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ET IN SEMINARIO EGO
A Seminary Memoir
By a Priest of the Roman Church
PART ONE
It was my first academic year of priestly formation in the seminary. I had already been through one preparatory "spirituality year" and was eager to go ahead to begin my two years of philosophical training. In six short years I will be a priest. It was amazing to think about. My life was on course, and I had peace and purpose.
I've always wanted to be a priest, even from the earliest days of childhood. Playing Mass with friends, and all that. I have always had a keen interest in all aspects of Catholicism. At the same time, there was another side of me that seemed to contradict this passion, another passion, a passion for men, for cock, for the exhilaration which comes from veneration of the beauty of the male form, for hairy chests and beards, for hard cocks and willing asses.
It was hard for me to tell sometimes which internal force was the strongest: the steady but intense spiritual side, the life of the soul, or the constant bubbling up of homoerotic desires from the subconscious into the conscious mind and my physical being.
To put it bluntly, I was an inveterate jack-off and porno freak, all the while I was reading theology and saying my prayers. With the help of the internet and an out of the way computer deep in my parents' basement, I was initiated into the mysteries of mansex, of sucking, and rimming, and fucking ... and even things like watersports and fisting. I was on fire with the need to experience these things for myself.
Riddled with guilt, at times I would steel myself to observe perfect chastity. This could go on for months at a time, but it would always end with a major explosion of pent up sexual tension, frenzied, almost manic, eruption of an insatiable lust, not to mention the backed-up cum which was making my balls ache.
With the goal of the priesthood in view, the spiritual side of things, the side which I was taught was inimical to the demands of the flesh, finally won out, or so it seemed. I was able finally to be abstinent for six months in preparation for entering the seminary. I really thought that I had turned a corner as I began my spirituality year.
But that confidence soon was shaken once I gave into auto-erotic temptation. I had no access to porn any more (the seminary maintained a very strict web filter), but that only heightened my awareness of the male beauty which constantly surrounded me: not just young virile seminarians but also a few priest-professors who were incarnations of the "silver fox" so desired by many gay men.
The seminary even had a gym and a swimming pool, which obviously only multiplied and magnified my sexual frustration. The vision of sleek, muscular male bodies weight training, pumping and grunting and sweating. And then the vision of the same bodies with bare flesh doing their laps in the pool, and then finally rising out of the water, wet dripping muscles and the outline of their cock showing through their soaked trunks. Add to this the fact that many of the priests used these facilities, thus feeding the fire of my intense love for older men.
But these things, while they concerned me, did not daunt me completely at this point. I was able to avail myself of frequent confession, which I thought would help me root out this grievous "thorn in the flesh" entirely. Week after week I returned to the confessional and confessed my habit; the priests were always completely bored and nonplussed by these revelations, so weary they were of hearing the same seminarian jack off stories over and over, accounts which almost certainly reflected the secret habits of these priests themselves.
This went on until I became weary and discouraged: returning week after week, for a whole year, to confess the very same moral failing over and over again. I began to give in and surrender, just as Oscar Wilde (inveterate sodomite he was!) so wittily recommended: "The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it... I can resist everything but temptation." I did not have my porn, but I had the "eye candy" which I stored in my mind (what is referred to colloquially as my "spank bank"), a treasury which could be accessed at any time to allow raw communion with my most treasured organ and its glorious seed.
I assumed that most of the seminarians were gay, or at least had homoerotic tendencies. This is the Catholic priesthood, after all, which along with male nursing and wedding planning, couldn't get any gayer. Most of the guys, wanting to toe the Church's moral line, managed to hide and perhaps even to suppress their desires to some extent. These guys were mostly conservative, almost evangelical guitar playing wretches, with their inane "JPII" "World Youth Day" type piety ("Dude, are you going to all night adoration? We have some great praise and worship songs planned!").
A handful of seminarians, however, seemed to be a very different than the others, a kind of clique of guys with the same interests and even attitudes and ways of acting: not quite effeminate or camp, but masculine men having about them an air of sophistication, certain cultural refinement, biting humor, and a breezy cynicism about pious enthusiams and seminary policies. These guys, I thought, are without a doubt the "gay contingent", and I began to wonder how I might infiltrate their little cabal.
