Chester arrived at church a few minutes before the service began. He saw two priests in robes, one in purple the other in white, standing at the back of the church as the congregation took its seats. Chester's heart sank: he saw immediately that neither of the priests was Father Dyck. He approached them quickly.
"Excuse the intrusion, Fathers, but is Father Dyck here today?" he asked.
Of the two priests, the eldest turned quickly toward Chester. His face, as his body, was round and amorphous. His eyes narrowed into folds of wrinkled fat as he said with a growl, "That person is no longer associated with this or any other church. I trust that, for the good of your soul, you will have no association with him." His voice was cold and stern. It cut through Chester like an icepick.
Chester stood aghast. "Forgive me...but I used to be an altar boy for him many years ago...and was hoping to say hello."
The older priest turned and walked away brusquely as though escaping an offensive sight. The younger priest in the white robe was about very tall, slender, and had a dark closely cut beard. His face was somewhat homely and expressionless. He wore thick lensed glasses through which his large blue eyes probed Chester for a moment.
He leaned toward Chester and whispered, "A former altar boy, eh? Hmm...I believe he is still in the area." A faint smile came to his lips as he said, "If you need to use the restroom, it's downstairs to the left." He looked straight into Chester's eyes then quickly rejoined the older priest.
The organist and choir began the opening processional hymn and the priests and altar boys began their walk towards the apse away from him.
Chester was stunned. He had gone from disappointment to fear and confusion. Why had the young priest told him Father Dyck was still in the area and why had he told him where the toilets were?
His mind felt muddled as though his hangover was returning. He decided to go downstairs to the toilets and think over what just had happened. He had not been to this part of the church since he was last an altar boy. As he descended the long flight of stairs, it now seemed darker and damper to him than he recalled. The coldness increased his urge to piss with each step and so he hurried toward the washroom door. An `out of order' sign hung on the door but he opened the door and dashed inside ready to fish out his cock.
Handmade signs saying "Out of Order" were taped on the urinals and on the stall doors.
`Fuck it' he cursed as he held his cock.
Only the sink appeared functional. He pointed his cock at the sink and aimed a thick stream of piss into it. In the semi-darkness of the damp toilet, his piss glowed like neon. He sighed with relief as his urine gurgled into the drain of the sink. However, a second louder noise, the sound of liquid splashing onto tile, quickly followed. Chester looked around the toilet and then at his feet as he saw his bright yellow piss rushing back towards him. He looked with disbelief at the sink: the pipes below the drain had been cut. Chester had now fully christened the church toilet floor with his colorful urine.
"Fuck it fucking fuck," he cursed again to himself, kicking off the drops of liquid from his running shoes.
He remembered that a janitor's locker was behind him. He reached for it, turned the handle and entered. The locker was deeper than he remembered and he struggled to find a mop. His search was interrupted by the sudden sound of footsteps rushing down the stairs. Chester froze and pulled the door closed behind him just as the steps rushed into the restroom.
Chester stood still, silently trying to not to make any noise, and peered through the slats of the janitor's locker door. All he could distinguish was a man dressed in a dark suit as he entered into one of the stalls. The man closed the door behind him. Chester heard shuffling and noises that he could not distinguish. The man did not piss nor sit down. Instead, a few brief moments after entering the stall, he exited. Ensuring the stall door was closed behind him he departed hastily from the washroom.
"What the hell was that?" he thought. He leaned forward and opened the door
He stepped quickly toward the closed stall and pushed the door open. His eyes scanned the toilet stall. The floor was wet, there was graffiti he couldn't distinguish, and on the floor, a large Slurpee cup with a lid and straw.
Suddenly, the sound of steps hastening down the cement stairs interrupted him once again and Chester dashed across the piss wet washroom floor into the janitor's locker. Closing the door behind him, he angled his body to better see through the slats. Another unidentifiable man quickly entered the washroom, the sound of his dress shoes on the floor muffled by the wet tile. He slipped into the stall. Again, this man neither pissed nor sat down. Less than thirty seconds after he had entered, the man left the stall hurriedly and exited the washroom with equal urgency.
