Date: Mon, 7 Feb 2005 10:34:05 -0500
From: edcwriter@yahoo.com
Subject: THE PRIEST & THE PAUPER - 3

THE PRIEST & THE PAUPER - 3

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 3

(Revisiting Chapter 2)

When he [Fr. Tom] 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.

(Continuing Our Story - Taming the Colts)

Remembering he had promised Sister Superior that he would get the boys
accustomed to the inspection routine before her staff took over several
days later, Fr. Tom entered the hallway of the Youth Center promptly at
7:45 a.m. the next morning.  The exercise room was littered, and the shower
room was a steamy mess.  The dorm was in reasonable shape, beds were made,
and the boys were clearly ready for the school Mass.  Nevertheless, the
shamefaced teens awaited the axe they were sure was about to fall.

Going by the "duty roster" that you developed last night, guys, there are
no points on either the exercise or shower rooms.  Hugh, you are
responsible this week for the general appearance of the dorm.  Today, you
get two out of three points.  Questions?  Hearing none, Father Tom added,
"Everybody gets two points out of three for his bed - other than Brendan
who gets three.  Looks good, Big B!  I want the exercise and shower rooms
policed on your way up to Mass.  Ok?  Move!"  Needless to say, the
youngsters moved with alacrity and, albeit a bit breathless, were in their
pew as Fr. Tom began the Mass.  Sister Superior smiled (thinly and,
naturally, strictly to herself) as she observed the action.  Clearly, this
new pastor was no pushover.

At breakfast, Fr. Tom introduced Josh Stzalkowski to the boys and told them
that they had something of an emergency.  Outside water was getting into
two of school storerooms.  Furniture and some valuable equipment were in
danger of being ruined.  Obviously concerned, the young priest added, "Some
of this stuff is pretty heavy, boys.  I want you to listen to Mr.
Stzalkowski carefully.  He's the boss.  He'll work with you and show you
how to lift so that you don't hurt yourselves."

Before heading over to the convent, Fr. Tom placed a call to the Regional
Office of the Connecticut State Medical Examiner.  If relatives did not
claim it, St. Patrick's would assume responsibility for Timmy's body.
Promised full cooperation, he sighed, replaced the telephone on its stand,
and raced out the door.  It was two minutes before noon, and his
appointment with Sister Superior was at twelve o'clock...sharp.  Why was it
that he didn't think she would appreciate the slightest tardiness?

Once at the convent, Fr. Tom was guided to the lounge where Sister Superior
introduced him to the nuns - other than the two elderly sisters who had
been assigned lunch duty with the children.  Their smiles, and the fact
that they had assembled a small lunch, suggested more than words that they
welcomed his arrival.  At the close of the inspection - that went off
without incident - Fr. Tom sat in Sister Superior's small office.  Tea and
cookies had been brought in by one of the young nuns.  "Sister, have you
just a minute for a somewhat personal matter?"  When Sister Superior
allowed that she had SEVEN minutes before she had to be in her classroom,
Fr. Tom briefly summarized the events of the previous evening, the fact
that Timmy was the brother of one of the Gang of Six and, frankly, that he
was confused as to how he might best proceed.  He just knew that he didn't
want that poor boy to be dumped into a pauper's grave!  Sister Superior
looked at him for a moment before commenting.  "It would be presumptuous,
Father, for me to advise you .  I can tell you, however, that the Pastor of
St.  Patrick's has always had personal control over two grave sites at the
Diocesan cemetery on Farewell Street.  When one has been used, it has
always been replaced."  As she rose to her feet and gathered the books and
papers stacked neatly on her desk, she added quietly, "You, your boys, and
Timmy will be in my prayers.  Good day, Father."

