Date: Thu, 18 May 2023 16:18:16 -0300 From: cnishim Subject: Father Bernardo My story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to person's living or dead, or to events that may have occurred, is purely coincidental. I also claim all copyrights to this story and no duplication or publication of this story is allowed, except by the web sites to which it has been posted, without the consent of the author. The following story contains explicit scenes of the male adult body, and the interaction with a boy, under the age of 18. If you are offended by this kind of material then please leave this page NOW. I do not condone any illegal activity. Sexual abuse of minors is a very serious issue and I encourage anyone tempted to engage in such behavior to seek immediate help. Please support Nifty with your donations! Thank you for taking the time to read my work. If you wish to contact me for a feedback, please feel free to email to Akira Nishimura at cnishim@uol.com.br. I look forward to hearing from you. Father Bernardo "And one more thing, remember the basic things your mother and I taught you: to fear God, go to church, and listen to what the priest says on the pulpit. You do that, and you'll always be blessed by The Virgin, boy." Grandma dismisses me with a wave of her wrinkled hand. Her flabby loose skin under her arm dangles like jelly. I don't dare comment about it with mom, for she'll reprimand me again. "Be more respectful towards the elderly, boy! And also make sure you confess it to the priest before your coming Confirmation!" I look around and see my brothers sitting quietly on grandma's stained liver-colored sofa. I join them and remain mute, only listening to grandma speak. Aunt Clara then appears from her kitchen. She's bringing a small tray of Maria Biscuits. I don't know why they've named the biscuit Maria of all names. Maybe it's because of Jesus' mother. Anyway, they're round, and come in a thin plastic bag. It's nearly impossible to find one in the bag that is not broken. They're the cheap kinds, I tell you. I hesitate and turn to mother. She nods her head and I take one, which is cracked. I take it and thank my aunt. She turns around and serves my brothers. As a rule, we are allowed to take one. After her round of biscuit distribution, we are allowed to eat. Aunt smiles mechanically, and listens to grandma's monotonous monologue. I munch the dry, thin, cracked biscuit, which looks like a communion wafer from the church. The dry crumbs stick to the roof of my mouth. I wait for my saliva to accumulate, so I can munch and swallow it. I notice mom breaking hers into smaller bits and eating it. My brothers chew them and try hard to swallow theirs in one bite; I suppose it is less painful this way. We all turn to each other, quietly. Grandma drinks some tea and nibbles her biscuit until they disappear in her protruding lips, like a fish. Aunt does not offer us tea. I guess her lesser visitors are only offered dry Maria biscuits. I turn to the clock on the wall and wish we could leave. We all feel the heat in the room and a sickening sweet smell in the air. I know part of the smell comes from grandma and her cheap cologne. Grandma complains about the cold. Aunt has just closed the only window that was open in the hot living room. The entire living room smells of wax, furniture varnish, and grandma's hydrating cream mixed with her cologne. I hate this sweet sickening smell. I hate these endless visits to grandma's house. Once grandma said her cologne smelled of roses. Real roses would never smell like that! She uses grandpa's unused wheelchair as support for her embroidery, an empty bowl of soup, or even her reading glasses. Whenever I turn to the wheelchair, I feel the constant presence of the dead. This eerie feeling sends shivers down my spine. Whenever someone mentions grandpa, she turns to his empty wheelchair and nods. I gulp and look away, scared of grandpa's ghost. As always, when grandma has company, she complains about cramps on her legs. Mother smiles and turns to me. I gulp and know what it means. I feel mortified at such moments, but have to accept my fate the best way I can. "Mom, dear, Ken here will give you a foot massage. You'd feel much better then." I hesitate. Everybody turns to me, for I am constantly massaging mom and dad at home. I kneel down before her and take her old callused foot, which is flaking. Now I feel glad we were only granted a biscuit each, for I am making the terrible association with disgust. I notice that her leg is hairy and heavy, like a log. I massage her leg the way I'd do to mom's delicate smooth leg. Grandma tells me to apply more pressure, and to be rough like a real man. I lower my head and blush. I cannot stand anybody's look of contempt for me. I use her hydrating cream. Believe me, the smell impregnates in my hand for days on end. Once, I even soaked my hand in warm milk to get rid of the smell. It didn't work, but diminished the scent somehow. Mother keeps repeating such awful visits over and over again. Needless to say, I have to massage grandma's heavy feet, hairy calves, thick swollen knees, and fleshy thighs. Naturally, I'd massage her bare leg up to her calves. Then, I'd cover her legs with her stretched and unraveling