A seminarian's first year in philosophy is usually seen by older seminarians as the realm of the annoying and the immature, naive toddlers if you will. But something changed when I returned for my second year. I began to command a bit more respect, especially from the younger guys as to be expected. But what I had not expected was the beginning of the attention of certain members of that "gay mafia". I notice more smiles, more hellos, even what I thought might be some interested glances.
Finally, one of the cabal, a fellow by the name of Justin, approached me one day in the refectory. "Hey, Francis, why don't you come and eat with us?" "Sure! Why not?" I said as my heart jumped inside. "These are my people", I thought, "guys who will understand me!"
I also found it fascinating that the group seemed to have the favour and friendship of a handful of the faculty members. One priest in particular, Fr Bruno, a sexy-as-fuck Italian daddy type (early 40's I think), was a regular fixture at our sacrosanct "gay table" in the refectory. He taught, interestingly enough, moral theology, and was known to be a bit of progressive on certain questions, which put him at odds with the more conservative faculty members.
So I began to eat with these guys and Fr Bruno, but I developed a particularly close friendship with Justin. We would joke together, talk about all things sacred and secular, and even touched lightly and humorously upon more delicate personal subjects:
"Oh my God, guys, you would not believe the interesting sounds coming from Francis' room all hours of the day and night! What on earth is going on in their, Frankie?"
"Well, I heard that all the dorm shower drains were so clogged up with, uh, sticky biological stuff, that the plumber had to work for days to clean it all out!"
"Well, St Jerome's is a notoriously promiscuous place. The Holy See did an apostolic visitation there, but it doesn't seem to have made much difference! They're still as camp as ever!"
This was the kind of subtly suggestive ribbing that went on amongst us, which encouraged me to adopt a much more freer, less dramatic approach to my own sexual drives. Even Father Bruno would laugh and give half-serious disapproving looks at the cheeky comedians.
This joking also turned me on to no end, just to think of these guys and their sense of freedom concerning sexual topics. Sex with these guys, but especially with my close friend Justin, was the subject of my continual obsession. I wanted to figure out how to set the stage for some kind of encounter. Luckily, in due time, opportunity finally knocked.
Our little clique decided to throw a little party at a nearby bar, to celebrate the end of the academic year. It was some of the greatest fun of my life. I don't think I've ever laughed as much as that night; my ribs were positively aching from it. We had never talked about sexual topics so freely either, free as we were finally from the stifling environment of the seminary, where one could be quite paranoid about spies and certain gossip reaching the administration, or God forbid, the Archbishop.
The party went into the wee hours of the night, and finally it was time to leave. We had to call a cab because of our extreme intoxication. I instructed the cabbie to take us to the seminary. But after a few seconds, Justin said, "Wait", and told the driver to take us to his family's house. "What's that about?" I said, a bit mystified. "I'm not ready to quit the party just yet. I think I have a few more drinks in me." "Uh, what about your family?" "Oh, they're out of town visiting relatives, no problem there. And my dad has an awesome liquor cabinet, and doesn't mind me using it."
I was both exhilarated and frightened at the same time. "What the fuck is going on?" I asked myself. "Don't worry," Justin said, "just a little nightcap is all. You can crash on the couch if you like."
We got to the house and opened the door. I followed him in, closed the door, and turned around to see Justin looking right into my eyes with a strange look. "Frank," he said. And then as if by automatic magnetism, we locked lips in a passionate, sloppy kiss. I was shocked and bewildered but I knew I wanted it more than anything, something I had fantasised about for a whole year.
I pulled away a bit and said, "Justin, I've never done this before." "Well, you've seen porn, right?" "Yeah, I've seen porn." "Well you just do what you see there. And I've done it before so I can help you."
With that, he began to unbutton my shirt. I shuddered with both fear and pleasure, and I thought I might faint. Next he got down on his knees and began to rub and kiss my throbbing member through my jeans. "I've waited for this forever, Francis." "I have too, Justin" I said in a breathless voice.
I was shaking and breathing heavily. Justin looked up from his veneration and said in a sweet voice, "Don't worry, everything's fine." "I've never done this before," I repeated. "Francis, just be quiet and follow my lead."
End of part one
More to come!