Parish business, including a call to the Cemetery, kept Fr. Tom from
returning to the Youth Center for a good two and one-half hours.  When he
did (at around 3:30 p.m.), he was immediately suspicious of the silence
that lay heavy on the entire compound.  Walking softly down the hallway, he
entered the open door of the dorm only to find all six boys crumpled on
their beds in much the same position as they had dropped.  Filthy and
exhausted, they had returned less than ten minutes before from an
assignment that had turned out to be a real killer.  (Josh Stzalkowski
would later praise their attitude and labor to the skies - something that
led Fr.  Tom to award five extra points to each boy for the current week.)
"Want to feel better?" Fr.  Tom asked.  "Yeah," two or three voices weakly
responded.  "Ok, their priest continued, "Go next door to the showers and
take the hottest shower you can stand without burning your skin.  Then wrap
a towel around yourself and go into the exercise room." On the way out of
the room, Father stopped Chad and Shane, told them that he had talked with
the Medical Examiner and the Diocesan cemetery, and that Timmy's Requiem
would be celebrated at St. Patrick's before he was laid to rest in a 'real'
burial plot.  Chad's response seemed guarded, but Shane looked at his
mentor as if God Himself had come down from Heaven and invested the body of
his hero.

The showers gave Fr. Tom time to race over to his room in the rectory and
grab a bottle of a favorite oil and aloe concoction that he had used in his
duties as a trainer in the Department of Athletics at Holy Cross.  Before
the red-skinned, towel-clad boys drifted into the exercise room, he set up
three old portable massage tables that had been stored in a closet.  (Dear
God, the kids had even dusted THEM off!)  Once they had assembled, he
barked, "Ok, beasts, gather 'round.  Mel, will you serve as my guinea pig
and jump up on Table #1?  On your stomach..."  The big blond emitted a high
squeak and threw himself onto the table, as the lads giggled and wondered
(just a bit nervously) what was coming next.  Draping Mel's towel securely
over his powerful buttocks, Fr. Tom then demonstrated three basic massage
strokes, using oil that he had slightly warmed.  Not 30 seconds had passed
before Mel began to moan in ecstasy.  "Oh, Father, that feels so good; I
can feel the soreness draining out of my body!  Oh, man..."  "That's the
idea, Mel.  Turn over now," Father Tom exclaimed a few minutes later.  As
the back of the blond's head, neck, and shoulders turned pink, he muttered,
"There's a little problem, Father."  "Don't let it worry you, Mel.  It
happens to all men - and, in any case, you will be covered."  With a sigh,
Mel turned over, happy that Father quickly rearranged the towel - even
though a substantial tent in the fabric reduced Paddy to loud snickers.
"Easy, Paddy; you're a big guy now.  Everything's ok," Fr. Tom continued.
The results on the front side mirrored the earlier results, and Mel was
soon loudly praising the results of "sports massage."  "Man, we not only
have our own gym, but we have our own trainer!" he chortled.

"Let's change!" Father barked.  Paddy, come over here and work on Mel's
arms and legs.  Chad and Hugh to Table #2; Brandon and Shane to Table #3.
Ok, guys, you know what to do."  However inexperienced, the boys were
enthusiastic, and Fr. Tom worked with one pair after another. A general
sense of physical well-being began to dominate the room.  Teens being
teens, however, someone had to push the envelope just a bit too far.  As
Shane worked on Brandon's back, he introduced a new massage stroke.
Holding his hands outstretched, palms down and fingers side by side, he
allowed his oiled hands to slide sharply in rapid-fire fashion down the top
slope of Brandon's butt until the finger tips bottomed out in his back
muscles.  Almost immediately, Brandon began to grunt and sweat.  When Shane
asked him to turn over, he turned a bright pink, exclaiming, "Oh, man..."
To make matters worse, Shane fumbled with the towel, exposing Brandon's
erection, which was now enormous, bright red, hard as steel, and dripping
precum.  Embarrassed, Brandon became angry and abusive as only a street kid
can. As the air turned blue, his wide-eyed peers swallowed and looked at
Father Tom.

