Date: Thu, 3 Feb 2005 13:02:32 -0500
From: edcwriter@yahoo.com
Subject: "THE PRIEST & THE PAUPER" - 2

THE PRIEST & THE PAUPER - 2
Copyright 2005 by Carl Mason and Ed Collins

All rights reserved.  Other than downloading one copy for strictly personal
enjoyment, no part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any
form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, except for reviews, without
the written permission of the authors.  However based on real events and
places, "The Priest and the Pauper" is strictly fictional.  Any resemblance
to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental.  As in real life, however, the sexual themes unfold
gradually.  If you would like to read other Mason-Collins stories, you
might turn to "Out of the Rubble" and "Castle Margarethen," both of which
are archived in Nifty's "Historical" section.  Comments on the story are
appreciated and may be addressed to the authors at edcwriter@yahoo.com

This story contains descriptions of sexual contact between males, both
adults and teenagers.  As such, it is homoerotic fiction designed for the
personal enjoyment of legal, hopefully mature, adults.  If you are not of
legal age to read such material, if those in power and/or those whom you
trust treat it as illegal, or if it would create unresolvable moral
dilemmas in your life, please leave.  Finally, remember that maturity
generally demands that anything other than safe sex is sheer insanity!


CHAPTER 2

(Revisiting Chapter 1)

After spending the afternoon getting his papers and books in order, Tom
Burke's first full day as pastor of St. Patrick's ended with Vespers
(attended by a goodly congregation of religious and elderly parishioners),
a light supper, and devotional reading and prayer.  By any measure, it had
been a GOOD day!

(Continuing Our Story - The Gang of Six)

As Father Tom rose from his knees before the altar and turned to face the
congregation at his second 7:00 a.m. Mass at St. Pat's, he almost lost his
concentration.  Yes, the congregation was markedly larger, but that wasn't
what caught his eye.  Seated together...way down front - a good 20 feet
from another soul (which, of course, suggested that they were probably
dirty and smelled!) - was a gaggle of six young teens.  Though dressed in
little more than rags, their hair had been combed...more or less.  Wide
smiles were pasted on each face, the widest of which clearly belonged to
one redheaded Shane McGuire!  Elbows dug into neighboring bodies as they
realized that Father Tom had recognized them.  Involuntarily mumbling a
couple of mea culpas, the young priest resumed the service.

As the boys proudly greeted the priest at the end of the service, he
introduced them to Mrs.  Murphy.  Telling them that he would be delayed a
bit, for he had to offer Mass for the school children, he suggested that
they go next door to the rectory with his housekeeper and help get
breakfast together.  He would catch up with them.  (Besides, they were
likely still to be eating at whatever hour he finished!)  At the close of
the School Mass, however, he found Shane huddled outside in a relatively
protected spot on the steps of the church.

"Shane, what are you doing out here?  It's cold!"  "That's ok, Father," the
redhead replied, "I wanted to wait for you."  Helping the stiff and
shivering boy to his feet, he drew him under his cloak and headed for
breakfast.  Once in the warmth of the rectory, the leader of the Gang of
Six proudly introduced "his boys" to Fr. Tom.  (They were a little
reluctant to divert their attention from generous plates of food before
them, but they managed to get through the amenities.)  The easiest for the
young priest to identify was Mel, the 15 (almost 16) year old, for he was
pretty much as Shane had described him the day before - big,
broad-shouldered, his shaggy sandy-blond hair framing an open and friendly
face.  Only a heavy bruise on the side of his face detracted from his
appearance.  In the right secondary school, he would have made an
impressive guard or tackle!  (Yes, there was a slightly vacant look in his
eyes, but it was clear that everyone liked Mel - and that he returned their
feelings.)  Barely 13, Paddy was the "baby" of the tribe - slight of
stature, longish blond hair, and very, very bashful. The remaining three
lads were typical 14 year olds.  Whether black-haired (Brendan) or brown
(Chad) - or sporting a light tan buzz cut (Hugh) - all were handsome lads
with effervescent personalities, voices gradually slipping into lower
registers, and thickening bodies whose ragged coverings could not
completely hide fast developing muscles.  How they had ever managed to stay
alive was beyond Fr. Tom.

