Genesis

II.

In the Beginning

--Three years ago--

A few days later, I watched this incubus for the third time! I was beginning to consider him as my incubus. I know that the term "incubus" is a bit inaccurate, as an incubus is a male demon who has intercourse with women. But, it seemed the only applicable word at the time. Indeed, this material appearance, this luxurious apparition had attached itself to my dormant libido like a limpet and infused my being with its unholy calling.

I could have chosen another bathroom in the library--there were three--but I didn't. That must signify something. I gravitated to that particular bathroom and the end stall with its sensual portal as if I were addicted to it.

I didn't have long to wait. my incubus, sans upper torso, sans head and sans lower legs soon materialized, much to my delight.

And, again I observed that as the fingers of my incubus began traversing the length of the member it began to grow, to swell as if by some unseen, elemental force. At first imperceptibly, but then it began to arch outward, more insistently. The fingers of my incubus continued their measured movement up and down the length of that expanding and lengthening shaft. Soon the member was steely hard, rampant, outstanding as it had been the other three times that I had observed it.

Soon, I became conscious that my own penis was equally erect. I slipped my right hand between my thighs and grasped my own hard member and began to minister to it in the same way that my incubus was playing with his.

As with the last encounter, my incubus turned and faced the hole through which I was intently peering. I was given a full, unimpeded view of that lavish, glistening pinkish-purple, glistening cock-head, head on. This time I was not surprised that he had somehow read my mind. He had done it that last time. The pair of impressive balls encased in a thin sack of skin, lightly dusted with dark hair moved in concert with his pistoning hand, bouncing against slightly spread thighs.

I was mindful that my interest was now more than just clinical curiosity. He stepped forward and brought the polished head of that stiff rod to the opening and pushed it through an inch or two. I was mesmerized at the sight, and somewhat excited by this last movement and continued to caress my own hard 'thing.' My incubus held it there and it lurched upward once or twice as if beckoning me to touch it. I did. Involuntarily, my left hand moved towards it and tentatively my fingers felt that luxurious, glistening, flared head. Again it lurched. I reached downward and drew the luxurious foreskin completely back over the flared head. There was an imperceptible groan from the other stall. I withdrew my hand and continued to observe that 'thing' as well as to fondle my own in the process.

Suddenly the incubus withdrew his hard , quaking, stiff 'thing.' In place of it, his hand appeared in the hole and seemed to beckon me towards the opening. I hesitated. Still the fingers appeared to summon me forward. As if in a trance, I hesitantly I stood up, faced the hole and stepped up to it, being careful not to probe past my side of the opening. The fingers with infinite tenderness clasped my membrum virile and began to course over its length, creating sensations that I had never before experienced. I had masturbated on countless occasions, but this feeling was far different. Waves of extreme sensual delight overtook me.

Gently he pulled me past the opening into his side, I acquiesced. What could I do? I was a slave to this erotic being. My incubus grasped the base of my 'thing' and it was instantly engulfed by some warm, moist, indescribable sensation. It was luxurious beyond belief! My eyes widened with utter disbelief and wonder. What, if any human thing could engender such a feeling. Lussuriosi! I glanced down and saw that my hardness was encircled by a pair of lips!

I was being sucked! My . . . my . . . cock was being sucked! The sensation was something that I, of course, had never experienced before. It was undeniably, incredibly wonderful! I was totally and absolutely unprepared for the unbelievable, phenomenal sensation that this mouth, the mouth of my incubus created in me.

But . . . but, the whole thing was too much! I had reached the point of sensual and moral overload! I began to spiral into a region that I have never experienced before.

Quickly I stepped back. A wet popping sound was heard as I quickly withdrew from that mouth.

Embarrassed by my feelings, not to mention my actions, I quickly reached down, pulled up my briefs, dropped my soutane, flushed the toilet and left hurriedly. My consternation was such as to confuse me beyond belief.

My mind was racing, searching for an answer. None was to be found! I flew out of the library intent on never returning to that stall again! _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

I went to my room, quickly said my prayers and then sat at my desk to think. I contemplated whether or not I should relate this experience at confession. I was really too embarrassed to tell my confessor what had happened, but not to confess a mortal sin was unthinkable. I assumed that it was a mortal sin.

But what really sets me off is the realization that two things happened back in the stall for which I have no real answer. First, why did I deigned to fondle that . . . that cock when it was thrust into my side of the partition? The sensation of my fingers on its hot, throbbing surface brought back a tingling relict. Had I found it repugnant? Did the touch repulse me?

I had to answer, "No," to both questions.

Then, "Why?"

I had no real answer, at least not one that I was willing to consider.

Secondly, why did I position myself in front of that hole and allow my cock to be guided into the arena of the other stall. And, why did I find it so . . . so enjoyable?

Again, I was at a loss.

Finally, I was totally unprepared for my reaction upon thinking about what had happened back there in the library's rest-room stall. I was aroused. There was an undeniable swelling and twitching in my crotch! I fought to suppress it. In that, I was not completely successful.

The next evening I was sitting in the library lounge looking at a copy of the National Geographic. José Ramirez-y-Fuentes, a classmate of mine from Puerto Rico walked up and sat across the table from me. He had developed a tentative friendship. Maybe not a friendship, but certainly something more than an acquaintance since our first year at the seminary in central Illinois.

"Hi, José," I greeted him.

"How ya doin, Joe?"

"Fine," and added. "Just relaxin."

José was a year older than me, but we were in the same class. Like me he came from a Catholic family, although, I suspect from our earlier conversations, that his family was more sophisticated than mine, but just as Catholic. I was always a bit envious of his family name--Ramirez-y-Fuentes. It sounded strangely romantic, certainly exotic. In fact, José could be characterized as exotic--exotic looking. We were about the same size, except he had black curly hair where mine was light brown, his eyes were nearly black and mine were bordering on hazel, and his skin was a shade darker than mine, but not noticeably so. He had the most expressive eyebrows that I had ever seen. When I first met José, I thought him too handsome to be a priest.

I asked him once just why had he decided on this vocation. He merely smiled, shrugged his shoulders and asked, "Why not?" then he added, "Actually there's nothing else that I want to be. Ever since I can remember, I have wanted to be a priest."

