Date: Sat, 15 Jan 2005 15:05:36 -0800 (PST)
From: GH JUNKKIE <gh_professional@yahoo.com>
Subject: "The Sexorcist" Pt 2

The Sexorcist  
PART TWO

By Mr. GloryholeJUNKIE
Gh_professional@yahoo.com


The Sexorcist  
PART TWO


Your Eminence, it was at that point in the evening of my second day in Port
Landings, while meeting with these men at Pelican Beak, that I waved over
our barkeep for myself.

I realize that despite not having an official problem with alcohol, I had
promised you privately that I would swear off further drinking after the
shameful episode seven years ago when I found myself in that Yuma, Arizona
motel room - and in bed with four men I didn't even know as we took turns
on one of the men's wife. I pledged to you at that time in private
confession that I would no longer imbibe, even if I were not a
diagnostically certified alcoholic.

But despite that sin of my past, and the sin in my betrayal of that vow I
made to you afterwards, too, I feel confident that no one (even perhaps
you) could have doubted my need for liquid fortitude. Listening to the
overwhelming story these men told me of what was seemingly a "supernatural
sex baby" would test any man's spiritual courage as well as his darkest,
wanton lusts.

And, also, I was proved correct in my earlier assessment of the two men who
sat across from me in that corner booth. As Mr. Keenan looked around the
room as best he could (since we were, for the most part, hidden from view
in an isolated booth on a very quiet evening in the bar), I asked him what
was the matter. I was shocked when he replied that he was "all horny again
just thinking about that possessed cum slut baby, Father." (Those were his
words verbatim).

At that point, I suggest we cease the conversation if it were too much for
them to handle without causing them a greater occasion of sin. I offered to
say Our Lord's Prayer with them but both men declined and said that they
needed to get everything off of their chests before they could pray. They
then asked me why it had taken so long for anyone to come to Port Landings
in order to address the salaciously horrific series of events surrounding
this child.

I assured them that the Church and the Holy Father himself had received
their correspondence, which they had sent three and half years ago. And I
explained to them that His Holiness, the Special "Rituale Romanum" Council
in Rome, as well as, yourself were greatly troubled by the letters ever
since. I tried to further explain to them that the official process for the
Church's investigation into such matters takes time as they are quite
scandalous and worrisome. In fact, in that light, I told them that their
claims had actually moved through the official Vatican bureaucracy
miraculously quickly. Since theirs was a claim involving such a small child
involved in such extremely distasteful sexual activities, the case became a
priority to the Church not merely for suspicion of demonic incarnation,
but, because it may prove to be a simpler case of sexual abuse, as well.

Hearing that, both of these men balked. They insisted that it was not just
a case of the boy's father or a consortium of men engaging in sex with this
child. As Mr. Fries stated plainly and simply, "You don't get it,
Father. There's something's up with that kid. Something's making him unlike
even the worst fucking slut working Times Square in New York City. He gets
men doing shit to him they'd never in a million years ever dream about
doing. That's why we never called the cops on 'im. Nobody's ever called the
cops. Whatever's going on with that kid - and since he's been a baby - just
ain't of this world, Father."

I then asked them to continue telling me what happened that night as they
spied through the child's nursery window. But just as they were about to
elaborate further, the barkeep stood behind us carrying our drink order.

As it was slow in the bar that evening, and it appeared that only he and a
dishwasher were on duty, I was afraid that this man had overheard us. And
he had. But instead of being shocked, Mr. Wendt Mendricks, the owner of
Pelican Beaks (as he identified himself), startled me when he said, "You
talkin' 'bout the creepy Smith kid? Man, you want to hear stories about
that wild little slut? I've heard whispers galore in here over the past few
years - things that'd make your curly hairs curlier."

I introduced myself to the man and quickly he apologized for making a
remark about pubic hair in front of me. I laughed it off, telling him that
we priests don't always wear the collar. I further I assured him, as I had
the others, that whatever might be revealed to me, no matter how immoral or
even how illegal a testimonial may be, each man was under the protection of
the Seal of Confession. He knew, therefore, that I would not - and morally
could not - breathe to authorities a word of anything he or the others
might say to me - no matter the gravity of what he had to confess or
describe.

I also explained to him that any official report made to His Holiness or
the Special Council in Rome would be certain to conceal the identities of
all participants. As this is but a letter to you, Your Eminence, I felt no
need to share with them the fact I'd be writing regular, casual accounting
of events here for your personal consideration and understanding.

Immediately, Mr. Mendricks began to rattle off hearsay stories to me about
the five-year-old in question. He related how, for many years now, he's
heard that the child would "seem to be calling for men to come around to
that hell house (his words) on Wharf Parkway where these men would then
find themselves - for reasons they could neither understand nor resist -
standing at an open window around the back of the house and 'getting head'
(fellatio) from the little kid inside."

Saying that, Mr. Mendricks, unwittingly told me where the other two men's
story most certainly must have been edging toward before his joining in on
the conversation.

He also said that for over a year now, he has heard - on numerous occasions
- male patrons of his bar "joking" late at night about how "some weird
little four-year-old cumbucket was sucking dicks in the parking lot of
'Midnight Books' (a local adult bookstore and theater on the outskirts of
Port Landings)".