Mrs. Murphy made ready to serve plates for the young priest and his
redheaded companion, but Shane would have none of that.  Indeed, he
insisted on going over to the stove and personally retrieving breakfast for
the two of them.  (To her obvious amusement, Shane generously "allowed"
Mrs. Murphy to serve coffee.)  When he had finally satisfied the inner man,
Fr. Tom tapped on a glass for attention, saying, "When we've eaten all of
Mrs. Murphy's good food, we're going to go over to the basement of the
church.  I'll show you where you're going to be living - as well as a few
'surprises' just for you."  (The boys grinned widely.)  While I do my work,
Mrs. Pagano will get you moved in and get you started on your work for
today.  Then, when I'm finished with my chores, I'll stop by and join you
for a late lunch.  Ok with you?"  The response was unanimous,
enthusiastic...and, given teenagers, loud!

At the bottom of a broad staircase entered from inside the church, the boys
found themselves in the Church Hall.  The room, filled with tables, was
immense!  Small rooms could be created on either side by closing movable
partitions; on one side, there was a large kitchen; a raised stage
dominated the far end.  Fr. Tom led them towards a wide door on the side
opposite the kitchen.  Entering, the company found themselves in a hallway
that led along the side of other basement rooms.  As they stepped into the
first room, the boys let out a collective gasp.  The floor covered by an
aging carpet was filled with exercise equipment.  Covered with dust, it
still spoke to youthful imaginations.  "I'm told that St. Pat's was a
center for youth and adult activities throughout this part of the Diocese,"
Fr. Tom explained.  "Evidently, this room was a popular place to let off
steam between meetings.  Now it's yours to use."  "WOW!" Mel exclaimed.
Shouts of "SUPER!" and the sound of slaps from "High Fives" cascaded from
every side.  The next room was filled with lockers and contained tiled side
rooms that housed bathroom facilities and showers.  "Do I have to tell you
that this room is also for your use? Fr. Tom asked with a grin.  Had the
grins on the boys' faces widened any further, their faces would have
shattered and scattered shards in all directions.  At the end of the hall,
they entered the final room.  Large, the walls attractively covered by
inexpensive wood panels, another faded and worn carpet on the floor, it
stood dusty and empty.  "Boys,' Fr. Tom interrupted, "I want to introduce
you to Mrs. Pagano.  (A large, motherly woman had just entered the room and
greeted the boys warmly.)  She is going to show you where to find beds,
springs, and mattresses that you will bring into your bedroom.  When you're
finished, this room will look just like a college dorm!  Now hear this!
Mrs. Pagano will also teach you how to make up a bed with sheets, pillows,
and blankets.  You will have to do this each day - and there will be an
inspection!  So learn how to do it right...if you want to live here!
Today's work, then, is to THOROUGHLY clean your three new rooms and get
your bedroom set up.  Got it?"

Admittedly, this may not sound like all that much to us.  Do remember,
however, that these youngsters had been living in the rubble of deserted
factory buildings and on the increasingly dangerous streets of a mill town
deeply depressed for decades.  Drunkenness was rampant.  Only early
adolescents, they had had to be constantly on guard against predators -
those simply interested in stealing food or the few small objects remaining
from their earlier lives, as well as those who in their own pain mindlessly
struck out at those less able to defend themselves.  Unfortunately, they
also occasionally encountered others - usually larger and more powerful
others - who were determined to use their bodies.  Food?  Well, they ate
when they could beg, borrow, or steal - and on many a night there was
nothing.  TRUTHFULLY, was it any wonder that little Paddy began dancing a
jig in the middle of the empty dorm room or that the wide-eyed boys crowded
around Fr. Tom, trying to touch him as if he were one of the statues of the
saints in the church above?  Should we be surprised that Shane crept up
from behind the young priest and threw him arms around him - or that
Fr. Tom could feel the sobs that he tried so bravely to conceal?  For
perhaps the first time in his young life, another human being had shared
his burdens.

