From: organs@backdoor.com (Bruce) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories Subject: BB: (NEW) Altar Ego (m/b, gay) Date: 19 May 1996 15:01:36 GMT Organization: The Denver Exchange, Inc. Lines: 504 Message-ID: <4nnd4g$3le@tde1.tde.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: sl2.backdoor.com X-Newsreader: News Xpress Version 1.0 Beta #3 If you are a good Catholic, DO NOT READ THIS STORY! (Of course, if you are a good Catholic, you aren't reading this newsgroup, right?) Yeah, right! ---------> This story is a complete fabrication! <-------- ALTAR EGO |Ecce Sacerdos Magnus!| Behold a great Priest! I don't know who installed it originally. Father Flanagan (God rest his sainted soul) pointed it out to me. It looks innocent enough: a gauche, bejewelled, pressed-wood crucifix hanging there on the wall of the sacristy, with a tiny bulls-eye lens in Jesus' navel. What with all the other rubbish in the room, it goes unnoticed. At eye level above my kneeler in the apse, there is a small hole in the carved wooden tracery: this, too, is unseen, except by myself. To all who wander by, it appears I am lost in prayer. Some have marveled at my piety, since I pray a great deal. But the truth is that I peer through that hole, the other end of which is the lens on the crucifix, which gives me a perfect view of the acolytes as they change into their vestments, preparing for Mass. The boys sometimes get carried away while changing. Dutifully following my orders, they arrive well before Mass; this gives them private time together they seem to have trouble finding elsewhere. I get to watch them playing, as boys do when there's time on their hands. I love to watch them prance around, showing off their pubescent young bodies to each other... |...qui pueris mitigasti flammas ignium...| ...who subdued the flames of fire for the young men... Since I also coach sports in our modest gym Saturday nights, no one is surprised that I buy jock-straps for myself. I wear them under my alb; the entertainment I view almost every Sunday morning inevitably gives me an erection which might be difficult to explain. On more than one occasion I have ejaculated beneath my vestments and been unable to clean up until after Mass. Some of my parishioners react in interesting ways to the subtle odor I diffuse as I move along the communion rail. More than once I have fumbled with the host as a particularly nice-looking boy knelt before me, his sensuous mouth uplifted and open to receive... |Accipite et comedite; hoc est corpus meum.| Take and eat; this my body. Mass often commences late here at Perpetual Succor. Fortunately, we have a buzzer to the organ console in the balcony at the other end of the nave: I can signal the organist when it's time to stop playing his usual vapid stuff, and get on with the really banal music he chooses to accompany the rites. Only the singing of the boys' choir is worth listening to, their clear, unchanged soprano voices floating sensuously in the nave. Our choirmaster is very good with them. He's very good *to* them as well, I understand. There are several particularly pretty boys in the choir, and I've often wished I could spy on the little room under the tower where they slip into - and out of - their robes. But I see enough, spying into the sacristy as I pray. I have a soft spot in my heart for acolytes; and a hard spot in my groin, usually... Of course, I choose the acolytes, just as Cedric chooses the choir-boys. I never cared much for the Irish boys, so white and pink everywhere. But choice has become more difficult as first Italians, then Hispanics, Blacks, and now Asians have moved into the parish. Surely, part of the Lord's work is to promote harmony among these diverse people, and what better way than to arrange for their youngsters to interact in safe, quiet and non-judgmental surroundings? It has been particularly gratifying to see integration proceed so smoothly, aided by the regular interplay among a long succession of charming young boys. Parents are never a problem: they are the first to put their sons forth as prospects for my ministry. I point out the honor that accrues to their lovely offspring as they serve the Lord. And me... For example, the Santos' dropped by the Rectory last week with Raul, their 9 year old son. Mr. Santos himself is a good-looking Filipino, but Raul is absolutely exquisite. He has the most perfect skin the color of dark ale, with large, brown eyes and glossy jet-black hair. Sitting in my office in tight white shorts, his glabrous thighs were stunning, and I was glad I wore a jock-strap (as usual), since his effect on my private parts was predictable: it would not have done to usher his parents out with an erection showing in my dark slacks. |Mitte manum tuam...