"That's all the time we have today, men," the young priest exclaimed.
"Into the showers with you!  Remove the oil with a lot of soap and water.
Shane, will you and Brandon stay behind for just a minute."  The young
priest retrieved the towel from the floor and wrapped it securely around
the black-haired teen who clearly had a memorable temper.  "Sorry, Father,
for my language," the boy mumbled.  Fr. Tom touched the side of the boy's
face, nodded his forgiveness, and turned to the second youth.  "Shane,
there are different kinds of massage and, hence, different kinds of massage
strokes.  Unfortunately, the one you selected will make a guy hard faster
that almost any other - and that's simply not what we're after in 'sports
massage'."  His eyes filling with tears, the young redhead immediately
began to blubber how sorry he was, how he had never intended to embarrass
Brandon - how he would never embarrass ANY buddy, and how Brandon was one
of the best guys ever.  Inundated by the words of apology spoken so
fervently, Brandon's anger (and other things) deflated quickly.  Suddenly,
he forgave Shane and held out his hand in friendship.  "Ok, me boyos,"
Father interjected, "you've squared things with each other, but you still
have the Gang of Six to consider.  They don't know what has happened here -
and I'm sure not going to tell them.  Suggestion: Go into the showers and
the dorm as friends.  Accidents and misunderstandings happen.  Let them
know publicly that apologies have been given and accepted, and that
everything is ok again."  Their arms around each other's shoulders, the
young men grinned their thanks as they left the exercise room.  At supper
that evening, Fr. Tom noticed that the tension was gone.  In fact, the two
young animals in question hammed it up over the last chop on the platter,
play-growling and threatening each other with their forks until everyone -
other than Mrs. Murphy - was in hysterics.

(The Requiem)

Father Tom sat reading a "Letter to the Editor" that he had written and
hand-carried to the Eastern Connecticut Times.  Instead of burying it on
the editorial page, however, the newspaper had enclosed it in heavy black
borders and placed it on the front page beside a news article written by a
staff reporter.  Fr. Tom asked how a loving people could allow its young to
be so abused, questioned how sending an increasing number of sorely
troubled youth to reformatories excused the community's washing its hands
of a growing social and moral problem, and called upon citizens of all ages
and faiths to attend Timmy's Requiem Mass on Tuesday at 10:00 a.m.  The
reporter accurately (and as graphically as possible) set forth the horrible
events, noted some frightening statistics provided by the police, and
called his readers' attention to the priest's comments.

Insofar as possible, the young priest's arrangements were in place.  The
Requiem Mass would take place at cavernous St. Patrick's.  (Better there
than in the School's shabby little chapel even if the congregation were
small.)  The help of the Gang of Six and the children from the parochial
school had been enlisted.  With Sister Superior's blessing, they were even
now making sure that every young person in the area (especially homeless
kids) knew of the Mass, knew they were invited, and knew in a special way
that it was their farewell to Timmy.  A similar invitation would be
extended to the adult congregation at tomorrow's (Sunday) Mass.  Burial
would directly follow the Requiem in All Saints' Cemetery.  All who desired
to attend would be invited to the short graveside service.  Following
burial, all would be invited to a very informal luncheon in the Church
Hall.  Mrs. Murphy and Mrs. Pagano were coordinating the preparation of
simple food, the Sisters were involved, two markets and Sherburne's one
delicatessen had promised a few trays, even one of Father Conor's Societies
had asked how it could help.  Inasmuch as Father had insisted on inviting
teenagers, their help in gathering FOOD was gratefully accepted.

Tuesday morning dawned bright with temperatures that, while cool, were not
uncomfortable.  (Though it was Thanksgiving week in New England, a
particularly strong stream of Gulf air had made its way up the East Coast
and, for a day or two, was holding the increasingly frequent incursions of
Arctic air at bay.)  By 9:00 a.m., lines of people, many of them including
teenagers, were converging on St. Patrick's from all directions.  While
most were on foot, many cars were also in evidence.  As Fr. Tom surveyed
the congregation, he could scarcely believe his eyes.  The great old church
was nearly full!  The Knights of Columbus provided ushers; the Police and
Fire Departments had sent delegations in uniform; joined by the Gang of
Six, older pre-teens and teenagers sat in five or six large clumps
scattered throughout the nave and looked around uncomfortably; several
hundred children from St. Patrick's parochial school were there with their
teachers, including Sister Superior and two elderly nuns; other
Sherburne-area clerics (including Father O'Herlihy and John Wilson, Rector
of Holy Trinity Episcopal Church) were in attendance; unknown to Fr. Tom,
three reporters, one from Hartford, sat among the congregation; adults of
divers descriptions and dress were seated in every pew.  Everything in the
church was shrouded in black, including Timmy's casket that rested on a
stand in front of the communion rail.  As the combined children's choirs of
St. Patrick's and Ste-Anne's finished a soft and gentle hymn, Fr. Tom clad
in black vestments approached the altar, genuflected, and said a short
prayer.  Then, rather than immediately continuing the service, he motioned
for the congregation to be seated and strode forward in the sanctuary.

