Date: Sat, 15 Jan 2005 15:05:36 -0800 (PST) From: GH JUNKKIE Subject: "The Sexorcist" Pt 2 The Sexorcist PART TWO By Mr. GloryholeJUNKIE Gh_professional@yahoo.com The Sexorcist PART TWO Your Eminence, it was at that point in the evening of my second day in Port Landings, while meeting with these men at Pelican Beak, that I waved over our barkeep for myself. I realize that despite not having an official problem with alcohol, I had promised you privately that I would swear off further drinking after the shameful episode seven years ago when I found myself in that Yuma, Arizona motel room - and in bed with four men I didn't even know as we took turns on one of the men's wife. I pledged to you at that time in private confession that I would no longer imbibe, even if I were not a diagnostically certified alcoholic. But despite that sin of my past, and the sin in my betrayal of that vow I made to you afterwards, too, I feel confident that no one (even perhaps you) could have doubted my need for liquid fortitude. Listening to the overwhelming story these men told me of what was seemingly a "supernatural sex baby" would test any man's spiritual courage as well as his darkest, wanton lusts. And, also, I was proved correct in my earlier assessment of the two men who sat across from me in that corner booth. As Mr. Keenan looked around the room as best he could (since we were, for the most part, hidden from view in an isolated booth on a very quiet evening in the bar), I asked him what was the matter. I was shocked when he replied that he was "all horny again just thinking about that possessed cum slut baby, Father." (Those were his words verbatim). At that point, I suggest we cease the conversation if it were too much for them to handle without causing them a greater occasion of sin. I offered to say Our Lord's Prayer with them but both men declined and said that they needed to get everything off of their chests before they could pray. They then asked me why it had taken so long for anyone to come to Port Landings in order to address the salaciously horrific series of events surrounding this child. I assured them that the Church and the Holy Father himself had received their correspondence, which they had sent three and half years ago. And I explained to them that His Holiness, the Special "Rituale Romanum" Council in Rome, as well as, yourself were greatly troubled by the letters ever since. I tried to further explain to them that the official process for the Church's investigation into such matters takes time as they are quite scandalous and worrisome. In fact, in that light, I told them that their claims had actually moved through the official Vatican bureaucracy miraculously quickly. Since theirs was a claim involving such a small child involved in such extremely distasteful sexual activities, the case became a priority to the Church not merely for suspicion of demonic incarnation, but, because it may prove to be a simpler case of sexual abuse, as well. Hearing that, both of these men balked. They insisted that it was not just a case of the boy's father or a consortium of men engaging in sex with this child. As Mr. Fries stated plainly and simply, "You don't get it, Father. There's something's up with that kid. Something's making him unlike even the worst fucking slut working Times Square in New York City. He gets men doing shit to him they'd never in a million years ever dream about doing. That's why we never called the cops on 'im. Nobody's ever called the cops. Whatever's going on with that kid - and since he's been a baby - just ain't of this world, Father." I then asked them to continue telling me what happened that night as they spied through the child's nursery window. But just as they were about to elaborate further, the barkeep stood behind us carrying our drink order. As it was slow in the bar that evening, and it appeared that only he and a dishwasher were on duty, I was afraid that this man had overheard us. And he had. But instead of being shocked, Mr. Wendt Mendricks, the owner of Pelican Beaks (as he identified himself), startled me when he said, "You talkin' 'bout the creepy Smith kid? Man, you want to hear stories about that wild little slut? I've heard whispers galore in here over the past few years - things that'd make your curly hairs curlier." I introduced myself to the man and quickly he apologized for making a remark about pubic hair in front of me. I laughed it off, telling him that we priests don't always wear the collar. I further I assured him, as I had the others, that whatever might be revealed to me, no matter how immoral or even how illegal a testimonial may be, each man was under the protection of the Seal of Confession. He knew, therefore, that I would not - and morally could not - breathe to authorities a word of anything he or the others might say to me - no matter the gravity of what he had to confess or describe. I also explained to him that any official report made to His Holiness or the Special Council in Rome would be certain to conceal the identities of all participants. As this is but a letter to you, Your Eminence, I felt no need to share with them the fact I'd be writing regular, casual accounting of events here for your personal consideration and understanding. Immediately, Mr. Mendricks began to rattle off hearsay stories to me about the five-year-old in question. He related how, for many years now, he's heard that the child would "seem to be calling for men to come around to that hell house (his words) on Wharf Parkway where these men would then find themselves - for reasons they could neither understand nor resist - standing at an open window around the back of the house and 'getting head' (fellatio) from the little kid inside." Saying that, Mr. Mendricks, unwittingly told me where the other two men's story most certainly must have been edging toward before his joining in on the conversation. He also said that for over a year now, he has