The following story contains material of a strong homosexual nature.  If you're not allowed to view this type of material, please hit the Back button now.  Although some of the material used exists in the real world, the story is just a silly fiction. Any and all allusions to the sexuality of any members of the Roman Catholic hierarchy, to any historical figures of the Christian, Jewish, Islamic or Pagan faiths, to any authors or readers of Nifty Erotic Archives, to any members of any Masonic order, or to Keanu Reeves and Rupert Everett are purely fictional and should in no way be construed to mean anything as to the actual sexual preference or orientation of these persons.    


The Nifty Code

By Steven Monotony

Writing on the Wall

I was munching on a late breakfast at the Appletree Café, just down the street from my humble abode, and meditating on the NY Times Crossword puzzle.

Nice place to spend a Saturday morning. Good scenery too: a cute bubble-butt waiter works the tables there. He seems to think I'm hot stuff. Been making eyes at me lately. I was in a bright, friendly mood so I thought I'd make his day.

"Hey," I said the next time he was hovering over my shoulder, "what's a three letter word for somebody who likes making hot love at work."

"Ummm..." he says, giving me a mischievous grin, "...what?"

"Here, I'll write it down for you."


I took a napkin and wrote down: "Y-O-U".

Oddly enough, he looked at me proudly, like I was a journeyman printer who had just finished engraving his first masterpiece. Then, with perfect aplomb, he leaned in and whispered, "So, could I show you to the bathroom?"

"What? I know where it... "

Light dawns on Marble Head.

"OH! Sure. Show me the way..."

His bounce-a-dime-off-it perfect bubble butt that screams "Fuck me, Mister!" was tucked neatly inside tight-fitting chinos. I followed him, getting harder with each step.

Always prepared, like a good Boy Scout, my hard cock was wrapped and lubed by the time he'd locked the bathroom door. He did a sexy striptease.

What a hot fuck. Perfectly round ass cheeks, a smooth body that had spent plenty of time at the gym, sparkly eyes, and a tight, smooth, slippery, warm hole. I felt such an amazing energy while we were fucking that I didn't notice he'd been scrawling something on the bathroom wall until after I'd cum. I thought he'd been pawing at the wall in ecstasy. Silly me. I'd been thinking maybe that's his way of saying "Woo-hoo!"

Whatever. His butt was so hot. The sudden scene was so deliciously hot. He was so fucking hot! It felt like a rocket ship blasting off when I came. I was so discombobulated afterwards that I barely even noticed when he slipped out of the room.

As I was depositing my spent rocket fuel (yuk-yuk) into the waste bin, I noticed the writing on the wall: "For a good time, click: ... then there was a URL, a web address, "".

Pondering that, I meandered back to my table to finish struggling with the crossword and sipping my cuppa java.

My mystery man appeared again a few minutes later, leaned in close, and said, "So, what's a three letter world for hottie?"

I smiled and gave a shrug, thinking how cute his short, tousled hair looked.

He put the check down on the table. On it was written: "Y-O-U" and next to that, his phone number.

"My name's Walt," he said, "Walt Tyler".

I shook his hand and said, "John".

The grip of his handshake startled me. I realized that our encounter was not accidental.

"Old Man of the Mountains?" I asked.

He responded with, "The time has come."

I watched him sizzle his ass away from me, wondering what the brotherhood had in store for me. As I finished off my coffee, I was thinking, what a nice way to start the weekend...

Renewing Old Friendships, Part 1

Walt Whitman once said, "I am large. I contain multitudes."

I too wander amongst the people quite a bit, and, also like Walt, I enjoy the bonds of manhood and have made many connections in my time.

* * *

I fired up my browser and found the "Old Man of the Mountains" website. Ostensibly, the site concerns a famous natural feature in the White Mountains that succumbed to gravity's inexorableness on the 3rd of May, 2002.

After a smidgen of searching, the pattern of hidden jokes and key words became clear and I was able to unravel the message. The riddle was hidden in a quote from Daniel Webster that describes the "Old Man" in the rock face to the effect that "God Almighty has hung out a sign to show that there He makes men."

The message was a bit of letdown in that it was so mundane. I was to meet a long-time acquaintance who would give me a key.

My old friend -- I suppose "fuck-buddy' would be more accurate -- teaches religious history at a college in the western part of my state. It's a small state. An hour-and-half later I was knocking on the door of the Professor's office.

His office is exquisite. Tons of books, arcane statues, masks, and sacred artifacts of all kinds give it an Indiana Jones' sanctum sanctorum atmosphere. Then again, my favorite feature is simple -- a nice big comfy leather sofa that has occasionally played host to various not-so-scholarly sessions between my posterior and the professor's perpetual fuck machine.

The old boy is just wild for fucking. He's not particularly old -- in his later 40's I guess. On the short side, stocky and hairy as a bear, his dark brown eyes, dark features and slightly Central Asian features reveal his Armenian heritage. When he gets going, the sweat pours off him like he's producing his own natural lubricant.

We're both interested in the spiritual side of life. I've tried teaching the Professor my patented ritual for sacred sex, but he tends more towards Dionysius than Apollo. Not that I'm complaining. The motherfucker absolutely gets on fire! And you have to admit it's a kick, from time to time, to get wildly balled by a raunchy guy who loves to shake and sweat and pound away while talking a dirty blue streak.

He handed me the key. We made some small talk. He didn't reveal anything about my mission, but he was quite glad to see me. The guy's a charmer. He asked about my writing.

Before I was done highlighting the latest points of my research into the "Army of Lovers", he had his hand down my pants.

By the time I had reviewed my latest themes on Greek love, my Armenian was on top of me, had my legs akimbo, his dick pumping up my ass and he was shouting, "Oh fuck! Of fuck! What a hot fucking ass! God you're hot, you big-cocked motherfucker! Oh Jeez. Oh fuck! Oh shit! Unh-unh! Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah." He was shaking his head back and forth, rivulets of sweat already running down his chest.

My prof's study has a bizarre one-of-a-kind clock made of all sorts of scrap pieces of machinery. Just when he began to unload, the clock starting chiming high noon and he was yelling in time to the chimes: "Oh, yeah! Oh, yeah! Oh, yeah!..."

After he tossed his condom full of spunk onto the floor, I jerked off onto his chest. He loves that. He rubbed my generous consignment of semen into his hairy chest and smelled it, then shook his whole body like a runner after a workout while making loud sighs of satisfaction like a gourmet after an exquisite meal. "Aaaahhh!! Ooohh!"

I asked him if he knew Walter Tyler.

"Mysterious leader of the Great Peasant Rebellion of 1381?", he asked.

That thought had occurred to me. "Another one. More recent."

"No. Who is he?"

"He's the one who told me to come here and get the key."

"Then he's all right with me!", he shouted, wrapping me in strong bear hug.

"So how did you get the message?" I asked him as I extricated myself from his grip.

He slapped me on the ass. "The usual. Nifty code. Invisible College. Use it to let me know when you need the room."

We said our good-byes and I drove home, still enjoying the scent of him. He obviously knew more than he was telling me, but now I knew where to look to figure out my next move.

* * *

Renewing Old Friendships, Part 2

After taking a shower I logged back onto the web. Reading between the lines of an erotic re-telling of the story of "David and Goliath", I found my instructions.

I uploaded a few cryptic messages of my own.

Within a few hours, the phone rang. Soon afterwards, another one of my old connections came to visit me.

I first met Hugh over 12 years ago while helping to plan a demonstration against the local Roman Catholic hierarchy. A controversial thing to do at the time -- maybe we were more prescient than most people. I was annoyed with the Cardinal's pig-headed opposition to state-funded AIDS education.

Came to find out that a whole slew of people were angry about the hierarchy's interference in their lives. Some had political issues with the Roman mafia. Others had more personal problems in mind.

I try to keep my nose out of anybody's religion. But I get mad when preachers march right into the State House to lobby. Like they have some kind of special relationship with the politicians just because they let 'em sit on their pews? These pompous fuckwits using their pulpits to tell their sheep how to vote -- it pisses me off.

People say... it's a free country. Right? Of course the religious wing nuts have a right to say whatever they want. And I have a right to ignore them.

The AIDS crisis had been cutting down the gay community right and left. The RC leadership was running out their dirty lies about "sinners getting what they deserve" ad nauseum. They were lobbying against good sensible health-care initiatives. And they were using the crisis to whip up homophobia. It annoyed me, a-right?

You don't want to annoy me too much. I get even. Maybe not right away, but when the time is right...

In those days AIDS politics was totally intertwined with gay politics. Our good Governor wanted to open up his party to include right-wing gays and lesbians. (Goddess help them.) His Not-So-Excellency the Cardinal was doing everything he could to stop the Governor from making any tiny concession, like granting domestic partner rights for state employees.

The Church's vocal opposition to equal protection for domestic partners brought the gay and lesbian rights activists into our coalition. Hugh was with them.

Hugh and I hit it off like gay gangbusters... or is that gang-bangers? Yuk-yuk. Anyway, he was wicked funny. Maybe not the most gorgeous guy you've ever seen -- a little paunchy and perhaps what some people would call a little "too gay". I say fuck you if all you care about is looks.  And if your personal ads always say "straight looking and straight acting" then you need to get your head examined. In my humble opinion.

Anyway, fact is, he loved licking all around my big ol' balls and I loved the attention he gave to them. But mostly I just liked hanging out with him.

Our relationship involved a lot of fun and games. The fun started out seriously, if you know what I mean, with long, intense discussions about safer sex strategies.

I was one of the first people in my area to go around to the gay bars and gay cruising zones handing out condoms.

Hugh had more "educational" ideas about having seminars and shit on how to have sex without exchanging fluids and stuff like that.

I once jokingly suggested he'd need to practice these techniques before teaching them to anyone. After that, every time we got together he'd end up giving my tool a nice long tongue bath and then jerking me off, all the while pretending to be giving a demonstration to a roomful of curious queens.

Ha-ha! Like I said, he's a funny guy. And did I mention he loves to worship my sizable dick? So you can see why we became friends.

Hugh had a number of fascinating stories to tell about the Cardinal's early days at Divinity school. He had detailed information about several gay priests in town. Hugh was one of those recovering Catholics. You know, lecherous old priest accosted him when he was an altar boy, nasty nuns tortured him at school, etc., etc. The usual story.

* * *

He'd become a Unitarian at some point along the way, but was still pretty obsessed with the Roman hierarchy.

Hugh painted a convincing picture of the pretty young seminarian as a drag-queen-about-town. It turns out the Cardinal's drag name was "Daisy". During the aforementioned demo, Hugh and a group of his buddies chased the Cardinal's car as it was leaving the Cathedral singing "Daisy! Daisy! Give me your answer do / I'm half crazy all for the love of you!".

Surreal, eh? They never explained to anyone else why they did that, so most folks thought they were just a bunch of mad queens... Which is not too far from the truth!

At least a dozen years or so have gone by since that demonstration.

Since then the Cardinal has been disgraced by a child sex scandal that rocked the Church. A few of the most egregious child molesters were removed, a couple of them arrested, and the Cardinal was replaced by a kindly old Franciscan Archbishop, but things are pretty much getting back to business as usual as far as I can tell.

Now the local agents of Rome are preaching and lobbying against proposals for a new gay marriage law. It's time to put into action a plan that's been in preparation for many years.

I understood why I'd been chosen to organize this mission. I'd followed up over the years on the stories Hugh told me and discovered the truth in them. I have my ways. True, most of them involve sucking cock, but you gotta go with what you know, eh?