(Sister Superior)

After extricating himself from the emotionally-charged scene in the dorm,
Fr. Tom located Mr.  Rafferty and set about an initial inspection of the
rectory and the church, including the Church Hall in the basement.
Rafferty, notoriously irascible, was surprisingly clear and helpful.  In
brief, he claimed he had been holding St. Patrick's together with baling
wire for years!  God Himself, the Blessed Mother, and all the Saints
together couldn't do it much longer!  By the time they completed their
rounds, Fr. Tom thought he was probably more correct than not - though,
from time to time, a little extra whiskey may have reduced his efficiency!
In any case, the new pastor had a long list of priority needs - and the
this was only the first walk-through.  At that point, they moved over to
the school and into Sister Superior's office.  (She had arranged with one
of the two elderly nuns on her staff to take her eighth graders for the
afternoon.)  Joined by the good Sister, they completed the initial
inspection of the school affably and efficiently.  If anything, however,
the situation was even more tragic than in the church and rectory.  To put
the matter baldly, the "new" parochial school, built in 1903, was nearing
total collapse.

Fr. Tom rather wondered why he had heard her referred to as "Old Stone
Face."  As he sipped his coffee in Sister's office at the close of the
inspection, he had to admit that he had found her the soul of propriety and
efficiency.  (Perhaps, his informants had been speaking of someone else?)
"Speaking for both myself and my staff, Father, I am glad that you are
here.  St.  Patrick's could not have survived another 60 year-old pastor."
(It seems that each of the three pastors who had preceded the two years of
supply priests had not only come late in life, but had slipped into
senility before retiring.)  We need someone young and responsible who will
refuse to be silenced in Diocesan councils.  Proudly, not a facial muscle
twitching, she promised her cooperation and, yes, her support...when
possible.

"Thank you, Sister.  I want nothing more than to cooperate fully with you
and your staff in facilitating your mission to God's children.  I should
tell you that I have already heard several stories of the days when
St. Patrick's was the center of youth work in this part of the State.  Were
you here then?"  "Yes, Father, I was.  I was quite young, of course, but
they were wonderful years and I treasure them.  Do you think they will ever
return?"  Father Tom merely grinned...boyishly.  Though he could not be
sure, he THOUGHT he saw a muscle in Sister's face twitch, suggesting the
slightest trace of a smile.

"There are two concerns on my mind presently, Sister.  Might I share them
with you?"  Given her gestured permission, Fr. Tom asked her if he might
"impose" on her and her staff to join him in a noontime inspection of the
convent on the next day.  Graciously, she agreed.  Secondly, he informed
her that he had decided to employ the Gang of Six in a winter project.  He
wanted to determine how the parish might best respond to the homeless bands
that were creating increasingly serious problems for Sherburne - and for
children.  Briefly, he reviewed his plans for supporting the early teens as
they completed a myriad of minor repair tasks about the parish.  Sister
Superior sniffed and wondered if "it were safe to have
these...children...in the buildings."  "I share your concern, Sister
Superior.  It's just that I fear the alternatives more.  Further, the
program MIGHT lead to something that the Bishop cannot ignore."  Pausing
for a moment, she evidently made up her mind and said, "Yes.  If that is
your wish, Father, it will be.  Moreover, you will have my support."