heard - on numerous occasions - male patrons of his bar "joking" late at night about how "some weird little four-year-old cumbucket was sucking dicks in the parking lot of 'Midnight Books' (a local adult bookstore and theater on the outskirts of Port Landings)". "And that place is located more than six miles outside of town", Mr. Fries interjected. With that bit of information, I then asked the owner of Pelican Beaks how such a small child could possibly find his way to an adult bookstore parking lot in the middle of the night. I asked in whose company the boy was, if, indeed, he were spotted there, (let alone, spotted committing the acts he described). I asked if the boy's father was also seen in the vicinity of Midnight Books on any of those occasions. "I never heard nobody mention a car or a dad or anything like that", Mr. Mendricks stated. "The kid's just there suddenly at one, two, in the morning sucking dicks in the shadows of the parking lot. Some guys have told me that it's like he just appears or flies there or something. If his dad drives him there, he must just park somewhere else in the lot and watch because I never heard anyone ever mention anyone being with the kid." It was at that comment that I told him I was not looking only for mere rumor but was, in addition, seeking first person testimonials for use in a proper investigation into the situation surrounding the child. At which point, Mr. Mendricks then said that as long as everything would remain strictly confidential, he needed to finally tell somebody all that he knew. And since the bar was nearly empty, he slid beside me in the booth. Mr. Fries and Mr. Keenan spoke not at all other than to acknowledge that they have long known Mr. Mendricks (and vice versa) but only casually. "We're friendly", Mr. Keenan stated. "Friendly but not what you'd call friends, if you know what I mean", Mr. Fries added when asked about their relationship to the bar's owner. "They come in every week", Mr. Mendricks said. "Pretty good customers I guess. Even though I'm always busy in the back when I see them here some nights. But my wife and I see you guys and your families sometimes at church at St. Agnes." "Your daughter works at one of the shops on the boardwalk like my Kathy does", Mr. Fries said to the bar's owner. Therefore, officially, I must document that these men knew one another in what could only best be described as an informal although friendly acquaintanceship. In a town such as Port Landings, it would be nearly impossible to find any two persons who did not know either personally or know something of the other. I therefore could only accept the fact that these men had not engaged in conversation about the child with one another prior to this moment at Pelican Beak. I asked Mr. Mendricks what he thought of the boy's behavior. I asked him if it seemed he was acting out as any sexually abused child might. Or if he thought, as did Mr. Fries and Mr. Keenan, it might be something more. And Mr. Mendricks' verbatim reply to me, Your Eminence, was the following, "Well, let me put it to you this way, Father. If that kid's been trained - whether by his daddy or any other group of men - he's been trained beyond belief. You know - trained like a pro to suck and swallow - you know, dick. Trained to take it up the ass. Trained to want it, even. Hell, I seen guys I know ain't into any fag crap at all - guys married for thirty years - buddies of mine I've known since 'Nam that I know are only into tit and twat - unzip when that kid tells 'em to unzip. So what is anybody suppose to think?" I asked him how a toddler or small child could possibly coerce or force such a situation upon himself. I asked him, for instance, how he thought the child in question "got" his father to "unzip" his trousers in order for him to perform unnatural and illegal oral sex upon the man. "No offense, Father", he replied. "But I got no fucking idea. When you see this kid in action, its like...well, you know...like in those movies." "Movies?", I asked him as I noticed that the other two men, as well, seemed in agreement with that observation. "Like in 'The Omen' or flicks like that", Mr. Keenan interjected. "It's just like that. I mean, I thought that shit was just the movies, ya know? But now I fucking got to believe that stuff goes on. Only it's weirder than any movie - and scary as hell - cuz it's for real." I assessed the three men to be neither flighty nor fanciful thinkers. My opinion of these men was that each was a hard working, blue collar, straight-shooting sort of husband and father. Yet, I asked them, "Do you believe it may be at all possible that the child, his father or any man who may have been involved with this child, has been influenced - knowingly or not - by such stories and films?" All three simultaneously and aggressively shook their heads. Mr. Mendricks was particularly assertive in his reply of, "I've heard a shitload of stories about that kid for almost four years now. Owning this here bar, I hear everything that goes on in this county practically before the people involved even know what's happening. Hell, I know more shit than the Sheriff's department ever catches wind of half the time. But this kid? I seen it, too, Father..." "You've personally witnessed questionable occasions involving this child?", I asked the bar's owner. The bar's owner hesitated to elaborate at first until I again reassured him that anything shared by he and the other men at the table would remain bound by my vows of silence. He then asked the other two men if they were sharing their encounters, too. After being guaranteed that they were, Mr. Mendricks, seemingly assured of his own credibility (and yet, observably embarrassed), continued by saying, "Yeah, I seen the kid in action - personally. I ain't proud of that. But it wasn't my own doing how I came to find out firsthand what sort of kid we're talking about here." I asked him to explain what he had personally