I know, for example, that there are still a couple of priests living together in a big ol' house near the shore. Each has his own congregation who are totally oblivious to the fact that Father goes home to his Daddy.

I also know that the local Jesuit center is still a hotbed of inter-generational (a-hem!) "relationships".

And that there are still dozens of local holy men getting their cocks cleaned regularly in certain parks and rest stops around here.

Yeah, in fact there are gaggles of them still serving their flocks despite having diddled with the dicks of any number of young boys over the years.

Fade back to the present. Cue slightly evil anticipatory music.

I laid out the plan to my long-time co-conspirator.

His eyes lit up with that ol' twinkle. "That's blackmail!" he says. Ba-dump. "I love it!" Hugh smiled his slightly wicked grin.

As if to seal the deal, he mused "Are you still interested in sex education?..." and started rubbing my crotch.

Rather unceremoniously, having played this scene so many times with my old comrade, I unzipped and fed him my hog.

While Hugh was busy administering his lesson, I pretended to lecture my assembly of animal carvings and Greek warriors on the proper way give a long erotic tongue bath.

Just like when we were first going at it a dozen years ago, Hugh, still a paragon of safer sex, finished me with a vigorous hand job while jerking himself off.

Ah... nothing quite like making new friends and renewing old acquaintances all in the same day!

More New People

After Hugh left, I took a nap and that night I went out to my favorite gay bar, a rundown old place called The Temple. The joke is that it's an "S&M" bar -- "stand and model".  Part of the bar we call "the wailing wall" is where you just hang out and act nonchalant, hoping to get lucky.

After waiting for a while at the wailing wall, I caught the eye of a gorgeous Arab guy I'd seen at the club a few times before. We struck up a conversation. One thing led to another. He invited me over to his place. He did it up all Arab-proper. We had tea and talked about our families.

Oddly enough, his name was Hiram. I'd always thought that that was a Jewish name, but he explained to me that it's actually an old Canaanite name. He was from Lebanon and, although they were Muslims, his parents were crazy about Lebanese history. He'd taken more than his share of ribbing from his friends back home for his old-fashioned, Jewish-sounding name.

Hiram had one of those big ornate Cairo hookahs and cooked us up a little bowl of hashish, so I felt obliged to indulge. You can't say no to an Arab host. It's rude.

Somewhere in the ensuing haze, I found myself pouring honey over his sweet ass and helping myself to some "Turkish delight". Needless to say, this got us both pretty excited.

The next thing you know we're sitting there naked and cross-legged on his pretty Persian carpet, our boners sticking straight up and we're pulling another toke off the water-pipe while crazy Arab music is droning on and on from his sound system.

He started talking about how hard it's been for him lately. People don't want to talk to him. His western friends suspect he's some kinda terrorist because he supports the Palestinian cause. His Arab friends think he's become a decadent Westerner because he's gay.

I held on to him and kissed his neck and told him he's beautiful -- which he is. We were sort of dry-humping each other and hugging and kissing for a while.

With my legs wrapped around him, I put my hand around the base of our two cocks and held them together tightly and sat very still. We could feel our blood pumping, the two of us, suddenly feeling very grounded, bound together. An "us against the world" feeling came over us.

Yeah, I know all sorts of tricks. Plus we were pretty stoned.

"You're nice," he says. "You don't seem to be like the other people I've met here."

I didn't say anything, just kept squeezing our cocks together and looking into his dark brown eyes.

"You want to fuck me?" he says.

He looked so tender and innocent I almost thought he was going to start crying.

After another long pause I said, "I have a better idea. How would you like to help me strike a blow against hypocrisy?"

I explained the outlines of the plan to him, just enough to see if he was interested.

My new buddy Hiram started laughing and kept laughing until he got into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. He was jiggling so much that the friction between our cocks really got going. We'd both been leaking pre-cum like one of those gentle fountains in an Arab courtyard. It felt even better when I started rubbing up and down on our two shafts and laughing along with him.

We exploded in an orgasm of laughter.

"Whee!" I enthused, "Four square!"

"What is 'four square?'", Hiram inquired.

"You're the fourth person I've cum with today," I explained, realizing too late that he might not want to hear that.

He didn't seem fazed, though, and asked me about my "other lovers".

I told him about the professor. Not quite sure why, but Hiram seemed to take it as matter of course that an Armenian would be a horny old fucker.

I was a bit vague about Hugh. Trying to keep things light, but getting a little confused -- as stoned people are prone to do -- I described Hugh as "a bit of pain".

"What do mean?"

"Nothing. I'm kidding.  He's just an old friend."

"Hmmm..." Hiram seemed to be meditating on this. "And your other lover?"

I was evasive. "He's not my lover. Just a hot guy that I finally hooked up with. He's a waiter at a café near my house. Really cute! I bet you'd like him. Name's Walt. Walt Tyler."

Hiram seemed to be shaken out his reverie. "Walt the Tyler! Really?"

"Ummm.. yeah, I think that's what he said. Do you know him?"

There was long pause, followed by a curt "No".

It was my turn to go "Hmmm..."

Hiram returned the conversation to discussion of my plan. He seemed quite eager to pursue it, now, insisting that we should go immediately to recruit the other co-conspirator we would need.

* * *

The Plot Thickens

Bang-bang-bang! I was knocking on David's door at about 1 in the morning with my Lebanese charmer in tow.

"What the fuck! Who is it?", came from inside.

"It's your Messiah!" I yelled.

"Oh, for the love of..."

The door opened. There was David in an old crumpled "Gays to the Left" t-shirt and a pair of boxers that had seen better days. He's well into twenty-something, but looks more like a disheveled Trotsky in his early 20's.

The main thing I like about him is that he still has the slightly whacked "revolutionary" mental attitudes of a college radical. Being something of a reformed ex-Maoist myself, I could relate -- if somewhat cynincally -- to his revolutionary enthusiasms.

"This is Hiram," I introduced my new friend. "Can we come in?"

"You should've called first if you wanted a threesome. I would've cleaned the place up."

"Yeah, right," I said, surveying the usual mess of books, dirty plates, overflowing ashtrays and political paraphernalia scattered hither and yon.

"And I'm not here for a threesome," I said, giving the dumping ground he calls an apartment a disapproving look.

"Oh." He sounded disappointed.

(Well, maybe we are, I thought to myself, but first things first.)

We sat down. David lit what was probably his 85th cigarette of the day. I have no idea how he manages to stay so young looking when he smokes like an old Spaniard. He graciously offered a smoke to my new friend. I was surprised to see Hiram accepted since he hadn't smoked at all -- other than the hash -- since I'd met him. I coughed politely while they enveloped me in their nicotine cloud. I could see David starting to make goo-goo eyes at Hiram.

"We have an idea that you'll be interested in," I said.

"Oh?... and why would I be interested."

David didn't hold my politics in high esteem. In fact, he didn't hold anybody's politics in very high esteem. As far as I could tell, he considered himself to be the world's only living real Marxist, whatever that means.

"Well, it involves sex and politics and causing a huge embarrassment for the Roman Catholic hierarchy."

"Oh, really?"

I'd piqued his interest.

"Yeah. The only thing is that I need for you to be Jewish."

"I'm an atheist."

"Sure you are, but you're also Jewish, right?"

"Only in a cultural sense. And besides Israel is just a Zionist colonial entity that..."


Now Hiram was making goo-goo eyes at David. I needed to hurry this up.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I know," I interrupted. "And the blessings of Holy Lenin on you too. Now listen. You'll like this."

I explained his role in my developing plot. He seemed to get it.

", Hiram here I are going to be part of the 'Peace Mission'?", he asked.

"Exactly! In fact, you two are the entire mission. You are 'representing' your communities, gettit?"

"OK, OK, I like it!"


"There's just one more thing," said David, lighting up yet another cancer stick, offering the pack to Hiram and taking the opportunity to give him a long look up and down, finally settling his gaze on down.

"If Hiram and I going to be brothers in this thing of ours, then don't you think we should get to know each other a little better first?"

I pulled the damn fag out of David's mouth and crushed it out in the ashtray, then pulled my two peace missionaries together in a big hug, kissing them each in turn.

"So do you have any honey in that disaster you call a kitchen?" I asked him.

"Honey? Yeah I think so. What for?"

"Cause we're gonna annoit your head with honey, my honey."

And we did. I left them snuggling together and dragged my tired balls on home about 3 AM. After all, I needed to get to Church in the morning.

Sunday Morning Go To Church

Hugh would handle the leftie Christians that he likes to hang out with.

My mission was to expand our conspiracy amongst the gayboisie. That means the big Episcopalian church downtown.

Episcopalians are fun because they are the perfect gay religion. They want everybody to think they're Catholics, including the Catholics. They also want everybody to think they're the up-scale kind of country club Protestants, like Lutherans or Congregationalists, not like those low-class Southern Baptists and such.

Episcopalians come across as representing everything stereotypically British: their fussiness, their sense of class distinction, their highly refined sense of humor and their love of pomp and circumstance. All of this creates a tremendous appeal for a particular type of gay men.

After services I met up with a group of hautely coutured movers and shakers at the coffee social in the Fellowship Room. Given their key roles in the local economy, you'd think these guys would be discussing high finance or the latest innovations in technology. Naturally, they were focused instead on the two eternal topics: who had brought home the most outrageous trick the night before (all lies) and where to go for brunch (the serious topic).

My entreé into this elite group had been won through assiduous dedication to gay networking. Heh-heh! Most of them thought that I was their special friend, while treating me with a degree of aloof politeness lest anybody else find out. In other words, I'd either slipped my ten inches down the throat or up the ass of most of them and had been careful to make sure that none of the others knew anything about it.

Just a short digression so's you don't get the wrong idea about me. I'm not a dominatrix or a master or whatever. For one thing, I like slurping on a juicy cock and getting ass-fucked as much as any other horny gay guy. But I also know how most of these hot shot's heads work.

Think of me as a cross between a drag queen doing Mata Hari and a horny Sigmund Freud after a good workout at the gym -- but better-looking. Especially when dealing with the gayboisie, I have cultivated a look that's calculated to appeal to their wild side. Dark sunglasses. A tight t-shirt that shows off my pecs, worn under an expensive dress shirt. Flat-front chinos designed to emphasize my package and my butt. You get the idea: James Bond as a high-class hustler.

With their perfect, often closeted, careers, these frustrated queens spend all day being perfect and in-charge in every way. It's nerve-wracking for them. Only a few of them have long-term relationships because they're either too obsessed with work or too afraid of being outed. They don't like going to gay bars because they have to mingle with the hoi polloi. Most of their social lives are spent at boring dinner parties and going to the theater or the symphony.

I've managed to get invites to a good number of those gawdawful "haute" dinner parties. My trick is to fuck them or have them suck my cock in some "outré" environment like the bathroom at their friend's townhouse or the theater, in a taxi, whatever.

I have a few special places I like to take them too.

They love this shit. I once caught up with the Vice President of a well-known financial house as he was leaving work late and talked him into taking me back up to his office. We did a little role-playing. I pretended to be a uppity subordinate who was turning the tables. I sat in his fucking 400 dollar executive chair and told him to fix me some coffee before sitting on my dick. "Gosh, you're making me so horny. Oh, boss, what a hot ass you have! Gee, Mr. ____, will I get a raise now." He loved it!