| Put in your hand... I needed a private word with little Raul - just to check on his catechism, of course. He was happy to sit in my lap as I tested his knowledge and assessed his other qualifications. He didn't mind my palm on his leg at all, and wriggled coyly as my fingers slipped under the hem of his pants... The Santos' were delighted when I told them Raul had passed with flying colors; I sent them along to my secretary, and back in my office fantasized future intimacies with Raul as I relieved myself. |...flumina de ventre ejus fluent...| ...out of his belly shall flow rivers... After all, what is a pastor to do, when a handsome young member of his flock confesses he masturbates every night? What good is thirty "Hail Marys" or a dozen "Our Fathers" going to do? No one would believe it today, but I was once young and horny. Perhaps God knows how many penances I recited, but I lost count years ago. Now I am old and horny. The wonderful promise evident between the legs of a young boy is something better to worship than some stuffy notion of a mysterious trinity. And, worship them I do! Many of them have worshiped me in various ways, too: who am I to deny an innocent boy's desire to kneel before his spiritual father and drink in the essence of maleness his own father will not provide? Boys yearn for expressions of male affection; too many parents fail to understand this! Their sons turn to me, a surrogate, and learn... They learn their bodies are not something to be hidden and clothed, but something to be proud of! They feel the energy that flows from my erect penis into their hands as they fondle me. They experience the religious fervor of ejaculation - surely a more profound event in their lives than the harangue of a boring homily. (Certainly a more common one!) They learn that a mouth has uses beyond the spouting of platitudes; that the laying on of hands can be more than just an expression; the *real* meaning of "Christ is Risen!" |Puer natus est nobis...| Unto us a boy is born... Why, I am now ministering to the sons of men I knew first as boys! Take Victor, for example: can he possibly have forgotten the many times we played together in my study? Though it was twenty-some years ago, I remember as if it was last month: how he responded shyly every time I touched him as I taught the many complex movements to be made as we served Mass together. One day, as I showed him how I would kneel, my eye fell on his crotch, where it was evident he was excited. How could I have been so clumsy, in trying to rise, as to bump my head against that tender spot? His instant blush told me of his acute embarrassment, so I had to put him at ease. That day's lesson was completed in my study, where he brightened perceptibly when I explained to him that a hard penis would be something he would deal with often as he grew up, and that there was a pleasant way of making it become soft again - at least for a little while. I was, you comprehend, forearmed with the knowledge that Victor liked to experiment, for I had watched him in the sacristy. He was an early bloomer, entering puberty while still not quite 12. The signs were unmistakable, as that remarkable metamorphosis commenced. Subtle, tantalizing changes in his structure quickly became evident: a thickening of muscle here, a loss of baby-fat there, and the typical growth-spurt. Cedric had banished his awkward rasps from the choir. Wisps of curly black hair appeared around his uncircumcised penis, which quickly lost it's little pig-snout as it filled out. Although he was a shy boy around adults, with his mates he was flirtatious and fun-loving, often "accidentally" groping them as they cavorted while changing. With my years of experience, I knew *exactly* when he was ready... He stood between my legs, that first time, as I sat on the old wooden pew salvaged from St. Ubaldus' after the fire. He raised no objection when I unsnapped his pants and pushed them down over his slender hips. His staff pushed out the brilliant white cloth of his tiny briefs, but I let my hands wander over his wonderful legs - so smooth and soft. Emboldened, he steadied himself with a hand on my shoulder as he stepped out of his pants. When he bent to pick them up and smooth the wrinkles before setting them on a chair, I feasted on a perfect view of his ravishing buns, to which his shorts clung most alluringly. Then, he stood again, dutifully awaiting my instruction. |Flectamus genua.