---
title: 'Part Four: A Quick Learner In The First Grade'
---

### Part Four: A Quick Learner In The First Grade

Date: Thu, 19 Jun 2003 19:21:22 -0500
From: gloryhole JUNKIE <gloryhole_junkie@hotmail.com>
Subject: Whoring With Dad 4

Whoring With Dad
Part Four: A Quick Learner In The First Grade

By: Mr. GloryholeJUNKIE
Contact him (he loves guys):
gloryhole_junkie@hotmail.com

The author reserves all rights to the following tale. You may read it aloud
over the P.A. system while attending your next dads'n'sons exclusive
"fishing" weekend at the remote Camp Waggapoppicock. Or you may freely jerk
off to it as you spend a coffeebreak in the exec toilets at work reading it
(be sure to leave excerpts of this TrueTale in the stall then for other
corporate dads to find ...and enjoy). And you may pass it around to all the
other hung and horny dudelettes from your school while you're all at the
next tree house circlejerk. You may even leave it up on your monitor screen
for your own father or son to discover "accidentally". But please do NOT
publish or re-print it without the author's direct written consent.


DISCLAIMER:

Please refer to all other disclaimers, which are attached to previous
chapters of this, my childhood introduction to the Wonderful World of Daddy
Milk.

Preface:

Surprisingly, some of my masturbating readers have had moments of enough
self-discipline to actually remove their furiously milking hands from
throbbing, drooling erections in order to scratch their heads (their other
one) as they ask, "What becomes of a small child as is depicted in this true
life account when he has been exposed to such multiple, intense and hardcore
sex with numerous, anonymous adult men?

I can answer that!

He grows up to be addicted to sex; hungry for semen out of most every other
male's scrotum; and capable of insatiably servicing upwards of one hundred
men in any given day. He's that guy whose cummy mouth is glued to the public
gloryholes at the adult bookstores you fellas frequent for quickie head; the
dude that all the other dudes in your state are popping loads of cum into
during the workday. You know him; he's the happy deep-throating dicksucker
whispering for you to unzip; to shove your boner between his sperm-smeared
lips. He's the smiling cockpig who you know has just sucked off twenty-five
guys before you in that line for his services...yet who is always happy to
accommodate your boner ...and those of another busload of horny blokes.

So, what's the secret to raising a boy to be happy and successful while at
the same time continually molesting him in a most hardcore manner among
innumerable strangers throughout his childhood and adolescence? Why is this
young boy not dead from a self-inflicted gunshot wound by age eleven? Why is
he not a drug addicted dollar-a-suck streetkid by fifteen? Why is he not in
and out of psychiatric hospitals instead of attending college? Why is he not
arrested multiple times as a young adult as he services the public toilets
and darkened alleys of his fair city?

I think I can answer all that, as well!

It's ultimately all about the boy in question being a "natural born" whore.

Most cumpig whores are "made".

They are fellas who grew up with numerous older brothers or uncles "abusing"
them as they'd shoot cum down their unhappy baby bro's throat anytime they
felt like it,.

Or they're the guys, that while their single moms would be out at work
selling cigarettes and Wild Turkey 101, their baby butts would be raped
night after night by one of her always-rotating cast of loser boyfriends.
(Sidenote to aging single moms: you know you're on the sexual skids when
you're getting screwed twice a week by the latest 9-inch dicked
live-in...and yet your own toddler son is getting it ten times a week from
the hung lug).

Or they were lonely, abandoned kids growing up. Desperately seeking male
bonding, they allowed the entire orphanage's middle-aged physicians to get
their rocks off inside their little butts night after night while they'd
make their secret rounds.

Meanwhile, other kids simply don't get much food in this unbalanced economy.
And therefore, the littlest trailertrash often will let men shoot cum down
their throats in exchange for Twinkies and soda pop. A McDonald's Big Mac
buys entry to their butthole.