"And that place is located more than six miles outside of town", Mr. Fries
interjected.

With that bit of information, I then asked the owner of Pelican Beaks how
such a small child could possibly find his way to an adult bookstore
parking lot in the middle of the night. I asked in whose company the boy
was, if, indeed, he were spotted there, (let alone, spotted committing the
acts he described). I asked if the boy's father was also seen in the
vicinity of Midnight Books on any of those occasions.

"I never heard nobody mention a car or a dad or anything like that",
Mr. Mendricks stated. "The kid's just there suddenly at one, two, in the
morning sucking dicks in the shadows of the parking lot. Some guys have
told me that it's like he just appears or flies there or something. If his
dad drives him there, he must just park somewhere else in the lot and watch
because I never heard anyone ever mention anyone being with the kid."

It was at that comment that I told him I was not looking only for mere
rumor but was, in addition, seeking first person testimonials for use in a
proper investigation into the situation surrounding the child. At which
point, Mr. Mendricks then said that as long as everything would remain
strictly confidential, he needed to finally tell somebody all that he
knew. And since the bar was nearly empty, he slid beside me in the booth.

Mr. Fries and Mr. Keenan spoke not at all other than to acknowledge that
they have long known Mr. Mendricks (and vice versa) but only
casually. "We're friendly", Mr. Keenan stated.

"Friendly but not what you'd call friends, if you know what I mean",
Mr. Fries added when asked about their relationship to the bar's owner.

"They come in every week", Mr. Mendricks said. "Pretty good customers I
guess. Even though I'm always busy in the back when I see them here some
nights. But my wife and I see you guys and your families sometimes at
church at St. Agnes."

"Your daughter works at one of the shops on the boardwalk like my Kathy
does", Mr. Fries said to the bar's owner.

Therefore, officially, I must document that these men knew one another in
what could only best be described as an informal although friendly
acquaintanceship. In a town such as Port Landings, it would be nearly
impossible to find any two persons who did not know either personally or
know something of the other. I therefore could only accept the fact that
these men had not engaged in conversation about the child with one another
prior to this moment at Pelican Beak.

I asked Mr. Mendricks what he thought of the boy's behavior. I asked him if
it seemed he was acting out as any sexually abused child might. Or if he
thought, as did Mr. Fries and Mr. Keenan, it might be something more.

And Mr. Mendricks' verbatim reply to me, Your Eminence, was the following,
"Well, let me put it to you this way, Father. If that kid's been trained -
whether by his daddy or any other group of men - he's been trained beyond
belief. You know - trained like a pro to suck and swallow - you know,
dick. Trained to take it up the ass. Trained to want it, even.  Hell, I
seen guys I know ain't into any fag crap at all - guys married for thirty
years - buddies of mine I've known since 'Nam that I know are only into tit
and twat - unzip when that kid tells 'em to unzip. So what is anybody
suppose to think?"

I asked him how a toddler or small child could possibly coerce or force
such a situation upon himself. I asked him, for instance, how he thought
the child in question "got" his father to "unzip" his trousers in order for
him to perform unnatural and illegal oral sex upon the man.

"No offense, Father", he replied. "But I got no fucking idea. When you see
this kid in action, its like...well, you know...like in those movies."

"Movies?", I asked him as I noticed that the other two men, as well, seemed
in agreement with that observation.

"Like in 'The Omen' or flicks like that", Mr. Keenan interjected. "It's
just like that. I mean, I thought that shit was just the movies, ya know?
But now I fucking got to believe that stuff goes on. Only it's weirder than
any movie - and scary as hell - cuz it's for real."

I assessed the three men to be neither flighty nor fanciful thinkers. My
opinion of these men was that each was a hard working, blue collar,
straight-shooting sort of husband and father. Yet, I asked them, "Do you
believe it may be at all possible that the child, his father or any man who
may have been involved with this child, has been influenced - knowingly or
not - by such stories and films?"

All three simultaneously and aggressively shook their heads. Mr. Mendricks
was particularly assertive in his reply of, "I've heard a shitload of
stories about that kid for almost four years now. Owning this here bar, I
hear everything that goes on in this county practically before the people
involved even know what's happening. Hell, I know more shit than the
Sheriff's department ever catches wind of half the time. But this kid? I
seen it, too, Father..."

"You've personally witnessed questionable occasions involving this child?",
I asked the bar's owner.

The bar's owner hesitated to elaborate at first until I again reassured him
that anything shared by he and the other men at the table would remain
bound by my vows of silence. He then asked the other two men if they were
sharing their encounters, too. After being guaranteed that they were,
Mr. Mendricks, seemingly assured of his own credibility (and yet,
observably embarrassed), continued by saying, "Yeah, I seen the kid in
action - personally. I ain't proud of that. But it wasn't my own doing how
I came to find out firsthand what sort of kid we're talking about here."

I asked him to explain what he had personally experienced.

"Man, this is hard to say, Father", Mr. Mendricks said as he lowered his
voice to an even quieter tone than that in which we'd already been
speaking. "I don't know how to say it, it's so fucking bad..."