We saw each other regularly, and I guess that I would consider him as my best friend here in the sem. We had heated discussions about philosophy, ethics and theology, but always seemed to skirt personal issues. That was fine with me and apparently with him, as well. Then, as all students do, we liked to talk about our professors--kinda academic dirt dishing--over a mug of beer or a bottle of wine. We seemed to like the same movies which we attended when time permitted. Actually, I enjoyed being with José, talking with him.

José just sat there looking at me. He suddenly made me uncomfortable.

"WHAT?" I asked, not knowing what else to say.

Quickly he glanced around and then back to me. "I gotta ask you something . . . . Something to confess, I guess" he stated and hesitated.

"What?" I asked again.

He took a deep breath and asked, soto voce, "Why did you leave the library's can so quick yesterday afternoon?"

"Whata ya mean?" I asked, dumbstruck, not sure I heard him correctly.

"You know . . . . Didn't ya enjoy it? I wanted you to like it!"

The meaning of his two innocuous question lased to my core like some incredible revelation.

"Oh, my god!" I gasped. "He was my incubus." I screamed to myself. We stared at each other, our faces did not betray our emotions, but, I'm afraid our eyes did.

The realization was too much for me. I closed the National Geographic, got up, left the library and went straight to my room.

I sat crossed legged on my bed and tried to make sense of this revelation.

About fifteen minutes later there was a light knock on my door.

"Yes!" I said.

The door opened and José stuck his head in, asking, "Can I come in?"

What could I say? I merely replied, "Yeah."

Quietly he closed the door, walked to my desk, turned the chair and sat down.

I was surprised.

There was no written rule, but in the hall we could have guests in our room, male guests only, but only to a sensible hour. What time is the "sensible hour" was also unwritten, but it was generally thought to be around 11:00 p.m. Although there were some who thought that any visitors after vespers was not advisable and, certainly none after complines. Further, it was also felt that when you had a guest in your room the door was never to be latched, slightly opened, ajar. Locking the door was an impossibility as there was no means of locking the doors either inside or outside the rooms. I'm sure they felt that those entering the vocation were above reproach, honest, not thieves. Locks were not necessary. Everyone was trusted. And, even though we had not taken final vows, the oaths of poverty, obedience and chastity still applied. We were fledging members of The Church and all belonged to The Church. Therefore, to steal anything of a personal nature from another seminarian was tantamount to stealing from The Church. No one dared to even question the consequences of that act. Besides, we were all held to rather meager allowances as well as earthly possessions. If we really needed anything, The Church would supply!

So, José's latching the door had ominous portents for me.

I said nothing. I could say nothing. I was still totally confused and bothered by his earlier revelation. I thought it best to allow him to initiate the conversation and explain his presence.

"Joe, I guess you must be pretty upset."

That was an understatement! I said nothing.

He gazed at me for a few seconds and continued.

" I'm sure you must think of . . . . I really don't know what you must be thinking . . . ."

On that score, he was also correct! I didn't even know what I was thinking, what I felt.

"Why?" came a plea from deep in my being, and again, "Why?"

José looked at me and I could tell that his battle was as fierce and shattering as mine.

"I know that you must feel that what I did was . . . . insane! But . . . I believe that you will think the reason even more insane."

"Maybe one will cancel the other," I murmured quietly trying to grasp at any logical explanation.

He shrugged and offered a wan smile.

Quietly he stated, "I did what I did because . . . Joe . . . I felt compelled to do it. Since we first met, I've had . . . I've felt an attraction to you. In a way, I guess, I've had . . . a crush on you."

This day was INSANE! Nothing, NOTHING that was happening made an iota of sense to me.

"Why didn't you just tell me?" I pleaded.

Again the wan smile, "What would you have said?"

Well, he had me there! I covered my face with my hands in sheer confusion and disbelief. Then the scene from Moonstruck flitted across my mind's eye--the scene in which the male lead stated to the female lead who was engaged to his brother that he loved her after they had just slept together. She slapped his face and stated, in no uncertain terms, "Wake up!"

Again I asked, "Why didn't you tell me?"

And, again he answered, "What would you have said?"

I shrugged my shoulders and stated quietly, "Probably that you were crazy!"

José then shrugged his shoulders in resignation.

"But, why . . . . why did you . . . do . . . what you did?"

Again the wan smile, "For months I have wanted to tell you. For months I have wanted to hold you. I didn't know how you'd react. When I saw that you were in that stall . . . I wanted to see your reaction. Since you watched and didn't leave . . . I assumed that you might be interested. Then, yesterday I did what I did because it was the most intimate thing I could think of . . . . to let you know how I felt."

"Good god!" I said incredulously.

We sat there, quietly starring at each other for long minutes across the small room. My mind was racing, unfortunately, in circles! I tried to gather my thoughts, to make some sense of what had happened. It was useless. The actions, my actions, José's actions were simply beyond my ken.

Then there was a light knock on the door.

"Yes," I answered.

The door opened and Fr. Ames, the proctor, stuck his head in. "Gentlemen, it's getting late . . . and you know what is expected of you!"

Fr. Ames was one of those priests who had both feet on the ground. Still he was not to be trifled with. The meaning of his statement was clear.

"Yes, Father," we both stated.

I unfolded my legs, stood up, turned to José and suggested, "José, we can continue our discussion outside."

Fr. Ames stated, "That would be eminently suitable. But, don't be too late gentlemen."

"We won't, Father," I assured him as we exited the room into the hallway. We descended the stairs and walked out into the cool night.

We strolled for about ten minutes before anything was uttered.

Finally, I broke the ice. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Yes."

"Have you ever done that before?"

"What?"

"You know!" I insisted.

"You mean suck a guy's cock?"

I shuddered at his directness! Those words: "suck a guy's cock!" they had never had the slightest meaning to me . . . until this afternoon! They were nakedly direct!

"Yes."

"Many?"

"What's many? More than two -- less than a hundred?" he uttered exasperated. "What difference does it make?"

"Sorry," I said, realizing that I was treading on personal ground. "That was a stupid question," I back peddled.

