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- 08/28/2015
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Brandon Smiling: From the Billy Chase Chronicles (1) - 2. Entry 2
Sunday
Mass was weird today.
I felt...er...conspicuous. Like too many eyes were on me. It made me uncomfortable. I couldn't really pay attention much because of it. I lost most of the Homily. Not that I listen that much anyway. Father Dillon drones on and on some Sundays. Its all I can do to stay awake. He never actually says anything I haven't heard before a thousand times. As I get older, some of those things he talks about just make me feel guilty. The sex stuff mostly. Catholic Boys aren't supposed to masturbate or think about sex with other people or anything. You have to Confess that stuff because its all sinful.
I don't know. If God made us sexual beings then why is sex bad? I...guess....I just don't believe that stuff now or just don't understand. Priests need to get laid and then *they'd* understand I think. Did I just type that? LMAO! Oh well....there's a million more years in Purgatory, I guess.
Plus, I'm like 14 going on 15. My hormones have been trippin' like off the hook lately. More so even than usual. More so since coming home from Uncle Stan's ranch. I changed a lot out there in a lot of ways! Even my voice dropped. I'm almost a baritone now! Deacon Greg has been hounding me to join the choir ever since he heard me sing the hymns and responses at Mass. He didn't even frigging know my name before May! Asshole! (2 million more years in Purgatory).
But, its the horniness that gets me. I get so hard for no reason now. Its embarrassing....and then there are the 'impure thoughts.' Uncle Stan actually made me feel better about it. He showed me things about nature and he assured me that my feelings were part of nature and God's plan for me.
I saw a lot of the things animals do. They mate without a care like its the most natural and easy thing. No guilt. God I'm so sick of feeling guilty about just being alive! Hence...my comment yesterday about wanting to be a horse. They are so....free!
Now, I don't want to come off like a naïve little virgin dumb ass. I've had 'The Talk'. I've had the Sex Ed. I know what goes where and why and what happens. God knows I know how to put a condom on a cucumber right (Which, as a Catholic I'm not supposed to use, by the way. WTF??? ). But, that's all just mechanics and it doesn't talk about the actual feelings that sex brings up. Especially the guilty feelings. That its something to be left in dark bedrooms or alleyways. Some of the things even can only be done in dark basements in 'those' parts of town. ~swallow~ Kind of cool things...maybe?
Uncle Stan managed to reverse some of those bad feelings up to a point. The horses taught me even more.
I remember Uncle Stan getting a kind of concerned and angry look when I told him about how ashamed I felt about it. I thought he was mad that I would bring it up, but he actually said something....different.
He said "Bran, sometimes religion gets it wrong. You gotta think for yourself. You gotta go with what feels natural. That's the way God intended. If you got a loving heart you'll always know what to do right with that thing between your legs. Don't let a bunch of uptight assholes screw you all up inta knots about it like they did your Mother. God made sex. Its really important and, if done with love, ALWAYS good! I couldn't get to my little Sis soon enough to let her know that...coz I didn't know it myself then. So now I want *you* to know it!" Then he wrapped me in a big old bear hug and clapped my back.
Anyways, like I said, Priests need to get laid more and they wouldn't maybe focus so much on sex as the greatest of all awful things. Uncle Stan makes more sense then they ever do.
So, I don't confess it anymore. If I went to Confession after each sexy session I have with myself and my pillow I'd just have to live in the Confession box. That's literal unadulterated bullshit! Masturbation is a kind of self-love in a way. A way of appreciating your body and what it can do. So...its 'done with love' I guess. LOL
Ok, on a similar subject, I just need to get this out. To whoever hacks my computer and reads this, I guess, this personal blog of mine, I'll confess to you. Mostly because I don't think you'd be NEARLY as judgey as Father Dillon or my Dad for that matter. I don't masturbate like usual. I....kind of do it different. I have since I first discovered what an orgasm was when I was 10.