experienced. "Man, this is hard to say, Father", Mr. Mendricks said as he lowered his voice to an even quieter tone than that in which we'd already been speaking. "I don't know how to say it, it's so fucking bad..." I assured the bar's owner that he could tell us anything without fear of any negative repercussions. I told him that mine was but a Church investigation into what has been deemed by the Rituale Romanus to be suspicious events of an unholy, and perhaps, demonically-driven nature. Mr. Mendricks, clearly fearful, first looked over his shoulder before saying, "I was one of them..." "One of them?", I asked. "Can you explain what you mean by that?" "I'm like most every other guy in this town is what I mean by that", he answered. "I'm one more he got to." I asked him if what he meant was that he had done something sexually to or with the child in question. Saying nothing, Mr. Mendricks nodded and lowered his head. "Holy fuck. Just like us", Mr. Keenan confessed. "I tell ya, Father, that kid is the source of all this shit. He's got the devil in him - got to be." I seized the opportunity to then ask Mr. Keenan directly, "So what you're saying is that you also did something with the child - sexually?" "Me...and Ben here...both did. Man, I never said that out loud before", Mr. Keenan said as he glanced over the top of the booth. "And now you know its true cuz Wendt's telling you the same thing, too, Father." "Which should be no fucking surprise. It ain't just me, too...or you guys either", Mr. Mendricks angrily replied. "We all know half this county's fucked a load or two at one time or another into that possessed little spermbucket." He then turned to me and, almost pleadingly added, "You got to understand, Father. It's not something we wanted to do. Not something any of the guys around here necessarily wanted to do. Instead, it's something that kid makes us do. Hell, I never touched another little kid like him in my whole life!" "We didn't either, man", Mr. Fries then said to Mr. Mendricks. "You think me and Frank here went over to that freak house to screw a baby? You got to know us enough to know we ain't into that shit." "I got a grandkid myself", Mr. Keenan said. He then looked at me and explained, "Our oldest daughter, Mary, got herself knocked up last year - in her first year going to the community college. I ain't got no problem with that. But you think for a second I want to screw my grandbaby, Father? No. And the same's true with our buddy, Tom's boy. We didn't set out to shoot cum into that little kid..." "...He makes guys shoot cum in him", Mr. Fries said, as if completing his friend's thought. "He - or something living inside of him - fucking makes us do it." I asked the three men, "So what you're saying is that each of you has engaged in sexual acts with the child." And all three men acknowledged that fact. "But, like, me", Mr. Mendricks said. "It wasn't like I was looking to do it or even thinking about it that night. Hell, I don't even know the kid...or his father." I asked the bar's owner to explain the circumstances surrounding his personal involvement with the boy. He then asked me how much detail I needed. I responded that the more detailed within my report, the better the Church could. Perhaps, discover the source of the strangeness occurring within their town. He then told us again that as the owner of Pelican Beaks, he had long heard stories circulating about "this kid over on Wharfside Parkway". The first time he had heard any word of the boy, he and others in the bar that night chalked it up to being the lewd ravings of a boisterously drunk biker. He said that he and others laughed it off and that other Harley buddies of the man helped remove the man from the bar. But quickly after that first instance, he began to hear other male patrons on other nights - patrons who were not at all noticeably inebriated - whisper similar (even sometimes, exact) same stories about "this baby boy in town who was begging for cum". I asked him what he thought of such stories when he heard them coming from so many other, unrelated people. Mr. Mendricks shrugged as he told me that one hears a lot of "shit" when one runs a bar in a working class town such as Port Landings. He told me that over the years he's heard rumors about dead bodies in freezers and gold nuggets hidden in cannery storage tanks and how some teen girl was selling her high school twat to anyone for a dollar a pop. He quickly asserted that each story proved not only to be unsubstantiated, but certifiably untrue. He said that the high school girl in question, for instance, was, in fact, the daughter of the Sheriff and the rumor was revenge for his arresting a meth dealer. Therefore, he said, that for months, he and others just ignored or joked about the stories surrounding, as he said "some little boy constantly hungry for cum". He confessed that he, like most other men in town, figured that anything said were plainly outrageous stories intended to titillate other guys after hours. "Every guy likes a good hard-on story, Father", Mr. Mendricks said. "I mean, no offense, Father, but it was just like they were swapping the nastiest tales they'd get off the Internet or something. Urban legend shit in our own town. You know? Let's face it, Father, there are men who will even beat off to all the stuff your fellow priests are doing with little kids. You got to admit that some of that stuff you priests do - no matter how twisted - makes for good hard-on stories - you know, when a guy's horny. Not that he'd do any of that shit." MORE TO COME... "The Sexorcist", COPYRIGHTED 2005 to the Pen Name, "Mr. GloryholeJUNKIE" This story is not to be use in any capacity or forum without the author's prior, written permission. Any similarity of situations and/or names of persons and/or places used in this story and those in "real life" would be completely coincidental. Gh_professional@yahoo.com COMPLY WITH ALL LAWS IN YOUR AREA.