bbon-bbon

Chapter 2: Father John We met Father John a few days after our arrival in the new city. We settled into a bed & breakfast that was draining our last savings, we were alone, and we didn't know what to do. Despite our sexuality, we had always been very religious, so it was natural for us to seek comfort and concrete help in the only Catholic church in the area. We went to Mass one Sunday morning, and to our surprise, we noticed that there weren't many people. As soon as we crossed the threshold, we felt the gaze of the few faithful all on us. It was no wonder, two strangers in such a confined environment stand out immediately. We tried to keep a low profile and sat in the back pew. It was incredible how they continued to stare at us unabashedly, especially the men: the few women were next to what I believe were their husbands or fathers, keeping their heads down. The men, however, stared at us intently, some with curiosity, others with amazement, still others with disdain, to the point where I thought they had immediately realized that Paul and I were together. I felt uncomfortable, as if we had crashed a secret club that didn't want us there. I tried to hold their inquisitive gaze, and then I noticed something that sent shivers down my spine: the men all seemed like they were veterans of a war or a rave party, they were pale, with sunken faces, glossy eyes, so much so that at first I thought I was at a funeral. They all seemed old, even though some were not. Fortunately, the staring contest was interrupted by the sound of a bell, and we all stood up for the arrival of the priest. The singing began, and the altar boys came out from a door with the priest following. Even the altar boys seemed strange, they were adults, or so it seemed to me, and they too had a sad and emaciated appearance. They seemed to drag themselves wearily to the altar. The priest, on the other hand, was in great shape, a handsome man in his 60s, taller than Paul, broad-shouldered, I couldn't see much of his body because the robe covered him, but you could tell he was muscular. He had cold, blue eyes, perfectly combed white hair with a part on the side, and he sang too, smiling. He passed us by and immediately noticed us. At that moment, he stopped singing, gave me a quick glance, and then moved on to Paul. He smiled at him, showing his very white teeth, and motioned for us to sit further forward, then went toward the altar. Paul stood up immediately and obeyed, I followed reluctantly, preferring to stay secluded. I took his hand, but he moved it away nervously. Given the reception of the faithful, it was indeed better not to attract too much attention. Once seated, the priest began his homily. He was very emphatic, knew how to modulate his voice well, he seemed like a soap opera actor, or one of those motivational speakers who make you quit your job and invest everything in cryptocurrency. In short, he didn't make a good impression on me. And yet you could see that everyone hung on his words, finally the men and the few women present seemed happy to be there. I whispered to Paul, "Certainly it's different here..." "What do you mean?" "Have you looked around? These people seem like they stepped out of a Tim Burton movie!" Paul stifled a laugh. "True! But if we're so few, we can't make enemies. This is our new community, they might lend us a hand." "Yeah, probably if you ask them for a hand they'll tear it off their arm." "What an idiot! And stop making me laugh, the priest is speaking." Father John glared at us, then melted into a smile as charming as it was unsettling. From the pulpit, he began his reading: "From Matthew 16:21-27 From that time on Jesus began to explain to his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and suffer many things at the hands of the elders, the chief priests and the teachers of the law, and that he must be k1lled and on the third day be raised to life. Then Jesus said to his disciples, “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will find it. What good will it be for someone to gain the whole world, yet forfeit their soul? Or what can anyone give in exchange for their soul? For the Son of Man is going to come in his Father’s glory with his angels, and then he will reward each person according to what they have done.” Upon hearing those words, and the way Father John pronounced them, slowly, with his warm and deep voice, I understood why everyone looked at him with such admiration: he was very charismatic, I couldn't stop looking at him either, yet there was something false about him. "Paul, this is the moment when – " “Jesus predicts his death,” Paul replied, moved, still gazing at Father John.

***Hi there! This is my first attempt at writing a story here, plus English is not my first language, but I had this twisted story in my mind that I had to share! This first chapter is just setting, so please be patient since it isn't anything exciting YET! P.S. I am open to any kind of comments or suggestions, even bad ones, they could be all really useful in the future! Enjoy :)*** Chapter 1: The Beginning of the End We made it: we finally had a home of our own, rented, sure, but far enough from both our families to start a new life from scratch. Paul and I met in high school, neither of us had come out yet. He was very popular, good at sports, six feet tall, with big, sweet brown eyes, dark blond curly hair that cascaded down to his shoulders. Being a rugby player, he had that classic physique: massive, solid, huge arms and thighs, a round and perfect butt that protruded under any kind of pants. In a way, his cherubic face, white skin, and full lips clashed a bit with the macho rugby player physique, but this dissonance made him even more attractive in my eyes. Now, at 23, he hasn't changed much, which is why he proudly flaunts that light blond fuzz on his legs, armpits, and face, and what he calls a "beard" but is actually just a couple of mustache hairs and a few on his chin. He thinks it tones down the angelic features of his face and makes him look "tougher" on the field, yet it's precisely these features that are his strength, and will be his downfall. On the other hand, I am much more anonymous: slightly shorter than him, slim, I just go for runs with him early in the morning when I feel like it. My family is Italian, so I never had to pray for a beard to grow, since I was already shaving at 14. In the gay classification, I completely fit into the otter category, not that I boast about it, but Paul loves my Mediterranean colors, so I'm fine with it. We started dating when we were 16. Secretly, of course. Rumors about me being gay were already circulating, but I didn't understand the origin, since I didn't do anything to draw attention to myself, my only two friends were as straight as they come, and besides, I was born into a Catholic family, where certain things are taught to be hidden even before you're aware of them. Paul was also Catholic and we attended the same church. I was an altar boy, so we knew each other since we were kids. During mass, our eyes would meet, I caught him when he was distracted or about to fall asleep, so when he looked back, I smiled at him or pretended to admonish him, from my position as the incense bearer. So, seeing each other even outside of school, we got closer and closer, until we exchanged our first kiss in a cemetery, during our parish priest's funeral. From then on, we were a steady couple for the rest of high school, without anyone knowing about us. It was very difficult, frustrating, yet beautiful. There were other gay couples happily out in the open and no one cared much. We hid mainly out of fear of the reaction of our Catholic and super-conservative families. But after seven years, it seemed absurd to keep lying, so we came out to our parents, result: we ran away to a new city on the opposite side of the country, without a family, without a home, and without a job. Not knowing what to do, we turned to the Church. We got an audience with the only Catholic priest in the area, we told him the whole truth and that we were desperate. He promised us he would take care of us. Oh, he did. That meeting was the beginning of our end. God, if you exist, have mercy on our souls, and give me the courage to tell the story of my poor Paul, and of Father John.

I have always done bb with my boyfriends, never with hookups. After my last break up 4 years ago, I had great sex with a random bear, we kept texting days later and he confessed he stealthed me because my ass felt so good. I was angry and scared, but I asked him to meet again and just do bb thus time. From that moment I used condoms less and less, and now it is one year I only do bb. I started going to saunas and dark rooms, do all the things they tell you not to do to keep a healthy life but hey, I have never felt so alive! It's still a bit scary, most of the times I don't even see the face of who's breeding me, but I am accepting that this is who I am, and I will never go back to using condoms.

frddol