I assured the bar's owner that he could tell us anything without fear of
any negative repercussions. I told him that mine was but a Church
investigation into what has been deemed by the Rituale Romanus to be
suspicious events of an unholy, and perhaps, demonically-driven nature.

Mr. Mendricks, clearly fearful, first looked over his shoulder before
saying, "I was one of them..."

"One of them?", I asked. "Can you explain what you mean by that?"

"I'm like most every other guy in this town is what I mean by that", he
answered. "I'm one more he got to."

I asked him if what he meant was that he had done something sexually to or
with the child in question.

Saying nothing, Mr. Mendricks nodded and lowered his head.

"Holy fuck. Just like us", Mr. Keenan confessed. "I tell ya, Father, that
kid is the source of all this shit. He's got the devil in him - got to be."

I seized the opportunity to then ask Mr. Keenan directly, "So what you're
saying is that you also did something with the child - sexually?"

"Me...and Ben here...both did. Man, I never said that out loud before",
Mr. Keenan said as he glanced over the top of the booth. "And now you know
its true cuz Wendt's telling you the same thing, too, Father."

"Which should be no fucking surprise. It ain't just me, too...or you guys
either", Mr. Mendricks angrily replied. "We all know half this county's
fucked a load or two at one time or another into that possessed little
spermbucket." He then turned to me and, almost pleadingly added, "You got
to understand, Father. It's not something we wanted to do. Not something
any of the guys around here necessarily wanted to do. Instead, it's
something that kid makes us do. Hell, I never touched another little kid
like him in my whole life!"

"We didn't either, man", Mr. Fries then said to Mr. Mendricks. "You think
me and Frank here went over to that freak house to screw a baby? You got to
know us enough to know we ain't into that shit."

"I got a grandkid myself", Mr. Keenan said. He then looked at me and
explained, "Our oldest daughter, Mary, got herself knocked up last year -
in her first year going to the community college. I ain't got no problem
with that. But you think for a second I want to screw my grandbaby, Father?
No. And the same's true with our buddy, Tom's boy. We didn't set out to
shoot cum into that little kid..."

"...He makes guys shoot cum in him", Mr. Fries said, as if completing his
friend's thought. "He - or something living inside of him - fucking makes
us do it."

I asked the three men, "So what you're saying is that each of you has
engaged in sexual acts with the child."

And all three men acknowledged that fact.

"But, like, me", Mr. Mendricks said. "It wasn't like I was looking to do it
or even thinking about it that night. Hell, I don't even know the kid...or
his father."

I asked the bar's owner to explain the circumstances surrounding his
personal involvement with the boy. He then asked me how much detail I
needed. I responded that the more detailed within my report, the better the
Church could. Perhaps, discover the source of the strangeness occurring
within their town.

He then told us again that as the owner of Pelican Beaks, he had long heard
stories circulating about "this kid over on Wharfside Parkway". The first
time he had heard any word of the boy, he and others in the bar that night
chalked it up to being the lewd ravings of a boisterously drunk biker. He
said that he and others laughed it off and that other Harley buddies of the
man helped remove the man from the bar.

But quickly after that first instance, he began to hear other male patrons
on other nights - patrons who were not at all noticeably inebriated -
whisper similar (even sometimes, exact) same stories about "this baby boy
in town who was begging for cum".

I asked him what he thought of such stories when he heard them coming from
so many other, unrelated people.

Mr. Mendricks shrugged as he told me that one hears a lot of "shit" when
one runs a bar in a working class town such as Port Landings. He told me
that over the years he's heard rumors about dead bodies in freezers and
gold nuggets hidden in cannery storage tanks and how some teen girl was
selling her high school twat to anyone for a dollar a pop. He quickly
asserted that each story proved not only to be unsubstantiated, but
certifiably untrue. He said that the high school girl in question, for
instance, was, in fact, the daughter of the Sheriff and the rumor was
revenge for his arresting a meth dealer.

Therefore, he said, that for months, he and others just ignored or joked
about the stories surrounding, as he said "some little boy constantly
hungry for cum". He confessed that he, like most other men in town, figured
that anything said were plainly outrageous stories intended to titillate
other guys after hours. "Every guy likes a good hard-on story, Father",
Mr. Mendricks said. "I mean, no offense, Father, but it was just like they
were swapping the nastiest tales they'd get off the Internet or
something. Urban legend shit in our own town. You know? Let's face it,
Father, there are men who will even beat off to all the stuff your fellow
priests are doing with little kids. You got to admit that some of that
stuff you priests do - no matter how twisted - makes for good hard-on
stories - you know, when a guy's horny. Not that he'd do any of that shit."



MORE TO COME...

"The Sexorcist", COPYRIGHTED 2005 to the Pen Name, "Mr. GloryholeJUNKIE"

This story is not to be use in any capacity or forum without the author's
prior, written permission. Any similarity of situations and/or names of
persons and/or places used in this story and those in "real life" would be
completely coincidental.

Gh_professional@yahoo.com
COMPLY WITH ALL LAWS IN YOUR AREA.