I have this special pillow, see ~ahem~ and basically I screw the thing. Just doing it by hand doesn't do it for me. I kind of need to hug something and hump it to get off. I mean, I can get off with a handjob, but, its not satisfying. I kind of need to pretend its someone....it satisfies, I guess, that lonely place I have in here. ~touching my heart~ Sick...I know.
I'm blushing. Why am I even putting this down?
Dad has never caught wise to this little....deviant behavior of mine. Mostly because I do all my own laundry as well as the towels and dish rags and stuff. Its one of my jobs around the house. It works out for me. No one knows about the stains on my pillow cases and sheets and liners. Can't do much about the stains on the pillow itself though.
I guess I need a girlfriend like.....really fucking bad. Its just pitiful. I cuddle with that pillow after....like it was a real human being! I can't get to sleep unless I'm spooning it. Its fucked up!!
Only thing is...I don't think of it as a 'girl' at all. Its not shaped right. Yeah...I know its a pillow! I'm not stoopid ya know! But....
Yeah....its a bit.....boy shaped. ~siiiiiiiighs~
I know some sad guys buy blow up dolls or even something called a RealDoll thing that is more lifelike. I'm not that desperate yet.....yet! But....give me time! The way I'm heading I'll be having tea parties with them in the front room and then a one man orgy later.
Its....boy shaped....and I like that? :(
I guess I am an Abomination after all.....
Guilt again. Confused. I think Joe did a number on me. I really do.
Makes me think of the weirdness at Church today. I'm sitting in the left transept looking at the alter from the side. St. Stephen, Protomartyr is a church shaped like a cross like most Catholic Churches try to be. I'm in Jesus' Left Hand, etc. So....Marie Cross. She's sitting in the transept opposite me across the Church, in His right hand. I can see she and her brother Jamie there just beyond the alter. They both look like angels!
Jamie is like a living Gabriel. All he needs are wings and a penchant for white choir robes and he'd be sending messages from God! He is a real top of the Christmas Tree kind of angel. He has light gold blonde hair, icy blue eyes, and he's tall. Just as tall as I am. I think he'll be a Senior this year. I blush every time I look at him....so I avoid it as much as possible. Especially in Church.
His sister....still in 8th grade, Marie....
Is it possible for a human being to be that beautiful and walk the earth with the rest of humanity? It seems a shame she has to soil herself in that way.
If Jamie is Gabriel....then Marie is Ariel.
Long, fluffy, light golden waterfall of hair that hangs to nearly her waist and is usually textured in soft loose waves. Sometimes her mother will braid it and wrap it in a kind of a fancy bun on the back of her perfect little head. Her eyes are darker than her brother's. They look like sapphires. I kid you not! Her skin is pale like she wears powder, but she doesn't wear much makeup at all. Just a little around the eyes and a bit of blush on her lips...which are as pink and sumptuous as her brother's. Strawberries....they make me think of strawberries.
At Church she always dresses modestly. A flower print dress that goes to her alabaster ankles ending in polished black pumps. She always wears an heirloom cross around her delicate white neck. It sometimes glitters in the alter spotlights so I know it must have diamonds in it. She completes her regal majesty with a patent leather clutch. It gives her a look kind of like Grace Kelly....ok, so I'm 14 and I know who Grace Kelly is! Sue me! My Mom was an old movie fanatic and she made me watch them with her whenever she could hornswoggle me into it! Grace was always one of my favorites from that time in movies. It really impressed me when I was 8 that I found out she became a real Princess later. Cinderella in the flesh! Gawd....that sounds so corny. Sorry.
Uh oh...gotta get a kleenex. Thought about Mama again.
Anyways....so it only takes a trick of the light for me to see Marie's angel wings, Ok? And she has those ocean blue eyes....
....and they are continuously fixed on me.
What's worse...Jamie picks up on her fascination and now I have them both staring at me. Why I can't concentrate on Mass I ask you? Its mind numbing to be cast in that blue glare for an hour. I must change every shade of red there is....which then makes my Dad fuss that I might have a fever. Until he catches the look on Marie's face....and then he's all "Maybe after Mass we can go to the Rec Hall and have some donuts? I'm sure that.....Marie would like it if you shared one with her."
