by Yūdoku Fukuronezumi (有毒 袋鼠)
‘Bless me, Father,’ I begin quietly after the screen behind the wooden grid slides aside. The confessional is a large structure with beautiful woodwork inlaid with what looks like ivory. There’s an almost-comfortable prie-dieu style kneeler in my compartment and enough space for a man three times my size. The grid in front of my face is carved into an intricate pattern of little ornamental crosses. There’s silence on the other side of the grid, but I can make out the shape of the head and shoulders of my confessor in the dim. I realise I’ve trailed off.
‘Bless me, Father,’ I begin again, ‘for I have sinned. It’s been a hell of a long time since my last confession and I’ve insulted the Lord with a great many sins.’ I take a deep breath and slowly release the air. ‘I’m a college student here in Galway, first year. I’m originally from Cork myself, so I’m living in the college dorm now. Now, I’ve got this roommate. He’s in his second year, and he…. We do things, Father.’
There’s a silence, then a whispered, ‘Go on’.
‘Well, I don’t quite know where to start, to be perfectly honest with you. It does be happening a lot lately. He’s in the basketball club and he’s a big tall lad, so he is. Very handsome. He’s got strong, broad shoulders, and muscular back and legs, and his ass is small and rock-hard, like. He does be coming to our dorm room straight after the training a lot, often wearing nothing but a towel held around his waist. Sometimes he’d still be dripping from the shower. And I look at all the droplets of water running down his body, veering down his chest and his chiselled stomach, and disappearing into the towel. And I feel a sort of dryness in my mouth and I wish I could lick all that moisture off his body until he’s dry and I’m satisfied.’
I let my words hang in the air. I take my time. I make a point of not just recounting what happened, but painting the scene, recalling the little details, until it comes to life again before my eyes. The confessor says nothing, so I go on.
‘Sometimes he lets me, Father. Lick him, I mean. We draw the curtains and lock the door and he stands in the middle of the room and I lick him dry. Sometimes he sits down, but not very often. Now, like I said, he’s a really tall guy, so I can’t really reach his face even when I stand on my tiptoes, so I usually start around his shoulders and arms. I run my tongue along his collarbones and down his breastbone, between his lovely sculpted pecs. I suck on his nipples, too. They get very hard and pointy from the touch of my tongue and the cool air around us. He must like it when I do that, because that’s often when he begins to touch me, too. He slides his hand in my hair and plays with it as I lick my way down his abs. It gives me shivers, the touch of his fingers on the scalp of my head…’
I become aware that the crotch area of my jeans is becoming uncomfortably tight. I lay one hand on the angry bulge and stroke it in a gentle, soothing gesture, as if to make it calm down. It doesn’t calm down.
‘Then he leaves me unwrap the towel. There’s always a lot of water trapped in his pubes and I always make sure to suck it out before I move on to his knob.’
I hear a grunt on the other side of the grid, as if my confessor were clearing his throat, but nothing follows, so I decide it’s safe to continue.
‘He usually sits down for that,’ I go on. ‘I suppose he may be afraid that otherwise he might collapse or something. I’m after becoming quite good at this shite now, if I say so myself.’ I realise that’s probably saying a bit too much in my current position, so I add hastily, ‘I apologise, Father. Anyway. Once he’s after sitting down, I crouch between his legs and I can see his knob lying down on the chair over his balls like on a cushion. I lower my head and blow on it to see will it stir. That is, if it’s still soft, because sometimes he’ll already be after getting hard at this point. I touch it with the tip of my tongue then, and then I start to lick it, very gently like, in this sort of long, slow motions. I keep blowing on it, too, and once he’s got a full boner I lick the other side of it, from the base to the tip. Sometimes I like to press the flat of my tongue against the very tip of it to tease him, but I usually just focus on the crown, because I know it’s what he likes best. It’s actually also what makes him come the quickest, so I don’t linger too long. I move down his legs, his gorgeous legs, drinking up the last droplets that might still be there, clinging to his thighs and calves and feet. Some will be after evaporating from all the heat he’s beginning to give off, but I just want to lick up every last trace of moisture I can find.’
I make a short pause, but the confessioner is silent. He must be the quietest confessioner I’ve ever had.
‘Now, he quickly grows impatient. He grabs me by the hair and pulls me up, my head level with his junk. There’s a little mole to the left of his knob, by the way, nearly hidden in his pubes. I kinda like it. He slides down the chair a bit more so I can reach his balls and I take them both in my mouth and I suck on them a bit and hum. I know he likes it. His cock jerks, his head falls back, I can hear a sigh.’