| Let us kneel. On my knees in a trice, I slipped his shorts down, taking care not to bend him in the process, then grasped his hand and curled his fingers around his pretty penis, the purplish glans of which was now fully exposed by a retracted foreskin. I showed him the proper motion, telling him as I did so that in a few minutes he would feel *wonderful* (by the grace of God, of course...). Boys are such quick learners! Within minutes Victor discovered how strangely pleasant it is to masturbate; his eyes closed as the unfamiliar feelings swept over him; perhaps my busy hands appreciatively massaging his firm buttocks had something to do with it. |Venite meus...| Come unto me... Victor expressed no surprise when he noticed I had taken my own penis in hand and was emulating him. He must have instantly realized that the wonderful sensations washing over his youthful body can be enjoyed just as much by someone older. Interrupting both of us only momentarily, I returned to my pew and pressed him down on my bare leg, where his compact buns burned their way into my thigh. I held his lovely penis, rock hard, just briefly in my hand, feeling its rhythmic pulsations as his blood engorged it. |Bibite ex hoc omnes. Hic est enim sanguis meus...| Drink all of this... That's when Victor's tiny hand tentatively reached for me. His delicate fingers coiled around me loosely, and he slid them up and down, not gripping me, just gently feeling the heft of my rigid manhood. The sensation was electrifying, as usual, and I felt seed rising in my loins. After a few moments of this, his hand returned to himself, and mine to me. Our paces quickened as the inevitable orgasms approached; he stood on his toes and croaked a boyish "oh" when the end of his rod exploded, and glistening droplets of his gelatinous boy-essence were flung out, like so much Holy Water from my aspergillum, to splash on my other leg and forearm. Mindful of the admonition not to spill seed upon the ground, I spilt mine upon his curvaceous thigh instead, moments after his anointed my leg. I sacrificed a snowy purificator, and mopped up his effusion, then mine, which gave me further opportunity to appreciate the perfection of his sturdy young legs. Then I pulled up his shorts, and helped him into his pants, safe in the knowledge that he would repeat this lesson with me many times. |Benedic annulum hunc...| Bless this ring... Victor was my star pupil for several years. By the time he entered St. Procopius Prep, he was a strapping youth much admired by all. Admired by Angela most of all, it seems, for in due course I married them, as I have so many of my students. And now, their oldest boy, Ruben, is snuggling in my lap as I type. He's only 8, so we have not done anything together yet, but I have watched him through Jesus' navel and I know I shan't have long to wait. He's the spitting-image of his dad at the same age, and I know I'll have the opportunity to guide his awakening when the time comes. |Nigra Sum, sed formosa...| I am black, but comely... I flip the pages of my breviary idly, appearing to privately address our Lord as I peer through my private peep-hole; but actually, I am undressing Jesse in my mind's eye. He is a splendid little black package of innocence, eleven years old and just entering puberty. |O Radix Jesse, qui stas... O Root of Jesse, which stands... He's a brash young fellow, showing off his root to his friends, who (like myself) are amazed at its prodigality: he has a full inch more than his brethren even now. This moveable feast on legs has my own root in a turmoil as I imagine the banquet that will soon be spread before me... |Qui manducat meam carnem...| He who eats my flesh... I will soon find a way to savor that succulent morsel; I won't just toy with it, as my charges are doing now, or admire only its size. I will devour it! I will drink in his boyish bouquet as his dusky blackness sears my face with its heat, and imbibe his sweet wine, poured forth for our mutual pleasure from his glistening chalice. But, for this I must wait: not long. I think Jesse will be ready in just a few months. I will know the signs: how often I have witnessed the blossoming, the discovery, the revelation! For that matter, I have been the instrument of that revelation more times than I can remember. But Jesse will find this wondrous thing out for himself - it's only a matter of time. |O admirabile commercium...