"Welcome to St. Patrick's," he said simply.  "We gather here this morning
to say goodbye to Timmy, a young teen from Sherburne, and to pray that he
be received into the loving arms of our Father in Heaven.  Although he is
going Home, we are sad to be losing him.  That's one reason why you see
black all around you.  The service is in the historic language of the
Church.  I know that many of you are neither familiar with the Church nor
with Latin.  Therefore, I have asked Timmy's brother, Chad, occasionally to
explain what is going on in English.  (Chad, clad in a simple black robe,
stood at the lectern.  Fortunately, the congregation side of the reading
desk was made of solid wood, for the 14 year-old's knees were shaking
badly!)

Calling the congregation to prayer, Fr. Tom immediately launched into the
historic cadences of the Mass, occasionally pausing at prearranged places
for Chad to provide brief explanations.  In his short homily, he asked why
any young person in Sherburne had to go face the icy blasts of winter in
rags, why he wasn't invited to a family table at least to share what was
available - however scanty, why he was denied an education that could give
him a fighting chance for adult productivity and happiness and, of vital
importance, why he wasn't surrounded by the love central to building a
moral character.  "Is THAT why we send hundreds and hundreds of Connecticut
children to reformatories and prisons each year - to surround them with
love?" he asked bitterly.  He ended his brief remarks by praying that no
youngster in Sherburne would go without a Thanksgiving dinner two days
hence.  "Follow Christ's example," he advised.  "Take your lantern, go out
into the streets, go out into the broken factories and boarded-up houses,
reach out your hand and invite at least one homeless youngster to enjoy a
few hours of warmth and acceptance in your home.  It doesn't matter a whit
whether you serve turkey, or baked beans, or only a thin soup.  The Lord
God will see - and bless you."

Just before the concluding prayers, the black shroud was removed from the
coffin which was then blessed first with holy water and then with incense.
After the Mass had been completed, he reminded the congregation that all
who wished to do so were welcome to attend the brief graveside service at
All Souls' Cemetery.  Since it was only a few blocks distant, they would
walk, preceded by the Cross and the historic banner of St. Patrick's
parish.  (The banner woven in the 1870s by local textile workers was
bordered in emerald green, featured the likeness of the good Saint, and was
as close to an icon as could be found in the parish!)  At its close, they
were welcome to return to the Church Hall for a simple lunch in honor of
Timmy.  Following the acolytes who bore the crucifix and banner out of the
church, Fr. Tom was greeted on every hand by enthusiasm and approval.  (As
he passed Shane who was sitting on the aisle, he lowered his head and
whispered, "Timmy needs to say goodbye.  Go to him."  Pausing for a moment
as the massive congregation filed out of the building, he peered back
towards the sanctuary.  Shane knelt beside his friend's coffin, obviously
sobbing.  As he had requested, the hearse had been delayed long enough for
the boy to say personal goodbyes to his young love.)

Lifting his face joyfully to the warm sun, Father Tom hiked up over the
footbridge that spanned Sherburne's millrace.  As he looked back, he
gasped.  Hundreds of people of every age - including, it would seem, most
of the teens who had attended the Requiem - were trudging along behind him.
Entering the Cemetery, the procession climbed a short hill up towards a
copse of ancient trees.  There, in a particularly lovely spot, they found
the site prepared for Timmy's burial.  The service was short and solemn.
Following a series of prayers that commended Timmy's soul unto God before
committing his body to the ground "that he may be raised up in the glory of
the resurrection and live among your Saints and Elect. Through Christ our
Lord."  Father again blessed the casket first with holy water and then with
incense.  After members of the Gang of Six had each sprinkled a handful of
soil upon the coffin and the final blessing, a hushed and more reflective
procession wended its way back towards St. Patrick's.