"All you need to know, Joe, is that I have been chaste, virtuous, unsullied since coming to the sem . . . that is . . . until yesterday!"

"Great!" I replied somewhat sarcastically.

"Can I ask you a question?" he enquired.

"Yes," I answered quietly.

"Was my cock the first you'd ever touched . . . except your own, of course?"

He sure knew how to cut to the quick! "Yes . . . and the first I had ever seen . . . ah . . . hard."

"You're kidding!" he stated, incredulously.

"No, I'm not." But, then I remembered the long forgotten past. I choose not to disclose it.

"But you have three brothers!"

"I've rarely seen them nude, and never . . . har. . ., ah, erect!"

"Damn!" was all he uttered after that pronouncement.

Then I ammended my pronouncement, "Except for . . . there were three other times."

"What do you mean?"

"Well," I hesitated. I have never been so direct, so forthcoming with an other person before. Then I thought, "I have gone this far . . . might as well go all the way." I continued, hesitantly, "Over the past week I have observed three others . . . in the same . . . stall."

"Oh," and then he snorted, "They were me!"

Again I was not totally surprised. After the first time, I thought that the other . . . members resembled each other. "How did you know it was me?" I asked.

"Because I saw you enter the bathroom and went in soon after."

"But, HOW did you know it was ME?"

"Cause you were the only other person in the bathroom . . . and besides . . . I recognized your shoes!"

I looked down at my well worn, moccasin-toed oxfords. I was caught!

Then José foisted me on my own petard. "Joe, why did you go back to that same stall after the first time?"

I looked at him. I was in agony. "I don't know."

"Could it be that you . . . were . . . interested?

"I don't know," I stated, fighting back a total emotional melt down. "Interested?" Obviously! But, why I went back, I don't know!

José realized my state and turned to another avenue. "Joe, have you ever been in love, or had a crush on another person . . . a girl . . . or . . .a guy?"

"No," I answered quietly.

"Never?"

"Never!"

Lightly and with no intended malice, José asked, with a smirk, "Are you asexual?"

I was taken back momentarily, but recovered and stated, quietly, "I think you know the answer to that!"

"Hmmm," came the knowing reply.

We had reached a small copse on the campus and stopped. José leaned up against a tree as did I, and we both fell into quiet introspection.

All this probing, coupled with my own questioning the past ten days -- since my first encounter with my incubus -- amounted to many more questions than answers. I tried to sort things out as simply and as quickly as possible.

Did the appearance of my incubus-José's cock in that hole . . . interest me. I had to admit, "Yes."

Did I go back to the same stall those latter three times hoping to see it again? Again, I had to admit, "Yes."

Was I forced to touch my incubus-José's cock yesterday? "No. I did it voluntarily."

Was I forced to extend my cock towards and through the hole in the stall? "No. Not really, I did it voluntarily as well."

Did I enjoy it when my incubus-José sucked my cock? "Yes, briefly."

Was I concerned, bothered, upset over the whole situation? "Yes." I was in a monumental quandry!

Why? "Because it was . . . wrong!"

Why is it wrong? "I don't know . . . . YES, I do! Because THEY say it's wrong!"

My mind returned to the past

We stood in the copse staring at the ground, thinking. Then, "José."

"Yes?" he answered looking up into my eyes.

"I wasn't . . . truthful . . . to you . . . I had seen a man with an erection before . . . and . . . I did touch him," I admitted in a low voice. Then I related my encounter with Fr. Haus. I saw tears fill his eyes as he slowly shook his head. This surprised me. "Why are you crying?"

"Because . . . because that must have . . . frightened you so much . . . and . . . because it was . . . wrong!"

"Yes," I admitted, and answered, "José, this . . . is wrong . . . too."

José's eyes suddenly changed. His mouth tightened and he began, "Wrong! WRONG?" he spat out. "I know what they say. But, what I feel is not wrong! The way I approached you yesterday may have been inconsiderate, but my motives were not wrong!"

He took in a deep breath. "Joe, ever since I can remember I've been interested in other . . . guys. I remember going skinny-dippin with my friends and always, ALWAYS my eyes were drawn inexorably to their . . . cocks. It wasn't just 'adolescent curiosity.' The other guys would cavort around in the freedom of their nudity. But my freedom . . . was the unimpeded sight of their cocks. Even the few times we participated in 'circle jerks,' my friends were concentrating on their own release. Not me! I found immense joy in the sight of their hard little cocks. I wanted to touch them, to fondle them, but that was not part of the game. Later, when we would sit around talking about who fucked which girl . . . I always fantasized about being the recipient of their desire. Joe, I have never . . . well rarely . . . thought about being in the arms of a girl . . . always in the arms of a guy. The couple of times I tried to fuck a girl were . . . well! . . .

disappointing."

He took another deep breath, "Joe, I thought I was . . . I thought that something was wrong with me! I became really depressed. My folks sent me to a doctor . . . a really wise man . . . and after a while, after I was able to tell him what was bothering me, he merely said that nothing was wrong with me. I was one of those guys who simply wasn't drawn to women. My focus was men. 'Why?' I asked him. He simply said, 'No one really knows, it may be a genetic thing, the way you were made.'"

In this brief monologue our eyes never left the other's. He continued, "I believe that this is how I was made. God doesn't make mistakes! I cannot believe that the fact that I am gay is a cosmic joke. If it is . . . then . . . The Creator is capricious!"

I gasped at the apparent blasphemy of the last statement. I opened my mouth to respond, but José held up his hand to silence me. "Joe, I've done a good bit of reading . . . research. Being gay isn't a 'sickness!' That's a proven! Being gay isn't caused by a dominant mother and a submissive father. That, too is a proven--certinly in my family it is not the case. Being gay isn't catching nor can one be forced into being gay! Being gay isn't caused by some trauma while you are inter utero. That's a PROVEN! Being gay is probably established at the instant of conception. Or at least the propensity is there."

"Propensity?"

"Yeah, . . . like most things . . . there is no black or white . . . right or wrong . . . but a huge gray scale, a continuum of variations."

Again a long period of silence. A silence in which I considered what he had said. I wasn't sure I believed all that he stated. I was disturbed with the idea that some were created gay! How can that be when it is wrong?