In each aforementioned case though, the cumpigs were made. Oh, they may get
hooked to the sex and sperm later on -- but their primary, initial incentive
in letting men mount them often stemmed from anything and everything other
than the love of it.

As is true in all walks of life, some people are "made" while others are
"born" to be whatever it is they shall become. Kids aggressively hawking
lemonade at age seven will often grow up to become business moguls. Other
boys swinging from their parents' balcony to the limb of the oak tree...only
twelve feet away...may find themselves ten years later in the Olympics (or
traction). Some kids doodle and become artists. Others think addition is
more fun than masturbating...and wind up being Calculus professors.

The boy in this story though was a natural-born whore. A little kid
willingly pulling men's big penises out of the fly of their trousers and
voraciously sucking each off till the men blow semen into his mouth? Such a
kid is destined for only one thing.

He's a different breed of boy and cumpig whore, if you will. Sucking and
drinking semen out of men comes to him as naturally as breathing air. Not
needing much (any) coercion, he's a kid hungry for cocks and semen.

Having been this little boy when growing up, I can attest that such kids do
exist. I'd have unzipped men everywhere even earlier than is depicted in
their tale, had I known it would be so easy.

Even as first-grader, I loved to squeeze men's bulges and then reach my
little hand into their flys in order to feel their warm, hairy penises. I
had a lustful thirst for semen. Perhaps it could be argued that my natural
fondness for milky reproductive seed was due to the fact I must have been
exposed, in some capacity, to drinking semen from an even earlier age than
is depicted in this story. If that's true, I simply don't recollect it (but,
quite frankly, I don't recollect anyone ever changing my diapers...yet they
were indeed changed).

Perhaps it's a rarity, but because of my innate love for sex with many adult
men, I was able to both enjoy it and put its relevance into some
perspective, even as a very young child.

I learned early on what men enjoy and shared in their inner-most and most
depraved secrets. I learned what businessmen and teachers and firemen and
grocers had beneath their clothing. As a little boy, I knew exactly what I
was looking at when I would stare at men's crotches. I loved to go into
public men's rooms to stand eye-to-penis with all the adult men who would
happily unzip along side of me.

And perhaps because it was always a happy part of my growing up, I knew that
the sex with all these men had no real correlation with going to school or
staying away from drugs or whatever other leaps of logic some other boy
whores mistakenly make.

So I was always capable of happily running off to school each morning, be an
exemplary student, and then, after classes, happily run over to the men's
rooms in the park to suck off a dozen strange adult men.

And oddly enough perhaps, I associated drug usage with music and not with
continual sexual molestation. It never occurred to me that it was the least
bit logical to want to shoot up dope just because a big-dicked adult man had
squirted sperm in my butt (although, I will admit, I did shudder a bit
whenever I'd hear a Janis Joplin song on the radio).

And I was given free-access to being the little instigator. I was provided
with a lot of opportunity to have and be available for sex. A knowing adult
realizes all that has to happen is the "occasion for sin" (and the sin will
take care of itself). So I didn't have to get into more-deeply weird
situations just in order to have sex. I didn't have to run away from home or
beg murderous older men in a pool hall to give me two-bucks for bus ride to
the city park (and men's rooms). Such antics can really get a kid into
trouble!

When it came time to travel as a child, I seized every opportunity. I didn't
rebel; I embraced every opportunity. England? Germany? NYC? Going to school
or museums or soccer events were never at odds with my whoring. In fact, all
I'd think to myself as a junior high kid or high schooler was, "Cool! I can
suck down some Irish dad milk when I go to Dublin!" Or "Wow! It will be neat
to see the Acropolis ...and get to unzip Greek men!"

And when college rolled around, I seriously took it as a great learning
experience - an opportunity to open New Worlds (and a campus full of dudes'
zippers)! Study abroad only allowed me to see the great sites as well as
innumerable erections in XXXs around Europe.

