Jockbod48 said 'Not the marrying kind'Boy, that phrase evoked an old memory!
Before I'd heard the word 'gay'- the summer of 1967 - when I was 18 - after my mother found out I'd been having sex with 2 brothers for almost 2 years - she'd done more than hint for me to consider the priesthood, but in nice ways. We compromised and I spent the spring taking evening courses in becoming a hospital orderly in order to work for free in a Catholic charity hospital.
I had to work with Michael a 22 year old priesthood noviate, tall, blond, green eyed, unbelievably gorgeous and muscled... with a huge
bulge in his pants. One day as we were changing a bed sheets with a comatose patient in it, I asked why he was becoming a priest.
"I'm not cut out for marriage" he said.
To that I ignorantly replied, "I'm not sure that I'm cut out for marriage either."
I had no idea "not cut out for marriage" was part of the southern gay code/slang/dialect (called 'dropping hairpins') for 'homosexual tendencies'. After that the priest-in-training went from being 80% friendly to 2000%. I was dumb and didn't think his extra friendly attention could lead to sex - afterall he was a celibate priest!!!! He had no money but I began taking him across the street for lunch... taking him for rides after work, to my home to introduce him to my mother who was quick to invite him for dinner.
On a morning before Michael was coming home for dinner Mom called to say her ill sister in France was close to death. She was flying there that afternoon... She'd called the parrish priest to see if Michael could stay with me until she came home. All I would have to do was warm things. I told Michael and he was fine with that... In retrospect, maybe he was too fine with it. He said if I gave him the money he would buy us a bottle of whiskey and he could see about spending the night away from the rectory... seeing that was only 18 and shouldn't be left unsupervised in my mother's absence.
When I picked him up early that evening he had the whiskey The priest had agreed for him to stay until Mom of my dad (who was TDY in Iran) returned. I was still dumb about it... i mean ... there's no way a priest could be setting things up for sex
... at least as far as I knew at 18 in 1967.
the first night my girlfiend came over and ate with us but didn't stay long after. As soon as she left we got into the whiskey. After a it of booze my teen libido came to the fore with a plan to seduce the priest out of his clothes. I suggested we walk out to the creek behind our house for some skinny dipping. I went to the bathroom and Michael had stripped down to his underwear, ready to go.... In retrospect, maybe he was too ready to go.
At creekside, swigging out of the bottle, when we lost our whitey tighties I saw a reason he might not be cut out for marriage. His flacid cock was as big around and long as a beer can with as head on it that was even bigger. I went woody in 3 seconds even though I knew it was too big for me to do anything with.
Once we were in the water Michael stood up enough for me to see it hard. It wasn't a lot longer but definitely thicker with huge veins that looked size of garden hoses to me at that time... which was really bizarre to me at that age.
Back in the house we didn't dress and both of us did our best to conceal erections with our towels. Conversation turned to dick sizes and he pulled my towels away to inspect mine and wrap his hand around it... things proceeded pretty fast after that. I started fucking him in the living room floor, then on my bed a couple of times before he unloaded his butt of gizz. We showered, got ready for bed and did it again before we fell asleep and one more time before we had to head to the hospital the next morning.
That went on for more than a week, maybe two until Mom came home. After that we found time and excuses to get away to do it until it was time for me to get ready for Auburn University and a quickie wedding to my girlfriend. Michael was the first man I kissed and I suppose I was in love with him to some degree but there was no way at that time, in that era that I was prepared to accept my sexuality.
Then my wife died in 1970, my sophomore year, leaving me with a son who'd just started walking. Tough times being a single father and staying in school. I thought about dropping out. Frat brothers and their girlfriends helped out way more than could have been expected. Then, in my 3rd year at Auburn, on a June Saturday morning cutting through campus with my son standing in the front seat we were at Toomer's Corner headed east on Magnolia Ave when two blocks away I spotted a priest outside St. Michaels church and thought "It can't be."
It was him. Michael had been there over a year, and had been keeping up with me and my son from a discrete distance. Things started up for us again and lasted until spring 1973 when I moved to South Florida. The last I heard from him was that he quit the priesthood in the late 80's and moved out west.