	"Who's Peter?"

	"The boy I told you about; the boy in the toilets at school. I knew
he was for me, even in those few seconds we had together. I've often seen
him around, and I've wanted to go across and talk to him, but I never
dared. That was wonderful, Mike, and I want something else from you. But
it's pleasure, not love. Do you understand?"

	He seemed suddenly older and wiser than I was, and he was
right. What we had was good in it's own way, but it was purely sensual,
between good friends: none the worse for that, of course, but not love.

	"More, Will?
	"Oh, yes. You are going to fuck me. I'll fuck you too, if that's
what you want; but you are going to fuck me because I am going to find my
Peter again and give myself to him and it is going to be easy for him. You,
my friend, are going to open me up so that when I go to him, he will come
into me easily, without effort. OK?"
	"Well, you seem to be in charge, Will. When does the execution take
place?"
	"Not tonight, Josephine! I need a bit more loosening with that
naughty finger before I let the big middle finger in! You don't mind doing
this for me?"
	"It will be a terrible burden, Will, but I'll suffer it manfully
for a friend. A man's gotta do whom a man's gotta do! I hugged him to
me. "I believe that it's time for bed. Do you want the bed or the couch?"
	"Are you kidding, Mike? You know quite well I'll want the bed from
now on -- with you."

	So we stripped and went to bed. Yes, we made love again, much the
same as before, but more leisurely. I won't bore you with another
description. And again, next morning, when we awoke. Then we dressed and
had breakfast. He invited me home for dinner. Of course I went. His parents
were very sweet, and always made me feel very welcome. It seemed that Will
talked quite a lot about me, most of it far too complimentary.

	Our friendship continued. A few weeks week later, he raised the
subject of his 'initiation', as he called it. So I got on with it for him,
one Saturday afternoon.

	If you are expecting a description of how wonderful it was for me,
forget it. He told me that he found the pain acceptable, and loved it when
I got properly into him. Well, I didn't love it at all. It hurt my knob end
a lot pushing into him; and I couldn't put out of my mind the usual
contents of the place where my sore penis was lodged. And the same when I
let him do it to me: it hurt far too much for my liking. I don't like pain,
and it doesn't turn me on, and when he spurted his juices into me, it gave
me the shits. After it was all over, we agreed to differ on the subject.

	"You'd better get on with renewing your friendship with your Peter,
Will, if you want any more of that. I'll suck your sweet cock whenever you
want, and enjoy it, and I hope you'll do the same for me But sorry, no more
of the other!"

	"I understand, Mike. But thanks for doing it for me. Can I ask a
very special favour now?"
	"Shoot!"
	"I have already made friends with Peter again, and we want to, you
know, get together. But I can't take him home, and he can't take me home;
not yet. May I bring him here?"
	"You mean you want to use my room for disgusting sexual antics with
your lover?"
	"Yes. You can watch if you want! I've told Peter about you."
	"Of course you can use my room, Will. But I won't watch. I'll go
for a walk when he comes, and leave you to it. Of course, if Peter feels
later like paying me rent ..."
	He laughed. "Well, if he doesn't, you know I'll pay it for him!"

	That's about it, really. Will came round with Peter the following
Sunday afternoon, and yes, I went for a walk, and no, I don't know what
they got up to. Oh, and Peter did pay his rent -- very enjoyable!

They are both still together, and both dear friends of mine. How I found my
own true friend is another story, which I will tell you some day soon.

		The End.  ( ! )
		CASEY 1998