That very same VP had his skinny butt planted on the chair next to me as we were settling into our trendy brunch spot. I gave him my warmest smile and asked, "Still working late?"

He kind of sputtered into his mimosa, turned a couple of shades of red and shot me that "Oh you wicked, wicked man!" look. Then he gingerly squeezed my thigh under the table. I just as delicately moved his hand up to my basket and gave him a couple of pumps just so he'd know I still cared.

I sipped on my tonic and lime and didn't say much for a while. These events always have a rhythm to them. It doesn't do any good to interject new ideas until all of the standard bullshit has been exhausted. Manners are very important to this crowd. Keeping my sunglasses on while brunch got underway preserved my international hot fuck of mystery inscrutability.

My opportunity arrived not too long after the food had been served. You need to understand that their Church devotes a great deal of effort to advocating for peace in the Middle East. Every Sunday they offer up prayers for reconciliation, peace, love and understanding, ...yadda, yadda, yadda.

They are also very big into the idea of eventual reunification with the Catholics. Of course, this never really goes anywhere, since the Catholics aren't the least bit interested and the Anglicans would never recognize the Pope, but they keep trying anyway.

My proposal was designed to appeal to both of these concerns and to give these guys a special role to play in it. I laid out my idea -- not the whole idea, of course, but just enough of it for them to get excited.

"...but if our donation is anonymous," asked the assistant head of the Treasurer's Office of a large mutual fund company, "what is the point?"

"Surely there are ways to let people know this is an initiative of our Church without being so crass as to make it public." I said.

There was a murmur of agreement. They were experts at whispering campaigns and understood perfectly the value of handling public relations correctly.

The light bulb I was looking for went off over the head of a certain shy Systems Architect for a bleeding-edge software company. "And," he said, "I suppose eventually it would become known who amongst the congregation promoted this initiative in the first place."

He seemed very happy with this revelation. I winked at him and said, "Very good, Dorothy."

"Oh you!" Titters of laughter went around the table. I am such a rogue. Plus this one hadn't yet had the pleasure of pleasuring me. I sent a special smile his way. He became very pre-occupied with his food, but I noticed that he kept sneaking surreptitious glances at me.

I gave them instructions on where to send the money and made a couple of purposefully bone-headed suggestions on how to get the gossip going. That earned me some long looks from the alpha-queens that meant "Oh dear, you are the village idiot". They assured me that they had much better ideas on how to handle that side of things.

As we were breaking up, I sidled up next to the shy Systems Architect, slyly patted his pert little butt, and quietly inquired as to whether he had any immediate plans.

He not too subtly checked out my basket, mumbled that he didn't have any particular plans at the moment and asked me what I had in mind. I whispered in his ear, "I want you to do me right now."

His head snapped up so fast I thought he was going to fall over backwards.

"Really!!" he quizzed me.

"Does the Pope shit in the woods?"


I put my shoulder around him like we were old friends and guided him out the door.

I led him back to the Episcopal Church, then into the basement and down a long hallway, where I opened the door to a large vault. By this time he was already breathing hard.

The choirmaster is another connection of mine. I have no idea what this room was built for originally. It's where they keep the choir robes, some musical instruments, extra hymnals and such.

I shut the vault door, turned on a couple of reading lights attached to music stands and found the boom box that the choirmaster employs to play tapes of how it's supposed to sound when he's teaching a new piece. As the inspiring words of "Every valley.." from Handel's Messiah filled the vault, I slowly withdrew my hardworking dick from my Sunday best and waved it around in the general direction of my Architect like I was directing the oratorio.

He seemed mesmerized. I pulled out my balls, hefted them a few times and purred at him, "I've been waiting for this ever since I saw you at brunch. Get over here and make love to me you hot little shit."

It must have been a very inspirational moment for him. He slowly dropped to his knees and fondled my balls like he was contemplating the Host. Then he started gobbling my dick for all he was worth while the music swelled up around us.

"Ah!" I thought to myself as I guided my cock down his throat, "a convert!"

And an enthusiastic convert at that. I could feel myself getting ready to cum, so I pulled out and grabbed the base of my cock.

"Lick my balls," I instructed him.

I pulled the silk hanky out of his jacket pocket and laid it over my cock head while he made love alternatingly to my balls.

I started stroking my dickhead with the silk. That felt mighty good!

"Now wet your finger and stick it up my ass," I told him. He started sucking on his middle finger.

"And don't stop licking my balls!"

I like to keep these guys a little off balance. It's good therapy -- helps to break them out of their routine.

He found my pucker-hole and started finger-fucking me, grasping my butt with his other hand. Since he couldn't hold on to my balls anymore he had lowered himself further so he could lap my balls into his mouth from below.

"Oh yeah! Yes-s-s-s-s!!" I shouted. For all his enthusiasm, he was actually kind of clumsy, but I knew the echo would sound great inside the vault, so I played my part up to the hilt. "Damn! Fuck! Oh Jesus! Oh God!"

I came into his silk hanky.

"Wow!" I said, thinking about the scenes I'd had in there with the choirmaster and lying just a bit, "That was something else."

He had spit running down his chin and was panting with excitement.

I dabbed his chin with the hanky, then carefully folded it up and put it back into his breast pocket.

"Something to remember this moment,"I said.

He caught his breath and whispered, "I came in my pants."

I took a look.

"Don't worry, it doesn't show," I assured him. (While thinking, Oy! What a little twit!)

I pulled myself together, turned off the music and the lights. We walked back upstairs and started to go our separate ways in the square in front of the grand old church.

I pulled him back and asked him if he thought the plan would work.

He held up the finger he'd had up my butt and said to me, "I'm going to go home and lick this clean."


I moved in real close to him, grabbed his crotch and said, "Convince the Catholics to meet with you guys on a peace plan and next time I'm going to lick this clean."

His mouth made a perfect "O". I turned around and went on my way.

Another job well done!

James Bond can eat me.

A Dreamy Sunday Afternoon

I went home and took a nap. It had been a long, busy weekend.

I woke up when Hugh phoned. Things had gone well with the Unitarians and the queer Quakers. Both groups had agreed to play the "bad cop" to the Episcopalian's "good cop".

Yes! All was right with the world.

I did some tai chi exercises, checked in with all the plants. Worked out on the weights. Took a shower.

Spent a few hours working on my article on Greek "boy love" for one of those academic journals that specializes in queer semiotics. In a nutshell, my thesis is that these relationships are overly romanticized, blown out of proportion by modern queer culture and set a terrible example to boot.

Rather than looking to these aristocratic Athenians with their temporary boy toys, I suggest that, yes, we can look to the Athenians for understanding how to create an open and democratic society, but if we want to understand gay history then we should take a closer look at the Spartans and Thebans who went into battle alongside their lovers. Of course, the working title is "An Army of Lovers Cannot Fail".

Well, it's a theory and a girl's got to make a living...

I dozed off again while watching one of those silly Discovery channel shows about the great Chinese kung fu masters. Had a strange dream in which an élite corps of queer martial artists fights their way into the headquarters of the American Family Foundation to liberate gay prisoners being held for "re-programming".

* * *

Monday Morning Revival

Went to an AA meeting early in the morning. I've been off alcohol for 10 years, but it doesn't hurt to get re-charged now and then. Plus, there's my sporadic encounters with the gentle herb. I wouldn't say I'm a pot head exactly, but it keeps creeping into my life and I haven't been able to cut off my attachment to it altogether yet.

I tried Narcotics Anonymous, but I've never been the least bit interested in hard drugs so I don't feel a part of that crowd. The AA'ers, especially the older ones, have a lot of secret wisdom to share about addictions generally, so I find they're the best ones to go to for a reminder on why it's great to be sober.

I hadn't smoked any weed for over a year, then I stumbled into that scene with Hiram on Saturday night where it just seemed like the right thing to do. Anyway, I got my much-needed 12-step boost. It reminded me that the main thing I need to do is go out there and share my own special brand of wisdom.

Oh yeah. And there's this incredibly hot Dominican cop named Santiago who goes to the meeting. I've been getting closer to him for while. I think there could be something special about him.

OK, before you nitwits out there start in on "13th Stepping", I should remind you that for me sex is an extension of communication. I don't (generally) do anonymous sex. I (hopefully) never hurt anyone. And I have never forced myself on someone against their will. For me, sex is at its best when it becomes a natural way of expressing solidarity, human warmth and compassion for a fellow human being.

I'm not perfect. There are times when I just want to "rock n' roll". Being a very sexual person, I also tend to get my share of toadish characters hitting on me and, well, OK, I don't choose to "communicate" with everyone I meet.

And I suppose the plan I'm working on isn't exactly the most blameless thing I've ever done -- but then I've got that Army of Lovers thing going on too, eh? Besides, this plan doesn't really use sex as a weapon. Let's think of it more like getting the conversation about sex out into the open...

Anyway, like I said, there's something very appealing to me about Santiago. Did I mention that he's a cop? I chatted him up after the meeting.

My Spanish isn't so great, but I can hold up my end of a conversation, so I started out with nice friendly "¡Hola!". That seemed to melt some ice with him. We got into a typical AA conversation, sparking off of what some of the speakers had said.

I told him we had to give up on the idea that we could save ourselves, since we're powerless over the disease, that we have to rely on a higher power. The usual AA bullshit. Of course, it's not bullshit, but it sounds like bullshit. That's the beauty of it. Like that old dickhead Mao Zedong said, "Dialectics is powerful because it's fucking true." Or something like that.

As I had rather hoped, this conversation elicited a rambling denunciation of the Catholic Church that ended with, "Why should I ask God for help when he lets these idiots run his Church?"

I reminded him that I didn't say "God", I said "higher power" and that that could mean anything that's meaningful to us. It might be a group of people; it might be a spiritual conception; it might be a form of energy; it might be the Sun and the Moon or the Four Directions -- but we need to find something to help us get "out of our heads", to stop obsessing about being bad people and start seeing our addictive behaviors for what they are -- bad decisions made by flawed human beings.

"So what's your higher power?" he asked me.

I thought he'd never ask.

"Well, that's kind of hard to describe," I told him. "It mainly involves treating people with compassion, working as hard as I can to relieve suffering and seeking to understand knowledge, to see the truth, to be honest."

"So you don't go to Church?"

"Actually, I go to a number of different churches."


"And sometimes to various kinds of temples, dojos, even mosques."

I could tell from his look I'd started to lose him.

"It's not important. What's important is what matters to you."

He put his hand on hip, wiggled his butt and gave me his best vamp tone, "Mister, what matters to me most is getting laid well and often!"

Ah, good. Now it was time to focus his attention.

"What's the longest time you've ever had a cock up your ass."


"You heard me."

"I dunno. I guess most guys who've fucked me were pretty quick. Unless they're drunk. Then it takes --  took -- longer."

"Ha-ha! Sure, but getting fucked by a drunk guy is like getting fucked with a peeled banana, no?"

"Or a slippery hot dog!"

We were laughing. That's good.

"So what you wanna know that for, hot shot?"

He was looking right into my eyes with what looked like some interest.

"If I tell you, will you promise not to laugh?"

"A ver."

"OK. Fair enough. Here it is, I can give you the most amazing spiritual experience of your life. It involves keeping my hard cock up your ass for at least two hours -- but without cumming."

"Estas loco." He was laughing.

"Maybe." I looked right into back into his eyes.

A silence while he studied me, our gazes locked.


"OK what."

"Show me."