I can hear a sigh. Was it a sigh? Momentarily, the confessional is quiet again and I’m no longer sure if I’ve actually heard it or not. I go on.
‘But he doesn’t leave me do it for long. He’s restless. Sure, he wants me to go down on him properly, and fast, so I go on and start to suck on his wire. I take it into my mouth and it’s big. Not very long, like, but fat, and I love its bulk and its taste in my mouth. He moans, and grabs my head again and kinda makes it bob up and down against it, all the way down to the base. Now, he’s a strong lad and has a fierce firm grip and I nearly gag on that fat knob of his. It hits my palate and the back of my throat and I have trouble breathing. I can feel tears well up in my eyes and stream down my face and he fucks my mouth harder and harder, but it feels grand, so it does…’
As I touch the raging bulge in my jeans, I realise they’ve become wet with precome. I wonder if it’s possible to bring myself to a climax with words alone. I decide to go for it.
‘I’m sorry, Father,’ I say. ‘Perhaps I’m after saying too much. But I guess the Lord already knows, so…’ I pause for a briefest moment. ‘He explodes in my mouth and I swallow. I let go of his knob, then, and there’s a trail of come dripping from my lips. He lies sprawling on the chair. We’re both panting. While he’s out, I allow myself take care of my own business. I take my wire and I look at him while I jerk it off, and it’s enough. I usually come very quickly, like. Then it’s my turn to lie panting, while he comes to. It’s… honestly hard to believe how fast he can recover. I’m still lying jaded on the floor, trying to focus my gaze, and he already heaves himself up, already half-hard and nearly ready to go again. He gives himself a few strokes to get himself a full boner. Then he grabs me by the shoulders and throws me face down on a bed. He kneels down behind me. He slaps on some lube and I can feel his knob prodding against my arsehole. He doesn’t wait long. He pushes in and the girth of his junk stretches my arse and the length of it fills me up and I gasp. Then it doesn’t take very long at all and he thrusts faster, harder. His balls slap against my taint. The bed clatters against the wall. I cry out. He grabs my hair, so, and pulls my head back and tells me to shut the fuck up and I do. The hair-pulling hurts, but I guess it’s part of the experience, so I don’t complain. I bite my lips till they bleed and I take the pounding.’
Sure, so words alone won’t do. I’m rubbing my crotch frantically against the wall of the confessional before me, clutching at the parapet of the prie-dieu, panting between words. I no longer care what’s going on in the other compartment. I come. The ornamental grid of the confessional becomes hazy and I have to lean against the side wall. There’s a warm, sticky puddle filling my pants. I try to compose myself. I try to regulate my breathing.
‘Father,’ I manage after a while, ‘I know it’s a cardinal sin, I know that two men shouldn’t lie together. I know that in the eyes of the Lord it’s wrong to be gay. But I mean, we’re not actually gay, like. Sure, we do it, but it’s not like we’re an item or anything. And our balls never touch either, so it doesn’t count, does it?’
There’s a long, strained silence on the other side of the wooden grid, then suddenly a quiet moan and a gasp.
‘Father, will you absolve me from my sin?’
I can hear some heavy breathing, a body apparently shifting its weight back up against the wall of the confessional.
‘I will– son. I absolve you.’
Suddenly, somewhere high above the church bells begin to toll. My confessor jumps a little.
‘Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good,’ he says hastily. ‘Now let’s get the fuck out of here.’
I scramble out of the confessional just in time to see my roommate, red about his face and fumbling with the fly of his jeans, emerge from the priest’s compartment.
‘You wicked wee fecker,’ he whispers, looking both excited and terrified. ‘You made me jizz in a confessional! And want to be an actual priest at the same time! You’re insane!’
I give him my wildest grin.
‘Told ya I was good at roleplay. You forgot to give me penance, though.’
‘Oh, I’ll give you plenty penance once we’re back in the dorm. You won’t be sitting down for weeks–‘
There’s a movement further down the aisle and an ancient sacristan hobbles out of the sacristy door. He looks around the church from behind his thick glasses. I bet he’s blind as a bat, but we try to look serious and decent nevertheless. The puddle in my pants grows cooler. I wonder if it’s very visible. We nod demurely and scuttle out of the church as quickly as it’s acceptable without actually running.
Once out of doors, we sprint up to the church gates and out, laughing our sacrilegious arses off as we do — teenage, irreverent, carefree.