I was named for Saint Francis but preferred my middle name, James or Jimmy. I won't give the location. It was a bathhouse California. I'm a gay man fighting to control myself, but I was not able to that afternoon.
I was twenty miles from the seminary. I stopped for gas and saw a sign, "Bathhouse." I've known since my mid-twenties that I am gay, many priests are. Maurice, a twenty-year-old African exchange student, knew when he invited me to his apartment. Maury sensed I was ready. I didn't know his plan, but it was addictive. We met weekly.
I have always been a masculine man. I'm 6 foot, broad, small bald spot I can't hide and a potbelly from all the carbs. I don't look gay or act feminine, Maury said I only looked gay when I was about to cum. I once tried pleasuring myself while looking in a mirror. Maybe it was the way my mouth took on an "O" shape when my heart was beating a mile a minute.
Those were beautiful meetings before Maury returned to Kenya. He taught me all about oral and anal sex. I was happy.
"You will never be a "top," Maury was fond of saying,
"Jimmy, you were meant to be fucked in the ass."
After he taught me how to suck his cock, I learned to take his cock in my ass. I never felt closer to God, then in those moments of ecstasy.
I know the "God is Dead" movement was rampant, but I have always believed. Only when I realized I was a gay man, did I question our church doctrine.
"Keep your mouth shut and your ass open," Maury told me.