Afternoon Spiritual Workout

We went back to my place and I prepared the ritual room. It's a small room that you have to enter through a crawl space. Nothing fancy in terms of preparations. A plain white sheet. Some flowers and incense. A small temple bell.

I explained the ideas behind what I called sexual yoga and suggested that if at any point he wanted to stop or needed a break, he should let me know.

Then we went to the bathroom and I gave Santiago a bath and an enema.

This isn't as weird as it sounds. I explained that he needed to be totally relaxed and purified, both internally and externally. Then I drew a nice bath with lavender bubble bath. I washed him, pouring the warm water over him repeatedly from a wooden bowl. I prepared a milk and honey enema with a little bit of olive oil in it while he was drying off.

"It feels like a tiny little dick!" he joked when I administered the tube.

I squeezed in some liquid and got out of the way.

Sploosh. The messy part was over.

I repeated this until Santiago learned to hold in the liquid for a little while, letting it soothe him and then release it in a relaxed manner.

"Good," I said, "now let's get started."

I purified the room with incense and invited the temple bell to ring. We got naked and sat cross-legged on the floor facing each other, separated only by a bowl filled with a natural lubricant -- an herbal mixture of my own concoction.

I covered us with a linen sheet, told him a story that I am not at liberty to repeat, and instructed him on some simple breath meditation techniques.

We sat quietly for some time, just breathing.

"So aren't you going to fuck me?" he whispered after about 10 minutes.

"No hurry. Relax. This isn't about getting fucked, Santiago. It's about losing yourself. The thing to do is concentrate on your breathing. Once you've done that, then concentrate on my breathing. Close your eyes."

After 20 minutes or so he was well into the rhythm of it. Eventually we were breathing in tandem, long relaxed breaths in and out, the quiet sound of the breath slightly amplified by the fact of being covered by the sheet.

Once I was good and hard I slathered a good bit of the lubricant onto my erection, letting it sit for about five minutes until I said, "Now slowly stand up and then very, very slowly lower your Yoni onto my Lingam."

"My what onto your who?"

"I think you know what I mean."

He opened his eyes. "Oh! That Lingam!"

"Yes. But keep breathing. Stay concentrated. Feel everything fully. This is not me fucking you or you fucking me. This is us joining our bodies together in a mystical union, into one being."

He started to settle his sexy butt on to the tip of my erection.

"Very gently. Slowly. This is not me entering you or you pulling me in. This is the two of us melting together into one another."

This was obviously far from the first time Santiago had sat on a cock. He slipped open his sphincter muscles like a pro and started sliding down my pole.

"Slowly. Gently. Feel every cell in the Lingam as it returns to the Yoni."

"Who's this Yoni bitch?" he whispered in a kind of detached voice.

"The Yoni is the eternal female principle. The Lingam is the eternal male principle. We are joining them together in order to come back to the source, to the Supreme Ultimate."

"Uh-hunh. Whatever you say, dude."

He continued to settle onto my cock until his butt checks were touching my pubes. I could feel the tip of my cock touching his prostate. This is a delicate moment when the ritual is being performed by gay men. It can so easily turn into just another rousing good fuck.

I could feel Santiago's dick start to rise.

"Forget about my dick and your dick. There is only one dick now. My hard-on is your hard-on. Your cock is my cock."

"And my ass is your ass."

"Yes. You are inside me and I am inside you. Breathe. Focus on your breath."

Soon we were breathing deeply but normally, as we had been doing before.

"Now relax completely. Let the Lingam reach all the way inside."

He settled more firmly onto me. My dick was totally enveloped by him. His was rock-hard now against my belly.

"Good. Now don't move. Let's breathe some more. If you lose concentration on your breath, then concentrate on a spot just an inch or two below your belly button."


He was getting into it now that it was clear this wasn't all just a clever ruse to fuck the crap out of him.

I knew that eventually he would try concentrating on the dan tien, that special energy center between your belly and your genitals. I could feel it when he did. The chi energy was palpable between us by them.

His eyes popped open. "¡Dio!  What was that?"

"Did it feel like a warm, golden glow?"


"That's the energy we are sharing. You're giving life to me and I'm giving life to you. It's the same energy that's in every orgasm, but we've slowed it down so it won't overwhelm us. We've slowed it down enough we can almost see it."

He closed his eyes and started to focus again on the breath. Then the warm glow intensified. He smiled. We stayed like that for over two hours, both of us hard as rocks the whole time.

Eventually I could feel the golden glow encompassing the entire space under the sheet. We let it be for some time, then I slowly opened my eyes and quietly said his name, "Santiago."

He opened his eyes and looked deep into mine. This is the final step in the ritual. I looked into him and saw all of his fears and joys. He looked into me and saw cool water. We merged completely. We would never be completely separate beings again.

I willed my erection to slowly begin to soften. I told Santiago to gradually disengage. I explained to him that if he felt like cumming, he should try instead to cum inside himself, to let the semen flow into all of his bones and nerves and cells.

He had an ecstatic look as he carefully pulled off of me. Just as my cock plopped out of his ass, a small drop of very bright white semen emerged from his dickhead and slowly rolled down the side of his erection.

As we were tidying up the room and putting our clothes back on, I asked him, "So how do you like my higher power?"

He looked into my eyes. "Not bad." And looked away. He was softly sobbing.

I held onto him and we hugged for a long time.

"Not bad. Not bad. Not bad." He kept saying it over and over.

* * *

Later Santiago agreed to help out with my developing plot. I gave him some URL's to check out on a regular basis. We promised to see other again soon.

Yeshiva Me Timbers

That evening, David called. He insisted I had to come over right away 'cause he had something to show me.

That line usually meant he had struck out again after boring one of his tricks to death with a political diatribe and wanted a mercy fuck.

I didn't think I could fuck any more. It had been a very busy weekend thus far and we all have our limits. But I packed a few condoms just in case. I was sure he'd gotten into one of his infamous political arguments with Hiram about some obscure point in the Transitional Programme that nobody else understands or cares about.

I realized something else altogether was up when I saw the mezuzah on his door jamb.

When he opened the door I was completely dumbfounded. He was clean-shaven and wearing a neatly pressed white shirt, sensible pleated slacks and polished black shoes. The apartment was immaculate and his he'd done hair so that little ringlets were dangling below his yarmulke.

"Hiram helped me clean up," he explained. "Turns out he has some Israeli friends back home, peaceniks or something, so he taught me how to behave like a good Jew. Turns out he knows more about being Jewish than I do."

"Right." This was all pretty ironic once you think about it.

"Did you know that there are anti-Zionist Hasidim in Jerusalem?"he asked.

"Yeah," I said, "I'm not sure if you'd really call them Hasidim, but they consider themselves to be very devout as I understand it."

"Whatever. Hey. Look at this."

He handed me a book. I looked at the title: "The Stone Edition of the Tanach".

I handed it back to him. "Great edition. Have you read it?"

"I started it last night. Some of it's very dialectical. Full of idealism, of course, but I was surprised at how class-conscious some of the stories are."

He tossed the holy book onto a coffee table.

I picked it back up and placed it down again carefully. I looked around and realized there were no ashtrays anywhere.

"So is that Tanach what you wanted to show me?"


"You called and said to rush right over 'cause there's something you needed to show me?"

"Oh, right. No. OK. Watch this. I've been practicing all morning."

He cleared his throat and then said in voice that made him sound a good five years younger than he looked.

"Won't you please have seat?"

I sat.

With a perfect twinge of post-adolescent awkwardness, "Would you care for a cup of tea, Father?"

Oh. I got it. He was rehearsing.

"Why t'ank you, my son."  I said, getting into the role. "Dat would be grand. Now then, you wouldn't happen to have a wee thimbleful of sherry as well, would you?"

Bit of a trick question. Sherry originates in Spain. Not a very popular drink amongst devout Jews. David surprised me again.

"Father! I don't drink. But now that you mention it, I saw a bottle of something you might like. Tio Pepe? I think it's kosher." (It is.)


David went into the kitchen and poured me a Coke.

He went through all the pleasantries like a pro. I began to have a sneaking suspicion that maybe seducing older religious men wasn't completely foreign to him.

Evoking a wonderful sense of innocence, he brought the topic of conversation around the situation in Israel and Palestine and suggested that the Catholic Church had a great opportunity to promote peace by sponsoring a meeting of youthful peace missionaries from the Jewish and Arab Muslim communities in the city.

This was all delivered with such earnest conviction that I almost started to believe him. Then he broke the spell.

David pulled an ashtray and pack of smokes out from under sofa, lit up, sat on his feet and said, "So that's all I've got. Now how do I jump the old mackerel snapper's fucking bones?"

I smiled.

"Slowly, son, slowly. Let's not rush things."

We rehearsed well into the evening, refining the points of the seduction until we had crafted a comic masterpiece worthy of at least being called a faux Molière.

Around 11, Hiram called. Evidently he had been rehearsing as well. He and David compared notes for a while, then David passed me the phone.

"What are you doing tonight?" Hiram wanted to know. "Can you stop by?"

"Sure, I'll be right over," I said, ready by that point to step out of David's latest fantasy world.

I gave him a big hug and told him to keep up the good work. I also told him not to be tossing Holy Scriptures around like they were any old Marxist trash.

That got him a little riled, but instead of picking a fight, he gathered his composure, picked up the Stone Edition rather carefully and said "Shalom".

I nearly wept.

Arabian Nights

Got to Hiram's place. He had it decked out like fucking Sheherazade's palace. I detected the distinct scent of rosewater in the air as I walked in.

After the standard pleasantries, he said, "Would you care for a bowl?"

He didn't seem to be play-acting and it wouldn't make any sense to start out by offering hashish to a Catholic priest.

"No," I said politely but firmly. Judging from the edge of redness in his eyes, I guessed that he had already indulged.

"Do you know Faroush?" he asked, heading over to the sound system.


He touched a button and a beautiful lyrical voice filled the room.

"She is the most famous diva in Egypt. Everybody loves her."

"It's beautiful."

"Yes." He seemed to be in a bit of a trance listening to the CD.

"Yours is a wonderful country, but it lacks..."

"Lacks what?" I asked.

"...I don't know. Intensity, maybe? People here are so... superficial."

We listened to the music for a while. I wasn't really in the mood to talk about comparative culture.

"What is she singing about?" I asked.

"Al Quds. Jerusalem."

"Oh. Well, it's very nice. I wish I understood some Arabic."

"I can teach you."


He came over to me and took my hands, turned them over, held them palms up and studied them. Then he started unbuttoning my shirt.

Who am I to object to a language lesson? My shirt came off and I reciprocated, pulling his up over his chest and arms.

He held my hands and twirled me around. We were like a couple of nutty gay dervishes.

We kicked our shoes off. He undid my belt, unbuttoned my 501's and pulled them down. I stepped out of them, then reached inside his trainers, ran my hands around to from his front to his back, snuggled my nose into his crotch -- did it smell of... nutmeg?... and pulled his pants off in one smooth movement.

He lifted me up and we danced our way into the bedroom in our skivvies.

We fell onto the bed and kissed. He caressed me all over. I buried my nose in his crotch again, attracted by that smell.

I slowly rolled his BVD's down over his legs then licked my way up his inner thigh back to his golden nuts. Sure enough, he had spiced himself up with nutmeg and cinnamon.

"You're like a candy store." I told him between spicy nibbles.

"Unwrap the rest of the goodies."

