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I grew up in a strongly Catholic family. I had two older sisters and a younger one. My earliest memories are of going to the church down the street. It was a huge stone building, with many statues and paintings and decorations.

When I was about eight or nine, a lady who usually sat next to us in church said I had a wonderful voice after hearing me singing very loudly along with the congregation. It was a song I liked very much and I enjoyed singing to it, so one day I really let go and put my lungs into it. We were on our way out after the long service, which I mostly found boring, except for the songs. She stopped us just outside the door and told my and my family that I sounded like an angel, and that I should try out for the choir.

Well, after a few days of practicing with my mom, who played piano and was teaching me to as well, we went to the church on Thursday night and I sang as mom played, and the priest in charge of the youth choir listened.

"That was astounding!" Father Smith said, smiling so widely at me that I felt almost ashamed of myself. "You have such a beautiful voice, Mason!"

He talked to us about the days the choir met to practice, and the fact that I would have to arrive at the church early for every mass and assembly. It would take a lot of time, but it seemed like such a good way to spend time. So I said I was interested.

Father Smith asked if I could stay a while and talk about it some more. Of course I would. When a priest asks you to do something, it's about the same as a police officer demanding you do something. Or your parents. Any request by a priest was solid orders.

So I stayed as my proud mother left. Her smile at me was amazing.

Father Jones put his arm over my shoulders and steered me toward the pews. We sat near the front.

"Mason, you want to be in the choir. Yes?"

"Yes, Father."

He smiled down at me, and rested his hand on my shoulder.

"It is an important thing to do, singing for the glory of God. It is important that you are not only pious and pure in intent and in your soul, but pure in body and spirit as well."

"I understand, Father."

"Yes, you are a bright boy, and I am sure you understand the usual practices to keep your body clean. But now you are in the choir, and singing for the glory of God and the congregation. Now it is important for you to be especially clean. You see, there is a cleansing ceremony you should undergo, to clean your body as well as clean as your soul. It is like a baptism, but far more involved and complicated. It is necessary to stand among the Chancell. You understand how important the Chancell is, yes?"

"Yes, Father!"

It was a special place, indeed. It was separated from the Nave and Crossing by lattices and railings. Only the choir was allowed in the area. The priests and nuns were of course, but they were especially consecrated. The members of the church were only allowed through the Crossing during weddings or funerals, and even then weren't allowed into the Chancell sides where the choir sat and stood, or where the organ and organist sat on the opposite side of the Crossing.

"Before you can join the rest of the choir in the Chancell, you must be specially consecrated. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Father!"

"Good. There are a couple of special requirements and preparations we both must perform, and then we meet here, pray, and then go to the baptismal font in the residency where we will consecrate you."

"Yes, Father."

"Good. Now, this is important. You must not brag or show excessive pride in such a thing. God does not like such things, you understand?"

"Yes, Father."

"This is an act of humility. One between me, you, and God. You mustn't tell anyone about it, as it is a private function of the church, and nothing to be spread around or talked about. It is much like the confession, you understand?"

"Yes, Father."

"Good." He patted my shoulder, smiled at me, and leaned down to kiss the crown of my head.

His hand slid down from my shoulder to my back. He rubbed my back softly as he told me the next things.

"Firstly, let's plan this for Monday night. You will not be able to join the choir in the Chancell until after your consecration, so this weekend you will remain with the congregation during mass, and practice with the choir every day. But after your consecration, you will join the choir during masses."

"Yes, Father."

"Now, I want you to refrain from eating on Sunday and Monday. A two day fast is a sign of your willingness to suffer a little deprivation for Christ, The Father, and The Holy Spirit."

"Yes, Father. I'll not eat anything after Saturday night."

"Good. I will give you a few pills to take Sunday just before mass. Take them just before you leave for mass with a glass of water. One is a vitamin, another is a dose of fish oils, and the third is herbs that are part of the purification process. They may upset your stomach, but in the old days, it was required to eat a lot of different fish and plants, and they would often make you feel ill. But now we can use modern medicine to make it far less unpleasant. Then, attend mass as usual, and remember not to eat. I will speak to your parents tonight and let them know you will be fasting for two days, and that you can stay home from school on Monday."