A Seminary Memoir
By a Priest of the Roman Church
PART ONE
It was my first academic year of priestly formation in the seminary. I had already been through one preparatory "spirituality year" and was eager to go ahead to begin my two years of philosophical training. In six short years I will be a priest. It was amazing to think about. My life was on course, and I had peace and purpose.
I've always wanted to be a priest, even from the earliest days of childhood. Playing Mass with friends, and all that. I have always had a keen interest in all aspects of Catholicism. At the same time, there was another side of me that seemed to contradict this passion, another passion, a passion for men, for cock, for the exhilaration which comes from veneration of the beauty of the male form, for hairy chests and beards, for hard cocks and willing asses.
It was hard for me to tell sometimes which internal force was the strongest: the steady but intense spiritual side, the life of the soul, or the constant bubbling up of homoerotic desires from the subconscious into the conscious mind and my physical being.
To put it bluntly, I was an inveterate jack-off and porno freak, all the while I was reading theology and saying my prayers. With the help of the internet and an out of the way computer deep in my parents' basement, I was initiated into the mysteries of mansex, of sucking, and rimming, and fucking ... and even things like watersports and fisting. I was on fire with the need to experience these things for myself.
Riddled with guilt, at times I would steel myself to observe perfect chastity. This could go on for months at a time, but it would always end with a major explosion of pent up sexual tension, frenzied, almost manic, eruption of an insatiable lust, not to mention the backed-up cum which was making my balls ache.
With the goal of the priesthood in view, the spiritual side of things, the side which I was taught was inimical to the demands of the flesh, finally won out, or so it seemed. I was able finally to be abstinent for six months in preparation for entering the seminary. I really thought that I had turned a corner as I began my spirituality year.
But that confidence soon was shaken once I gave into auto-erotic temptation. I had no access to porn any more (the seminary maintained a very strict web filter), but that only heightened my awareness of the male beauty which constantly surrounded me: not just young virile seminarians but also a few priest-professors who were incarnations of the "silver fox" so desired by many gay men.
The seminary even had a gym and a swimming pool, which obviously only multiplied and magnified my sexual frustration. The vision of sleek, muscular male bodies weight training, pumping and grunting and sweating. And then the vision of the same bodies with bare flesh doing their laps in the pool, and then finally rising out of the water, wet dripping muscles and the outline of their cock showing through their soaked trunks. Add to this the fact that many of the priests used these facilities, thus feeding the fire of my intense love for older men.
But these things, while they concerned me, did not daunt me completely at this point. I was able to avail myself of frequent confession, which I thought would help me root out this grievous "thorn in the flesh" entirely. Week after week I returned to the confessional and confessed my habit; the priests were always completely bored and nonplussed by these revelations, so weary they were of hearing the same seminarian jack off stories over and over, accounts which almost certainly reflected the secret habits of these priests themselves.
This went on until I became weary and discouraged: returning week after week, for a whole year, to confess the very same moral failing over and over again. I began to give in and surrender, just as Oscar Wilde (inveterate sodomite he was!) so wittily recommended: "The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it... I can resist everything but temptation." I did not have my porn, but I had the "eye candy" which I stored in my mind (what is referred to colloquially as my "spank bank"), a treasury which could be accessed at any time to allow raw communion with my most treasured organ and its glorious seed.
I assumed that most of the seminarians were gay, or at least had homoerotic tendencies. This is the Catholic priesthood, after all, which along with male nursing and wedding planning, couldn't get any gayer. Most of the guys, wanting to toe the Church's moral line, managed to hide and perhaps even to suppress their desires to some extent. These guys were mostly conservative, almost evangelical guitar playing wretches, with their inane "JPII" "World Youth Day" type piety ("Dude, are you going to all night adoration? We have some great praise and worship songs planned!").
A handful of seminarians, however, seemed to be a very different than the others, a kind of clique of guys with the same interests and even attitudes and ways of acting: not quite effeminate or camp, but masculine men having about them an air of sophistication, certain cultural refinement, biting humor, and a breezy cynicism about pious enthusiams and seminary policies. These guys, I thought, are without a doubt the "gay contingent", and I began to wonder how I might infiltrate their little cabal.