old-fashioned woolen pants. I give her such a strong massage, that in a few weeks, she gets better, and even starts walking again. Then, we resume our prayer group at her house. Every Wednesday evening, we go to her house to pray the rosary. My older brothers and cousins would get the chance to hold it and count the beads. I never get the chance to hold it, for I get too nervous and end up miscounting the beads. Instead, I lower my head. Grandmother says that we should always bow our heads when we pray. As my fifteenth birthday draws near, I realize that I'll soon have to do Confirmation. On our Sunday school class, which meets on Saturday, we get the proper training for this very important religious event. Even the bishop is going to attend this solemn ceremony. The book that we use on Sunday school has a light blue cover, which I find in poor taste. The entire book is boring, but the illustrations are ok. Green is for beginners. Red is for the First Communion. The moment I've feared the most has finally arrived. Before the Confirmation Ceremony, which is going to be on Sunday morning, we've got to do confession! Oh, God! It's already been, I guess, two years since I haven't confessed my sins! Grandma says every good Catholic has to go to the confessional before any major religious events. She lists at least five of them! I fear God will punish me for my accumulated sins. I'm sure God keeps a tally of everything evil that we do. What if I omit the part I wished grandma and my aunt dead? I mean, not dead like in dead. I mean, dead to me in my heart and mind. Should I also tell the priest I saw an adult magazine under my older brother's mattress? Perhaps I'd better not, for Father Celso knows my family and each brother! I think I shall tell him that I often get angry at my brothers, and even swear instead. I sometimes quarrel with mother for insisting I go to grandma's house and help my uncle and my cousins bathe grandpa. But that was until the middle of this year, when he was still with us. That unpleasant task I never managed to do, and vowed never to do it. My older brothers always told me grandpa's skin was peeling off and the smell was horrible. Besides, I'd hate to see an older naked man and his privates. My two older brothers would go there to bathe the invalid man. Mother suggested I massage him, but I refused. I didn't want to touch his swollen skin covered in scabs, sores, and open putrid wounds. The sight of red open wounds made me sick and I always looked away. She naturally understood my reasons and never mentioned it to me anymore. However, she says I've got to tell everything in confession to Father Celso! Even about my disgust for grandpa, when he was still alive. I hesitate, for I'm only considering my minor sins to tell him. Will God get mad at me for acting in such an evil way? Today is a Sunday morning, sunny, and cool. My Sunday school classmates and I are here for a retreat. We are waiting by the doors of the large meeting hall. This big place is also owned by the church. We chat excitedly, for it's Sunday. I tell my cousin Márcio I wish I could skip this retreat. I suppose about almost five hundred of us are here. Now they're calling us into the large building. My cousin Márcio and I enter silently. The Sunday school teachers close the doors of the large building. I look at the doors and admire the beautiful patterns of light against the imitation stained glass doors. But I soon get bored. I then turn to the large tall windows up above, near the ceiling, but cannot see anything, saved for the fir tree tops. It's sunny outside, to make this day more unbearable. How I wish I were outside, on the farm, playing with my younger cousins or just fishing in the pond! We work hard all week and only have half a day on Sunday to play with my cousins. Two other uncles live on the same large farm that we live. My oldest uncle houses grandma. When the guest speaker, Father Bernardo, arrives to give a lecture, my heart skips a beat as I see him. I look and admire this tall, strong, bald, and handsome man. He is in his late forties, I think. My schoolmates whisper jokes and cover their mouths and laugh discreetly, not paying attention to the lecture. They also do it even when attending the Mass. I turn to Father Bernardo, who is not wearing his Sunday Mass alb, chasuble, stole, and cincture. Instead, he is wearing a light gray shirt and jeans. Just then I realize I'm also wearing a gray shirt, just like him. Finally, close to six P.M., after a long Mass, we are at last dismissed. As the wave of people sweeps outside this stuffy building, I turn around once more to see Father Bernardo far away on the stage. He is talking with some sisters and our older priest, Father Celso, who is soon retiring. I feel like blowing a kiss to him, just like in the soap operas, where the girls and women blow kisses to their spouses or lovers. But I know that it would be improper. Instead, I offer a small prayer for this holy man. "I can't believe it's finally over. I'm so happy to leave this place." My cousin kicks some grass. We've still have lots to go before we reach the farm. "Look, the sun is already setting! I wish I were home playing, taking a walk around the farm, or even fishing." We all lament