His dick was getting hard, but his cock head was still wrapped up in its cozy foreskin. I took it in my mouth and started licking inside. It was all sweet and gooey. Honey!

By the time I sucked all the honey out his sizable pecker had stiffened all the way. I turned him over.

"Are there any surprises for me up here?" I asked, licking his crack.

Hiram giggled. "There is nothing perfect in this world except..."

"Chocolate!" I laughed and dove into his -- literally -- sweet man-cunt.

After I got his butt all sloppy wet fishing out the sweetness, he told me to stop and lie down, that it was my turn to be eaten.

I did as I was told.

He carefully placed almonds around my tits and started eating them up one by one, giving my nubbins a fine licking each time.

All the while he was rubbing my cock up and down between his ass cheeks. When he'd finished nibbling up all the almonds, he leaned back and started taking in my cock.

At first only the head, then he pulled forward and kissed me. Then back again, taking it in deeper, then forward for another kiss. He went on with this rocking motion, impaling himself all over again, massaging my cock, pulling me in a bit deeper each time. It was incredible, like he was giving me a blowjob with his butt.

The whole scene was a like a dream. Like I was getting my reward in Paradise.

He started bobbing up and down. Pre-cum was leaking out of his dick in a steady stream and he was rubbing it all over his shaft, his ball, his chest and arms.

The sensation was wonderful. It had been years since I'd fucked anybody without a condom. Without a condom! What was I thinking!

"Wait!" I said, "What about protection?"

He kept bobbing up and down.

"Do you have HIV?" he asked, "Ooohh! Unnh! Or any other diseases?"

He was nearly coming up all the way off my dick and slamming back down on to it.

"No. Unh."

"I didn't think so. Neither do I. Unnh! Ohhh! Aaaahhh!"

He pushed down so hard I thought he was going to swallow my balls up his butt. He was working his cock with one hand and squeezing his balls with the other.

"How can I be sure?"

He stopped all motion and looked at me serenely.

"You're the first person I've ever let fuck me. I'm a virgin."

I didn't know whether to believe him, but it was clear I was losing this argument. Maybe I could just refrain from cumming.

Then he started doing this... thing... with the muscles deep inside his ass. Squeezing, massaging my dick as it was buried deep inside him.

He started masturbating again, this time rubbing both of his fists up and down the length of his long cock, pulling up the foreskin, and rubbing it all way the down again to his balls, while still doing this amazing rolling motion with his sphincter and other muscles.

Then he started up with this other worldly ululating.

The feel of him, the sight of him, the smell of him, that eerie sound -- it overpowered me.

He started cumming. Big gushes of hot Arab spunk. Ooooonnnhhhh! I could see his balls contract and send up each big spurt. Aaaaaggghhhhh!! Then again! Three times, four times! I was covered in his juice and he was still grinding and pumping and squeezing my cock in every imaginable way. Five times, aaaaaaannnnhhhhhh!!!

I just completely let go. I came so hard I literally lost consciousness. When I came to he was kissing me all over my face. My cock was numb and there were long strings of cum dripping out his ass.

He was whispering in my ear, "That's Arabic for I love you."

I was thinking, "This is American for 'God you're hot!'"

We talked for a while. He assured me that I had taken his cherry. I told him he had amazing control of his ass muscles for someone who'd never been fucked. Then he showed me his dildo collection and explained all the "work" he'd done preparing to come to this country.

Gotta admit. He was pretty convincing. Still, it struck me as quite a coincidence -- or maybe just fool's luck -- hooking up with a hot, well-trained virgin who knew how to satisfy my fantasies and also happened to be just the person I needed to pursue my plan.

While Hiram was nibbling on my ear, he whispered, "This is so exciting. Now is the time."


Slept in late the next morning and then worked on the Army of Lovers manuscript.

Santiago called and babbled for quite a while. Started out by saying things were going pretty well at work. That was a lie. Things at work never go well at work when your job is arresting criminals.

Talking to cops when they're not on the job is a trip. The things they think are funny tend to throw us civilians for a loop. Beating up obnoxious perps on the way to the station. Dealing with incredibly dysfunctional families.

Yet our brothers in blue tend to have this incredibly sensitive side. He talked a lot about taking care of his mother -- how she'd made sure he got everything he needed growing up, even though they were poor and she barely spoke any English despite having been in the country for many years.

Eventually he got around to thanking me for our sexual yoga session. Said he'd been considering taking a psych leave from the force, had been afraid of relapsing and getting back on the pills and the booze, but that now he was feeling the serenity. He also mentioned that he hoped we could get together again soon.

He put me in a thoughtful mood.

After he hung up, I mused over some favorite lines from Leaves of Grass:

"So they show their relations to me and I accept them;

They bring me token of myself . . . . they evince them plainly

their possession."


"I help myself to material and immaterial

No guard can shut me off, no law can prevent me.

I anchor my ship for a little while only,

My messengers continually cruise away or bring their returns

to me."

Studied some Homeric Greek grammar and read a bit of the Illiad until the sun went down.

Cooked up a nice beef stew, sending the fatty savor up to the heavens in the hopes that Apollo would bless my quest.

Soldiers of Jeezuz

While devouring my offering to the Sun God, I logged in to a special room on a chat site sponsored by a Jesuit College in a mid-western state and trolled around until I found the gossip I knew would be underway by now.

The good brothers were already buzzing with innuendo about an impending imbroglio on the East Coast involving criticism of the Church's Middle East policy from an unexpected source.

A clever bunch, they'd had no trouble quickly identifying a red core of Quakers and Unitarians as being behind the incident. But they were struggling with why these famously anti-Papist old-line Dissenters would bother engaging in polemics with the mighty legions of Rome.

Under the guise of my pseudonymic personality -- a Jesuit brother torn up over the recent sex scandals -- I posted my opinion that this must have something to do with "aggravating open wounds".

Now, these particular Jesuits are an odd lot. (Well, aren't they all..) Maybe it's the general eccentricity of Jesuits, but this bunch tend to stand out as being not only willing to minister to sexual minorities, but coming very close to openly opposing the hierarchy on issues like gay marriage and women as priests.

Needless to say, almost all of them are gay.

After dropping a few more hints about the supposed secret agenda of these perfidious radical Prots, I logged off.

While doing my workout, the phone rang.

It was one of those priests I mentioned earlier -- one-half of the gay couple, each with their own parish. He wanted to know if I'd heard anything about a group of radical Unitarians who were trying to embarrass the local diocese.

I told him I didn't know anything about it, but would check into it.

Then he wanted to know when I going to come over to visit them at their house by the shore again.

Being in a Whitmanesque mood, I told him, "I but use you a moment and then I resign you stallion...".

On the spot, he replied, "Somehow I have been stunned. Stand back!"

"You've been reading Whitman!" I enthused.

"Yes. I even told one of the prelates 'do not make me sick discussing your duty to God'."

"Did he get the reference?"

"Of course not. He told me I was an apostate."


"Then I told him to go fuck himself."

"Oh my! You're bad!"

"OK. I didn't really tell him that. But I thought it."

"That's just as bad. You're going to have to confess. And you'll probably have to do penance."

"Can I confess to you?"

"I'm not a priest."

"But doing penance with you is very cleansing for my soul."

"OK.  You're going to have to do fifty Suck My Dick Father's and ten Fill Me With Your Grace, my Grace's." It was our little joke.

We went on that vein for a while. It was clear to me that somebody else must have suggested that he try to dig some info out of me. He seemed more intent on engaging in some dirty phone talk than in finding out what the the Little Red Friends of Jesus were up to.

"Hold on," I lied, "I have another call."

I put him on hold and watered the plants.

"Hey! You won't believe it! I just learned that some of those radical Dissenter groups are planning a protest on Sunday at the Cathedral. Evidently they're going to be attacking the Church for not doing enough to promote peace between the Israelis and the Palestinians."

"You're kidding! Why are they doing that?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe it's some weird way of trying to promote the idea that the hierarchy are pro-terrorist or something?"

"But the Holy Father is clearly opposed to violence. He's always been..."

"Sure. But he was against the war in Iraq and he's sympathetic towards the Palestinians."

"What's that have to do with anything? So are the Unitarians!"

"Well, maybe my information is wrong. Maybe they're just trying to shake up this new guy."

"Oh my! How awful!"


"Well, I've got to go now, sweetie. Father Charles will be home soon."

"Give him my love."

"He'd rather get it from you personally."

"Oh, you are so naughty!"

"Heh-heh! You don't know the half of it. Oh, by the way, maybe you should tell your bosses to check in with the Anglicans."


"I heard that the radicals might be targeting them too over this Middle East stuff."


"Really. Check it out."

"OK, thanks. Bye now. I've gotta go."

I could rest easy. The buzz was well underway. These guys aren't so bad. As much as I like teasing them, they're probably some of the best priests in the business. Thank the Goddess they've found each other.

* * *

Peeling the Onion

I suppose you could honestly say my life is a bit Byzantine. There are plots and counter-plots, secrets and innuendos, cultural criss-crossing, strange attractions and sudden departures, the shattering of icons and an occult competition to influence the direction of empires.

So much is hidden. We live out our illusions and call it reality. And sometimes I live out an illusion and people call me "Betty", but that's another story altogether.

Ponder the great emperor Constantine. A pagan his entire life, he waged a desperate competition to maintain his hold over the crumbling Roman empire. He finally succeeded by founding literalist western Christianity as we know it by haphazardly pasting together elements of Greek and Syrian Mystery religions with the new Pauline cult of the Jewish-god-turned-man.

Peel off another layer of the onion.

Roman wanted posters for Galilean Messiah described him as a short, dark hunchback. So where did the tall fair-skinned, blonde-haired image come from? Isn't that actually a classical picture of Adonis? In fact, Our Lord and Savior was probably a short, swarthy character with a close resemblance to the hunchback of Notre Dame.

Even Disney Studios, which is famous (or is that infamous?) for embedding hidden knowledge into their animated films, nodded in this direction in their "Hunchback" film. Case in point, a promotional poster pictures Quasimodo receiving the holy spirit as a descending dove (and even includes an "M" motif in the background, revealing yet more Disneyesque fascination with occult themes).

* * *

Another layer. Documents from the Nasorean community at Qumrun -- the famous Dead Sea Scrolls -- paint a picture of a political movement aimed at liberating a nation, not saving mankind.

What did he actually do? Some people think Yeshua was a Nasorean (that is, an Essene) rather than a Nazarene (a person from Nazareth). Yeshua, the famous Hebrew rabble-rouser, who is more often called by the Greek name Jesus and by the Greek title Christ (which means anointed), was probably, first and foremost, a Hebrew nationalist rebel against the Romans and against the collaborators in Jerusalem.

He even formed his own armed guard. Judas Iscariot means Judas the Knife-Wielder. Judas was a member of Sicarii, the Jewish version of the Assassins, and was probably the leader of Yeshua's strong-arm contingent.

Didn't Jesus raise funds for insurrection? Isn't that why he consorted with tax collectors? He went further than political rebellion. He broke with the asceticism of his own cult of Jewish fundamentalists to reach out to women and to people from all classes. And, perhaps most shocking of all, like a Zen master, he proclaimed the possibility that enlightenment could be achieved quickly, that a long period of initiation into the mysteries was not, in all cases, necessary.

So, who was he really?

Some scholars say that he came from a family steeped in mystical tradition. That his grandfather and one of his brothers were famous rainmakers, what today we would call shamans. He is reputed to have performed exactly the same miracles as other famous leaders of Greek and Egyptian Mystery schools like the great geometer, Pythagoras, feeding the multitudes, raising the dead, casting out demons, turning water into wine, healing through laying-on of hands.