"Thank you, Father."

"Good. And the pills will do something rather unpleasant. The very same thing that eating all that fish and herbs did back in the days of Moses and the Saints. After you get home from mass on Sunday, you will need to use the bathroom quite a bit. This will be perfectly normal. It is your body ridding itself of impurities. Use the bathroom as often as you feel the need. Be sure to wipe yourself very clean. Especially in those places you keep private, if you take my meaning."

"Yes, Father."

"I believe you have been circumcised, yes?"

"Um, I think so, Father."

"Good. Let me ask this. Is there a sheath of skin at the end of your penis? Or not?"

"No, I don't think so, Father."

"Good. That means you have been circumcised. Still, you must clean that place very well. You should every day anyway, but before this ceremony, you should make sure it is very clean. And your rectum and between you buttocks as well. There must be no foulness on your body. Understand?"

"Yes, Father."

"Good. Then, remember, you shouldn't talk about this to anyone. It is a matter of excess pride to brag about such things. I will tell your parents that you are coming in for a prayer and to go over your duties and responsibilities among the choir on Monday night. That is all they should know. Understand?"

"Yes, Father."

"Good. Now," his hand left my lower back and now he rested it on my thigh. "The ceremony will include a baptism, which as you know, is being dunked into water to wash away sins and impurities. I want you to wear everyday clothes, but clean ones. You will be taking them off and wearing only your choir robe during most of the ceremony, and then you will be naked before God and man for a time, then you will step into the baptismal font, be consecrated in the water, and then washed clean in several special ways. These are also never to be revealed to the lay person, or even to other parishioners. Not even to your friends or your parents. These things are between you, me, and God, and only between us. The humility of silence is most pleasing to God. Understand?"

"Yes, Father."

He squeezed my thigh and smiled at me.

"Good, Now, let your parents know I'll be calling them later this evening. You may tell them that we are meeting to pray and for me to show you your place in the choir Chancell, get you your gown, practice and go over the songs the choir will be singing."

"Yes, Father."

He moved his hand further up my thigh, and squeezed it there, very close to my privates. He said, "Wait here, and I shall return with those pills you are to take on Sunday before leaving for mass."

"Yes, Father."

He was gone a couple of minutes, and returned with a small wooden box, carved with crosses and fleur-de-lis and other symbols. It was very nice, and looked brand new. It was just big enough to hold a deck of cards, and inside, among a green velvet-like lining, were three pills.

"You may keep the box, my Son."

"Thank you, Father!"

"Could I ask a hug of you, Son?"

"Yes, Father!"

We hugged, and his hands robbed my back a bit, and then he released me.

"Remember everything I told you, and if you have a single question or concern, you come and see me. We are friends now, and not just your priest and choir director."

"Yes, Father!"

I ran home, nearly exuberant with joy.

I did as asked, and took frequent baths, ate sparingly, and practiced singing with my mom.  I didn't eat anything after Saturday dinner, and only had water all day Sunday. I took the three pills before mass, with a glass of water. I had to pee very badly before the mass ended, and ran to the bathroom as soon as it ended.

Father Smith saw me leaving the bathroom.

"I can tell you took the pills," he laughed.

I laughed too.

"I'll see you tomorrow night?"

"Yes, Father!"

"Have you ate anything today?"

"No, Father. I had dinner last night, and that was it."

"Good boy, Son."

He patted my head and then my rump, and gave me a gentle shove toward the Nave.

I was home for over two hours before I had to use the bathroom. Boy, did I use the bathroom! My bowels went into overdrive, then superdrive, and then flipped on the blower. I had never crapped so much in my life. By bedtime, my butt was getting sore, and all I was passing was brown water and gas. I even had to get up a couple times during the night to squirt brown water. And when I got up in t he morning, it was more brown water, but very pale and almost clear.

"Do you feel like going to school?" Mom asked.

"Not really," I answered.

"Father Jones said you might have a case of the nerves and not be comfortable going to school today, so if you don't want to go, I'll call you off for today."

"Thank you, Mom."

"Do you feel ill or anything?"

"No, just, you know, really got a case of the nerves."

She gave me a kiss on the forehead and patted down my hair.