After Fr. Tom has freshened himself at the rectory, he immediately made his
way down to the Church Hall.  The immense basement structure already seemed
crowded and people were still straggling in from the Cemetery.  Teens and
adults - all on their best behavior - were thoroughly enjoying a great
assortment of food and drink that lay before them on tables scattered
throughout the hall.  One handsome lad of 17 or 18 - the map of Ireland
upon his face - picked up his guitar and sat up on the very edge of the
stage.  Song after song poured forth to the delight of the adults, as well
as the kids.  "Damn!" Father Tom thought, "Timmy would have loved this!"
Others hopped up on the stage and joined in as the affair seemed well on
its way to becoming self-perpetuating!

On his way across the room, he encountered Sister Superior who was carrying
a small plate of food over to one of the elderly nuns seated at the side of
the room.  Speaking above the roar, she said, "You grinned like one of my
eighth graders when I asked you if the good days would ever return to
St. Patrick's, Father.  I didn't quite believe you, but I'm beginning to
wonder."  As she continued on her way, Fr. Tom thought to himself, "Yeah,
but a defiled, murdered 13 year old is far too high a price to pay for a
bit of hope, however needed."  The young priest also noticed Mel standing
guard outside the door of the Youth Center.  It appeared that small groups
of teens were being admitted for "guided tours" of the complex by other
members of the Gang of Six.  When they exited, they were generally
wide-eyed and shaking their heads in disbelief!  Never had he found
teenagers as friendly, as open, or as naturally respectful as he found them
that afternoon!

Not all of the Gang of Six were so occupied, it seemed.  Shane, for
instance, sat at the kitchen counter over on the other side of the
room. Characteristically, he was munching on a sandwich.  Wandering over,
Fr. Tom asked him if he were helping the food crew.  "Yeah, Father, doing
my part..."  A shadow passed over his eyes as he almost whispered, "Thanks,
Father, for this morning."  "Don't mention it, boyo," Fr. Tom answered,
friends do that sort of thing for each other."  Assuming his most
nonchalant teenaged look, Shane cleared his throat and continued.  "Father,
I wasn't always a heathen!  When I was a little boy, I went to Mass with my
parents!"  Fully realizing that he was receiving the first personal
information that he had ever received from the boy, Fr. Tom assumed a
half-joking look.  Defensively, the boy insisted, "Believe it!  It's true!"
"I believe it, Shane.  So?"  "Well," the handsome redhead continued, "I
remember that the priest had several boys...altar boys?...helping him with
the Mass.  I saw this morning that there were other jobs for guys - but I
didn't see anybody helping you at the altar," he added breathlessly.  I
guess that I'm not the brightest bulb in the rack, but would you be at all
interested in training me to help?"  The youngster looked off into the hall
with an almost comical air of feigned indifference.  "Oh, but you ARE one
of the brightest bulbs in the rack, Shane...one of the very brightest.
You're college material!  Besides, you are a very special friend.  Catch up
with me this week, and we'll see what can be done."  The redhead looked as
if he were about to burst into tears, swallowed noisily, and touched the
young priest with the index finger of his outstretched hand.  Both young
men jumped at the charge that jolted both their bodies, but quickly
grinned...and carried on like good American males.