Other historians say he was an Egyptian mage and that his family and the group from Bethany had close connections with the Egyptian city of Alexandria. He may have been carefully following the ancient Egyptian rituals for the mystical making of kings. Especially evocative of this tradition was the vigil at Gethsemane, facing the Eastern entrance of the Temple, waiting for the light of the Morning Star -- the Shekinah -- to bless his undertaking.

Let's read between the lines. For example, who was "the youth wrapped in a shroud" who ran away when the soldiers arrived at Gethsemane? Could he have been an initiate into the "Jesus Mysteries"? And why did Jesus love John the Evangelist so much?  And why does John the Baptist, who clearly had a large following, just kind of suddenly drop of out of the Gospel story?

Another theory is that Jesus and Mary Magdalene sought to re-invigorate the ancient Mystery tradition of Osiris and Isis, that he was a new avatar of the popular Mediterranean Osirian traditions. Indeed, much of the mythological content of the Jesus story is indistinguishable from traditions associated with Dionysius, Mithras, Attis, Adonis and the other inheritors of Osiris.

Whatever the actual facts, his legacy is certainly remarkable, if somewhat occluded by those who followed in his name. Religion aside, looking at it from a purely historical point of view, is it any wonder that he was martyred by the Roman authorities? Should we really be surprised that his short-lived and rather esoteric attempt at rebellion was largely ignored by the local population?

Whether or not he was divine is for others to answer. But he certainly broke the mold.

Yeshua the Nasorean rebel-rabbi was the first Social-Democrat, the first Anarchist, the Buddha of the West, the re-invigorator of the ancient Mysteries -- that , perhaps, is his real, living legacy.

His great work did have a huge influence on mankind, despite the millennia-long attempts at obfuscating his message in the name of upholding it.

The Gnostic Gospels -- those rejected by the Church fathers since they were inconsistent with Constantine's empire-building project -- indicate that it may have been Yeshua's constant companion, Miriam, whom we call Mary Magadalene, the "one he loved the most" and whom he "kissed on the lips", who was expected to carry on his legacy.

Others claim that it was the ascetic James, considered by some to have been the brother of Jesus, who was called Rabbi Tzedeq -- the 'Righteous Teacher' -- who was widely perceived as the real Messiah and who was killed by the high priests of the Temple for his own 20-year-long efforts to restore the true religion of the Jewish people.

Immediately following Yeshua's crucifixion (or disappearance, if you believe the Qu'ran and other alternative stories about that event), the Jerusalem Church continued the Qumrun tradition in the radicalized form directed by Yeshua. Its leaders were Miriam Magadalena and Rabbi Tzedeq.

Still another tradition points to Jesus' "twin brother", Thomas, as the one who continued the tradition.

Interestingly, James and Mary Magadalene were, according to many documents, the first targets of Saul/Paul's wrath. Responding to his invective, these closest companions of Yeshua consistently referred to Saint Paul as "the Great Liar".

Why don't they teach any of this in Sunday School?

Peel away more layers of the onion and you find that still other Bible scholars say that the anti-Gnostic rants in Paul's epistles are in fact forgeries -- and that he was actually a Gnostic.

So many layers to that onion...

Nowadays Southern Protestants in the American megalopolis like to ask "What Would Jesus Do?" It is an interesting question, even though they usually give the wrong answers.

I think the first thing he'd say in response to being asked this question is: "What are you going to do?"

Yes... The light is hidden. Things are seldom what they seem.

Enough of that. Back to the story.

The Nifty Code

* * *

Got into the Nifty Erotic Archives' collection of stories on gay male "beginnings".

This is ostensibly a collection of amateur gay coming-out stories and that is, indeed, mostly what you'll find there. But if you look for the right key words and understand the code, you will peel away another layer of the onion.

For example, all of the stories that have 'David' in the title -- "Protecting David", "David's Initiation", "Dave and Kofi", "Dave Gets Marked", "Scott and David" -- convey information about certain on-going, umm..., operations.

Many of the stories with somewhat occulted titles -- like "The Mask", "The Apprentice" and "True Companions" -- also contain coded messages or pass on information about certain real-world events for those who need to know.

For you amateur sleuths, I'll give you a clue. One way to identify these types of stories is that they are invariably well-constructed, carefully written and nicely formatted.

Lest any Government or Curia agents reading this get the wrong idea, let me say again that all of our work has 3 goals: the relief of suffering, the building up of community and brotherhood, and the pursuit of truth and wisdom.

We really are everywhere. We were there at the beginning. We are the secret inside the secret.

Of course, I can't reveal the code, much less the underlying information, without betraying some confidences, but I can give you a few examples of what to look for. Keep reading these types of stories and eventually you will come to understand it too. It's not that hard to figure out. And, very likely, you will find a desire to join in.

Here's a quote from "David's Initiation":  "When Dave had taken all he could from his inferior position, Paul took over and completed the insertion to the base."

This may sound like a simple description of a sex scene (which indeed it is), but note the careful, slightly unusual, use of language. Once you can recognize the code, then it becomes clear that a crucial part of a plan (which I cannot reveal at this time) has been successfully executed and has moved into its next phase.

Here is one from "The Mask": This really can start wars, stop armies, create harmony or discord wherever it exists. It really is the most powerful force on Earth. I looked down at Will's tired but euphoric face and kissed him, sharing with him my newfound knowledge."

In this case, again hidden within a steamy gay sex scene, a member of the arcane community is both sharing some good news with us and making an important philosophical point.

Some stories in the archive, like "The Betrayed", were constructed mainly for the purpose of communicating a series of numbers, such as 17-18-10-3-1-36, and for sending a short message to his fellow architects, in this case: "I will not walk away."

I found what I was looking for. Good news from friends in the American Mid-West and some disturbing developments in Haiti.

I switched over to the Nifty gay collection on "college"stories (or as we like to call it, "Invisible College" stories) and posted a slight rewrite to a posting called "The Lancer's Club". Of course, I can't tell you precisely what to look for. Let's just say that "left-Hegelians" are not always exactly what they seem.

Along with being a channel for occult messages, the Nifty Erotic Archives is a treasure trove of creativity, with a lot of freely available and stimulating content. Stimulating enough give me a raging hard-on by the time I was done browsing.

An Unexpected Visitor

I was trying to decide whether to just jack off and call it an early night, go out and "show my relations", or maybe find out what my dream-boy Hiram was up to tonight.

I decided on door number one. I had just got my love pole nicely lubricated when there was a frantic knocking at door.

"Shit," I muttered, "I hope whoever that is doesn't mind my full attention."

After rearranging my glistening dick somewhat uncomfortably back into my pants, I cracked open the door.

It was Santiago.

"I had a really bad day!" he wailed as soon as he saw me.

Oh jeez! I opened the door a little more, but didn't let him in.

"So what are you doing here?" I asked.

"Please. I couldn't face going home right now. Just my mother and the TV and..."

Damn. The daemons in my head started arguing with each other. (My higher nature: I had enough of this kind of thing in my "drinking life". I'm not his damn Papa and it's not up to me to save him. My lower nature: Oh, but he's mighty appealing in his cop drag. And he needs me to rescue him.)

While I was busy arguing with myself over whether to give him a firm but kind refusal or to pursue the erotic potential of a cop in need, his gaze fell upon my hard-on and, as the horny old Chairman of the world proletarian revolution once put it, Santiago "knit his brow and hit upon a stratagem". He knew it was a stratagem that I'd find hard to resist.

Santiago smirked at me and said, "At least let me come in long enough to tame that big tiger of yours."

Hmmm... it looked like my lower nature was going to win. I opened the door and pulled him into the hallway.

"OK, but you're the one who's going to get tamed," I barked at him.

I pushed him up against the wall, undid his belt and yanked down his jeans and briefs in one quick motion. God, what a delicious butt! My heart was melting, but my dick was determined.

I smacked his butt checks with my right hand until they started to turn red, undid my britches with the left, all the while lecturing him.

"I'm not your goddamned savior, you got that?"  Smack!

"And I'm not your sponsor!"  Smack!

"And I'm not one of your perps!"  Smack! Smack!

Then I plugged his ass with my righteously erect pillar, much like I had with my guardian angel in the Appletree Café restroom, all the way in, all the way up, all at once. I hoped against hope that it wouldn't cause Santiago to start scrawling on the wall like it did Walt. After all, reproduction William Morris wallpaper does not come cheaply!

I pulled out, smacked his ass again, and whispered in his ear, "You wanted to ride the tiger. Here it is."

I righteously butt-fucked him for about 10 minutes, all the while telling him he was my bitch and anything else I could think of to give him the message that he was just a piece of ass. Just before I was about to cum, I pulled out and turned him around.

He was panting and sweating, looking a little bit bedraggled. Though it was dripping with pre-cum, his dick was only semi-hard. Good. Mine was hard as a rock and soaked with his ass-juices.

"Suck it, Jack! Drink my cum!" I commanded.

He dropped to his knees.

As soon as he opened his mouth, I pushed in, grabbed the back of his head and kept pushing in deeper until I knew he was at his limit. Then I let go, shooting my spunk down his throat.

I pulled Santiago up and looked into his eyes. He looked at me like a puppy dog.  My heart melted.

"How are you doing?" I asked him.

"Creo que estoy enamorado contigo. Querido..."

That blew away the pre-occupations with my resentments. I must have looked a bit dumbfounded.

"Did you hear me, man? I said I think I'm in love with you."


We made some tea and talked for a long time. He'd managed to punch through my defenses. Could I be falling in love?

We talked about us -- our struggles, our pains, our loves. A quick learner, he'd found all the various web references I'd given him regarding "the work". He asked how the conspiracy was going. I filled him in on the latest details and he seemed eager to play his part.

He finally said he had to go home and take care of Mama. Gave me a big hug and a kiss.

Was I doing the right thing? Where was all of this leading?

I let it go for now.

Read one of my favorite parts from Plutarch's Lives where Aristides puts down a conspiracy to overthrow Athenian democracy. I went to bed pondering how many Aristides might be out there today who are willing to defend democracy against a bunch of rich, stinking farts who think they own the world.

* * *

The Spies Who Loved Me

It was going to be a busy day, so I got some research and writing done first thing in the morning. Then I did a little "space clearing" -- that giddy new age euphemism for vacuuming and tidying up the place.

There's a wonderful sense of peace and well-being in getting up in time to see the sun rise and using that time alone to clear your head.

Turned on the 12 o'clock news and there it was! A dozen or so aging hippies and militant Quakers were protesting in front of the Cathedral, demanding that the hierarchy use its influence to help stop the violence in the West Bank, Gaza and Israel.

It was on the news. They'd done their homework well. Any group of morons can set up a picket line and shout slogans. The real trick is convincing the news media that it's a story worth covering. Hugh's little red Quakers and my coterie of Episcopalians had done it.

I made a couple of phone calls -- one to David and one to Hiram -- to make sure everything was moving ahead according to plan.

By late afternoon the trap was set. We learned that a well-known functionary of the local hierarchy had agreed to meet with the two young representatives of the "peace community" in a neutral location -- an office of a certain religious scholar at a University in the western part of the state known for its liberal views.

What a nice coincidence! (Heh-heh) It just so happened that I had the key to it.

Now it was a matter of assembling the "left-Hegelians" and engaging in a little high tech engineering.