"If you get dizzy, or feel sick, you call me. Understand?"

"Yes, Mom."

"Good. I'll have your favorite for dinner tonight to break your fast."

"Thanks, Mom!"

"You deserve it. Not every boy is willing to fast for two days, and spend a couple hours in prayer and preparation. Your father and I are so proud of you."

That made me feel so warm and nice. Dad wasn't the type to tell me such things, so I only heard them from Mother. And her adding that he was proud of me too was very pleasing.

My guts rumbled and grumbled and complained, and I passed a bit of brown water, but otherwise it was a normal day, except I was home alone on a weekday. It wasn't the first time I was trusted to be home alone, but it was still a new thing. My sisters were all so jealous.

I took a bath just after everyone left, and made sure I was very clean in those private areas as well as all over. It was a boring day, for the most part, though I was so worked up about tonight's events.

Just before my sisters started coming home, I took another long, hot, soapy bath. I made sure my private areas were very, very clean, especially my slightly sore hole. I hadn't had to pass brown water since the morning, and was really glad that was over.

My Mom got things ready for my favorite meal, but didn't start it. The smell would have driven me crazy. I was so glad she waited until I had left for the church. But I didn't get away without tons of kisses and hugs from Mom. Even Dad gave me a pleased smile. My sisters smiled and wished me well, which was really unusual.

I had on brand new socks and underwear, almost new slacks, a new shirt, and felt like a million bucks.

I arrived at the side entrance as Father Smith had told me to, and he was there waiting.

"Hello, my Son. Come this way."

I followed him into the part of the huge church building I had never been in before. This area looked like a hotel instead of a church. We went to a room that looked like a hotel room, with a bathroom, a kitchenette area, a front room with a sofa and tables and television and a desk and chair, and a bedroom.

"This is my private quarters," Father Smith told me. "We will be performing the ceremony here. The big baptismal font has a leak, and the repairmen didn't arrive as they promised, so we will be using the bathtub. But don't worry. This ceremony can be performed in any water. Bathtub, river, lake, a stream - all that matters is the symbolic washing away of sins and impurities."

"I understand, Father."

"Good boy. You are clearly bright enough to do so." He patted my head, and then directed me to the chair by the desk. "And in a way, you're lucky. The font is cold and doesn't have hot water. Using my bathtub I can make the water nice and warm, and keep it warm all the way through the ceremony."

He gave me a small pill, and said, "This is a few herbs, and will give you no ill effects at all. Not like the ones you took yesterday.." I took it with some water he handed me. "Sit here, while I run the water."

I heard the water running, and he came out with a pure white choir robe. He held it up against me and judged it size, and happy that it would fit me well, put it over the arm of the sofa.

"Now, let's get you out of those clothes and into your choir robe."

He motioned for me to join him beside the sofa, and then he motioned for me to take off my shoes.

"Part of the ceremony is a close inspection of your corporeal body for infirmities, deformities, and injuries. So as you undress, I will examine you as go. Don't be embarrassed or have any vanity or shame. Your body is nothing to be ashamed of. God formed you as you are, perfect, and there is nothing to feel oddly about in being naked in front of God and your priest."

"Yes, Father."

It was embarrassing to undress in front of someone, but it was Father Smith, so I put my vanity and shame aside.

I removed my socks, and Father Smith took them from me and placed them in my shoes. Then my shirt, which he placed on the sofa beside himself. Then Father Smith had me turn around slowly as he ran his hands over my body. I heard him mumbling something in Latin that I didn't recognize, and he seemed to be praying or offering salutations, so it seemed perfectly good.

He looked at and touched me all over, even under my arms. Then he motioned for me to continue. So I undid my pants, and took them down. Then my new underwear. He took them from me one by one and placed them on the sofa with my shirt.

He mumbled again, and touched me all over as he examined me very closely. He even closely examined and touched my privates. And then he had me turn around and bend over. He touched me there, too. Even between my legs and near the back of my scrotum. It tickled more than I expected. Especially his examination of my hole, which wasn't sore so much now as tingly.

Then he had me stand and face him. He looked at me from head to toe, mumbling a prayer or liturgy, and ran his hands all over me. He held my privates for a long time, mumbling in Latin, and then he had me bow my head and we silently prayed for a long time, then he told me to put on the choir robe.

