I kissed and whiskered the ass of a priest one night. The priest was an old man, a barrel, and he was of the catholic faith. We were leaving a restaurant at the same time and met at the door. After a drink at the bar across the street, we wound up in his bed in the rectory of his church. He said, “Pull the covers up over us so God can’t see.” He had the sweetest little voice. You’ve never heard such a sweet voice in your life. Behind him, kissing and whiskering, I wore my jaw and my tongue out dead. As I went forward into him with my neck, he leaned back into me with his knees. It was like a kind and considerate arm-wrestling match but instead of arms we used sex and nobody wanted to win. He sang out in Italian as I fired my tongue, fired with my chin, with my entire face. He sang into his pillow as I tried to fill him. The further into him I managed to get, the higher and louder he sang. I imagined myself a musician playing his body like some kind of weird human horn, and his singing into the pillow sounded like an underwater choir. My neck started hurting so I stopped. The choir swam away. He stopped thrusting back onto me and the choir swam away. I tried fucking him for a little bit but I was too tired by then. I crawled up to lie beside him and we both fell sleep. When I woke up to go to the bathroom he was snoring in Italian. I got out of the bed and had to feel along the walls of his room for my way. My hand brushed and tilted a crucifix, then I straightened it in the dark. Once I found the bathroom, I flipped on the light. I saw blood on my chin in the mirror while washing my dick in his sink.
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