The first to give the secret knock on my door -- no surprise -- was Santiago. Once again, he looked very hot in his cop uniform. Said he'd gotten off his shift a little early. I explained to him that he'd just be handling security while the spooks were installing the hardware. We went over a few more details, then he asked how long it would be before the others arrived.

"About an hour," I guessed.

They say that turnabout is fair play. He had me up-ended over the divan and was hammering his stiff Dominican pecker up my ass before you could say "Boo". I'd had just enough time to insist he use a condom.

Sometimes sex is sweet and slow, like that dreamy scene with Hiram. Sometimes it's rough and quick, like the other day with Walt Tyler in the bathroom at the café or like yesterday when Santiago showed up unannounced.

Then, evidently, there is Dominican cop-on-top sex, which is all of the above. Although he'd quickly stripped me bare, he'd mostly kept his uniform on when he started fucking me -- to the accompaniment of a never-ending stream of epithets, grunts, groans and yelps -- and he caressed me with his nightstick the whole time. Rubbing it around my nipples, pushing my head back and forth with it, stroking my cock.

During the course of that... performance... he managed to shuck his shirt and, eventually, the rest of his clothes. I'm still not sure how he did that. Must be special police training.

After he came I had a steel hard-on. He started making love to my dick with the same enthusiasm as he'd exhibited when fucking my ass. He grabbed my ass cheeks with both hands, then pulled on my balls and finger-fucked me while giving me a blow-job to remember. I shot my gooey load down his throat and he kept sucking until he got every last drop.

It never seemed to be over with this guy. Apparently he's not satisfied until his partner is just a quivering tub of jello. The blow-job was followed up with kisses full of cum, then an all-over licking that ended with his talented tongue up my ass and both of us starting to get hard again. By now he was straddled over me, his head buried in my behind and his lovely cop balls dangling right over my head. Faced with such a predicament, all a boy can do is.. lick dick.

After all, the law is the law.

Lost in mouthfuls of tasty Latino cop testicles, at first I thought he'd started fucking me again, then realized that that would be a physical impossibility. The raunchy motherfucker was poking my ass with his nightstick!

I popped his balls out of my mouth to object only to have him stuff his dick in before I could say a word. At any rate, the fact that my great communicator was stiff as a board would have made my objection seem a bit lame.

With his man-stick in one end of me and his nightstick in the other, I was approaching that quivering jello state. He left off slipping the wood in and out of my butt to concentrate on sliding his meat deeper and deeper down my throat, leaving the perp-beater stuck up my butt-hole. Luckily I'm quite adept at all sorts of breathing exercises and thus don't have a problem with guys who really like to be deep throated. The nightstick routine was a bit much, though, even for me.

Just as his pubes pushed up against my nose, I felt his juicy tongue licking around my cockhead, then his sweet lips working their way down my dick. Within a few minutes we were waving up and down like a well-oiled machine, sliding our cocks in and out of each other's mouths. That damn nightstick finally slipped out of my butt just as we both started cumming again.

I was starting to feel a bit disoriented. (Car 69, where are you?) Heh-heh.

We swallowed each other's cum, then started kissing, caressing and nibbling again. He was slipping two fingers back up my love canal.

"Hey!" I finally broke away. "The other guys will be here soon."

He looked up long enough from nibbling on my left tit to give me a forlorn look and say, "But we were just getting started."

I stuck a finger in his mouth and let him lick it.

"Sorry, Romeo, but there's work to do," I said. I nibbled on his neck a bit and caressed his goopy cock and balls.

"How about a shower."

He looked me excitedly in the eye.

("Damn!" I thought, "I am such an idiot!")

"I meant... just a shower."

"I know what you meant. Just take a quick shower together, no?"


A few minutes later we were happily soaping each other up in the shower when I heard the secret knock on the door. I rinsed off, wrapped a towel around my waist and hurried out to answer it, dripping wet.

As expected, it was the spy-boys lugging their black bags of equipment.

It's amazing what you can buy off the internet these days. My spy-pals have it all: tiny cameras that look like a piece of thread, microphones the size of pin, earphones that disappear in your ear. Plus a specialty of their own design:  calibrated doses of certain anti-inhibition chemical compounds that can easily, quickly and tastelessly be dissolved in a drink.

Like gay techno-geek spies everywhere, the two of them were a bit bamboozled by the sight of a nearly naked man. I didn't bother trying to cover up. Hey, we were all brothers in this, after all.

"Did we catch you a bad time?" asked spy-boy number one.

He was obviously torn between showing me the latest in miniaturization, on the one hand, and wondering what how he might be able to calibrate my growth potential, on the other.

"Hey guys!"

Officer Friendly joined us, also dressed to impress, neatly attired in only a towel. I was beginning to wonder if we were ever going to get to the location.

My spy-boys are both cute as buttons in their somewhat tightly wound geeky way. Their charms were not lost on Mr. Ever-ready. While ooh'ing and aah'ing over their equipment, he not so subtly managed to let them get a peek or two at his own.

Trying to keep things moving, I suggested that some coffee might be in order.

Not two minutes later, on my return from the kitchen, I spied the head of spook number one bobbing up and down under the front end of my Latin lover's towel while spook number two appeared to be making a very close inspection of something under the rear end of the same. My lusty Dominican was cooing and muttering sweet nothings while running his hands over his own nipples and abs.

I wonder if they have these problems at the CIA?

I gave him my "you are trying mother's patience" look. He returned me his best "there was nothing I could do to stop them, really!" pout.

In the immortal words of Marge Simpson, "Hrrmmm..."

I saw his nightstick on the floor, still a bit slimy from being up my butt. OK. Two can play at this game. Er, well, I suppose four can play too...

I caressed the butt and rubbed the back of the first head-bobber, gave my cop his due -- a big, tongue-down-your-throat smooch -- and when I moved around to give some gentle encouragement to bobber number two, slyly picked up the nightstick.

Next I wrapped myself around bobber-boy number two and whispered into his ear that I thought he and his pal should try some double-teaming on the front end. He slid around to work on those tasty cop balls and I picked up on the rim job, quickly followed by one finger, then two, which elicited a whole new monologue from the man of the hour.

When I slipped the nightstick up his shoot it elicited a soliloquy in a whole 'nother language.

Being suitably hard myself by this point, I quickly relented and substituted my softer, gentler rod for the cop-toy.

This brought a gentler reply. I figured that the woody penetration must not have been completely unpleasant, however, (nor, I guessed, was it a totally new experience) since he now had his hands on the back of cock-boy's neck and was pumping fairly furiously.

The spy-boys had undone their britches and were giving each other a hand job while ministering to the master.

I concentrated and waited. I felt his sphincter tighten and guessed from that and from the concentration of the spy-boys that he was jizzing. Just the right amount of relaxation and tension and... aaaaaahh. There it is. I held him around the chest and nibbled on his ear. Wait for it.

He tried to turn. I pushed his head back. The boys were too busy finishing each other off to notice our little minuette.

I finished emptying my bladder and pulled out. I hadn't piss-fucked anybody in years and was quite proud of myself.

I turned my attention to the spy-boys.

"Hey! Who wants seconds?" I asked, stroking my still-hard dick.

As they started slurping and licking my dick and balls like sex-starved little desperados, I noted with some amusement my cop's awkward waddle off to the bathroom. Evidently he didn't close the door because I could hear the sploosh.

He came back into the room -- this time wearing pants -- just as spy-boy number two was swallowing the last drop of my third orgasm of the evening. (Hat trick!)

Santiago attempted a "that was a nasty thing to do" glance, but I couldn't help thinking that he looked very satisfied all the same. Some cops -- well, this one anyway -- evidently just love anything and everything that comes out of a man's hose. Must be part of that policeman/fireman camaraderie thing?

Finally, we all arranged ourselves into a modicum of decency, had a sip of coffee and slipped off into the night.

All went well. There were millions of places to put tiny little cameras and microphones in the "old man's" office.

After agreeing on the nifty code to use for our next rendezvous, the spy-kids and I went our separate ways.

Santiago spent most of the night with me. I am definitely falling for him.

* * *

Applying the Cure

Next afternoon was the big day.

Hiram and David worked their magic like professionals. Santiago guarded the entrance to the office to make sure they weren't interrupted.

Hugh and I watched and recorded the whole thing from our secret director's location. Not only had the spy-boys set us up with multiple video feeds, monitors, audio-tape machines and mikes, they had thoughtfully decorated the place. Poster-sized sexy shots of Keanu Reeves from the Matrix movies, including a few that definitely didn't make it into the final cut, competed with stills of Rupert Everett as some kind of gay James Bond -- a film that hasn't even been made yet. Don't ask me how they got them -- digital magic maybe?

Our "peace emissaries" both looked and acted a good many years younger than their real ages. It was an amazing transformation. Anybody watching the video would guess that David was about 15 and Hiram maybe 16 or 17.

You could tell from the beginning of the seduction that the dear old Monsignor had his eyes all over them.

They were masterful to the point of being sublimely ridiculous.

After some chit-chat and get-to-know-you's, David managed to slip the spy-boys' love-potion into the priest's Tio Pepe.

Playing up his Lebanese sense of intimacy to the hilt, Hiram sat right next to the old priest and, bit by bit, was touching him, first on the shoulder, then on the leg, even holding his hand, while pleading his case for reconciliation and peace amongst the warring factions in the Middle East.

David took the opportunity to feign interest in some books on a lower shelf directly in front of the good padre while Hiram was chatting him up. Hugh and I busted up when his tight little trouser butt ripped as he leaned over.

He totally played it up. Oh, the embarrassment! Worrying about what his mother would say. He actually turned his butt right into the Monsignor's face and asked him how bad it was.

Hiram insisted they could fix it, that there must be a needle and thread somewhere in the office. He lept up and "accidentally" knocked the glass of sherry right into the old boy's lap. Without a moment's hesitation, he was trying to mop it up with a linen serviette and apologizing profusely.

David was scrounging through the desk drawer while this was going on. We could hear him stage-whispering, "Where is it? Where is it?"

"Top left," I replied into the microphone.

"I found it!"

He held up the needle and thread like a prize.

Hiram came to the rescue once again, insisting, "I'll sew them up for you. Go ahead and take them off."

As the mark watched with close attention, David peeled off his trousers and handed them to Hiram. David was wearing tight-fitting jockeys that left nothing to the imagination.

"I'm sorry, Father. This is so embarrassing!"

The good father seemed to be having trouble with a frog in his throat. He kept making clearing sounds, "Hrrrrmmpph! Ugggh!"and little coughs.

Looking up from his task at hand, Hiram handed David some more napkins and told him to check the padre's trousers to see if they were still wet.

The gob-smacked old feller seemed to have crossed the Rubicon. He actually spread his legs while David set about dabbing and rubbing around his crotch area. David pretended not to notice when his penis slipped out of the pee-hole slit in his jockeys. But the padre certainly took notice of the close proximity of young cock.

"Urupph! Hmmphh!" cough! "I think that's fine, son." he said, taking the napkin from David and holding it over his crotch.

Hugh zoomed in. Sure enough, there was a significant rise occurring beneath the priestly napkins.

David stepped back and then turned towards Hiram, who was crouching down sewing up the pants. His dick flopped right into Hiram's face. It was such good timing -- as if they had practiced this move. (Stupid, I told myself, they have practiced this move!)

"Oh!" David pipped, "Sorry about that!"