our lost Sunday wasted at the retreat. No sooner have I arrived home, I get changed and rush towards the fields, where the cows are grazing. I sit at the top of the hill and see the far distant places, the forests, the valley, and the horizon stretching out endlessly. At the far distance, on the other side of the valley, I can see a speeding car. I can even hear its loud engine. It's a light blue Beetle Bug. I smile as I realize it could be just Father Bernardo driving into the country. I'm sure it must be somebody else. I wave at the car in the distance. How I wished to be in that car. It would be magical being bathed by the last rays of the sun. I'd also enjoy the hills and the fantastic view it affords! How I wished to be an all-seeing bird so that I could fly, high above the tree-tops, and greedily take in the whole world in a lonely flight! Mother calls me for dinner. Before heading back, I look down the hill, at the two silent ponds, the grassy field, and wish I had more time to play. But I had to attend the retreat, otherwise, I wouldn't be confirmed with my friends. On the next Sunday morning, my brothers and I visit grandma. She has invited us to attend the simple ceremony of grandpa taking his communion wafer at home. She has also invited Father Bernardo to do this service. They say that now Bather Bernardo is going to assist Father Celso, who is quite old. The dear older priest wishes to spend his last days in Africa. I suppose it is an old dream of his. My heart races as I see the light blue Beetle Bug approaching grandma's house. Oh, dear God! It was him in that car! Father Bernardo comes alone. He is wearing jeans and a light blue shirt. I notice his medium belly pressed against his shirt. It's funny that a priest should be wearing jeans of all things. He sits on the sofa and drinks tea and eats some biscuits. To my surprise, he invites me to sit beside him. I was standing in a corner near mother, for my other cousins had come too. I sit and feel everybody's glances at me and my cheeks burn as always. Then I feel his manly fragrance and the heat from his body. My older cousins also put perfume on. I don't like to put any fragrances on. They're too sweet and nauseating. But I notice that Father Bernardo's perfume is different. It smells of fir and a slight citric scent. I just know it smells holy, like the incense in our church on special occasions. Anyway, I'm only used to feeling the perfume from the Gessy soap bar. It's more affordable and the bar lasts longer. But the fragrance never lasts long. I turn discreetly to Father Bernardo, as he eloquently speaks. I notice the hair on his large hands and neck, for his shirt is one button open. I know that someday I might have hair around my body too. But maybe I won't, for I am Japanese, and Japanese men usually have smooth bodies. Suddenly, I feel his big arm around me. I've noticed that he does it to whoever sits beside him, usually kids, or young man like me. He gently strokes my smooth black hair and says he'll be proud to see me and my cousin confirmed on the coming Sunday. I turn to this kind priest and smile nervously. He smiles to me, showing his large white teeth. I admire his green eyes and kind face. By the little I know of him, he is from the south of Brazil. This explains his dry accent as well as the way he stresses the 'r' sound in each word. I find this very cool and manly. After all, 'gaúchos,' the word we use for the people from the south, are very manly and brave, like tough cowboys. I've also learned that he likes to play soccer of all hobbies! To my little knowledge, he is the only Roman Catholic Priest who does it. No wonder he is attracting a lot of young people to church, social gatherings, prayers, and social events. Through a high school friend, Golias, who is already dating girls and smoking, I heard that the priest likes to play soccer on Sunday afternoons in the public soccer field. As luck would have it, I hear my two older brothers saying they're going to play too on Sunday! I beg them to take me along. Mom says it's not a good idea, for the players often curse and fight. But I tell her Father Bernardo is going to play with the boys and they should behave in his presence. Then she agrees. I don't even bother to hide my sudden interest and enthusiasm in watching my brothers play soccer. I just tell them I wish to go and period. The public soccer field is crowded today. I find a spot closer to the field, which is protected by a fence as high as my chest. At the distance, I see some kids playing hide-and-seek, and other kid's games. I cannot wait to see Father Bernardo play. None of the teams wear any special uniform. Each comes in their own T-shirts and shorts. To my delight, one team keeps their T-shirts on, while the other takes theirs off! Boy, had I known this before, I'd have come here sooner! I keep praying that Father Bernardo's team would have to take their T-shirts off! Just then, I see my brothers talking to some young people. It's clear their team is missing some members or they're just late. Probably they're still having a late Sunday lunch. Just then, Father Bernardo appears in the field and asks my brothers to play in their team. I can hardly believe what I see! I pay close attention to his