Ebenezer somehow found himself back near the rectory house on a fog bound night that one would expect to be bone-chilling clammy and cold, but he was still enveloped in comfortable warmth. Just a few feet away he caught site of an unfamiliar specter, very dark but with a sheen of foggy light, just enough to distinguish it in the moonless dark of night. It was the image of a very worn out but black full monk's cowl with almost skeletal hands and bony fingers at the end of the wide sleeves. The naked man could catch only very faint glimmers of morbid facial features within a very deep pulled over hood. He did not want to see more.
"I take it, spirit that you are the final ghost that Jacob Moorfield identified for my visitation tonight. I can deduce that you are the ghost of winter solstices in the future?"
The ghost nodded affirmatively. He pointed toward the rectory front door. The structure seemed worn and shabbier ~ as if in need of a paint job and a host of small repairs. They entered through the door. Ebenezer recognized the deacon, Carnie Brutus, speaking with someone from the congregation he believed to be a local mortuary. "The Bishop will be here tomorrow. He seems confident that he can find a bright young seminarian to deliver the guest sermon for the holiday services Christmas eve and day. . . What's that? He was a great intellect, but not much of a personal touch. Someone more gregarious and approachable would be better suited here."
Ebenezer's face turned ashen with a sullen look. "Spirit, are these images I witness here things that will occur for certain, or can the circumstances be altered from reformation of conduct?"
The morbid specter merely pointed back out the door.
**********************
The very odd couple were drifting through doors into the small bungalow Ebenezer knew to be the rented home of Bob Crocker.
The family was seated by the lit hearth, excepting one. "Now Dad, it has been a comfort to us that our young ones have come back to live with us these last few days. They won't be going nowhere until the New Year."
Bob Crocker cast a sad and sullen look, as if he had not heard a word his wife had just spoken. He finally responded. "Oh yes, Mother. You are right, a great comfort."
"Except you, Ginnie. If you keep rubbing them that way, you're going to hurt your eyes."
"Oh Mother! Leave her as she is. Let her cry as long as she needs to."
"I can't help it. Every time I walk into that little bathroom, I half expect to see our lovely Tim in the tub." The young woman blew her her nose and sobbed very quietly.
Bob broke a very awkward silence. "Let me tell you all who I saw on my way out of the cemetery, today. It was Rev. Ebenezer's nephew, Fred. He is such a kind hearted soul. When I told him about Tim, he had a look of sincere shock and sorrow on his face. He told me how sorry he was for me and my wonderful family and assured me that Tim would have a place of honor in the roster of the fallen gay."
********************
It was gloomy cloudy daylight back at the compound by the rundown church rectory again. "You can take me back to my bed in the rectory of the night of these visits now, Spirit. I can see starting tomorrow there will be need of some serious changes.."
The ghost was serious though and silently thrust his arm to point toward the entrance of the rectory such as he saw it now. Back inside, Ebenezer was not pleased to see the old Bishop, a man he did not hold in tolerable regard ~ someone he always felt the obligation toward being diplomatic and obsequious. The older cleric seemed to be holding court with the deacon and some trustees.
"He thought he had everyone fooled for a sense of devotion, holier than thou. Don't think I don't know the unspoken understanding that both he and Moorfield were supposed to be celibate. . . The two frauds probably had a dirty little queer man's love nest going on here."
Ebenezer started to grow red in the face.
"Look at this place. It could use some new blood in here. . . Moorfield was supposed to be the darling essayist in the Church Councils. If you ask me, they both just plagiarized C. S. Lewis and a couple of others. . . It just galls me to think I have to drive all the way back here between Christmas and the New Year to preside over the service for a queer that nobody had much use for, anyway."
Ebenezer exploded despite knowing he could not be experienced by anyone but the ghost. "Well don't make the trip on my account, you bigoted hypocrite. You don't think I abstained from sex, huh? Well more fool me that I did so. Fuck y'all! From now on, it will be my privilege to be the preaching slut, and I don't care who knows it, you pucker-faced loveless sorry sons o' bitches.
"Oh spirit in my heart I will keep the spirit of the winter solstice, Christmas, New Year, Valentine's Day and a whole lot more through the whole year. That, spirit, will be my inspiration to be a passionate loving man true to the man I love, true to all my friends, and true to my flock as guide in Christian faith.
"Oh spirit, I promise I will avoid wasting time with sterile and burdensome authority as much as possible and focus on my love and devotion for people who can be touched and those who are in true need. Spirit, give a foolish but horny man another chance. I will keep the festivities not just at this time of the year, but all year long, I will, I will, I will. Please spirit!"
********************
Once again, the naked man who seemingly had been transported to different places and times found himself on the carpet of his frigid bedroom, although flaccid now. His hands seemed to be clasped together in fervent prayer. Being in the room was a good sign, but he could not be sure whether he was, in fact dead or still alive. If alive, he could not be sure how much longer he would remain so. He scrambled to climb into his antique bed and cover himself, figuring that he could at least muster that little defense on behalf of his mortality. He was emotionally exhausted and fell into deep slumber in seconds.