Hiram looked right a David's dick. He dropped the needle and thread, reached out and tenderly fondled David's privates, pulling his fellow peacenik's pecker all the way out from his underwear in the process.

He said, "Don't be sorry. There's nothing shameful about the human body."

He looked around David's side and asked, innocent as an angel, "Isn't that right, padre? Shouldn't we be grateful for what Allah has given us?"

He turned David around to face the priest and hefted his partner's cleanly shaved balls up and down a few times. The priests head bobbed up and down along with David's prick.

"Look at this, father. David is circumcised."

Hiram stood up, unbuttoned his own fly and pulled out his own dreamy dick.

"And look here. I am not. He is a Jew and I am a Muslim, so he has lost his foreskin and I have not. Isn't it ridiculous that people fight and kill each other over such insignificant differences?"

"Let me see yours, father." Hiram insisted, moving in closer. "I have heard that Catholics are like Muslims, but Protestants are like Jews. Is it true? Won't you show it to me?"

"You want to see my penis?", the priest asked.

Like some kind of slow-motion magic, the priest removed the linen covering his bulge.

"Yes, father, very much. I have never seen a Catholic man's penis before."

I couldn't tell if Hiram was lying or not. He was mesmerizing.

In a bit of a daze, the padre mumbled, "All right, then." The old man unzipped and freed his sizable and growing manhood (or is that priesthood... ;-). The head of his cock was starting to peek out from his foreskin.

"Look David," Hiram enthused. "It's true! Catholics are not circumcised."

He nudged David forward. Bless their hearts, my two "boys" were dangling their cocks right in front of his nose and both were stiffening up at the sight of the priest's respectable fatty.

Hugh kept himself busy capturing the sight for posterity from a variety of cameras hidden around the room.

The Monsignor took the bait. He reached out with both hands and fondled the two hard young cocks affectionately.

He lectured, "Circumcision was a pact between God and his Chosen People. When Our Lord brought the new law, this covenant was no longer necessary."

Hiram said, "We Muslims believe that both Jews and Christians are people of the Book. But a lot of Muslims don't like Jews because of Israel -- and some say that Christians are just crusaders who want to destroy Islam. My view is that we are all the same in the eyes of Allah. And that only Allah can decide who is good and who is evil. There are evil people of all religions, yes? But there are good people too. We musn't be afraid of each other. I am not afraid. Ask me father. Ask me if I am afraid to be with a Jew and a Christian."

"Are you afraid?" the priest asked, seemingly in a bit of a trance, still fondling the boys' balls.

David opined, "You know, both Christians and Muslims have persecuted the Jews."

It was unbelievable. They were talking religion and politics while the priest continued to rub their dicks, gazing first at one and then the other while his respectable old bone was slowly rising to attention.

David continued, speaking directly to Hiram. "Well. One big difference between Muslims and Jews and between Muslims and Christians is that Muslim men can do whatever they want to with other men. Isn't that right?"

"No. Not officially. According to Sharia, homosexuals are supposed to thrown off of cliff. But in reality..."

He calmly removed his dick and David's dick from the priest's gentle ministrations, dropped down on his knees, peeled down David's briefs and said,  "Does this answer your question? Do you want me to make love to your circumcised Jewish boner? Should I suck on his boner, Father?"

The priest was into it now. Enthusiastically watching his own private porn show unfold in front of him, he said, "Yes, suck his cock!"

Hiram gave a big lick all the way up the underside of David's cock and then took it into his mouth. He turned David so that his butt was facing the old feller. As he started sucking on David's cock, he spread apart his partner-in-corruption's ass cheeks, giving the Monsignor a bird's eye view of David's pretty (and also closely shaved) rosebud.

David spit on his hand, started rubbing the saliva on his hole, then slid a finger into it, enthusing, "Oh, yeah! Oh, yeah! I knew Arabs would do anything. Oh man! Are you going to fuck me too? Hunh, are you going to fuck me? Will you fuck me? Isn't somebody going to fuck me?"

The priest rose, a long thread of pre-cum dangling from the tip of his erect cock. Hugh and I both gave a low whistle. It was at least 10 inches long and if there was a picture of it posted on the web, it would have to be captioned "the ass stretcher".

"By God, I'll fuck you."

He started rubbing it up and down on David's butt crack and then suddenly pushed it in.

"Unh! Unh! Oh my God! Father! What are you doing!?" David protested.

The religious fellow was too deep into his passion to stop now. He ignored David's protestations and started desperately fucking David. It looked like he'd probably already cum as soon as he'd gotten past David's sphincter.

At any rate, it didn't take long. "Oh Loooorrrdd!!! "

He pulled out and held his softening, wet butt-splitter in his hand, looking at it incredulously, as if he wasn't quite sure what had just happened.

Hiram stopped sucking off David. They both faced the priest. David was rubbing his ass and had even managed to squeeze a few crocodile tears from the corner of one eye.

"Damn! He fucked me!" David announced, aware of the need for plenty of drama for the home audience, "Father ______ just fucked me in the ass!"

The only thing that may have given away the little charade was the fact that both David and Hiram had rampant hard-on's. But that could be managed through some careful editing.

"But... but... err-hem! "the Monsignor was protesting, "You... umm... that is... you seemed to be inviting me to... Oh my god... Jesus, Mary and Joseph!  I thought you wanted..."

Hiram adopted a thoughtful pose. From the priest's perspective, he appeared to be rubbing David's ass as if to assuage the pain. We could see from another camera angle that he actually had one finger up David's hole and was swishing around the juices that the impetuous father had left behind. They had spent enough time together for him to know by now that David was an enthusiastic bottom and that his tears were probably due to the fact that he was already missing having the priest's big pole up his butt.

"Father," Hiram mused, "In the Mosaic tradition, I believe there is a saying 'An eye for eye, a tooth for a tooth.' Perhaps there is a way for you make amends to young David here?"

"What are you suggesting?"

"Well. You have treated him like a woman. Perhaps he..."

Hiram's gracious hand-gestures conveyed the international sign language for: "Drop your drawers and let me get into your ass."

Somewhat tremblingly, their host complied.

Ever so politely, Hiram took the priest by the hands and led him over to the sofa. After laying the man down and sliding on top of him in a sixty-nine position, he whispered loud enough for the priest to hear, but easily edited out from the final cut, "Suck on it, man. I know you want it!",

Hiram set about sucking on the priestly balls and massaging the pastoral sausage.

Plenty loud enough to please us, the Monsignor obliged with more enthusiasm than we expected. "Oh yeah! Let me taste that sweet cock!" Hugh and I gave each other a raised eyebrow over that one.

The priest pushed Hiram up and twirled him around so that our Arab stallion was beneath him. Evidently the poor man had been starved for boy-cock for quite some time. He rubbed Hiram's dick all over his face, then abandoned himself to a wild episode of cock sucking, ball licking man-love-making. He'd also conveniently hoisted himself up on his knees so that Hiram would have good access to his Roman prick while his hierarchical ass was swaying freely in the wind.

He took enough time out from slathering Hiram's equipment with saliva to instruct David: "Sodomize me! Give it to me! Fuck my ass, Jew-boy!"

I smiled, thinking that the spirit of my foul-mouthed Armenian scholar must be having a benign -- or is that malign? -- influence on him.

We faded out on this delightful scene as David was cumming up the old man's butt while muttering, "Oh Father! Oh Father! Is this what you wanted me to do?" whilst Hiram got sprayed in the face by a rather unexpected holy gusher. Our last close-up was a great one of the priest's smiling lips just leaving Hiram's cock with a dribbles of cum spilling down his chin.

Super Cuts

Hugh and I spent most of the next day in post-production. We were very proud of the final cut and made several copies for safekeeping.

Through the use of good editing and thanks to the cleverness of our actors, we were able to edit together an evocative short film of two innocent, conservative young religious teenagers coerced by a manipulative priest into participating in a wild gay sex scene.

We assembled several great cuts by piecing together different bits of dialog and video.

The old priest: "Yes, suck his cock!" Close up of Hiram reluctantly (!?) taking David's dick in his mouth.

The priest: "You want to see my penis?" Close up of his big dick. "Are you afraid?"  Close in on his big ol' cock sliding down Hiram's throat.

The priest: "By God, I'll fuck you!" Long shot of his cock getting jammed up David's ass. (Hiram is conveniently not in this shot.)

David: "Father _____ just fucked me in the ass!" Tears.

David, his yarmulke askew and his ringlets bouncing back and forth, humping the Padre doggie style and saying, with a slightly wounded tone, "Is this what you wanted me to do?"

The soundtrack for the final scene replays an enthusiastic "Let me taste that sweet cock!" over and over as we pan closer and closer in on the picture of Hiram's dick emerging from his lips and his happy face covered in boy-joy-juice.

Several of the stills were also outstanding. The stills and the video streams were quickly dispersed to various web sites around the world, along with instructions regarding the key words that would determine whether or not they would be posted publicly.

I couldn't resist actually posting one close-up of the padre's fatty to a gay porno site with the caption I'd imagined: "Holy Ass Splitter".

A phone call and a couple of e-mails to the Archbishop's residence and...

Peace in the Valley

I invited Hugh, Hiram, David and the mysterious Walt Tyler over to watch the morning news shows. Hugh and Walt hit off immediately.

Hiram and Walt, on the other hand, were studiously polite with each other, which made me wonder about their relationship. Was it possible that Hiram was the chief architect of this escapade all along?

We watched with mounting excitement as the Archbishop held a press conference prior to Mass to announce some dramatic new initiatives on the part of the local diocese.

Evidently based on discussions with their "close friends"in the Episcopal Church, the local hierarchy had re-evaluated its campaign against gay marriage and had decided that this question should be up to the civil authorities to decide.

Although the Church remains, of course, opposed, they are nevertheless dropping any lobbying efforts against the new gay marriage law. He also announced a new initiative to study homophobia in the Church and said that he expects findings to be announced within a year. He stressed that attacks on gay people were un-Christian and even used the phrase "our gay and lesbian brothers and sisters" several times.

In another surprising piece of news, he announced that the local diocese had also decided to participate in a joint effort with other churches and religious institutions in the area to promote peace and reconciliation in the Middle East.

Snaps all around for a job well done!

The phone started ringing and didn't stop for most of the morning. The Episcopalian gayboisie were shocked, titillated and very, very pleased. My shy Systems Architect called to ask when I was available for the "private cleaning" I'd promised him. The gay Fathers expressed their amazing grace. The spy-boys left a cryptic message that meant the equipment had been safely removed, all evidence removed from "the stage"and the control room had been swept clean.

Santiago called to see what I was up to and to ask if I could use some company.

My gaze swept over the happy orgy that was developing amongst the co-conspirators in my living room. David, who had been waxing nostalgic most of the day about the size of the priest's equipment, was now happily bouncing up and down on Hiram's stiffie. Judging from the size of his boner, David and Hiram were well on their way towards finding at least part of a peaceful solution for their warring tribes.

While happily observing David and Hiram's lovemaking, Hugh was chatting up Walt about his theories on safer sex. I couldn't believe the old cocksucker was still using that line. Walt seemed to be taking it all in stride.

As amiable Walt was slipping his cock out of his pants so that Hugh could continue his lesson, I told Santiago, "Sure. Come on over. I wanted to talk you about something anyway."

"What's that?"

"You're in the police union, right?"


"Aren't you guys pretty chummy with some people in the Republican Party?..."

* * *

The  Living End