By cca651

It was almost 11 pm when my dad turned onto the long dirt road leading to the camp. We hadn't talked much on the 10-hour drive, not after the scene at home that morning. Earlier in the evening when we passed through a town called Silver River he asked if I was hungry, reaching over and putting his hand on the back of my neck. "I'm OK," I said and we continued across the railroad tracks and out of town. That's all it took for both of us to know we were going to be OK.

Dad had insisted we attend church before he drove me up to Camp Cirrus. We hadn't missed a church service since he found out about me. I used to think he was secretly hoping that God would cure me, but deep down I understood he just wanted to give me every moral grounding he could think of. Unfortunately, God's front man in this case, Reverend Swenson, was a man of limited vision and unlimited biases. His sermon today began with a homily to God loving all of his creatures great and small, then segued abruptly into a denunciation of a recent court ruling from The East relaxing the bans against the greatest abomination of all, homosexual marriages.

I tried not to listen, instead concentrating on a loose thread hanging from the button on my left shirtsleeve cuff. Dad nudged my knee a couple of times and rolled his eyes heavenward when I looked. (He insisted that, like a mighty river tainted by man's pollution, God's Word was still essentially beautiful. "You just had to ignore the occasional blathering"). I smiled weakly back at him but inside I was seething. Reverend Swenson, with his bristling beard and hearty laugh looked like a slightly gone-to-seed lumberjack when not wearing his cassock and I never bought his saintly vibe for a second.

"Imagine a town where your neighbors to the right are Lance and Randy and to the left you've got Franky and Bob. Do you think Home Depot makes a fence thick enough and high enough to protect our children from that?"

I entered him then, just a little. Dad, the only person who knew, who I had been able to discuss this experience with - the day he found out - said it was almost imperceptible at first, when I entered, and not at all physical - like having a tiny new idea or emotion. A little tremble of excitement out of the blue.

Today I started out just observing, like I usually do. He was still mostly Reverend Swenson with a little speck of 'me' mixed in. I'd been here before, inside him, but never taken it any further - after all, I'd promised Dad... Anyway, I figured if I just observed and didn't assert my influence, well, that wasn't breaking my promise, was it?

Much as I hated him, it always felt good being inside Swenson and it wasn't 3 seconds, that first time 2 years ago, before I understood what a hypocrite he was - the guy was so hot for men it was ludicrous. Fortunately for the altar boys his greatest love was for big guys like himself. Today, though, I was pissed. I expanded my consciousness inside him, taking in his physical sensations as well as the mental ones. He even paused like he'd lost his train of thought for a moment. I let him get used to the feeling. His thick uncut cock was hanging (beneath the frock, beneath his pants, beneath his flannel boxer shorts) down his big right thigh. I concentrated my thoughts there, on the feeling of warmth, the soft weight of his meat against his leg.

Glancing nonchalantly at my dad, noting his closed eyes, hoping he was dozing, I began to assert my influence inside the holy man. Though only sixteen, I was practiced in my art, I could be so subtle. I gave his cock a faint tingle (like I had my pinky finger inside it somehow, wiggling) and it instantly responded, the head expanding like a balloon and bursting out of its foreskin. This guy didn't need much encouragement! Already throbbing and half-hard, he lowered his right arm and, protected by the podium, squeezed his meat through the layers of cloth - I didn't even have to make him do it!

Inside him I felt what he felt while, sitting on the pew next to my Dad, my own cock got hard. I covered the bulge with an open hymnal but even so had to shrink my cock a little for fear of tipping off Dad. My excitement made me reckless and I gave the preacher's cock a sudden inch in length and two in girth which caused it to harden so completely that the fabric of his pants creaked against the strain of this suddenly flexing meat. Swenson paused, startled, and took a sip of water while groping his rod excitedly from the fat root to the seriously-leaking knob, not understanding, not believing what was happening. His finger tried to damn the piss slit that was leaking something fierce. Of course that only added to the stimulation...

I felt Dad stir beside me as though roused from his dozing by the Reverend's pause. Was he watching me? I continued to look down, too far gone to pull back, and gave Swenson another little surge of growth. His cock now felt like some strangers huge log under his fingers, the head surging beyond the leg opening of his now too-tight boxers which pressed its slimy underslit to his thigh. Every tiny movement of his body caused the sensitive glans to skate across his precum-smeared skin. Sometimes little movements can feel so huge.

There would be no more sermonizing today.

"Er...Let us now bow our heads in silent prayer" he rasped. Mystified, the congregation nevertheless complied.

Gripping the podium now with both hands, Swenson pressed his huge meat against the wooden pedestal. Or, rather, I did it for him. For all intents and purposes, Swenson was just an onlooker now - I'd taken the reigns.

Flexing his powerful ass cheeks, I humped and rolled his cock between board and thigh. He/we were so close. My pet turn-on was baseball-sized balls so he got them, maybe too fast for his sanity - I didn't care. The feel of them pressing with each thrust into his groin was too much for us. Seeing nothing but stars in front of his eyes the poor man convulsed, spewing shot after shot of cum down his pants leg. He felt it running like warm batter down his shin and would have collapsed had he not gripped the podium so tightly.

My heart pounding and suddenly nervous, I let his dribbling cock shrink to its usual size and pulled back into my own body. I'd shot too but my cock was too small to cause much of a mess. I returned it to normal and slumped back against the pew.

"Amen" the Reverend croaked, trying to buy time by turning a page in his bible with a shaking hand.

Dad shifted and put his arm around my shoulder. The grip of his hand was firm and not what I would call friendly. There was going to be hell to pay.

Somehow Swenson wrapped up the service (in record time, skipping entire hymns and giving an addled benediction - 'Go like sheep...Take care, now'!) and cleared everyone out of the church without sticking around in the entryway to shake hands or make small talk. I suspect his pants leg did some sticking around - from around his knee to his ankle.

Dad didn't say anything until we got home.

"Charlie - "

"I know, Dad. I'm sorry. I just got so mad - what he was saying".

"I understand that, Charlie. I do. And I love you. But who else is going to understand if someone finds out?"

"Dad, no one will find out -"

"Charlie, I found out! We talked about this. I don't want my son treated like a freak...or worse. Your mom wouldn't have wanted it either. Charlie, they killed people they thought were witches just a couple of hundred years ago. Do you think the average person has changed much since then?"

"They won't find out." I didn't tell him that he found out only because I let him, because I needed to share what was happening. Because I trusted him.

"What about your promise?" he said sadly, lowering to the couch and covering his face with his hands. It broke my heart to see how a man so strong could look so worried and lost.

"I know! I said I was sorry!" I stomped up the stairs to my room. My backpack was leaning against the wall beside the door. Was I still going to camp? I lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling through tear-flooded eyes. A few minutes later, Dad called up the stairs.

"Come eat a sandwich then get your stuff in the truck!"

We hit the road in silence. •

This collection was originally created as a compressed archive for personal offline viewing
and is not intended to be hosted online or presented in any commercial context.

Any webmaster choosing to host or mirror this archive online
does so at their sole discretion.

Archive Version 070326