"Joe, I know what I did was not right . . . but it was not wrong either. I did it because I wanted you. I want you because I love you . . . truly."

Then he uttered the most shattering statement.

"If God is the God of love, then love, in any form cannot be wrong."

Again we stood there for long minutes, both in elemental debates. It must have been more chilly than I thought. That had to be it! I began to shiver, to tremble uncontrollably. My whole body, my whole being was wracked.

José must have become aware of it. "Joe! Are you all right?" I could not answer.

Not knowing what else to do, but reflecting his feeling, he stepped over to me and wrapped his arms about my torso, drawing me close to him. I was held tight and the warmth of another human being was a great balm. There was nothing lascivious about this embrace, merely one human trying to console another.

The physical manifestation to my mental/moral dilemma began to subside. The quaking began to lessened and then ceased, altogether. Normal breathing returned as did relatively normal thought processes.

I brought by arms, which had been hanging limply to my side, around José and said, simply, "Thanks." Giving him a squeeze, I lightly kissed him on the cheek.

Why? Just the normal thing to do.

"Oh, Joe!" and I was hugged even closer.

I, too, reciprocated drawing José in. Suddenly I was aware of light sobs emanating from José mouth, close to my ears.

"It's OK . . . it's OK, I understand." It was "OK," . . . but, I really didn't understand . . . not completely anyway.

His lips placed a light kiss on my neck and we melded even closer as my hands slowly moved up and down his back. I too, felt his hands course over mine.

Soon I became aware of another reaction, an unplanned response, an elemental insinuation. Further, I also became mindful of a similar physical reply, a mirrored growing insistence from José. For some reason, I felt a certain joy in that feeling, the beckoning, its knowledge. Involuntarily my body moved in an utterly primordial fashion. There was a similar response from José.

That which had been resurrected could no longer be denied nor ignored.

I pulled back, looked deep into those dark eyes and murmured, "We'd best go back."

José quietly nodded.

"Forgive me, father, for I have sinned . . . . "

I had gone to the office of Fr. Dominic, my mentor/confessor. Fr. Dominic was not a teaching Father. His preparation and given abilities lay elsewhere. Unlike so many clerics, he was not authoritarian nor was he dogmatically judgemental. Still, there was an unwavering respect to his vocation. For so many seminarians, he was a breath of fresh air in his down-to-earth approach to many of our problems.

Asking for confession there in his office rather than in the confessional was not too unusual. Further, the open, frank, discussion that I had with José, troubling as it was, allowed me to be totally forthcoming in my confession. It was not easy, and Fr. Dominic realized that.

After the absolution and a strangely mild penance, he sat back and stated, "I know, Joseph, that this was not . . . easy for you." Then he paused before continuing, "Can I assume that this other person was a seminarian?"

I could not answer.

He nodded his head, knowingly. "I understand. . . . You know what The Church's stance is regarding the chastity of a priest."

"Yes, Father."

Again, he nodded his head. I felt that he was fighting to choose the right words. "The Orthodox Churches allow their priests to marry . . . our's has not. It may not have been the . . . best decision, but it is a decision that has stood for many centuries."

"I understand, Father."

"As to the other issue . . . the issue of two people . . . of the same sex . . . joining together . . . . The Church is quite clear."

"Too bad not all priests agree," I spat out involuntarily.

Fr. Dominic's eyebrows raised, his eyes widened in mild shock. "What do you mean, Joseph?"

I related to him the incident with Fr. Haus.

His hands dropped to his laps, palms up and he paled, somewhat. "Oh, my son . . . what can I say?" His face mirrored his consternation.

"But, Father, what about love?"

Fr. Dominic quickly raised his eyebrows acknowledging that most difficult area and also brought his hands up mirroring the conundrum.

"We are taught that there are different forms of love, Joseph."

"But, Father, isn't it elementally all the same?"

"What do you mean?"

"Doesn't the love I feel for my parents, the love I have for my brothers and sisters and . . . the love and respect I have for you all emanate from the same source? We are taught that God is love. Isn't that the source?"

"Yesss," he uttered quietly, realizing the direction of this argument.

"And, Father, doesn't the love of a husband for his wife and the wife for her husband also emanate from the same source?"

He nodded.

"And, . . . when they . . . make love together . . . isn't that a manifestation of The Source?"

Again, he nodded.

"Then what of . . . two people, a man and a woman who love each other and aren't married . . . and . . . make love together . . . isn't that a manifestation of The Source?"

"The Church would say that it was wrong. The union of a man and woman is only sanctified in . . . marriage."

"Do you think it is a sin, Father?"

He hesitated.

"If they love each other, that manifestation of The Source, their making love you think it is a sin? Can a manifestation of The Source be a sin?"

Fr. Dominic dropped his head. After a short time he raised it and stated, "Joseph, when I was a young man, about your age, I fell in love with a wonderful young woman, deeply in love. We saw each other, dated for two years. The last two months we made love. It was truly wonderful." Tears filled his eyes. "I cannot say it was wrong. I cannot say it was . . . a sin! Although in the eyes of The Church . . . ." He offered no further explanation.

We both sat quietly for minutes.

"Then, Father, if two people who love each other . . . and do not consummate that love . . . physically, that is a manifestation of The Source? And, therefore not a sin."

"Yess," was uttered hesitantly.

"On the other hand, Father, if the same two people who love each other . . . and do consummate that love . . . physically, isn't that also a manifestation of The Source? And, therefore not a sin."

"The Church teaches . . ."

"I'm sorry, Father, I don't mean to be rude . . . but . . . what do YOU think?"

With a smile of resignation, "You are being especially difficult, Joseph."

Realizing my attitude, I bowed my head and said, "I'm sorry, Father."

"Joseph, may I ask you a personal question?"

"Yes, Father."

"Are you . . . are you . . . gay?"

"I don't know, Father."

"Do you think you are?"

"I don't know."

His eyes narrowed somewhat, "One further question, Joseph. If this . . . opportunity . . .the opportunity for further . . . physical contact . . . arose again. What would you do? How do you think you would react?"

Looking him directly in the eye and after a few seconds pondering his question, I answered, "Father, I know what I should say . . . but . . . I really don't know."

