you, Father Gallagher, for giving me my first orgasm.
I'm glad that it was a man of God who popped my cherry.
Somehow, it makes me feel cleaner.
me, Father, for I have sinned--with you. Again and again
and again. And I don't feel dirty about it. I want to
shout it from the mountaintops. I have an evangelical
thirst to spread the Good News of your holy, holy, lovin'.
You turned me on. You turned me out. You turned this altar
boy into an altar man. You made me the whore that I am.
You showed me joy. You showed me pain--both physical and
emotional--of a magnitude I thought impossible. You reached
up under my frock and taught me the meaning of tough love.
As I stood eagerly perched on manhood's hairy cusp, you
caressed my muscular ass as if my buttocks were twin golden
goblets filled with Christ's blood.
said that you had spoken with God, and that he approved
of what we were doing. You told me we were just sharing
the bodies that God had created. You said that God the
Father and God the Son did this sort of stuff together
all the time when the Holy Ghost wasn't around. You said
that God insisted on an Immaculate Conception with the
Virgin Mary because God was a homosexual who was physically
repelled by women's bodies. You called physical intimacy
between priests and boys "the eighth sacrament." You spoke
of Bible passages that the church had suppressed, passages
which told in graphic detail what God actually did on
the seventh day when he "rested." You said the Bible was
using sexual symbolism when it said Jesus "rode into town
on a donkey." You mentioned other apocryphal passages
which detailed wild parties featuring Jesus and his apostles.
"Thirteen men living together, working together, praying
together," you'd say with a sly wink. "Think about it.
From time to time, they'd need some physical relief."
were a good man, Father Gallagher--I don't care what they
say. You listened to my problems. You bought me things.
You left me cute little notes. You played miniature golf
with me and took me to the zoo. You taught me Latin and
I showed you how to play Nintendo. And we had hot, steamin',
Old Testament-style monkey sex. You nailed me in the ass
like Christ was nailed to the cross. You split open my
buttocks like Moses parted the Red Sea. It was a gas,
mi padre. Thanks for the good times, dude.
"I'm glad that
it was a man of God who popped my cherry.
Somehow, it makes me feel cleaner."
the lazy afternoons by the riverside, sipping sacramental
wine and munching on a bag of eucharists? Remember the
time we got kinky with a crucifix? Remember the time we
did it right on the altar? Remember the party where we
snorted poppers with the Cardinal? Remember the embarrassing
trip to the Emergency Room to pry loose the rosary beads
from where they were lodged? Remember how turned-on you'd
get when I wore the Roman soldier costume? We didn't just
have sex. What we did was a form of prayer.
doubt that rabbis do such things with young Jewish boys.
I can't see Buddhist monks doing anal with little Buddhist
boys. Muslim clerics, well, I'm not so sure about them.
But this I know--you did it with me, Father Gallagher.
I read about you in the paper the other day, I felt like
crying. It's really unfortunate about those sex charges.
I'm saddened to see that boys who once claimed to be your
friend have grown into men who seek to put you behind
bars. I can't see how they can so easily banish so many
tender memories from their minds. I remember how it was
back then, and they were just as into the sex as you and
I were. I hope you beat the rap and continue ministering
to the flock. And I hope that one day we can get together,
if only for one magical night, and relive old times.
is, if I'm not too old for you now.
kidding, ya big lug.
me on my cell phone some time, ya hear?