Upstairs in the church, the organist launched into the next hymn of the service. Chester was desperate to go back into the stall and suss it out, but the hymn was so loud he was afraid he wouldn't hear anyone approaching.
He remained in the janitor's locker and decided to wait for the hymn to end. A third man suddenly came into the washroom. He was less hurried than the others, but just as determined. He entered the same stall the others had entered. A moment later, Chester heard him say, `Fuck yeah!'
When this third man had gone, Chester's curiosity was so intense that he was breathless with excitement.
The hymn had ended upstairs. "Now or never," Chester said under his breath as he moved quickly toward the stall door. He swung it open with such force that it echoed loudly. He scanned the stall again. But nothing was new: wet floor, graffiti, empty toilet roll, Slurpee cup.
"...Slurpee cup...what's a Slurpee cup doing here?" he said aloud.
He reached down to the Slurpee cup. Its lid was on tight and a straw stuck out. He shook it instinctively. It felt heavy toward the bottom, perhaps half-full. His heart beat loudly as he lifted the lid.
It was hard to see the contents of the cup in the half light of the abandoned washroom yet it was the scent of the cup that perplexed him more. It was musky and salty. But he had no time to investigate further as the sound of hurrying steps startled him. Chester put the cup back on the floor beside the toilet bowl and rushed out of the stall into the obscurity of the janitor's locker once again.
A fourth man bolted into the washroom and entered the stall. This time Chester heard the sound of trousers unzipping and the smack of a belt buckle hitting the tile floor. What new development is this Chester wondered? He hoped sincerely that he would not have to play audience to this newcomer's act of defecation.
Chester lowered himself so as to see through the slats at the bottom of the door but he could make no sense of what he saw. He sat patiently instead and, after a minute, heard some quick shuffling of clothes. He strained his ear and soon distinguished a stifled panting. A minute later the man in the stall whispered erratically `Oh my god...cock..oh my fucking god'.
Chester could feel blood rush to his head and ears. "Did he just jack off and say `my god cock?" he asked himself. As Chester replayed this soundtrack in his head, he rubbed his own cock inside his jeans, and the fourth man rushed from the stall and ran up the stairs in time for the choir to launch heartily into the next brash hymn of praise.
Chester was almost too excited to process this latest strange visit. So excited was he, that he felt the urge to piss once again. He waited for the hymn from upstairs to subside and dashed over to the mysterious stall. Once inside, he locked the door and thought to himself, "If anyone comes, that's too bad."
Chester pulled out his semi-hard cock and aimed for the toilet bowl. He pissed into the bowl and just as suddenly he found that he was once again standing in his own urine.
`Fuck it, none of these fucking pipes are connected", he cursed.
He saw the tall Slurpee cup out of the corner of his eye. Without a second thought, he decided to transform it into his urinal. He lifted the lid of the large cup and emptied the contents of his bladder into it. As he did, he saw it mix with the contents of the cup which rose upward. When he had finished, he raised the cup closer to his eyes to inspect it. Something floated in his piss. Sticking a finger into the warm fluid, it caught onto something. Perhaps a wrapper of some kind, he thought. Chester decided to lift out the wrapper with his finger. As he did he saw it take the shape of something so strange yet so terribly familiar to him. With incredulity he gasped as he identified the object: he held between his fingers a large used condom. Looking back into the cup, he saw there were others floating in the warm fluid.
`Pinch me...I must be fucking still dreaming", he whispered amazed.
The discovery of the used rubber had penetrated Chester's mind like a drug. As his heart beat madly and he inhaled the aroma of anonymous cockjuices, his penis bolted straight and hard before him. He surmised that each of the men he had seen in the stall had dumped a used condom into the cup, except for the last one, who probably masturbated directly into it, "Right here in this fucking holy tearoom", he said aloud.