It was soft and silky, and felt cool. Then he led me to the bathroom, and had me stand in the water in the tub. It was almost too hot. He shut off the water, and began mumbling prayers again. He held my head, and his hands slowly moved down to my face, my neck, my shoulders, my sides, hips, thighs, calves, and then my feet.

"You may remove the robe now, and expose your corporeal body to the symbolic blood of Christ."

I took the robe off over my head, and he took it, and then he told me to lay down in the tub. I did. Then he placed an air pillow under my head.

He handed me a glass of wine and told me to drink it. It tasted like medicine and it was hard to swallow it.

"The bitter blood of Christ fills you now, and surrounds you now," he said solemnly, one hand on my head, one on my belly very close to my privates. "Let the wonder of God fill you, and let the purity of God fulfill you. You will grow weak and sleepy, and that is normal and good. Let your body slip away and relax."

His hands moved across my body, mostly under the water, and in a way it felt very... strangely good. It was as if the spirit of God was touching me everywhere that Father Smith's hands touched me. His hands felt warm and electric. Tingly.

His voice was low and steady, and droned on, and I felt more and more sleepy and relaxed and at ease. And very happy and content and... tingly. Warmly fuzzy and furry and soft and...

So sleepy.

It was as if I were asleep now, but not asleep. It was like I was dreaming, but awake. I probably could have moved, if I wanted to, but I didn't want to. I only wanted to lay there and feel fuzzy and warm and cozy and comfortable, and enjoy the feeling of Father Smith's hands and God's hands on my body.

I was aware of things, but not really. I knew what was going on, but not really.

I knew hands were manipulating my privates. It felt tingly and strange, good but naughty. But it was Father Smith and God, so the naughty feeling must be wrong. It must be the fact that my mother had told me so often that no one was to touch me there. But it was Father Smith, and God, so it was okay.

Besides, it felt pretty good. All tingly and tickly and exciting. And really good.

I felt it when Father Smith's fingers moved behind my scrotum, between my thighs, and then between the cheeks of my buttocks. I felt his fingers rubbing that dirty place clean for a long time. The soreness gave way to tingles and tickles.

And I felt it when at least one of his fingers entered me. I understood now why I had taken those pills to clean me out inside. I was clean inside physically, and now Father Smith and God were making me clean inside spiritually.

The cleansing was very pleasurable. At times it felt as if electricity was vibrating my insides and my penis at the same time. It made my breath funny and want to squirm around even though I was too weak to move.

I thought then that the exciting and tingly feelings were my spirit being cleansed. I enjoyed it much more after that realization.

Now I felt him cleansing my privates at the same time. My penis, to be exact. He rubbed it repeatedly and for a very, very long time. It must have been very dirty spiritually. And cleaning it spiritually felt so very good too.

I was so weak that it was hard to move, but I was barely able to lift my head and look down my body, and see that my manhood was large and stiff as Father Smith rubbed it and rubbed it. It had never been so large before, or so stiff it stood up all on its own. Or feel so tingly and tickly.

This went on for a very long time, and it was the most pleasant thing I had ever felt.

Until the feeling of him cleaning my penis changed to something even more pleasant. By then I wasn't able to even lift my head, but I could see down far enough to see the back of his head just above that area of my body, going up and down, over and over, in time with the soft, silky, wonderful feeling on my penis. His finger kept cleaning me inside my rectum, and the two things together felt like the most wonderful thing ever.

If I had any control over my body I would have squirmed all over the tub, but I wasn't even able to talk. I could only lay in the warm water and experience the intense pleasure of the cleansing of my penis and anus.

From time to time I heard the water running, and felt warmth spread up from my feet, and knew he was running more hot water into the tub.

In time I was able to lift my head again, and I saw that Father Smith was using his mouth to clean my penis. It was his lips that were brushing up and down my erect penis and making those incredible feelings.