And so, now at age forty, one will find a well-educated, well-traveled, very
happy masculine whore still addicted to draining scrotums by the cargo-load.
I can't honestly say being a boy cum dump harmed me in any way (sorry,
soccer moms...and Jerry Falwell).

But its also all in the perspective one takes, I suppose. There are those
men who think they were taking advantage of me as they unzipped and screwed
my seven-year-old throat. (WOW! To think that if some were in their
late-sixties at the time...they'd be nearing ONE HUNDRED today)!

Yet, when you think about it, I have always had this unique point of view
that its I who took advantage of them. A little kid getting into the
trousers of so many men? I cocksucking tot who could unzip most any adult
male he encountered? Heck, I felt up more trouser tents and gulped down more
manjuice than has any female hookers on the globe.

So, it's all in the way one looks at it. When I was in first and second
grades, as I tugged at men's zippers, opening them and freeing boners longer
than my head -- getting so many men to risk everything in their lives for a
grade-schooler's blowjob -- that's when one realizes its sometimes the
natural born boy whore taking advantage of his elders.

______________________________

Whoring With Dad
Part Four: A Quick Learner In The First Grade

By: Mr. GloryholeJUNKIE



My rosebud hurt in a dull way for days following its severe deflowering that
first time at the Lawson Y.M.C.A.. Yet, the very next day after being the
subject of my first, hardcore pedo gangbang, I went to school like any
normal day. My mom asked if I slept okay when she saw me gingerly make my
way to the breakfast table. She felt my forehead but was quickly satisfied
that I didn't have a fever. My dad, sitting beside me, tweaked my earlobe
and said that it was on account of our over-doing it at the beach the
previous afternoon.

"Well, just be sure not to fall asleep in school", my mom said to me. "I
have to work this evening again but I'll tell Maria to make sure you get in
a nap when you come home this afternoon."

Maria was our maid at the time. She was a nice lady but fat and spoke little
English. I wound up in my room anyway when she would be vacuuming for over
an hour so there was little reason to tell her to make me nap.

"Next Wednesday, Kevy and I have another date, by the way," my dad said to
my mom as he took a sip of his coffee and then tightened his suit tie.

I perked up immediately. Date? With my dad? Cool!

"What's Wednesday?", my mom asked. "Isn't that the night you're going
out-of-town for that fisherman thing?"

"Angler's Workshop," dad corrected. "Yeah...and I thought it might be nice
for Kevin to join me. Learn a thing or two about rods and reels."

"You have to be joking", my mom said. "There's time enough for him to learn
about redneck living, darling. Isn't it bad enough he's got a father who
attends such ridiculous workshops?"

My dad smirked and said, "Time he learns what else men enjoy other than
making a buck on books."

"He has school," my mom said.

"It's one freaking day. He'll still have two months of school to catch up on
first-grade spelling and finger-painting...don't sweat it", my dad replied.
"I'll pick him up after school Wednesday and we'll head straight out."

"Well, I have to call the school and let them know", my mom conceded. "He'll
miss Thursday's classes next week then".

"Yup", dad said as stood and he took a last swig of his orange juice. He was
so tall and handsome as he loomed over me. He smelled clean of soap, shaving
cream and a bit of the starch in his crisp shirt. As I ate some toast and
kicked my feet on the chair as my legs dangled, I did all I could not to
stare too openly at his big suit bulge while my mom was watching.

I had no interest in fishing but my heart leapt knowing I'd be spending a
whole night alone with my dad at a hotel somewhere.

My dad patted my head and said, "You and me...next Wednesday!" He then
grabbed his suit coat and asked my mother if she was ready to go.

We lived only a few blocks from my school, so usually, I took a taxi there.
Or depending on time schedules, and if they felt like taking the car out of
the garage (rather than grab a cab themselves to work), my mom or dad would
sometimes drop me off. It wasn't until I was in the third grade that my
parents let me ride a city bus alone to and from school.