The big Connecticut Valley papers and the State's eastern newspapers that
published on Wednesday all carried stories of Tuesday's happenings in
Sherburne.  Headlining it with the words, "To Surround Them with Love?" the
Hartford paper reprinted Fr. Tom's homily in its entirety in addition to
providing coverage of the entire event .  There were even brief excerpts
(sometimes humorous, always laudatory) from interviews with a group of
young teens called the "Gang of Six."  Editorially, it went even further
than he had, asking for specific legislative reforms in juvenile justice
system.  Additionally, it commended St. Patrick's "people-to-people"
initiatives as a model for working with homeless teens.  Grinning and
sipping on his second cup of coffee as he leafed through the papers, he
picked up the phone that had begun to ring incessantly and nonchalantly
answered, "Father Burke."  "Please hold for the Bishop, Father," a
secretarial voice intoned.  Almost choking on his coffee, he brushed the
crumbs off his coat, sat at attention, and waited.  "Father Burke, good
morning!" the Bishop's voice cheerfully greeted him.  "Good morning, Bishop
Kelly.  I trust all is well?"  "Well?... WELL?  I've spent the last hour on
the phone with legislators, clerics, and others who agree with me that
we've just heard the first GOOD news out of the eastern half of the State
in years!  Yes, all is well."  "Ah...Bishop Kelly," Father Burke
interjected, "I trust that in my inexperience, I did not go too far in my
comments or other actions?"  "Too far...TOO FAR?" the Bishop replied.  "No,
I think not.  If you did," he replied half-jokingly, "you have my
forgiveness.  Very well, I must run.  We shall speak at greater length when
we next meet in Hartford or...Sherburne.  I simply wanted to call you
personally and offer my congratulations.  Good day, Father."  A
shell-shocked young priest mumbled "Good day, Bishop Kelly" into the broken
connection and mechanically replaced the phone on its stand.

(Thanksgiving)

     (The Great Feast)

After working with Mr. Rafferty and the Gang of Six to restore order to the
Church Hall, Fr. Tom showered in the rectory and prepared to catch up with
Sister Superior at the School.  He found her occupied with lunch duty.  "I
hope you realize how grateful I am, Sister Superior, for the fantastic
support I received yesterday from you and your staff."  "Thank you, Father,
I shall share that with the Sisters," she answered lightly.  "And now?  You
are wondering how you are possibly going to pull off a major Thanksgiving
dinner tomorrow?"  His mouth open, blushing like the most callow eighth
grader, Fr. Tom stood rooted to the spot.  "Come, come, Father, lunch will
soon be over and I shall have to return to my classroom."  Taking mercy on
the befuddled young cleric, she continued in the same light spirit.  "Don't
go botherin' your head with such details, Father.  Mrs. Murphy, the
Sisters, and I have already agreed that we shall prepare a great feast in
the Church Hall kitchen.  You, however, must tell me for how many.  I
should like to invite three of our School children whose plight is truly
desperate.  I trust that you have told each of your boys to take his
lantern, go out into the street, reach out his hand, and invite at least
one homeless youngster to enjoy a few hours of warmth and acceptance in
God's house?"  "That would not be going too far?" Father asked with a
deepening sense that he'd been had.  "Well, the Bishop didn't seem to think
so - therefore, I surely cannot."  The good nun's face had never been more
immobile.  'SISTER PAUL!" the young priest sputtered.  "Do you have spies
in the BISHOP'S OFFICE?"  Hearing the warning bell for afternoon classes,
Sister Superior sniffed, wearily shook her head, and
returned...submissively and with exquisite courtesy...to duty.  Fr. Tom
swore he heard a few adult giggles as he escaped from the School.

When the Gang of Six identified its guests that afternoon, they brought
them directly back to the Youth Center.  As Shane explained to Fr. Tom,
there were three reasons: 1) They were likely to need a little 'scrubbin';
2) If they had some supper, they might not be sick the next day when they
had a really big dinner; and 3) As far as he knew, none of them had ever
enjoyed an 'overnight' at a friend's house."  ("Good reasons," Fr. Tom
thought.)  Shane also insisted that Sister Superior's candidates join them
right after school...so that they wouldn't "feel different."  Actually, Mel
would unknowingly choose one of Sister's charges.  Keanu was a great hulk
of a 13 year-old eighth grader - the acolyte who had carried the parish
banner on the day before.  Mel knew him because their single fathers had
been great drinking buddies in the Sherburne bars.  The only difference was
that Keanu's dad had dropped dead some two weeks ago.  The relationship
between Mel and Keanu was really rather touching.  No matter how big he
was, the eighth grader was totally overcome by the fact that a 16 YEAR-OLD
- THE BIGGEST GUY IN THE GANG OF SIX - had invited HIM for Thanksgiving.
Wherever Mel went, Keanu was sure to follow...either literally or with the
saddest pair of puppy-dog eyes that Father swore he had ever seen on a
human being!.

