didn't want to tell him of my experiences with other guys, specifically what my brothers and I used to do, but he talked me into it. So I told him of some of the stuff I had done with them, how we would jerk each other off. "We were just kids, you know, we don't do it anymore." I didn't tell him about one of my brothers and I who had gone beyond just stroking the other's cock. But other than Jonathon, my brother, no one else knew that. I didn't tell him about Ron, and I sure as hell didn't tell him about my math teacher.

I remember him telling me that masturbation was as normal and necessary as breathing. "It is the body's way of releasing pent up emotions, and that is good." And then he asked, "Do you mind if I do?"

Even though I had figured out by this time he was queer, I still was fucking floored that he had just come right out and said that. But, for some perverse reason, I told him no. I had looked at the door, "aren't you scared of someone coming in?"

"Oh, no one is here this time," he had assured me. And with that, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, Father Paul opened his pants and exposed himself. His penis was small and circumcised. It was smaller than mine, and I am not overly hung. I would estimate his cock was five inches, no more. His testicles were drawn up tight against the base of his cock and didn't look big at all. Today we all know of the problems the Catholic Church has with priests seducing boys, but back then this was not generally known.

Even though I knew by this time he was queer, I actually felt special that he would be this open with me. It is a weird way of thinking, I realize that. But, there it is. Now, after so many years, I am honest enough to admit that when he first asked me that question, I knew that whatever happened, he could not tell anyone, not one person. He would be, at the least, fired, maybe arrested, who knew! It was, I had realized, totally safe. He had gently stroked himself and urged me to give myself relief as well if I need it. At first, I refused. But he was smooth, convincing, and the more he sat there, exposed, playing with his own cock, the more comfortable I got. I realized at some point that if I didn't leave, then he would think I was queer too. And I remember thinking, "maybe I am," for I did not really want to leave. Finally, I figured, what the hell, it's just jerking off so I slid my pants and then my BVD's down. I was hard, a fact he noted right away and which made me blush. He was very complimentary, telling me what a gorgeous penis I had and how the girls must really like me. I felt flattered and, in some strange way, assured that he had mentioned women.

So, there we were, in his office, on the opposite sides of the couch in his office, masturbating. He got me to talk about what excited me, and I told him about women, and my dreams of what I would like to do with them. I figured that would make him think I was purely hetero. But he turned the subject to my prior