experiences with guys, especially about what my brothers and I had done together. That subject seemed to really excite him. I was very close to cumming, but didn't want to cum in front of him, so I slowed my hand down. But he was close too, and told me that he was going to shoot. He suddenly stood, waddled to his desk, his little penis sticking out and bouncing as he walked, and pulled a handkerchief from a drawer. He came back, sat back down and his hand flew up and down his shaft. Then he leaned back, moaned, and shot. I was stunned. Even though he had a small cock, he shot like a fire hose. He had to hold the handkerchief over his cock because of the force of his spurts, they would have gone everywhere. And they were thick, voluminous. As I sat there, my pants down to my knees, my hand on my cock, I remember thinking his cum could have filled an entire cup!

Finally, his orgasm slowed, then stopped. He smiled at me, and then wiped his still erect prick clean. "Don't worry, finish up." He left his penis exposed, and gently stroked it, pulling the foreskin over the now shrinking knob as he watched me. It didn't take me long. I had a great orgasm, though nothing like what Father Paul had experienced. I shot all over my chest, I had pulled up my shirt, and then over my thighs. After I had finished, I was going to wipe the cum off my belly and thighs, but I had no handkerchief. He came over to me and I thought he was going to hand me the handkerchief so I could wipe up my cooling jism, but, instead, he leaned over and wiped my cum up himself. He did it so naturally it all seemed okay. I pulled my pants up and five minutes later I was walking home.

The following Friday, it was just Father Paul and I again. He had told me the others had decided not to meet every week. Ron later told me that he had gotten a call from Father Paul canceling the meetings due "to Church requirements." Again, the smutty talk, and, this time, we were quickly masturbating. I was committed, and not unhappy about it. The fact that he could never, ever tell about what we did, freed me completely. He had brought some porn magazines. Most were of women, Playboy, and some hardcore ones. I remember one called "Color Climax." But he also had two male to male mags, one of which had older guys, much older guys, and younger guys. I looked at the hetero mags while I jerked off, but, from time to time, he would stand and come over to me, his erection jiggling, and show me a picture in the male mags. He would lean over, his cock just a few inches from touching me, and point out the pictures that he thought were particularly exciting. They all were of anal sex. "Can you believe that young man can take that?" I had my own handkerchief this time.

As he was going to shoot, I asked him not to stop it with his handkerchief, I wanted to see how far it would go. It was truly incredible. To this day, other than in a few porno clips, I don't think I have ever seen any man shoot as far, or as much, as Father Paul. For the first four or five times we just masturbated ourselves.