Leaving the scrubbing and measuring to the Gang of Six, Fr. Tom contented
himself with taking a list of measurements over to the convent and
returning with a stack of reasonably decent clothing for his boys' guests.
(He never did see Sister Superior, but he was told that she was in the
convent kitchen making pies.)  When a truly nice bunch of kids were ready,
he guided them over to the rectory where Mrs. Murphy provided big bowls of
chowder and some salad...plus a little ice cream, if course.  However they
spent the evening, the old church did not collapse, and in the church the
next morning, fourteen smiling faces greeted him...from way down front.
This time, he actually winkled at them, before beginning the prayers of the
Mass.  After breakfast in the rectory, several volunteer dads showed up and
piled the boys into their cars.  If their enthusiasm - and thanks - were
any test, they all had a fantastic time at the high school football game.

Returning to the Church Hall, they entered a veritable beehive of activity.
Nuns and parish women were scurrying in every direction.  Several of the
boys, including Shane and Brandon, were actually brave (or foolhardy)
enough to follow their noses towards the irresistible smells emanating from
the kitchen.  Unfortunately, just as they about to close in on some
possible food, Sister Superior appeared.  Though she only pointed silently
towards to the door to the Youth Center, all 14 boys moved as if they had
seen the Grim Reaper!  Fr. Tom looked in on them about an hour later.  A
few of the boys were playing board games in the dorm, though most were in
the exercise room, working out under Mel's direction - plus that of his new
assistant, Keanu.  Father laughed when he saw how they had solved the
problem of preserving their clean clothing.  Nothing like just stripping
down!  Needless to say, he enjoyed the scenery for a few minutes before
giving them the word that they had better shower and get ready for
something SPECIAL!

As the silent mob almost tiptoed towards the far end of the Hall, they saw
that three large tables has been set up in the shape of a "U" that lay on
its side and opened towards the kitchen.  Covered with pumpkin-colored
paper, each displayed an artistic arrangement of autumn leaves and
bittersweet berries that had been made by the school children.  Glasses of
milk and platters of iced vegetables stuffed with cream cheese and other
goodies already rested on the tables, interspersed with wooden bowls that
held shelled nuts. The now suddenly bashful, wide-eyed teens were shown to
their places by the Sisters.  Each guest sat next to his host, Mel
insisting that one of the extra School children sit by him while Shane
welcomed the other.  After Father Tom had said grace, the food began coming
- and it never really seemed to stop.  After some of the braver ones had
followed Father Tom and the Sisters' example and nibbled cautiously on the
appetizers, there was a great turkey (with a second waiting in the oven),
an herbed stuffing, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, creamed onions, string
beans, bowls of jellied cranberry, and a wonderful gravy.  Oh, yes, there
were hot rolls with butter and endless pitchers of milk.  And, then, of
course, came that favorite of New Englanders of all ethnicities, dessert!
Sister Superior's pies had never been so well received: mince (the real
thing, mind you - not that flavored fruit muck), as well as pumpkin with
its inevitable scoops of vanilla ice cream.  For those who wanted it - and
many did - there was hot coffee. (In fact, Fr. Tom received a "special" cup
of coffee...just for him!  Ah...)  Silence reigned.

Perhaps an hour later, two nuns and Mrs. Murphy were still noisily washing
and drying pots and pans in the kitchen.  Sister Superior sat exhausted,
half-asleep, slumped in a metal chair by one of the tables.  A very sleepy,
disheveled Shane crept out into the Hall on his stocking feet.  Sister
Superior suddenly started, instinctively aware that someone was watching
her.  Without saying a word, Shane bent down, kissed her on the cheek and
then, almost as if sleepwalking, shuffled back towards the Youth Center.
Holding her hand to her cheek, her face slowly broke into a smile best
described as "beatific."  Fortunately, no one was looking and, thus, her
reputation was preserved, but Sister Paul carried that moment, locked in
her heart, to her grave.