muscular hairy legs and gasp. He is wearing some nylon navy blue shorts. They mold to the body, and in Father Bernardo's case, I can see his firm round buttocks pressing as he walks. The front part is quite bulgy and leaves very little for the imagination. It's clear this holy man has a respectable manhood under his shorts. My brothers talk to him and they point at me. He turns my way and waves. I blush completely! I of course wave and smile, like a dumb kid that I am. Thank you Lord! My prayers have been answered! Their team is going to play shirtless! My two brothers take off their old jerseys and hand them to me. I just throw them on the grass. But then, Father Bernardo approaches me and smiles. He takes off his white pristine T-shirt, revealing his strong hairy body. I felt a jolt, as if a thunder has stricken me. "Hi, there Ken! Do you mind holding my T-shirt for me while I play, please?" He smiles and hands it to me. I notice the thick long hair under his armpits. He has those nice love handles, and the thick forest of hair on his belly. "Hi Father Bernardo! Of course I can do it! And good luck!" "Thanks! I'll score a goal for you!" He smiles and joins the others. I stare at his powerful back covered in fur. Damn it! Now I have to confess another sin before my Confirmation! To think of it, I won't do it. What if Father Bernardo hears my confession himself? Anyway, I look around and notice that everybody's attention is turned to the game. I touch his white T-shirt gently and immediately pick up his lovely fragrance. I notice it's a little damp, especially in the armpits, the neck band, the back, the belly part. After all, today is a hot day. Just then, I notice that I have an erection. I pretend to scream and cheer for the game, just like the others, while I am actually kissing, rubbing, and sniffing his T-shirt as much as I can. Oh, dear me! Now I really have impure thoughts about his shorts and briefs! But I am determined not to confess this sin to any priest! It's going to be my secret! As I watch my idol playing, I notice he's not at all conscious of his strong fleshy body covered in a mat of hair. He just parades in front of me and I gasp. I look at his broad shoulders, solid strong heavy chest, muscular back, medium-sized belly, firm round buttocks against his nylon shorts, and massive thighs. Oh, God! I feel I'm lost! I wonder if the girls feel the same way. I turn around and see a bunch cheering too. But I take most of them already have a boyfriend in the team. Well, if that's the case, now I have one too! To think of it, is it wrong of me to lust after his body the way I am doing now? Well, truth be said, I've already thought of men while I'm in bed jacking off. But never to a man like Father Bernardo, who is a servant of God. "Oh, hi Ken!" My heart nearly skips a beat and I start. It's just Golias. "Hi! How come you're not playing soccer with the guys?" I look down and notice his bandaged leg. "What happened to you? Were you run over by a truck?" "Very funny, Ken. And how come you're here watching soccer? I thought you hated all kinds of sports." He turns to the players, then to the large white T-shirt in front of me, on the railing. He lights a cigarette striking a matchbox. He explains to me how he injured his leg, but I don't pay any heed to his boring story and watch the game. "My brothers said they're paying me ice-cream if their team wins." "Well, you're in luck then. Father Bernardo is making good passes. It's just the others who are not shooting straight to the goal. Those slow morons!" "I know. Hey, look! That's Verônica! She said her female cousins from São Paulo are here for a visit!" "No fucking kidding me! See ya my friend!" He took my bait and went to talk to the girls. I turn to the game and to my delight, Father Bernardo scores a goal! He shouts and waves at me! Just then the game ends and my brother's team won. I see a kid selling bottles of water and I get four bottles. "You play soccer very well, Father Bernardo!" I hand him a bottle of water. "Thanks, kiddo! I've kept my promised! I scored one goal for you!" He gulps his water and takes his T-shirt and wipes his face, neck, furry chest, back, armpits, belly and hands it back to me. "Ops, they're already calling me back! See you, kiddo! This time I'll try to score again, but I'm already feeling tired!" He rushes back to the field. Oh, no! Even his small shorts are drenched in sweat! I cannot help but stare at him all the more. Fuck! Father Bernado has just bent over to tie his sneakers. I swear to God I didn't want to look at his plumber's crack. My eyes were drawn to it like magnets. He rose again, fixed his shorts, and joined his team. As they continue playing, I simply feast on his drenched T-shirt. I lay it in front of me to dry, while sniffing at it. Holy fuck! Now I can smell the real man's essence! Even his musky smell is holy, and also intoxicating. I turn to the game and unfortunately his team loses the match. He rushes back, finishes his water, and puts his T-shirt back on again. He says he needs to go back, shower, and lead the prayer group for the elderly. Then conduct mass in the evening. Before he leaves, he hugs and gives me a very quick and light kiss on my head. "Our team lost! What a