Nodding his head, he said, "I think you need time to consider . . . consider all the implications. Maybe you need to go into retreat."

I had not expected this answer, but a retreat seemed emminently practical at this point. At least isolation and quiet contemplation might provide me with some answers.

"Yes, Father," I agreed. "Can you make the arrangements?"

"Yes, Joseph."

The next day, I left for St. Mainrad's Abbey and a retreat.

I spent long hours in the library and on the internet. The abey's library holdings regarding homosexuality were, understandably, Church orientated. The internet offered information on the other side of the coin. Still, after a week of silence, prayer, meditation and reading I had arrived at no real answers to my dilemma. But, I had achieved a peace of mind that was truly welcome.

When I returned I went to see Fr. Dominic.

Upon entering his office, he greeted me with a smile, "Ah, Joseph! How was retreat."

"Fine, Father, but no revelations!" I answered lightly.

He grinned, "That's good news!" He chuckled and added, "Revelations are always somewhat problematical."

"Yeah," I agreed, "No revelations, but at least my mind is sorta at peace."

"Good! A mind at peace can deal with problems more efficiently, and engender peace of the soul as well."

I knew what he was alluding to.

"Also, Father, I think I am arriving at a conclusion."

"And what may that be, Joseph?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

"I think the Greeks might have been on the right track!"

"In what way?" he asked hesitantly, not sure of my response.

"The equality of body, mind and soul."

"Ah! The ancient debate."

"Fr. Dominic, we are taught that the soul is preeminent and then down the scale is the mind, somewhere in the sub-basement is the realm of the body. Frankly, Father, if you'll excuse the expression, I think that's bull-shit!"

He chuckled, "Well, you haven't lost your ability to get to the heart of things, Joseph. Although, I'm not sure 'bull-shit' is in the lexicon of logic"

We both laughed

I saw José at supper and as we left the refectory he asked, "Where have you been?"

"I went on retreat."

"Oh! I thought that you had left the sem. Why suddenly a retreat?"

"Fr. Dominic suggested it."

"You told him?"

"Yes, I confessed to him . . . but I never mentioned you."

We walked and talked for several hours.

As it turned out we walked and talked together nearly every day after that for at least an hour. It was a way of expiating our situation, I guess. We never touched each other, although I must admit, on my part there were a couple of times I wanted to hug him.

--Two years ago--

Some time later, one day in May José asked, "Joe, what are your plans for the break? Ya know it'll be out last one for quite a while."

Between our junior and senior year and the final vows we were given a three month vacation. "I really hadn't planned anything. Guess I should see my brothers and sisters."

"Why don't you spend some time in Puerto Rico? My folks have a beach house where we would have nothing to do but laze around in the sun and swim."

"I don't know . . . . it sounds inviting, but not sure I could afford the trip." In the weeks since the retreat we had learned to be forthright with each other. And, the truth was that my coffers were meager, at best. I didn't feel I could 'hit-up' my brothers and sisters as they were none too flush either.

"Not to worry, Joe!" José said blithely, "My granny sent me a nice check for my birthday . . . haven't cashed it yet. It will cover a plane ticket with a bit left over."

"I don't know . . . ."

"I promise to be good," he retorted with a smirk.

"Promise?" I stated, somewhat seriously.

"Sure."

"Ok, then . . . I'd like that. Besides I've never been abroad."

He guffawed, "Puerto Rico is hardly ABROAD! We are a commonwealth, ya know."

"Ok, OK!"

I spent the first month visiting relatives then flew to San Juan the first of July. José met me at the airport dressed in Bermudas and a floral short sleeved shirt. Not having flown much and not knowing what to expect, I wore a suit, my only suit.

"Damn, Joe, hope you got some decent clothes," he said as way of greeting and we embraced as friends.

"Yeah, I do," I stated, "But not a loud as yours!"

We spent the first night at his parent's home in San Juan before motoring to their beach house. The Ramirez-y-Fuentes home was grand. That's all I'll say on that matter.

But, the beach house!!!

House it was!

It was bigger than my parent's home had been and infinitely more luxurious. I had my own room and there was a gardener and maid/cook to wait on us. I felt like a prince.

The house was at the end of a relatively uncrowded strip of white sand. Each house had several hundred feet of beach front. "Real classy," I thought. The beach, therefore, was relatively free from hoards of sun worshippers.

All we did was to lull on the beach, talk, eat, swim and walk in the evenings. A couple of times we drove into San Juan, had lunch with his parents, walked around and shopped a bit.

I had completely relaxed and was at ease with my self. It was nearly paradise.

One night towards the end of our stay, after a delicious supper we walked to the end of the beach and sat down. The huge orange sun was just slipping below the horizon.

"This is gorgeous," I declared.

"Yeah, it is."

We sat quietly watching the incredible shift of colors.

After the sun had set, José stood up and said, "Let's go swimmin."

"OK," I said as I stood up and began to walk back to the house.

"Where ya goin?" he asked as he stripped off his t-shirt.

"To get my swimming suit," I declared.

"Hell! Nobody's around, we'll just skinny dip!"

"I . . . don't know!" I stated hesitantly. It had been years since I skinny-dipped. And, besides I remembered what José had said about his earlier skinny-dippin escapades.

"Damn," he said as he peeled off his beach pants and stood there nude in the half light of the sunset, "Remember . . . I promised! Not goin ta rape ya!" He ended with a snicker.

"Promise?" I said as lightly as I could.

"Promise," he assured me.

Modestly, I turned and stripped my clothes off before racing into the water. We swam for about twenty minutes. He was a bit farther out than I was when I walked to a shallow tidal pool, about two feet deep and laid down, luxuriating as the light waves washed over me.

José walked up to the edge of the pool and stated, "This is great."

In the few weeks we had been there, not one thing untoward happened. That's not to say the a few times one or the other of us was tempted. But, there was a tacit understanding, and I guess José felt his 'promise,' light as it was, was to be kept.

