Date: Thu, 08 Feb 2007 21:01:01 -0700 From: Joseph Farrin Subject: THE VICAR OF BLANCHARD - PART 2 THE VICAR OF BLANCHARD - 2 PART SEVEN When I put him down beside the bed, we both tossed our pajamas aside and once in bed, both totally naked, both totally erected and in the throes of passion, our lips locked us together in our first act of sex. No oral sex took place. No penetration took place. But bound together in our embrace, we climaxed very soon and at the same time. Our whole bodies jerked in unison. It was the first time for both of us at having sex. We were surprised when, almost immediately, we both climaxed for the second time. With my arms still around him, I rolled over on my back, pulling him with me so his legs were between mine, his boy cock and mine both softening together in the pool of semen that had just oozed out of our piss slits. We didn't move for how long I really can't say. Neither spoke. In the silence, our breathing was audible. Michael was the first to speak, asking, "Is all sex like that?" "I don't know. I think maybe we just experienced love instead. Michael if I were to die right now, with you on top of me, I'd die happy. I can't describe how I feel, especially about you." "Don't try Morgan, I know because I feel the same way." We didn't move all night but even with him atop me I never slept more soundly. At 7AM when he awoke to go to the bathroom, I got up, too. After he'd used the bathroom he went back to bed. I stayed up, made coffee and pancake batter -- pancakes were not a popular breakfast in England but one I remembered from my childhood and still fancied now and again and I didn't have to do anymore with them until he woke up. PART EIGHT Very rarely, because I didn't like doing it, I decided against using today's Gospel as the subject of my sermon, which some ministers did too often, believing the Gospels were written in parables and needed interpretation rather than taking them literally. I preferred another approach and did so, today, because every time Michael talked about his mom he seemed filled with anger and it concerned me. So, I began, "In some denominations, the members address each other as Brother John, Sister Jane, or My Child if a child is involved. They are right in doing so as we are all children of God - all brothers and sisters and God is our father." I continued with: "One of God's commandments is that we shall love one another as we love ourselves. That includes loving your pastor (everyone smiled.) In fact it includes more than your pastor -- people who drink too much, people who murder, people who steal, people who cheat on their spouses, people who sell their bodies for money. Why? Because they, too, are children of God. They, too, are our brothers and sisters and children. To love them, we might first have to forgive them. We do not know the circumstances that surrounded their deeds and to not forgive them develops into hate and hate will consume us, consume us totally -- both our body and our mind and that is not what God wants us to do. So, what I ask of you today my brothers, my sisters and my children is to try, try forgiveness in lieu of hatred. It will help to qualify ourselves, help us deserve everyone's ultimate hope -- a place in Heaven." "To make this easier, let me say that to love and to like are not the same. You can like ice cream but you really can't love it. You can love your child but sometimes when he's being naughty, you won't like him. So remember this difference when you're having trouble loving your neighbor. Don't be quick to form opinions of people that you read about in newspapers or hear about on the television. If you were to meet the person face to face you might not hate him, after all. It might turn out that you like him, think he'd been falsely represented and feel sorry for him -- which is a first step toward forgiving and forgiving is the first step toward loving. I predict that to practice forgiveness will have a cleansing effect, even make you a happier person. And, please remember, forgiveness is one of the keys to your fulfilling God's commandment to love thy neighbor. Also it is worth remembering that someday we might need God's forgiveness. Might he be more apt to forgive us if we have forgiven others?" Sunday afternoon, Michael and I walked up to the deserted Lead mine, explored the ruins and sat on the remnant of an old, stone wall before returning to Blanchard. We discussed this and that, including all the castles and cathedrals that we could visit on weekends, because they were so close and I responded to Michael's question about where all the people came from that were in church, explaining the parish extended beyond Blanchard, including the newer housing beyond the courtyard and even a few, small surrounding villages. We each smoked our two, self-allotted cigarettes for the day and finally, Michael said, "Morgan, your sermon this morning was for me, wasn't it?" "Yes, I wondered if you were going to mention it. And Michael, remind me never to give a sermon on temptation." His hand moved over toward mine, a gesture that he wanted to hold it, but I moved mine away, saying, "Michael, I have something to explain. In the seminary they told us all sorts of stuff -- how we would be plagued, at times, with lust -- how masturbation was an impure deed, frowned upon by God -- how we had to keep ourselves pleasing to God if we were to represent him here on earth. Then Friday evening when I opened the door and saw you and when you told me what had happened and how you wanted to stay with me, all I'd learned became unimportant, unrealistic, in part a creed of old men, some of whom had lived too long in a monastic world far removed from the real one. I've thought about it more since and I want you to stay with me. I need you to stay and I hope you do, too. I've decided that we don't need to worry if we're cautious. That's why I didn't want to hold hands out here -- some damn birdwatcher with a pair of binoculars might accidentally catch us in his lens." Then I added, as concerns masturbation, I've done it and you've done it. So has every male on earth." "He replied, "Thanks Morgan. I've never been the subject of a sermon before. I love you and I want to stay. I'll be careful when we're away from home. And I've just thought of a question for you." "Ask it then." "Can we masturbate each other when we get home?" I laughed and said, "You horny little bugger. Of course we can. If I weren't the local Vicar I'd pull your trousers down right now and jack you off