The sun was rising in a frosty cloudless sky when the churchman's alarm clock went off and the church clock struck 7. When reaching for the bedside LCD clock to disengage the timed audio outburst, he noticed the date on the display ~ December 22. As profoundly fatigued as he still was. he was able to surmise that the 3 ghosts had been able to do their work all in one night.
He hesitantly but hopefully slapped himself all about his naked parts under his covers with the palms of his hands, not least of all his gender organs and was delighted that the results were even better than he hoped for. "You horny devil," said the churchman out loud to himself. He threw back the covers and let out a yelp in response to the rush of below room temperature to all his exposure.
He jumped out of the bed to scoot the short distance of the upstairs hall to the bathroom, tittering and giggling as would a naughty little boy who had gotten 'nekkid' in an inappropriate social setting, or an exuberant energetic youth streaking a girls' dormitory. As he turned the faucets of the shower, he was reminded that he had been without his night shirt throughout his time of slumber. Waiting for the shower water to heat, he started singing a song he remembered from the radio and TV ~ "I'm Too Sexy For My Shirt", as he wiggled his hips, his steadily aroused gender organ swinging back and forth allowing for rigidity.
Having stepped into the shower, "ohhh, that's much better". He continued to bellow out the lyrics of the song at the top of his lungs. He announced to himself, being sexy as he was, wearing a night shirt even in the winter months was no longer necessary. Sleeping "au naturel" from now on would be quite sufficient. For decades, masturbation was a furtive, brief, and barely conscious regrettable but necessary expenditure of release. This morning of new beginnings, his sex life was to be celebrated as the catalyst and core of his love for himself, the very center of his love and sympathy for as many other fellow humans as he could be capable. As the jets of hot water soaked and warmed him, he grasped the shaft and head of his straining erection with a sense of conviction and deliberation that reminded him of physical pleasures he had not dived into since before his misadventure into over-commitments in assumptive ecclesiastical devotion.
The thoughtful strategic squeezes synchronized with a grip of steady stroking prompted all those delicious feelings of heated rush into his loins, extending to his extremities and even his scalp being pounded by warm drenching liquid. He squatted some so that with exploratory fingers of his other hand, he could caress nuts in their wrinkled tickling sac, back across his crotch to the pinnacle of queer man erogenous desire, a twitching and delighted pucker. The tightness of hot electricity crept up on him faster than he expected and those hot convulsive but life-defining throbs started a gush of slithering shots of white male emission through the organ canal to blissfully squirt from the stretched open sweetly stimulated pee hole. He grunted enthusiastically to the heavenly sensation in each throb and spasm until his nuts were fully milked and orgasm finally ended.
When he finished his shower, he toweled off stepping down the staircase still naked, eager to turn up the thermostat. He chuckled and conversed with himself. It seemed like days since he has worn any clothes. He was determined to find himself a lover and together they would enjoy hours on end of quality naked time. They would know how to keep warm in the cold winter weeks whether in a "love nest" at the rectory or elsewhere.
Rather than bothering to return upstairs to dress, he reached into the downstairs cloak closet and covered himself with an overcoat. He was going to treat himself to something other than the usual dry cereal he usually prepares for himself for breakfast. He just brewed himself a cup of java from the coffee maker. He hurriedly dressed into his black pastor's vestments complete with collar, with a mischievous intent. He stepped out to clean some slick spots on the compound paths not thoroughly dealt with by Bob Crocker. He had to admit to himself that he enjoyed the brisk air of the morning of the shortest day of the year. He set the shovel and bag of salt aside to walk off the grounds and down the road to the nearby village.
He enjoyed a hearty breakfast of both French toast and eggs Benedict at a cafe reputed to serve up a flavorful morning meal. Other patrons who recognized him were evidently surprised to see him there. He merely nodded, smiled back, greeting everyone softly, "Merry Solstice." From there, he patronized many of the small shops in the village for small gifts he intended to award that afternoon in the greatest spirit of generosity he had exhibited in years.
********************
After a leisurely lunch, he approached the union hall with its festivity at about 2:30 PM. Among the gathering he noticed hanging about greeting each other at the entrance were the two young men he had disappointed and turned away the day before at the rectory vestibule. "Merry Solstice gentlemen, and I hope my fine friends are enjoying themselves this fine frosty afternoon."
"Rev. Ebenezer?"
"Yes gentlemen, and I must apologize for my conduct last evening. Please excuse a poor man of the church, I have few resources of my own. But having some authority within said church, we may reach some accommodation that could be useful to your commendable pursuits. . . Upon further reflection, I agree with you now that simply sending disconsolate and frightened young people for counseling on their own to various churches is not advisable. However I think I can be persuasive with the Church Council and the tri-state pastors association that church property in the manner of phone banks and 800 number accessibility can be made available for your purposes. Appeals can be made to psychological professionals among the parishioners and congregation members to volunteer to be of assistance."