He stood there in the dimming light, stripping the water from his body. I had a full unimpeded view of him. Even in the last golden rays of the sunset, his form was clearly visible. Will-less my eyes dropped to his crotch and a not-too-distant relict popped into my mind. "In its softened state the silken, pliable skin looked like the softest, finest chamois. It was the color of light, honey taffy and appeared translucent. Fine, pale blue veins coursed just below the surface. The head was covered with an ample hood. The foreskin easily covered the whole head, ending in a short, slightly frilled extension, which did not purse closed, but remained open, naturally. The cock-head was clearly large, awesomely so. The corona flared dramatically and acted as a substantial base for the mushroom-like head that crowned the shaft. Even in a detumescent state, the extravagant covered, hooded cock-head appeared massive."

He wasn't in the least conscious of my staring as he peruse the beach and the darkening sea. I didn't even try to avert my glance. José appeared as some young sea god, a Triton, some son of Poseidon who had just emerged from the depths.

Turning back, he saw my glance but did not react. "Come on," he suggested, "Let's go back and get a beer."

I started to get up, but then realized that my 'thing,' my cock was in the opposite state that José's was.

"Maybe later," I gasped.

I had an erection!

It was then and only then that I realized a number of things. But, I wasn't prepared to verbalize them, much less act upon them. I sank back into the water, but not before a goodly portion of my rampant rod had broken the surface of the water like some primordial beast. It was obvious to José.

"You got a hard on?" José asked with a grin.

"Yeah," I confessed.

"Well I'll be damned," he declared. He smiled at me, turned, slipped into his beach pants, grabbed his shirt and walked back to the house.

It was a full fifteen minutes before I also entered the house. I went to my room, showered, dried myself, put on fresh pants and a polo shirt. Then I went back downstairs. José, wearing a plain caftan, sprawled out on the sofa and sipped his beer.

I walked to the bar and drew a bottle out of the fridge.

"You OK?" he asked.

"Yeah, just fine," I answered.

Wordlessly we drank our beers. Then José stretched and stated, "Think I'm goin to bed . . . see ya in the mornin."

"Ok, good night," I answered.

A couple of minutes later I went up to my bedroom and changed into my sleeping shorts and walked out onto the balcony. I collided with a small table.

"That you out there?" José called from inside his room. Our bedrooms shared the same balcony.

"Yeah, sorry. Guess I'm not too graceful," I admitted and turned, barely making out José's form on his bed.

"It's OK," then, as if he had some cosmic knowledge, "Ya wanna talk?"

""Yeah."

"Come on in."

He sat up and bunched his sheet around his waist, and I sat at the foot of the bed.

"Well?" he asked.

"I'm confused!"

"About getting a hard on?"

"Yeah." That was true! Why should I mask the fact? Still, my confusion was paramount!

"What caused it?"

"You," I answered simply. That, too, was true!

"But, I didn't touch you. I promised I wouldn't"

"I know . . . I appreciate that."

"Did you . . . do you want me to?"

"I don't know . . . "

José smiled softly. "So just the sight of my great bod gave you a raging woody?" He chuckled.

"Yeah, I guess," I answered.

We both sat there for a few moments looking at each other.

Quietly José asked, "Would you like to sleep with me tonight?"

"Would you like me to?"

"Yes. Would you like to?"

"Yes. but . . . ." BUT, but, I was vaguely aware of where that act would lead, what would naturally happen.

"I promise I'll be good," he said wryly.

"OK." I was not sure that I believed him! I was not sure I wanted to believe him! I was not sure that I didn't want to feel him next to me, carressing me.

José threw back the sheet and in the half light I could see he was naked. I hesitated.

As way of explanation to my immediate un-uttered question, he stated "I always sleep nude, always have," then added, "You don't have to."

"Thanks," I said as I slipped in next to him and lay on my back, hands at my side.

Quietly he asked, "Joe, can I put my arm around you?"

"Yes," and he did. I loved the feel of his arm across my bare chest. I turned towards him and wrapped my arm around him.

"Mmmm, That's nice," he murmured.

I snuggled loser to him and as I did, I felt his already hard cock poke my lower belly, I quickly drew in my breath, "Sssss," and almost as quickly I felt my cock expanding in leaps and bounds, pressing against his belly.

"Can I touch you?" José asked.

"You already have," I admitted with a chuckle.

"I mean, can I touch you with my hand?"

I hesitated, then answered with a simple "Yes." And he did!

"Ahhh!" I gasped.

"Can I . . . ."

I covered his mouth with my hand and whispered, "You don't have to ask."

José let loose of my 'thing,' my cock, wrapped both arms around me and kissed me on the lips. First tentatively, and since I didn't object, the kiss became longer and probing.

I had never been kissed that way before!

I had never kissed a man on the lips before!

I had never allowed another human's tongue into my mouth nor explored another's mouth!

It was strangely electric, particularly as our tongues danced from mouth to mouth. His kisses moved to my ear and then to my neck.

My spine arched involuntarily and the strange bits of electricity danced about me and raced down my spine to its very root chakra. I gasped and writhed as his tongue traced, tattooed a sensual trail across my chest from one nipple to the other. Spontaneously, my muscles spasmed, jerked in primordial reaction to his tongue.

I groaned, deep and gutteral!

My groans became more audible as he moved inexorably down the mid-line of my torso. My body recoiled in delicious agony from every sensuous touch, every luxurious attack and then it would relentlessly raised again seeking more, demanding more. I thrashed about on that bed as one galvanic shock after another coursed through my being. I longed for release, my body's senses were now completely concentrated in my svadhisthana, that sacred, ineffable groin centered core. My being demanded surcease. I felt his hand encircle the base of my thunderously, erect cock. Then . . . .

"Oh my gawd, YESSS!"

I experienced an incredibly delicious ache. My body was thrown into paroxysms of inexpressibly voluptuous agony. I yearned to drowned myself in the throes that hot, moist mouth caused. Finally a cosmic explosion of unendurable force!

"Oh MY GAWD, YESSSSSS!"

I awoke, nude. Some time after I slipped under the sheet with José the night before and this morning, my sleeping shorts . . . disappeared! I glanced over at José as he laid sprawled on his back. Carefully I lifted the sheet off him and dropped it over the foot of the bed. My sleeping shorts were not to be seen. Then I sat there, cross-legged and observed him with unimpeded care. I was rather amazed that I did not feel particularly modest, embarrassed as I sat there, nude, gazing at another nude form.