Squirm.
So before he can hall me over for donuts with the Angels of the Cross, I tell Dad that I'm not feeling so well and would just like to go home. This does two things for me: it gets me out of a torturously awkward situation having to confront Marie and make 'small talk'....AGAIN! It also 'confirms' for my Dad that I was 'feverish' and not blushing my fool head off. Sometimes my genius astounds even me! Hehehehe!
So, ok, here's the deal:
Here I have God's perfect angel staring me down like a pork chop at Aunt Edthna's dinner table. Marie...I mean. Not Jamie. He just gets this goofy smile and elbows Marie when he catches her staring. That's when I see her blushing too and staring daggers at her brother. She even blushes beautiful!
So...God's perfect angel...staring me down....ok...and here's the thing.
Nothing.
Nothing is the thing. All I feel is embarrassed and exposed. Yes, I know...I kind of 'waxed poetic' describing her on here, but that was mostly for your benefit....nameless hacker.
I don't feel anything towards her. I admire her matchless beauty, but I do so as if I'm looking at a statue or a beautiful gem. She is stunning to look at. Probably the most beautiful girl God ever made, but I can only appreciate her on an intellectual level. Nothing stirs me 'down there'. Like I said:
Nothing.
Oddly enough, in light of things that shall remain nameless, neither does Jamie. He's an Adonis, no doubt. But he is just a little....too perfect. I figure him to be like any number of handsome dumb jocks that have the world handed to them on a plate. Arrogant, cruel....and possibly dangerous if he knew....well....stuff about me.
See, Brandon is a little sour when it comes to guys like that. He has been among em...and has been burned by them. So he doesn't like them awfully much.
Oh great....now I'm referring to myself in the third person? My sexual encounters with my pillow have obviously made me schizo. Maybe the Catechism is right when it says that masturbation is 'gravely disordered'. I've lost it, obviously.
Ok, so, its not very charitable of me I'm afraid. I don't even know if Jamie deserves that kind of distinction. I don't know the guy at all outside of Church, but, he is a 'type' kind of. Some might call it prejudice, but I call it experience and I guess I've earned that rather painfully in my young life.
~sigh~
Sooooo....Anyways, I'm the envy of every young guy in that church having caught Marie Cross's eye and I'm incapable of appreciating it like I should. I'm either stupid or weird or both. So it gets me to thinking a bit...
I think back on my brief encounter with that little blonde boy at the mall. The quick zap of electricity that passed between us as we caught each other's eyes. His twisted little half-smile...his flirtatious little chuckle. My shiver. My hardening timber. A momentary glance by him was worth more than an hour of Marie's steady transfixed gaze....and this isn't the first time this has happened.
At the store. At the library. At the mall. At church. At frigging McDonald's for God's sake! Scarier still....sometimes at school too. Its hard to hide that 'look' ok? Dozens of cute guys get skewered by my gaze...and my sexy thoughts. Hehehehe....'skewered'. Perfect synonym for what comes into my mind at these times.
Why am I laughing? :(
Anyways, the sidelong glances at the boys in the gym. The blush that follows. The attempt at control of not getting a hard-on in the 'wrong' places. You know, I always try to get Gym Class as my last period? That way I can take my shower at home. My dick can get as hard as it wants to be in my own shower...but God help me if I get caught like that in the Boy's Gym.
Also, you know, there are my.....fantasies. They never involve girls at all. Ok?
Abominable.
What's weird....you know I get my 'look' returned to me more often than not? Just like at the mall with Mr. Sex On A Stick....although usually not that obvious. Sometimes....the 'look' sort of takes root in them and then things get even weirder. Like with Joe. Fucking Joe...man!
I am wrong. Something is very badly wrong with me. :(
No one must ever know.
Maybe its just hormones and it will just go away.
Maybe.
Brandon.....looking confused.
(Marie....you deserve so much better than me. So much better. I pray God you find him some day.)
span>Thanks for reading!
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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