| O wondrous fellowship... For several summers, Father Duggan took my place while I took charge of our Parish's summer camp in the Sierra mountains. Here, close to nature, boys come to life! Away from the stifling city, and from their parents, they "cut loose", displaying their many charms unabashedly. The swimming pool, with its water constantly refreshed by the stream that ran through it, was their favorite place - and mine. In those years, boys swam nude, as did we all, and no one thought anything about it. It saddened me greatly when the new permanent Director, Father Downs, forbade it. A dour man, he seems oblivious to the dazzling beauty of a clutch of tanned and shiny young bodies cavorting in the hot sun. I certainly did not appreciate his snide references to "the Fondling Fathers"! |Manducaverunt, et saturati sunt nimis...| They ate and were filled exceedingly... Perhaps he would be more impressed by the same bunch cavorting in the cabins at night: I certainly was. Under the circumstances, the boys all knew what the others looked like in their birthday suits: but nightfall gives rise to an intimacy among boys that daylight usually dispels. This is the time when curiosity comes to the fore - when the first vestiges of love appear, to amuse and confuse, but always to give way to lust. It's a time of "pals": tonight for sure, maybe forever... I gave up years ago trying to predict who would wind up sleeping with whom! Some boys would utterly ignore each other by day, and sleep knotted like pretzels at night. Others appeared to be everything to each other in the daytime, but never touched. It is fascinating to watch. And of course, boys can be cruel at times. One who became erect at the pool would be taunted and embarrassed; a warm mouth would find that same erection by night. Then, too, there were a few adventuresome chaps who were out of sync, who had to find a quiet spot in the woods to indulge themselves on a warm afternoon. |Virga tua et baculus tuus, ipse me consolata sunt.| Your rod and your staff , they comfort me. But I was in sync with them all, and since most of the boys had dallied with me at one time or another, they knew their shenanigans would be overlooked, so long as I was included in at least some of them. Nights when the moon was full were especially nice... One such stands out in my memory: the summer was nearly over, and the boys were probably contemplating their return to the city - and to homes where siblings and family often interfered with the kind of amusements to which they were accustomed after six weeks in the mountains. Two chaps without such worries, though, were Chuck and Butch: they were twins, and had been fooling around together ever since I seduced them at age 11; they were now 13, very precocious, and very hard to tell apart. They thought with one mind, it seemed, and when they weren't playing with each other were cavorting with someone else. For their part, the other boys thought it keen fun to be with two boys at once who were carbon-copies of each other; that there was nothing either one would not do, if given the chance, made them even more popular. Every camp seems to have its "odd man out"; ours that year was Mark, who, despite having a body that anyone would envy and the face of an angel, saw fit not to participate in any hanky-panky with anyone - not even, it appeared, with himself. Studious and quiet, he could sleep through the most raucous antics of his mates, seemingly oblivious to the noise, innuendoes, and smells that pervaded the sleeping quarters night after night. His mates teased him mercilessly about being "sex-less", but Mark refused to be intimidated, joining in all the other camp activities with enthusiasm, excepting only anything having to do with sex. Only I knew Mark's secret; but as this knowledge had come to me in confession, there was no way I could betray his trust. Besides, I had forgotten it! |Haec est virgo sapiens...| This is a wise virgin... At camp-fire that night Mark was nowhere to be seen. No one noticed, for he often spent time alone, which he seemed to prefer. As the fire died down and the moon rose, an unusual hush fell over us all. There was a touch of sadness at the impending end of our time together, mixed with awe at the mystical beauty that surrounded us, and we fell quiet, each with his own thoughts. Our mood was interrupted by the sound of someone approaching: out of the trees, to our astonishment, there came the most lovely young girl! She walked towards us slowly, hips swaying seductively, an enigmatic smile on her lips; long golden locks swirled around her resplendent face from beneath a tiara of wild-flowers. She wore a diaphanous gown so thin we could see the outlines of her shapely legs as she moved, back-lit by the moon, into the glow from the fire. She stopped just outside our circle and stood, nymph-like, the very essence of femininity, in the brief silence that followed her appearance. Suddenly, as one, our boys brought forth a chorus of wolf-whistles and cat-calls. The expression on her face suggested she had found the answer to a maiden's prayer in this forest gathering of horny young boys; *their* reaction suggested a few of their prayers had been answered as well. |Adeste supplicationibus nostris.