I found that one could make love with their eyes. I caressed every square centimeter of his body with my eyes. It was as if trying to commit to memory every form, every undulation, every fold. And, strangely enough in this visual carressing, I remained at ease, flaccid.

José stirred, opened his eyes, tried to focus and murmured, sleepily, "What are ya doin?"

"Looking at you."

"Mmmm," he responded with a brief smile. He scratched his chest, threw his arm over his head and closed his eyes again.

I knew his face well enough, the rest of his form was unfamiliar. My eyes traced the line of his bare arm from those long, tapered fingers, down the forearm and over the biceps and into the hollow of his axilla. There a profusion of silken, black hairs sprung forth. Carefully, I reached over and lightly grazed them with the tips of my fingers. They were soft, incredibly silky. Then I bent over and detected a distinctive muskiness as I sniffed that hollow. My tongue flicked out and the same softness was detected mixed with a slightly salty taste. I licked that place again.

"Ahhh!" escaped from José's mouth as his eyes snapped open, and again he asked, "What are ya doin?"

"Exploring you," I admitted, sitting up.

His hand reached for me. Gently I grasped it and put it back to where it had been resting. "Don't touch me," I whispered, but with some authority. José understood, smiled and again closed his eyes--this time not in sleep but so that he could concentrate.

I focused on his areola with its flat, button nipple. Where mine are pink and nickel sized, José's are ruddy-brown and the size of a half dollar. I lightly touched his right nipple and was amazed that within the space two or three seconds it was transformed from a flatish button to an upstanding, little knob. I reached over and grazed the left and the same thing occurred. I was somewhat amazed -- I thought that only the penis possessed erectile tissue! Taking the right hardened nipple between my thumb and index finger, I gently rolled it and felt its hardness. José uttered a low moan. I flicked the nipple with my exploratory tongue, brought my lips over it and explored it surface more intimately with my moist tongue.

"Ahhh!" again escaped from José's mouth, and again he reached for me.

"No," I said gently and continued, "I want to memorize your body."

"Do you know what you're doin to me?" he gasped and glanced downward towards his nether region.

Whereas, earlier his . . . his cock had been lolling, softly against his thigh, now it was proudly upstanding, waving in the early morning air.

"Sorry," I murmured and gently forced his hand to where it had been resting.

"Damn," he whispered and again closed his eyes.

I returned to my cataloguing -- tracing the arch of his rib cage with my finger. I opened my hand, splaying my fingers and moved it over his muscled belly, lingering briefly at his navel. Its surface was velvety smooth. From his navel downward, a trail of black hair appeared and increased in width as it descended and finally merged with the mass of thick, black, pubic hair at his groin.

I contemplated that hard, intimate, intriguing muscle that spring upward from that black thatch, and a not too distant relict again popped into my mind, slightly modified. "In its erect state the silken, pliable skin looked like the softest, finest chamois. It was the color of light, honey taffy and appeared translucent. Fine, pale blue veins coursed just below the upstanding surface. Even now, the head was covered with an ample hood. Beneath, the cock-head was clearly large, awesomely so. The corona flared dramatically and acted as a substantial base for the mushroom-like head that crowned the shaft. Even in its hardened state, the extravagant covered, hooded cock-head appeared massive." I decided to detour around his cock. If I didn't, I'd get no further!

José's thighs were muscled and yet smooth. I think that Renaissance descriptors would have been "well turned." There was a dusting of hair over their surface. I ran my hands from his hips downward towards his knees and then back up the inner surface. Doing this caused José to spread his legs a bit, probably in anticipation. As my fingers approached his groin they detected a smoothness. I leaned over and saw a patch of inner thigh, just below his groin that was utterly devoid of hair, smooth as satin. I lingered there with my fingers reveling in its softness. José groaned.

I reached down, cradled his right knee and lifted it up and towards his torso. José cooperated and held his leg so that I could explore his lower leg. It swelled just below the knee then tapered to thin ankles. I noticed as I lightly grazed that tendon dominated area -- the back of the knee at the hinge -- he gasped and twitched again. That reaction was nothing compared to the galvanic spasm when I grasped his foot.

"Please! Don't!" he gasped, and explained, "That's my most ticklish spot!"

"Turn over, José," I asked.

"But . . . you missed a spot!" This he said with a grin.

"No, I haven't, " I answered, "Saving the best 'til last!"

He smiled and complied.

His shoulders were broad and the width of his back 'V-ed' to his waist. Thin plates of muscles covered arching ribs, and two, long swelling forms descended downward on either side of his spine from his neck, merging just below his waist. His buttocks swelled in two, near perfect orbs. They were ever so lightly dusted with short, silken fuzz. Two dimples announced the joining and lead the way to a dark cleft. I reached over and cupped one of those orbs. I was surprised at its firmness as I ran my cupped hand over its surface from where it sprang from the lower back to the secondary, smaller cleft where it joined the thigh. There was a kind of a hollow, a depression to the side -- I felt that and moved back towards the deep cleft. I ran the tips of my fingers down his spine from his shoulders to that 'V-ed' area at its base, and lightly over the cleft to between his legs. Doing that, José gasped and spread his legs, wide. I guess this was some sort of

invitation. I repeated the action, but with the pad of my thumb. As I reached the cleft I continued downwards and inwards until I detected . . . a kind of a button. José rotated his hips as if affording me easier access. I rubbed my thumb over that puckered opening again. This time he groaned, audibly.

"Turn over, José," I asked, again.