right here!" PART NINE Immediately upon entering and closing the door, I asked, "And where do you want us to masturbate?" "Where do you usually do it during the day? I thought and answered "The toilet or my study, and you?" "The toilet at home or the one at school." "It seems toilets got the most votes." So that's where we went. "Let's take off our pants, I want to try something that I've never done before." I took out my already erected, seven inches and pushed it into one side of his new thongs and through his groin between his genitals and his left leg. I neither knew nor cared what a girl was like down there, but his groin felt wonderful with its moistness and it's warmth and the unbelievable softness of his young skin. He immediately grasped the idea, parted one side of my jockeys and guided his erection between my legs. I backed him against a wall and began dry fucking him. Suddenly he grabbed, first my and then his shorts and pulled them down and out of the way. Then we locked our mouths together. In the process, we missed a few strokes but no one was counting and the journey to climax ended when we felt the other's semen pouring down the inside of our legs. I didn't mention it to Michael, but I hoped that our trigger- happy balls would settle down soon and give us more time to enjoy our lovemaking. PART TEN Michael went to school on Monday and around 11 o'clock I went, too. I thought it best to tell James Killian, the Principal, and my first new friend in Blanchard, what had taken place with Michael during the weekend. Like me, he was shocked and angered by the time I finished. His reaction was that it was strange, saying she must have had one of her male friends help her, as there were no intercity busses through Blanchard after dark and to pack her clothes, leave a note with money enclosed all seemed to indicate it had been preplanned, despite Michael having related that she was inebriated at the time. I was impressed with his perspective on the situation and told him about buying Michael new clothes, the fish and chips and baptizing him plus saying both Michael and I had bonded rapidly and we both wanted to stay together. Then I asked if I should inform the police that he was living with me and why. Morgan, it would probably be the honest, most forthright thing to do, but my gut feeling is that you shouldn't. He'd, most likely end up in the custody of the County and sent only God knows where. From what you've told me, I think you already realize he is a warm and sensitive boy, despite his past, and that would only do him further harm. "Do you want my advice?" "Please." "I really feel that you, Michael and I should enter into a conspiracy. In my files I have sufficient hand written notes from Lillian, his mother, regarding admittance forms and excuses for absenteeism that I could forge a note reading, roughly:" I have been called away on an emergency and it is necessary for me to leave my son, Michael, in the custody and care of Vicar Morgan Townsend for as long as may be required." Signed Lillian Longley. If it's not dated, there will always be a significant question as to how long it is relevant. And I might add, conspiracy or not, it would spice up my life a bit. And, one more thing while we're on Michael's case, he is listed with National Health. That is required information when a pupil starts school, in case of an emergency. I assume you know that if you switch him to a private physician he cannot return to the National Health System -- one more of our bureaucratic stumbling blocks. When Michael got home from school, I had milk and cookies waiting for him and told him of what Mr. Killian and I had done and why. The next day he brought a school friend home with him. I told the boy he better call home so his mother would know where he was. (I later learned that Michael had been invited to other boys' homes on occasion but he had never reciprocated, for reasons we can all understand). Midweek, George Fisher came over with his bag of Newcastle Brown Ale and against my objections poured a small drinking glass partially full for Michael. Michael was in his glory taking part in the conversation between two adults and especially with listening to George's risqué tales about past parishioners. I noticed he didn't like the ale but sipped it ever so slowly so as not to offend George. PART ELEVEN Friday was Molly's day to clean. Luckily I had changed the upstairs bedding to flannel sheets and warmed the room with a portable electric heater before he retired so Molly wouldn't catch us sleeping together. I could never count on her time of arrival -- it varied between 6 and 8 AM at her convenience. All my plans were for naught, though. At midnight, Michael was standing by my bed shaking me and saying, "Morgan, I can't sleep." So, I grabbed my alarm clock, set the alarm for 5 o'clock and followed Michael upstairs, cuddled up to his back, threw an arm over him and tucked my hand under his stomach and neither moved a muscle until the alarm sounded. I was up, showered, dressed and drinking coffee when I heard Molly come in. I told her the highlights of Michael's story and when he came downstairs she fell in love with him as fast as I had. He came home to find a big slice of Chocolate cake on the table and watched as Molly poured him a cup of tea. I was out but returned within an hour to smell dinner cooking. The butcher's van had come by and honked so Molly had bought a small pork roast and was fixing it along with potatoes. As she walked out the door to go home, she admonished me, "Now you take care of that boy and feed him properly." I don't recall exactly but it was at least two weeks later when Michael bombed into my study and said, "Morgan, can I ask you a question?" He knew he could, so without waiting for my answer, asked it. "What does the word 'Blow' mean? I heard a couple of older guys in school using it." I knew, and I knew that he knew, the word had many, similar meanings -- blow your nose -- blow a horn -- blow up a balloon, even to blow it (as in to make a mistake). I also knew that the two boys he'd heard using the word were using it in none of the above contexts. Then, again, instinctively I knew, and I knew he knew that the boys he'd overheard had used it with some sexual connotation. Oh the pangs of parenthood - or, the pleasures in Michael's case. AS IS USUALLY THE CASE I MADE A FEW GOOFS IN THE FIRST CHAPTER AND I'M SURE SOME READER WILL FIND SOME IN THIS CHAPER. IF SO, PLEASE WRITE ME. I AM NOT SENSATIVE TO CRITICISM. TO BE CONTINUED