"There are two areas today where that support would be most appreciated,
Sister Superior.  First, these six young lads have been on the streets for
God knows how long.  Not surprisingly, they are dressed in rags.  I
understand that you maintain a supply of used clothing for needy students
of the school and that you have access to other supplies in the community.
Were I to provide you with some rough measurements, would you do what is
possible to clothe them?"  "Yes, Father" came the immediate reply.
"Further, Mrs. Pagano is working with them this afternoon to set up
dormitory facilities in the old Youth Center.  I am most anxious for the
boys to learn how to take care of their new room, for I doubt that they
have had much instruction.  Is it possible that one of the Sisters - on a
rotating schedule, of course - might inspect the Youth Center rooms
immediately before the school Mass each morning and report any...lapses?"
Again, for just a moment, Sister Superior stared at her glasses which sat
on the desk before her.  "Mrs. Pagano was a good choice," she finally
allowed.  "Further, I am glad to see that you intend to teach these
young...children...something rather than merely indulge them.  Beginning on
Monday morning, let's try your plan and see how it works out.  You will
take care of breaking in the colts until then?" she inquired with just a
twinkle at the very edge of her right eye.  As she rose gracefully to
indicate that his "audience" was over, Fr. Tom mumbled his agreement, as
well as his thanks - and escaped from the office with vague feelings of
guilt that he had not experienced since he had been in knee pants!

(Moments in Time)

Stopping by the rectory to pick up a heavy basket of lunch goodies - and a
small parcel - Fr.  Tom made his way back to the boys' dorm room.  When the
youngsters saw him coming, there was a general shout of greeting.  (Spying
the basket, they naturally shifted their attention immediately, circling it
like a litter of young puppies, sniffing and yipping at the prospect of
FOOD!)  They were absolutely filthy - and, to be perfectly honest,
Mrs. Pagano was pretty dirt- smudged herself.  As Father Tom passed out a
sandwich, a container of milk, an apple, and a candy bar to each boy, she
carried on at some length about how hard working and good natured they
were.  Paddy giggled and almost spilled his milk as she grabbed his ear and
exclaimed that he was her "goof-off".  Offered lunch, she refused
graciously, saying that she had some shopping to do before heading home.
"Do you need me back here tomorrow, Father?"  "Not tomorrow, Mrs. Pagano.
Josh Stzalkowski, who was laid off last week at Acme Thread, said that he
would stop by and help the boys move some heavy gear out of the storage
rooms.  But thanks.  Maybe in a couple of weeks?  I want these boys to have
a Thanksgiving they'll remember."  "We'll see, Father; I'll talk to you at
Mass," she answered.  "Bye, boys," she called as she departed with their
thanks ringing in her ears.

As the boys munched on their lunches and arranged a few trades on candy
bars, Fr. Tom looked around.  He could scarcely believe what he saw.  Their
bedroom DID look much like a school dorm.  In fact, as Fr. Tom remembered
his room at Holy Cross, it was considerably cleaner and more ordered!  The
heavy dust was gone; the carpet - such as it was - had been vacuumed; six
single beds were arranged attractively and made up neatly.  "Hey, guys, I
only see one thing missing in here that would really make it look like a
college dorm. "Whuz that, Father?" came the reply, significantly muffled by
mayo, bread, and similar impediments.  "You need a college banner!  I
brought my own that you can hang until you find one you like better,"
Father chortled, unwrapping a two foot by three foot purple and gold banner
inscribed with the words "Holy Cross Crusaders."  "It hung in my room up in
Worcester," he added reminiscently.  "Great, Father!" Brandon exclaimed,
picked up a hammer and some nails used in an earlier project, and nailed it
up above his bed.  Leaving the boys squabbling over where the banner ought
to be hung, Father Tom walked down the hall - the vacuumed and dusted hall
- to check the other rooms.  The results of their work far exceeded his
fondest hopes.  The bathroom- shower facility was spotless, the tile,
metal, and porcelain gleaming brightly.  A stack of clean towels sat on a
counter next to the shower room.  Soap and shampoo were located by several
showerheads.  In like measure, the exercise room looked like the room he
remembered up at college...clean, ordered, and ready for a serious workout!
"My God," he mumbled to himself, "they even cleaned the oil and dust out
from under the seats!  Well, we'll all enjoy this room."