He did, eyes wide in anticipation. If anything his hard . . . cock appeared even larger. It did not wave in the early morning air as it did a few minutes earlier, but stood firm and adamantine in that lush nest of black cock-hairs. It seemed to throb insistently. The veins of the shaft were apparent just below the satiny covering. The swollen head was still encased in its hooded sheath. But, just a hint of the glistening pinkish-purple knob could be glimpsed. Lightly I grasped the shaft, just below the flaring corona and drew it downwards slowly. Millimeter by millimeter the head was revealed in the most sensuous of all strip-tease as the foreskin slipped over its surface. Then it glided over the flaring corona, revealing the gleaming, mushroom-like head with its small slit opening. Slowly, I reversed the direction. The foreskin bunched up at the flare as if not wanting to recover this treasure. Then it moved, inexorably over this impediment and

covered that gem. I was mesmerized by the . . . mechanics of that skin-covered cock. Two or three times, I slowly repeated that action. Then I loosed that treasure and observed that seersucker ball sack. It had drawn up somewhat, certainly not a pendulous as the first time I observed it through the hole in the stall. It was lightly covered with black hairs. Tentatively I touched it, then gently fondled it in my fingers. I clearly felt the twin, encased orbs within. As I toyed with this intriguing bag, José's cock lurched, repeatedly.

I returned to that insistent pole, grasped it again and quickly stripped back the foreskin from that engorged head. I bent over and sniffed. I encountered a slightly musky order, not unlike that I discovered from his 'pit.' Quickly my tongue darted out and retreated again.

Never in my life, to that point, did I ever dream that I would be in this position . . . licking a guy's . . . cock. The thought of the possibility was simply beyond my ken! Yet, here I was!

Again, I tentative licked the smooth head. The third time, I swirled my tongue about that rampant, hot knob.

José groaned, louder than before. I glanced at him. He was staring at me, but with clouded eyes. Wanly is smiled. I turned back and contemplated that thing I grasped in my hand. A debate took form in my mind, but before it grew out of control, I bent over, opened my lips and slid them completely over the luxurious, cock-head.

"Ahhhh!" gasped José.

I held it there, tasting it and running my tongue over its surface. It's taste was rather neutral, but the sensation it engendered in my mouth was not! I removed my clasping fingers at dropped down on that whole thing!

Immediately, I gagged! I rocketed off that cock, sitting upright and gasping.

José sat up and brought his arms about my shoulders, whispering, "It's OK. It's OK!"

When my breath returned, I exclaimed, "Jeeze!"

Sitting back, releasing me, again, José said, "It's OK. You just went to fast!" Then he glanced down. I had been sitting cross-legged the whole time and my calves cradled my cock and balls. He looked back into my face, wide-eyed in amazement. "You're not . . . hard!" he stated incredulously.

I wasn't!

"Why?"

I shrugged my shoulders, "Cause . . . my actions weren't really . . . my actions were . . . I guess . . . merely . . . exploratory, revelatory . . . not sexual!"

Amazed, he answered, "Well they sure as hell were sexual to me!"

We both laughed.

He reached over and drew my head to him and kissed me. Then he whispered, a bit apprehensively, "Can I touch you?"

"No!" I stated. Quickly I torqued off the bed and walked to the balcony door.

"Don't I effect you the same way?"

I turned back, facing José. In that short space of time I had grown fully erect, hard, sporting a monumental woodie, and asked, "WHAT DO YOU THINK!"

He slid off the bed but I raised my hand to stop him. "Not now . . . later! I need to shower . . . and I need time to think!"

He understood and sat back down. Then my eyes scanned the bed and floor, "Where are my shorts?"

Smiling, José turned, stretched, reached over to the floor to his side of the bed and held up my sleeping shorts. I stepped back to the bed to retrieve them and as I grasped them, José grabbed my hips and swallowed my cock in one gulp!

"Damn!"

Quickly, immediately I pulled back. My cock popped out of his mouth. If I didn't withdraw the morning would have been lost! José merely grinned at his subterfuge!

"What are you?" I asked mirthfully, "Some, perpetually horny, Puerto Rican stud?" I brought my wrinkled sleeping shorts up to cover my crotch with false modesty.

José laughed, as I did, and parried, "I'm beginning to think so . . . but only for a hot, overly modest Dutch stud . . . my incubus from Indiana!"

"Incubus? INCUBUS! Look who's talking!" I spun and left, but not before flipping him the finger -- an action I rarely employ.

I heard José laugh and call out, "OK!"

I showered, dressed in Bermudas, went down stairs, had a cup of coffee and then went for a long walk along the water's edge. The sound of the waves were so soothing, somehow, the gentle sound of their breaking allowed me to think.

Later that day, we had returned from San Juan and sat on the verandah drinking a beer. The maid/cook and her gardener/husband had the day off.

Out of the blue, I blurted out, "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"When was your first time?"

Immediately he understood. He needed no more explication.

"When I was fifteen. With my cousin . . . he was a year older."

"Were you . . . upset?" I asked.

"No, I enjoyed it."

I stored away those snippets of information, arranged them, evaluated them, took another sip of beer and looked out at the water.

"What did you . . . and your cousin do?"

Smiling, "Mostly we just sucked each other."

I don't know why I had asked those questions. I don't know if they had any application to my present situation.

"How long were you two . . . together?"

"We saw each other several times over a couple of years."

"And . . . you no longer see him?"

"No. He's married and with a couple of kids."

Again I fell silent as I contemplated all that was happening to me.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," I said.

"When was your first time?"

" My first real time? When I was twenty-two. With my classmate. . . he was a year older."

"Were you . . . upset?" He asked.

"No, I enjoyed it."

"Really?"

"Yes! Really."

José grinned, got up, planted a kiss on my forehead and walked to the bar, "Want another beer, Joe?"

As the sun began to set, we walked down to the water's edge, sat down, dug our toes into the sand and watched the day slip away.

"Do you know what really bothers me?" I murmured.

"No. What?"

I hesitated to answer.

"What?"

Without looking at him, "I . . . I want you . . . all the time . . . like last night . . . like this morning . . . all the time."

"Well . . . if you didn't . . . I'd be a bit worried!" Then he asked, half in jest, half serious, "Do ya want me now . . right this minute?"

I glanced up at him and said quickly, "No." That's what I wanted intellectually, but then I dropped my head and whispered, "Yes."

Quietly, he draped his arm over my shoulder, gave me a gentle squeeze and we returned our gaze to the horizon and the setting sun. Later in the darkness, we stood up, gently kissed each other, walked back to the house and to José's room.

That night our passion knew no bounds.

The next day we quietly packed. Took our leave of his parents and left San Juan in the dimming light of a magnificent sunset as we flew back to the sem.