bummer!" My older brothers turn to me. "Sorry, but you won't have your ice-cream, Ken!" I throw their T-shirts back to them as they gulp their water. "That's fine. You guys can pay me ice-cream the next time!" They shake their heads. Today is Wednesday, so mother usually visits the nuns in their large house. It's a long two-storey building covered with flowers, trees, and many plants. This huge property belongs to the church. As we pass the front yard, we admire the lush impeccable lawn and shiny polished stones on the front porch. Mom rings the doorbell and Sister Eugênia, also a Japanese lady, comes to greet us. She is delighted to see us and I hand her two buckets of green produce from our farm: cucumbers, manioc roots, apples, eggs, and some heads of lettuce. Then she invites us to their large communal well-lit kitchen. She makes some coffee and offers us cookies. They're all homemade ones. She also serves thick slices of homemade baked bread, jam, cheese, and butter. I love those visits here. Time seems to stop, and we feel peaceful and welcomed. Then as mother is talking to her, we take a look at their large yard. I love the shade of the big `pitangueira' tree, a large fruit tree, bearing fruits like cherries. We see the strawberry patch, and some green vegetable patches. At the far back, I notice some clothes hanging on the line to dry. Sister Gládis is doing the laundry. The three of us go there to greet her. She smiles, dries her big white hands in her apron and greets us. I notice among the hanged clothes, some man's private clothing articles. Yes! I recognize right away the familiar navy blue nylon shorts! They're from Father Bernardo! Sister Eugênia says that Sister Gládis is hyper-active, and cannot keep still. Since she was raised on a farm with her dad and several boys, she's used to doing tons of work from sunrise to sunset. She also says that Father Bernardo's maid has taken her maternal leave, so, Sister Gládis helps him whenever is possible. I steal a last look at the hanging line, before we enter the kitchen again. I notice that Father Bernardo also wears large white cotton briefs! Mom asks about Father Bernando, and Sister Eugênia smiles and says he is resting, much against his will. He is at the priest's quarters, at the back of the church. She says he is complaining of pain in his body, especially his legs, since he's been playing soccer. I remember my brothers playing soccer last night. They said that Father Bernardo scored three goals for their team! Too bad I couldn't go, for I had a lot of homework to do, thanks to my math teacher, Ms. Oyama! Mother smiles and says that I'm very good at giving massages. My heart begins to pound! She goes on and tells Sister Eugênia that I'm always massaging her, dad, and grandma. She emphasizes the fact that grandma, having sensitive and fragile skin, requires special attention and cannot be handled roughly. They turn to me and I naturally blush like a dumb kid. The next thing I know, Sister Eugênia asks if I can give Father Bernado a massage. I felt a jolt in my entire body, and blush like a girl. My heart pounds and my hands begin to perspire. My lips get dry and my voice falters. "Of course he can do a light massage for Father Bernardo, right son?" They all turn to me. "Yes, mother." I say like an automaton. I don't know how we got here, but when I come to, the three of us are knocking on Father Bernardo's heavy oak door. My heart pounds so loud that I am afraid everybody can hear it. He opens the door and walks with difficulty. Boy, he looks quite beaten, poor man. Sister Eugênia talks excitedly about my massage and how nice I am, giving massages to mom, dad, and grandma. He smiles and says he'd like to try it, provided I am gentle with him. Sister Eugênia then says they'll be waiting for us at the nuns' quarters, when we're done. I can hardly believe I'm going to massage this holy man. I gulp and swallow hard, feeling anxious, for my skills are going to be put to the test. What if I hurt him? What if he doesn't like my massage? And what is worse, is he going to take off his clothes in front of me? I've never seen a naked male adult body in front of me before. Well, he can always put a towel around his waist, though. We enter a large living room, which is sparsely furnished. We then move to his bedroom. At first I hesitate, for I'm invading his privacy. He says he'll feel more comfortable on a bed, where he can stretch his body completely. To my surprise, and perhaps disappointment, I find a simple single bed. I thought he had a king-sized bed, with nice silk white sheets, large soft pillows, bed posts, and an engraved headboard all painted in gold. Instead, it's just a single bed, almost like mine at home. His pillow is of the cheap kind, almost flat. His bed is a little messy, for I suppose he was lying down, poor man. "I love playing soccer, but I'm already forty-eight, and should know better." He smiles. "But you play it very well, Father Bernardo." "You're being nice to say so, Ken." He smiles and moves with difficulty. "You're being confirmed next Sunday, aren't you, Ken?" I blush. "Yes, Father." "And have you confessed yet?" I shake my head. He smiles and approaches me. "Tell you what, I'll listen to your confession now