Returning to the dorm, he yelled for their attention.  "We've still got a
lot of work to do, guys.  First, though, I want to tell you how proud I am
of you for the work that I see all around me - and I've checked the other
rooms as well as this one.  Nice work!  You deserve something special.
Therefore, if you like, we'll come over here after supper tonight, and I'll
check you out on the exercise equipment.  The looks on their teenaged faces
clearly showed their pride and their excitement about working out on their
new equipment.  The young priest then went on to cover some housekeeping
details.  Each boy would have a job to do each week, e.g., keep the
exercise room in good order, in addition to tending to his own bed area.
They could set the weekly schedule; he'd give them paper and pencil at
suppertime.  They didn't want to be running around in the nude at quarter
of eight in the morning, because one of the Sisters would be stopping by
for an inspection of all three rooms.  The boy or boys with the best record
over a two week period would receive a special prize, e.g., a movie or a
basketball game.  As needed, other rules would be set after discussion with
them.  It was their home.  He'd always be open to listening to their
suggestions.

"Ok, guys, the next job...  You're filthy and you smell like aliens from
outer space!  When you're clean, I'll get some measurements.  We don't want
to give Paddy a pair of pants sized for Mel, do we?"  (Laughter.)  "Sister
Superior is getting some clothing for you - nothing new, but it's an
improvement over what you're wearing.  So... Strip down and take a thorough
shower.  SOAP, MEN, SOAP...AND DON'T FORGET TO SHAMPOO YOUR HAIR!  When
you're through and have dried off COMPLETELY, come back in here.  The dorm
immediately became a scene of frantic activity.  Clothing was shed without
hesitation or question, the boys racing next door to the showers in the
buff.  ("Well," thought Father Tom, "let's be thankful that none of my more
'modest' parishioners are around!  Teenagers!)

Slowly, naked teenagers filtered back into the dorm.  As they returned,
Fr. Tom charted some simple measurements - and had a chance to check the
basic physical status of the boys at the same time.  The boys were
comfortable with each other and with him.  After all, he was both a college
wrestling star (or so it had been suggested by Shane)...and their savior!
Yes, a couple of half-erections occurred, but they received scant notice.
(Naturally, Paddy noticed, snickered, and whispered to Brandon, but, let's
face it, 13 year olds are 13 year olds.)  Everything went smoothly until
the last boy, Shane, finally appeared.  Fr. Tom inhaled sharply.  The lad
was absolutely magnificent!  Though as yet he was only of moderate height,
his entire body was heavily muscled and hard as a rock.  (How was this
possible given the life that they had led?  Some fantastic genes had to be
at work!)  Smooth, creamy skin - scarcely typical of redheads - covered his
glorious body.  The youth's biceps bulged on heavy arms; his torso
resembled nothing less than that of a classic Greek athlete; his rounded
butt was carried high and proudly; his hefty thighs were works of art.
Other than for the thick, curly growth on his head, a modest amount of dark
red genital hair, and a light dusting on his muscular calves, the 14 year
old was still essentially hairless.  As Fr. Tom tightened the tape around
his waist, the boy's heavy genitals began to swell, and he moaned lightly
as he pressed forward against the young priest.  "That's ok, boyo, just a
moment more," Father whispered.  When the top of the tape was pressed
against the junction of his scrotum and upper thigh, Shane gasped, flushed
deeply, and almost lost it, but he managed to maintain control until the
inner leg measurement was taken.  His charting finished, Fr. Tom hooked his
arm around the lad's thick neck, drew him close, and whispered, "Thanks,
boyo.  You're a brave one."  Shane managed a weak smile.  Fortunately, the
other boys were so engrossed in their dressing and goofing off that no one
noticed.

The evening passed quietly.  Supper was tasty and sufficient - even for a
pack of ravening young wolves!  After the dishes had been cleaned up and
the kitchen and dining room set to rights, Fr. Tom redeemed his pledge to
take the boys back over into the exercise room.  For nearly two hours they
huffed and puffed and learned how to get the most out of a goodly array of
machines.  (The equipment turned out to be dated, but in surprisingly good
condition.) Not surprisingly, Mel was the star of the first evening,
absolutely bathing in the adulation of his younger comrades.  He WAS
strong, and he seemed instinctively to know the purpose of the various
machines.  More, he was just as concerned about showing the younger boys
how to complete various exercises as he was in his own progress.  They
loved him...and understandably so.