A seminarian's first year in philosophy is usually seen by older seminarians as the realm of the annoying and the immature, naive toddlers if you will. But something changed when I returned for my second year. I began to command a bit more respect, especially from the younger guys as to be expected. But what I had not expected was the beginning of the attention of certain members of that "gay mafia". I notice more smiles, more hellos, even what I thought might be some interested glances.
Finally, one of the cabal, a fellow by the name of Justin, approached me one day in the refectory. "Hey, Francis, why don't you come and eat with us?" "Sure! Why not?" I said as my heart jumped inside. "These are my people", I thought, "guys who will understand me!"
I also found it fascinating that the group seemed to have the favour and friendship of a handful of the faculty members. One priest in particular, Fr Bruno, a sexy-as-fuck Italian daddy type (early 40's I think), was a regular fixture at our sacrosanct "gay table" in the refectory. He taught, interestingly enough, moral theology, and was known to be a bit of progressive on certain questions, which put him at odds with the more conservative faculty members.
So I began to eat with these guys and Fr Bruno, but I developed a particularly close friendship with Justin. We would joke together, talk about all things sacred and secular, and even touched lightly and humorously upon more delicate personal subjects:
"Oh my God, guys, you would not believe the interesting sounds coming from Francis' room all hours of the day and night! What on earth is going on in their, Frankie?"
"Well, I heard that all the dorm shower drains were so clogged up with, uh, sticky biological stuff, that the plumber had to work for days to clean it all out!"
"Well, St Jerome's is a notoriously promiscuous place. The Holy See did an apostolic visitation there, but it doesn't seem to have made much difference! They're still as camp as ever!"
This was the kind of subtly suggestive ribbing that went on amongst us, which encouraged me to adopt a much more freer, less dramatic approach to my own sexual drives. Even Father Bruno would laugh and give half-serious disapproving looks at the cheeky comedians.
This joking also turned me on to no end, just to think of these guys and their sense of freedom concerning sexual topics. Sex with these guys, but especially with my close friend Justin, was the subject of my continual obsession. I wanted to figure out how to set the stage for some kind of encounter. Luckily, in due time, opportunity finally knocked.
Our little clique decided to throw a little party at a nearby bar, to celebrate the end of the academic year. It was some of the greatest fun of my life. I don't think I've ever laughed as much as that night; my ribs were positively aching from it. We had never talked about sexual topics so freely either, free as we were finally from the stifling environment of the seminary, where one could be quite paranoid about spies and certain gossip reaching the administration, or God forbid, the Archbishop.
The party went into the wee hours of the night, and finally it was time to leave. We had to call a cab because of our extreme intoxication. I instructed the cabbie to take us to the seminary. But after a few seconds, Justin said, "Wait", and told the driver to take us to his family's house. "What's that about?" I said, a bit mystified. "I'm not ready to quit the party just yet. I think I have a few more drinks in me." "Uh, what about your family?" "Oh, they're out of town visiting relatives, no problem there. And my dad has an awesome liquor cabinet, and doesn't mind me using it."
I was both exhilarated and frightened at the same time. "What the fuck is going on?" I asked myself. "Don't worry," Justin said, "just a little nightcap is all. You can crash on the couch if you like."
We got to the house and opened the door. I followed him in, closed the door, and turned around to see Justin looking right into my eyes with a strange look. "Frank," he said. And then as if by automatic magnetism, we locked lips in a passionate, sloppy kiss. I was shocked and bewildered but I knew I wanted it more than anything, something I had fantasised about for a whole year.
I pulled away a bit and said, "Justin, I've never done this before." "Well, you've seen porn, right?" "Yeah, I've seen porn." "Well you just do what you see there. And I've done it before so I can help you."
With that, he began to unbutton my shirt. I shuddered with both fear and pleasure, and I thought I might faint. Next he got down on his knees and began to rub and kiss my throbbing member through my jeans. "I've waited for this forever, Francis." "I have too, Justin" I said in a breathless voice.
I was shaking and breathing heavily. Justin looked up from his veneration and said in a sweet voice, "Don't worry, everything's fine." "I've never done this before," I repeated. "Francis, just be quiet and follow my lead."
End of part one
More to come!






