and then you give me your massage. What do you say?" He smiles. "Oh, all right." I feel a big relief. He smiles and makes me sit on his bed. He brings a chair and sits in front of me. I can hardly believe I'm sitting on his mattress. Again, another disappointment. His mattress is thin, old, and the bed creaks. But in spite of all that, I feel like I'm in a dream. After all, I'm with him in his own bedroom! I'm sitting on his bed of all places! "All right." He takes a stole and puts it on him and recites a short prayer. Then we say `Amen.' "I-I've been disobedient, Father. I often quarrel with mom." I hesitate, and my voice is barely audible. "That's just a typical teenage behavior, son." He smiles. "I know. But I don't like doing, well, she's asked me to help uncle, grandma, and my cousin to bathe grandpa. I never liked it and never did it." Somehow, the words begin to pour out from my mouth rather spontaneously. I feel like I'm talking to an old friend. It doesn't feel like I'm in the confessional with a priest. I tell him how I see grandpa, grandma, and my aunt. "And why is that, son?" "I don't know. Back then, I wouldn't want to see him naked, suffering, and mumbling things no one understood, but grandma. He had a stroke, you know. He also had drool dropping from the corners of his mouth. I was scared of him." "I see. I suppose you were still too young to face such challenges, Ken. It was normal for you to not want to see him like that. But you've got to know that we all become old one day. And some of us will become sick and be in bed. Then, we'll need special care and love. What you can do is pray for his spirit." He smiles. I nod. "Yes, Father. I've also fought with my brothers. They're always calling me, well," I look down and see him big hairy feet. He's in his slippers. I see a black spot on his big toe nail. "You said your brothers call you names, son?" He insists, but in a nice kind way. "Yes, Father." I take a deep breath and feel reassured. This simple man is here, to serve me, just as I am here to help relieve his body pain. I cannot help but think of Christ himself. He was tried, abused, beaten up. He also was so humble, simple, and vulnerable. I can feel his care, love, and compassion for me. My heart swells and I smile. I feel a big trust in this man, and words that have been always repressed, start pouring out from my mouth. "Yes, Father. Well, they'd call me, sissy, just to provoke me for I hate sports and cannot play anything. And sometimes when they're playing with my cousins, they call me to join them. But I refuse to play, for I hate soccer." "I see. But you've been watching your brothers play soccer lately, haven't you?" I look down. "Father Bernardo, I can't lie to you." "Mmmmm. Go on, Ken." "I-I only go there, because I want to watch you play soccer." I blush and bite my tongue for having spoken the way I have. Now this man can see through me. But what if he can? Can't Christ also see the darkest secrets in our hearts? This man now can see my soul and my inner secrets. Instead of getting mad, he chuckles. "And do you think it's worth watching me play? I mean, I'm worse than an amateur player." He sighs. I can't believe it and turn to him. He is also blushing. "You do, Father! I assure you! You're the best player in their team. At least you don't kick other boy's shin or swear." I smile. "And, there's something else, Father," I look down and cannot stop fidgeting with my hands. "I-I get, well, impure thoughts. I-I know it's wrong." I take a deep breath and turn to him. I am already expecting the first blow to my face. My ears burn and my cheeks flush. "You mean, you give in to temptation and sin against your chastity?" He scratches his balding head. I can almost visualize Christ's crown of thorns pricking his head. I nod. "Well, son, perhaps no one has told you this yet, but, this is quite common, especially for a boy your age. If the contrary was happening, then there would be a concern." He licks his lips. I nod. "And," I gulp, "there's something else, Father." I look at his big hairy hands. Again, I can almost see the nail marks on the back of his hands. "I-I like, well, I always think, of men and not girls, like most boys in my class." I can hardly believe what I am saying. I've rehearsed a thousand times making my confession. But nothing of what I've spoken so far comes close to my list. I really wonder what's gotten into me. "Mmmmm. I see." He nods and smiles. "You're not mad or disgusted at me?" He smiles and shakes his head. "Am I not going to hell?" He shakes his head again. "And aren't you going to send me home, for I'm unfit to be here, in your living quarters?" He scratches his chin and shakes his head again. "I'm impure and sinful, Father. I cannot touch a holy man like you, Father." "We all have sins, son. Father Celso has sins. I have my sins. That's human nature, son. This is why Christ died for us on the cross. He cancelled our sins and gave us life, his own life so that we could live fully and freely. I can see that you've repented, and admit having impure thoughts and have acted against your chastity. When you mature, you'll learn how to deal with your sexual urges in a more appropriate manner. You're too young to understand the full implications