In a while more, I accidentally groaned as the intensity of the sensations reached a higher place and my body twisted as his finger cleansed me inside my anus and his mouth cleaned my penis.  It became an overwhelming surge of pleasure and warmth centered in my groin and then washed up all through my body. I did squirm enough to make ripples, and couldn't have stopped myself from doing so even if the Spirit wasn't filling me with weakness. It was as if I were being drained and refilled, and my body was trying to contort and squirm. The pulsing pleasure in my groin caused my hips to rise out of the water without my volition, and caused soft groans and moans to escape from my lips.

I'd never felt such pleasure before. I would never have believed anyone who tried to describe it. It was wonderful!

When it was over, Father Smith had  stopped.

I knew I shouldn't have moved or made any noises. Now the pleasing feelings were gone. He had sat up and removed his finger from my rectum. He smiled down at me, so I must not have done wrong.

"You are clean inside, and clean spiritually, my Son," he said, and leaned down and kissed my forehead. "Rest and relax, and in a few minutes I will help you out of the tub."

"Yes, Father," I barely managed to whisper.

I shivered all over then, and he laughed.

"Did you feel the spirit, my Son?"

'Yes, Father! It was very nice!"

"Good, my Son," he told me, as he gently stroked my hair and face.

I shivered again, making ripples in the water.

After a few minutes, he asked, "Can you get out of the tub yet, or are you still weak from the spirit moving through you?"

I tried to move, but it was hard to do.

"Stay in the water a bit longer, Son." he told me. "I'll be right back."

He returned with a twenty-ounce bottle of orange juice.

"Here, have this. It should help you gather your strength."

He opened it and handed it to me. He helped me sit up and I sucked down the juice very quickly. We talked about how I shouldn't tell anyone about the ceremony. It was a private thing, only between him, me, and God. Humility was rewarded.

In time, I was able to stand up and get out of the tub with his help. He dried me all over. My penis was slightly sore, as was my anus, but he told me that was normal, that the movement of the Spirit through me had stunned my meager and weak flesh.

"In a couple of days, you'll be back to normal. As if it never happened. That's why we will redo this ceremony from time to time. Your body will accumulate filth and foulness again over time. So every once in a while we will repeat the ceremony to keep your spirit and your insides clean and a suitable home for the Spirit as you sing his glory from the Chancell."

Once I was extraordinarily dry, he helped me get dressed. I had almost and hour before the time I was expected home, so we watched television and talked. He gave me another orange juice. He reminded me to not talk about the ceremony, and to let him know when I felt it was time to redo it.

He kissed my forehead and patted my behind at the door, and then walked me out.

I walked home feeling pure and clean and happy.

I enjoyed singing in the choir, and underwent the ceremony about once a month for years. I stayed in the choir until I hit puberty and my voice cracked.  I could have joined the teen choir once my voice settled into its new register, but I was dealing with my burgeoning homosexuality and thought being in the church coir might make me more obviously gay. Father Smith didn't try to make me stay in the choir, or keep doing the cleansing ceremony, but he was the youth choir director, and Father Jones was the teen choir director. I was dealing with being gay, and being attracted to the other boys at school, and I couldn't face Father Jones, or  the church, or go to mass knowing I was a homosexual. I quit going to church, which infuriated my parents, but they didn't try to force me to go.

Oddly, I never thought of talking to Father Jones about my being gay.

I was so innocent and trusting that I had no suspicions until years after I graduated high school and heard that Father Smith was being charged with molesting young choir boys over decades.

Some research proved there was no choir cleansing ceremony of any kind, and the realization that I had been molested and not cleansed hit me hard. But not as hard as some others. I was over it almost as soon as I realized it. After all, I was gay, and what I had experienced at Father Smith's hands had been remarkably pleasant, even though a lie. I wondered for a long time if Father Smith and the choir cleansing ceremony had turned me gay. But I really doubt it. If anything, it was growing up with all sisters, who were fairly dominating. Or maybe it was just the way I was wired up at conception and during development. Maybe it was my distant and barely involved father. Maybe it was my domineering and controlling mother. Maybe it was something else, or a mixture of all these factors. I don't know.

I didn't come forward to join the case against Father Smith. If others were hurt or harmed or psychologically scarred by what he did to them, that is their right to sue him and the church. I'm confused as to how I feel about what he did to those other boys. As for myself, I look back on what happened and smile. It might have been wrong, and illegal, but I sure as hell enjoyed it immensely.

 

 

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