     (The Night Visitor)

On returning to his quarters in the rectory, Fr. Tom barely made it through
his devotions before he stripped down and fell into his bed.  Other than
realizing that it was dark and quiet, he had not the slightest idea of when
he awoke.  In any case, he was still weighed down with food...and feeling
the lingering effects of a second cup of "special" coffee that he had
enjoyed in the kitchen with the nuns before departing.  Sensing
"something," he, too, started and turned over.  Shane stood beside his
bed...in the moonlight...stark naked.  As the light diffused by wind-
tossed tree branches outside the window played over the planes of his body,
Fr. Tom was awestruck by his beauty.  Hesitating but a second, he lifted
the covers and allowed the lad to scramble in front of him.  Drawing
Shane's body towards him, he buried his nose in his hair, deeply inhaling
the scent.  His hand wandered feverishly over the youth's hard body - his
biceps, his heavy chest, his taut stomach.  Reaching down between their
sweating bodies, he fondled the boy's muscular buttocks.  Moaning softly,
Shane raised his top leg, inviting his hero to explore further.  Gently,
the young priest held the boy's low-hanging balls before lightly kneading
the warm flesh of his inner thighs.  Raising up on one elbow, Father bent
down and kissed the boy's neck and heavy shoulders.  Moaning, more loudly
now, Shane turned over and raised his upper body to return the kisses.  For
minutes, their temperatures rapidly rising to new heights, their tongues
dueled - until Shane's head suddenly collapsed back onto the pillow.  A
quiet sob escaped his throat.  "Father," he finally whispered, "please
always remember how much I love you.  You are everything that means
anything to me.  To be like you is my goal in life.  It always will be.
Lie still now and let me show you my love."

As he massaged his love's perineum, Shane's tongue swirled over his glans
and pressed into the frenulum, sucked the precum rushing from the head, and
licked the entire shaft.  Fr. Tom was absolutely paralyzed by passion!  His
arms thrown to the side, sucking great gulps of air into his lungs, his
body quivered from head to toe as it was worshiped by the beautiful young
lad.  Finally, as he thought he must surely explode, Shane lifted himself
over the young priest and slowly lowered himself onto his rock-hard
phallus.  Though completely inexperienced, as well as being a virgin,
Fr. Tom vaguely realized that Shane had to be experienced - and prepared -
for he literally slid downward until he sat on his pubes.  Further, rather
than pain, there was only the most glorious, joyful sense of fulness
and...completion.  Almost immediately, Shane began to raise and lower his
body, drawing Father's penis ever deeper into his body.  Occasionally, he
would twist his lower body slightly to the right and then to the left,
creating a sensation that was driving the young priest out of his mind.  He
knew only that he hoped it would never end, but, of course, it did.  As
Shane's penis ejaculated thick ropes of semen over his chest, his body
tensed.  With a cry torn from the depths of his being, he propelled a
massive charge deep up into his love's bowels.  When he regained
consciousness a minute or two later, Shane was kneeling over him.  He could
feel the hot tears dripping down onto his face.  The boy kissed hm...and
then he was gone.

It took the young priest several minutes to begin to recover.  As his
passions gradually cooled, however, what had been joy...even
exaltation...began to turn to ice.  The realization that he had
willingly...consciously...violated his vows swept over him.  And what of
his responsibilities to the boy whom he truly loved?  If it wouldn't have
awakened the entire east side of town, he would have screamed his pain into
the cold blackness.  Rather, he arose, cleaned the semen from his body, and
dressed quickly.  He had to talk with Shane.  He HAD to explain.  HE HAD TO
BEG HIS FORGIVENESS!  Oh my God, my God...I am so sorry!

Hurrying into the night, the tears running down his face, he ran over to
the Youth Center.  For a moment, he thought he had succeeded, but the boy
in Shane's bed was his Thanksgiving guest.  Shane was gone and was nowhere
to be found.


(To Be Continued)