of your behavior now, son. Perhaps the way you are, is just a gift from God. Try not to question that, and live your life the best way you can. I'm not in your shoes and can't feel what you feel. But I understand that you're a kind, nice, and gentle boy trying to do what is right before God. I bet he knows you're trying hard, son." He smiles and continues. "About your sexual orientation, that is, thinking of men instead of girls, I can tell you that perhaps it's the way you were wired to be. You see, Ken, I can't make you like girls, and I wonder if anybody can. But I can make you think about yourself as worthy of Christ's love too. Think of him, and live your life as happy as you can. For life can be extra hard for those who are a little different from others, like yourself, son. Don't consider yourself unworthy of Christ's love just because of your impure thoughts. I bet others your age have the same concern too and yet, don't have the courage to confess them to a priest." He smiles. "And that is fine too, Ken. You only tell the priest what you are ready to say. It has to come from your heart and your conscience, Ken." "I see, Father. And are you going to tell mom and dad about it, Father?" He shakes his head and takes my cold shaking hands, and squeezes them. "No, son. In time you'll find the right moment to tell them yourself." He smiles. I smile in relief. "What you need now, is just to live your life as a happy boy. You don't need to suffer for being different than other boys. Oh, God no, Ken! I can't trample on someone who's struggling like you do. You need encouragement, love, and praising." He strokes my hair. "Wow, that was a tough one, Father! You took a huge weight off my chest." I sigh in relief. He smiles and kisses my hands. "Shall we pray together, Ken?" We recite Our Lord's Prayer. As we finish, he gives me a warm hug. I feel much lighter now. "Now, how about that massage, Ken? Is your offer still up?" I smile. "Are you sure you won't mind me touching you, Father?" "Are you going back on your words, Ken?" He frowns. "All right, then. When I massage dad, he usually wears a towel around his waist. I usually use cream, for easier contact to the skin." "I see. Well, if you'll excuse me, then. I'll get changed and see if I have some cream around." He leaves me before I can say anything. He opens a door of the bathroom to get changed. I look around his bedroom and notice how bare it is. Gosh, Father Bernardo doesn't seem to own much. Even I, in my simplicity own more stuff than this poor kind man. I can hardly believe how small his closet is. I see only two pairs of shoes under his dresser and his familiar old pair of sneakers. I see the night table and his reading glasses. I see his bible next to his glasses. I wonder how someone can live with so little. I certainly couldn't. "Well, I'm ready. And don't worry, you've already seen me like this before." He smiles. I gulp and nod. He is holding a bottle of cream. "I've got this hydrating cream. It doesn't have any scent. Is that ok?" "It's all right, Father. Now, you lie down." This strong hairy man lies on his belly. I gasp as I admire his towel barely covering his waist and thighs. I wonder if he is in his briefs or has taken everything off. "I hope you're not ticklish, Father." "Oh, that I can't help, Ken. But I'm sure you'll go easy on me." He chuckles. "I'll start with your head, neck, back, arms, buttocks, legs, and feet. Then you'll have to flip over and I'll repeat the same operation." "Wow! I wonder if I'll be able to pay you, Ken." "Don't worry, Father. You've got extra credits for already taking my confession before the others. Anyway, if I hurt you, you tell me, ok?" "What do you mean by `hurt you?' Oh, that's fine. I can't get any worse than I am right now." I don't waste time and tackle his head right away. "Hey, your hands are cold." He says matter-of-factly, his voice is deep and hoarse. "I-I'm sorry, Father." "That's ok. I was just teasing you." He says. I feel his balding hair and sink my fingers slowly. I massage and rub his scalp gently. Then I move to his nape. Right away I move to his strong neck. I apply just a bit of cream and feel the tension on his neck muscles. "Wow, this surely feels good, Ken." "Enjoy your massage, Father." I move to his broad shoulders and shoulder blades. I squeeze, press, and rub his muscles. I feel the tense muscles on his back. Then I decide to use my elbow just to release the muscle knots. With dad, who has big muscles too, I can be quite rough. After this massage, I hope Father will not give me a big penance the next time I confess my sins to him. "Ouch! Umpf! For a slim young man, you've got strong arms, Ken. Ouch! Do you actually need to kill me? Ohhh! Are you doing that on purpose?" "The muscle fibers that have formed a knot need to be gently broken up, Father." "Oh, I see. Don't mind me if I have tears in my eyes, then." More elbow rubs and more complaints. His hairy back is getting reddish now. I move to his muscular arms. I feel the biceps, forearms, and large hairy hands. I feel his smooth palm and rub it. "That feels nice, Ken!" He smiles. I also do the other arm. Then I move to his lower back. "Are you wearing anything underneath, Father?" I ask shyly. "Yes, my cotton