As the weary youngsters and their priest trudged back to the rectory for a
late-evening hot chocolate, a police car pulled up.  The boys drew back in
instinctive fear, but Fr. Tom steadied them and awaited the police officer.
After a whispered conversation with the officer, the young priest told the
boys that there had been an accident, that he had work to do and that,
unfortunately, they would have to take a rain check on the hot chocolate.
He left in the police car to the waves and shouts of the Gang of Six.  It
would be the first such call in his ministry - and one that he would never
forget.

Flashing lights from police cars and an ambulance already at the location
signaled their arrival at one of the deserted mills.  Hurrying over to the
side of a building, the young priest was greeted by a scene that nearly led
him to vomit in horror.  A carrot-topped teenager lay crumpled on his
stomach on the littered ground.  My God, he looked so much like one of his
own!  The boy's pants lay in a heap some feet away; his worn T-shirt had
been ripped away from his neck and shoulders.  Quickly, he saw that the
rectal area and scrotum had been utterly destroyed.  Everything was covered
in blood; pieces of flesh were barely connected.  Covered with deep bite
marks, the skin on the back of the lad's neck and shoulders had also been
slashed and was covered with blood.  "Is he still alive?" Fr. Tom asked the
ambulance driver.  "Yes, Father, but you'd better hurry."  Kneeling, the
young priest donned his stole and removed the Holy Oils from a small case
that Shane had retrieved from his room.  He had barely had time to anoint
the boy and pronounce conditional absolution before he felt the lad shudder
and cease breathing.  Though he had never before experienced this moment,
he knew that this stage of life was over.

Shaken to the depths of his soul, Fr. Tom returned to the rectory with the
police.  Their voices were respectful, but he realized that they had
experienced this scene all too many times.  Tim O'Malley, the driver and
one of his parishioners, actually muttered a crack about one less street
kid, but the young priest didn't have the strength to do more than cry out,
"For God's sake, Tim!"  Arriving at the darkened rectory only to find that
the lights in his room were not working, he fumbled around until he found
his breviary on the reading table and returned to the "sitting room" of the
old dwelling.  At least there was a fire, a decent reading light behind a
worn couch, and a hassock that would allow him to get his feet up.

He didn't really know how long he had prayed...and wept...before he heard a
light knock on the wooden pillars that separated the sitting room from the
entry hall.  Suddenly, clad in nothing more than a pair of shorts, a ratty
T-shirt, and socks, Shane appeared at his side and sat down tentatively on
the couch beside him.  Reaching up and clumsily trying to wipe the tears
from the priest's cheek, the lad mumbled, "Bad scene, Father?"  "Yeah, bad
scene, Shane.  A boy was murdered over by the old Alstar mill.  Fr. Tom
felt the boy stiffen before he finally asked in a choked voice, "What did
he look like, Father?"  "Carrot-top...  He looked a lot like Brandon or
Chad.  A note in his pocket was addressed to 'Timmy'."  (He would not add
further detail.  Not only would it have been improper, but his mind barely
allowed him to picture it himself.)  Looking over at the youngster, Fr. Tom
saw that he had suddenly collapsed into sobs that shook his entire body.
Reaching over, he drew the boy into his side.  The words barely
distinguishable through his grief, Shane wailed, "Timmy was Chad's brother,
Father... and I LOVED him!"  Had there been a thousand rules against it,
had his reason told him that he was stark raving mad, the young priest
would not have changed his bending down and kissing Shane on the side of
his forehead.  The boy let out a wild cry, threw his arm across the
priest's torso, and sobbed violently into his chest.

When he awoke - God knows how much later - the reading light was out and
the fire was reduced to glowing cinders in the fireplace.  Though in much
the same position as he had been when sleep overtook him, a lap robe had
been thrown over him.  The boy was gone...but he could still smell the
fragrance of his hair in his nostrils...and taste the sweetness of his skin
on his lips.


(To Be Continued)