The sound of steps approaching awakened Chester from his reverie. He popped the used rubber he had been holding into his mouth and put the Slurpee cup back on the floor. He entered the janitor's locker just as the fifth stranger entered the mysterious stall. The strange, but now familiar ruffling sounds were heard before this fifth visitor left the stall as quickly as he had arrived.
Chester remained in the locker, preferring to savor the used rubber in his mouth and the warm tingling sensation in his cock and asshole. He always knew that he was horny beyond words when his ass and cock hummed in unison.
"I bet that guy dropped off another rubber filled with jism. And I'm chewing on a used fucking condom! Fuck yeah!" he thought as his body vibrated with pleasure. Looking at his watch, Chester thought the service must be half way through. It was 11:30 am.
He stood there in anticipation for several moments. Then, without warning, someone entered the washroom quickly and quietly. Through the slats he could make out a baseball cap, a hooded blue sweatshirt, and yellow sweat pants. This figure did not enter the stall, instead it pushed the door open, bent down, and stood up. When the figure turned to leave, Chester observed the Slurpee cup in the stranger's hand. The stranger left quickly and quietly, his footsteps inaudible.
"Oh, no! Fuck it!" cried Chester. He forced his stiff penis back into his jeans. It hurt, but he was in no time to notice the pain, nor zip up his fly, nor did he remember to remove the used condom from this mouth that he was chewing and savoring like a piece of sweet tasting Juicy Fruit gum.
He rushed out of the janitor's locker, sliding momentarily on the piss wet tiles of the floor, and exited the church washroom in pursuit of the stranger. He heard a door close at the top of the stairs. He ran up the stairs, but his wet soled sneakers slid on the polished concrete and he fell. He grabbed the banister to steady himself the rest of the way and lunged through the door at the top of the stairs. The Spring sunlight hurt his eyes as he scanned left and right for the mysterious figure.
In the distance he saw the man he was pursuing. He saw the baseball cap, sweatshirt, yellow jogging pants, and a Slurpee cup in hand. The figure stood in a small crowd of people. He was tall and stood head and shoulders above the rest. The Clark Street bus suddenly approached the curb and hid the crowd from view.
"No!", Chester cried as he raced toward the bus. He hoped the line was long but he was unsure whether he would make it in time.
Not looking left or right, Chester crossed the busy street and ran in front of the bus which had begun to lurch slowly forward. The bus jerked suddenly as the driver slammed on the brakes. Chester panted as he boarded.
"Shorry...really shorry driver", Chester sputtered incoherently as the loaded condom slid around his mouth.
"Are you crazy? Don't do that again. Shit, I could lose my job because of people like you." complained the driver.
"Yesh . Driver, shorry", said Chester as he scrambled "Shit", thought Chester, "I don't have any money." The blood flushed his face as he panicked and patted his pockets in search of money.
"Where'sh my wallet" he said looking around.
"Sir: it's two dollars fifty cents", said the driver impatiently as he scowled at Chester from his mirror.
"Can't find mysh wallet", Chester panted.
The driver slammed on the brakes once more.
"Out!" the driver shouted.
"I'll get it, Driver. No need to kick him out", said a deep masculine voice from behind.
A tall man wearing sunglasses, a hooded sweatshirt, a baseball cap, yellow jogging pants, and holding a Slurpee cup gave Chester two dollars and fifty cents. "Here you are, young man", he said, his thick smiling lips framed by a dark wirey goatee.
Chester stood immobile, his mouth agape in joyous disbelief. "Thank you, Shir, God Bwess you" he mumbled as he tried to conceal the chewed rubber in his mouth.
Chester clumsily grabbed the coins and dumped them into the coin box next to the bus driver. When he had finished paying, the stranger was no longer behind him. His heart leapt for fear he had lost track of him once again. But then suddenly, Chester saw the kind stranger. He was sitting alone, looking out the window as the bus rolled along Clark Street. He held the Slurpee cup in his right hand and lifted the straw to his mouth with his left.