I liked taking a taxi since my parents had requested of the company that
only two or three regular cabbies be scheduled to pick me up each morning
and then again after school. I got to know each driver pretty well; each by
their first names. One was a real nice man in his mid-forties named Arlo. He
told me he was from Yugoslavia. His wife and four children, two boys my same
age, were still there so he often told me that he especially enjoyed picking
me up each morning in order to have time to talk with me since I reminded me
of his sons.

It was a beautiful morning as I arrived down in front of our building and
said a quick hello to our doorman. Already at the curb, sitting behind the
wheel of his big Yellow Checkered cab was Arlo. I opened the passenger side
door, tossed in my bookbag and then jumped into the front seat as I always
did with him. The very first week of school, months earlier, when I first
took a taxi all alone, I recall getting into the back seat like any other
passenger. But then one morning Arlo and I were talking so much that he told
me I could sit up front as long as I didn't mess with the fare meter or his
giant mug of hot coffee.

It was springtime so I was wearing shorts with my uniform blazer and tie.
Even as a little kid, it never made any sense to me that it could be so warm
outside as to warrant short pants yet still be required to wear our little
woolen blazers and ties.

There was something different about Arlo that morning. Or perhaps it was
something different within me. But as I sat beside him, for the first time,
I became keenly aware of his massive forearms and biceps. Perhaps it was the
fact it was warm and he had the windows down and wore a cheap short-sleeved
shirt, which clung to his muscles, but he was all of a sudden ferociously
and wonderfully male.

I looked him over, my glance landing on the big mound between his legs as he
pulled out into traffic. When I looked up, I realized that his eyes had
caught me scanning his body.

"What you think about this good morning, my little fellow?", he asked with a
smile. His eyes, framed with crowfoot were intensely and deeply blue.

I blushed in embarrassment and looked out the window at all the people
standing on the street corners during rush hour. "Nothing", I said lamely.
"Just thinking about school."

Arlo laughed more to himself than aloud. "You like Arlo's big muscle? I
think this is the first time I don't have on my windbreaker jacket...is that
what you noticed?"

I looked back at him and he quickly flexed, for my enjoyment, his right
bicep, which was closest to me. "We Serbian men have big muscles", he then
added. "Take a feel of it."

I didn't hesitate at all. I leaned across the slippery vinyl bench seat and
grabbed onto Arlo's huge bicep with both my hands. They were still too small
to reach around the rock solid girth of it, especially when he flexed it
again showing off his strength.

"You like that, huh?", he asked me as he looked out the windshield to wait
for a light to change back to green.

"Yeah," I replied quietly. "It's amazing." Although my dad had big muscles,
his biceps weren't as massive as were this man's.

I looked out the front, as I gripped his bicep and could see throngs of
people crossing at the intersection three car lengths ahead. Arlo dropped
his arm and suddenly my hands were slightly pinned along the side of his
torso.

"I got you!", he teased, pressing my tiny fingers into his side, between his
torso and inner arm.

I giggled and tried to squirm away.

He did it again. He pinned my hands to him simply by tightening his arm to
the side of his strong body.

Then, when he released his teasing hold, without even thinking, I let my
hands drop to his right inner thigh. I could feel his rock solid thigh
through the inexpensive and stretchy material of his polyester slacks. They
were the kind I had seen one of my teachers wear often; the kind of slacks
that didn't require a belt.

Arlo seemed caught off guard and remained silent, just staring out into
traffic and then out his driver side window as my hand stayed in contact
with his inner thigh. It was so hard and warm down there.

Soon, I realized my fingers were brushing along Arlo's massive lump inside
his slacks. That's where men had all their big penis meat and yummy scrotums
of daddy milk. I remembered what Jerry had told me, that I should feel every
man there if I wanted to.

The silence was palpable as Arlo had stopped speaking yet continued to
cautiously glance around outside. The only sounds in the cab were a mix of
the fare meter occasionally clicking as we sat at the long red light, the
slightly-garbled voice of a dispatcher talking to other cabbies and of local
news playing almost inaudible low on the radio.