| Hear our prayers. But, who was this, and how did she come to be here? Then I remembered! It was an astonishing transformation, but I recognized a familiar up-turned nose, a certain stance, and I knew it was Mark, transmogrified into Maria. He was not the first boy to tell me he liked to dress up as a girl once in a while, so I had not paid much attention to his confession. Now the question loomed: how far was he willing to go with this charade, and what would the boys think when they discovered the truth? Or would they? |Manum suam aperuit inopi...| She opened her hand to the needy... The twins were the first to rise and join this apparition. Without a moment's hesitation, she giggled girlishly and lasciviously groped them both as they approached, then turned and ran gaily off into the woods, the twins in hot pursuit. The other boys were a-buzz and wide-eyed; they fell silent again as the occasional squeal of delight drifted out from the trees across our clearing. Soon Chuck re-emerged, his hair disheveled and his shirt hanging out of his pants. A short time later Butch came into the light of the fire, zipping up his shorts and patting down his erection. At his nod, Joe jumped up and ran into the woods, to re-appear a while later, grinning from ear to ear. One by one, every boy took his turn, utterly thrilled with the knowledge that they had *finally* gotten their first "piece of ass". And so they had! When the last of them had spilt his seed in Maria's commodious bum, I kept them by the fire as long as I could, and when we trudged back up the hill to the crude dorm, we found Mark sound asleep, as if nothing whatever had taken place. In the wee hours the next morning, I was awakened by a quiet tap at the screen of my little cabin. Rubbing my eyes, I went to the door - and there was Mark, once again transformed as before. In the moonlight, he really *was* a perfect girl. Every movement was feminine; even his voice was high-pitched and girlish as he asked me quietly if I would hear his confession! At such an hour! |O Quam Pulchra es, amica mea...| O how fair you are, my love... Of course, we all know what she confessed - except for her last recitation: she wanted *me*! That's when *I* had to confess: I had never buggered anyone in my life! Anal insertion had always seemed to have about it an aspect of, well, "normalcy", that put me off. But Maria would not to be put off: she cast away her sheer dress and lay on my little cot, her alabaster bottom a vision of loveliness, with a nubile pair of legs below, spread invitingly for me. She wiggled her tender pink bum invitingly, turned and smiled sweetly. Despite my inhibitions, I found myself erect and ready; the cot groaned as I knelt on it and fondled her fleshy globes. Parting these gave me a glimpse of her anus, a trifle red from its previous drubbing, but clean and beckoning. I stretched out and entered her with ease. The sweet scent of the wild-flowers mingled with her natural muskiness, the finest aphrodisiac. I found the sensation of slippery warmth surrounding my penis irresistible, and as she knew just what to do, and did it well, I deposited my seed in her warm behind within minutes. The sensation was so very different from the hands to which I was accustomed - *deliciously* different! Oh, rapture! Oh, ecstasy! In a blinding revelation, I realized what I'd missed all these years. My release was incomparably more satisfying, more lasting, more *complete*! After a brief respite, Maria hugged me, slipped into her gown, and skipped out. |Fiat Lux!| Let there be light! I returned to my cot to ponder the night's events, astounded by my discovery of a previously unknown route to pleasure. So, *this* was what all the fuss was about! And, if a girlish boy's backside was so wondrous, what must a young girl's vagina be like? I determined to explore this new avenue ofjoy again as soon as possible. A week later I spoke to Cedric about starting a mixed choir... |Pax Vobiscum| Peace, brothers! --Bruce Bramson, 1996 Author's note: Most of the Latin passages are *freely* extracted from the St. Andrew Daily Missal, ed. 1936, and just as freely translated. I have NO qualms about this: folks have been "freely extracting" passages from another holy book for years to "prove" whatever point they wanted to make... BB