briefs. Did I need to take them off too? I was in doubt." "No, but I'll have to take off the towel for it's on my way." He helps me remove his towel. I gaps as I admire his firm round buttocks. I waste no time and massage, squeeze, and knead them. "Wow! I can feel some of my sore muscles now! You're got at spotting them, son! You've just got them, Ken!" He moans as I stretch, press, and squeeze his buttocks. "Now Father, you'll have to forgive me, for now we're getting to the heart of the problem: your legs. It's going to hurt a bit." "What? Do you mean, the muscle knots again?" "Yep. Besides, haven't you heard the saying, no pain, no gain?" "All right, big boy! I'll try to survive. If I die, you're going to preside over the Mass for me. Now, go for it, Ken!" I move to his thighs and feel how tense they are. I fold his muscular leg and feel where the muscle knots are. I lower it again and go for the attack. "Ouch! Ohhhh! Stop it please! Ken, you're killing me! I'm mean it! Stop! My thigh is burning! Are you a licensed masseur, by the way? Ohhhhh! OOOUUUCH!" He moans and cries. I squeeze the muscle and use my thumb, knuckles, and even my elbow. Then, I pause for air. "Had I known it would be this hard, I'd have gone to the masseur in town. But they say he's a butcher. So, take it easy on your poor Father, ok Ken!" He pleads. I work on his calf and more complaints. I move to the other leg and he cries again. "The hard part is now over, Father." He is panting. "No kidding, Ken. Ohhhh! After this session, anything is going to be more pleasant. Even fire and brimstone!" "Good, now you can flip over, Father." "Do you mean you're still not over with your torture session? I mean, massage session?" He puts a towel around his waist. "Sure. I'll have to work extra hard on your thighs again, I'm afraid, Father." "Oh, no! Can't you just rub lightly and let go of me?" "I'll see what I can do, Father." I rub his thigh and sink my thumb into his muscles. I can just hear him moaning and crying. He grabs the side of his bed and moans. As I apply pressure, my hand slides and touches his genital. "Oops! I'm sorry, Father!" "I'll excuse you if you go gentle on me, Ken." I squeeze his muscle, rub, and press hard. Then move to this shin. "Now the other thigh, Father." More screams and moans. I rub the inside of his muscular thigh and the back of my hand rubs against his genital again. "Hold it, Father! I've got a tense muscle here." "No kidding me! After this massage, it's going to be a miracle if I can walk again. Ouch!" I purposefully rub against the inside part of his thigh and touch lightly his balls and cock slanted to the side. My hands then move to his shin and then to the soles of his feet. He has large hairy feet and big toes. I massage them and he moans. He fixes the towel which covers his privates. "Oh, boy! That surely feels great! I'll surely invite you to come to every soccer game I play. Of course I won't tell the others you're such a great masseur, otherwise, they'll all want to be massaged too!" He smiles. "Don't worry, dear," at the word 'dear' I hesitate, and my hands freeze. "Anything wrong, Ken?" He looks at me. "No. I just. I've never called an adult, `dear,' like I've just called you now, Father. I'm sorry." He then sits on bed and smiles. "You don't need to apologize for that, my dear!" He smiles and strokes my hair. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. It's just that it's the first time I'm massaging a stranger." He smiles. "But I'm not a stranger. I'm your priest, Ken." He smiles. "Yeah, I guess you could say that. And yet, I feel so comfortable and glad to be doing it." "I guess that because you're shy, Ken. But like I said to you during confession. You're experiencing new feelings and discovering your own body and its preferences, Ken. I think you're a very talented fine young man. And I want you to be complete, happy, and fulfilled." He gives me a hug and kisses my forehead. Then, he gets changed and walks me downstairs. "I'm feeling as good as new!" He exclaims to mom and Sister Eugênia about the procedures. "Didn't I tell you so?" Sister Eugênia says. "I wouldn't go to another masseur, for they always squeeze and hurt you. But Ken has surely a nice way of sedating me with his words and dexterous hands." He winks at me. Mom drives back to the farm in a hurry, for she needs to get dinner ready on time. She doesn't notice the blissful smile on my face. I kiss my own hands several times, without her noticing it. I bet I have a big shiny halo around me. I just feel the delicate fragrance of the holy body of Father Bernardo in my hands. On the date of my Confirmation, a sunny Sunday morning, I wear a white shirt and black pants. My heart beats fast as I approach the bishop, who is blessing each of us individually. Beside him, on his left, Father Bernardo is holding a large golden chalice with communion wafer. On the right side of the bishop, I see a black priest. When it comes to my turn, I answer the bishop mechanically and he marks my forehead with blessed oil. Father Bernardo gives me the communion wafer. Then, he adds. "Thanks for the massage, Ken. I feel great today." He whispers. The bishop turns to us, with a puzzled look. "Anytime, Father." I smile and wink at him.