I could also hear that Arlo's breathing seemed to get a bit louder and
heavier. Without looking at me, he casually but deliberately spread his legs
ever so slightly, allowing even better access to my wandering hand. Soon I
was feeling him up, lightly squeezing the rock hard solidity of whatever was
behind his zipper. It felt huge to me even through his pants. My little hand
dropped lower and I discovered another enormous, but softer mass of bulge.
Surely, this contained what was the cab driver's scrotum. I felt it all over
and watched his rock hard mound pound and throb as I did so.

Suddenly a few pedestrians, jaywalking, passed closely by the vehicle and
Arlo quickly placed his huge hand over mine as to conceal it from peering
eyes. And the light turned green.

As we slowly moved forward, he eased his grip on my hand allowing me to
continue my exploration. I glanced at his face as he stared out ahead. He
looked both tense and enthralled.

I don't know what came over me, it was as if I simply knew that I had to
suck this big man off and drink his daddy milk. I knew he has four children
back home in Yugoslavia - wherever that was - so I knew for certain that he
must make gobs of daddy milk.

I tugged at his zipper tab and he stopped me. "You're a little, little boy",
he almost whispered, never really looking at me.

I tugged at the man's zipper some more.

"You should not be doing such things," he then said.

"I like it", I said to him. "Please?"

"Your papa know you do these things?", he asked as I felt his penis throb
some more inside his slacks.

I just shook my head but pulled his zipper all the way down. His bulge was
so big that I watched as a demanding mass of white underwear pushed out from
the open fly.

He again grabbed my hand as if to stop me from further exploration and said,
"But you are a good Catholic boy like I am a good Catholic man."

At the time, I really had no idea as to the relevance of that comment so I
tried again to squeeze his underwear bulge.

"No, no, you are a baby...", he said with protest only in his voice since
his grip of my hand had eased.

I reached into his fly and felt this huge, hot mass of cotton boxer shorts
and Arlo's cock through it. "I love to suck on men", I told him. "Can you
make the daddy milk for me that I love to drink?"

Again, we were stopped at a red light. We were only two blocks from my
school.

Suddenly, Arlo turned on his right-turn signal and forced his way over two
lanes of traffic. Honking sounded all around us but he was determined to get
through traffic. He finally got to the corner and made a right-hand turn,
although my school was in the other direction.

He drove along a block or two when he grabbed the black receiver of his
dispatch radio and said, "4900299 ...I am having tire problem."

"Can you make it back to the barn?", the woman's voice asked.

"Not big trouble and no", Arlo said. "I must just check on it. I will try a
gas station."

"Are you sure?", the voice asked in a most disinterested tone.

"Yes", Arlo replied. "It might be nothing but I will check."

"'K, 4900299", the voice said.

Arlo switched off his dispatch receiver.  He then turned to me a bit and
said, "We go somewhere I know."

Like most any cabbie, Arlo tore down the street, turned down some other side
street, and then onto another busy avenue until I was most disoriented. I
looked out the window and didn't recognize anything around us although he'd
only taken me on this spontaneous detour for fewer than two minutes.

A final hard left turn at 40mph brought us down a wide and rather bright
alleyway.

We slowly drove several yards down to the middle of the alley block.  That's
when Arlo pulled off to the shaded side of it in order to temporarily park
along side what may have been the back of a paint store or other
industrial-commercial space. My passenger side of the taxicab hugged a
massive brick wall.

He switched off the engine and we sat there for a moment in complete
silence. He looked around, scanning the area for people. Obviously he felt
it was safe enough since then, without saying a word, he opened the clasp of
his Sans-a-Belt slacks and quickly freed an enormously big boner. He was
younger than the men at the Y but had the same sort of funny skin on his
thick penis. It was all glistening in the sweet stuff that comes out before
the creamier daddy milk.

Arlo looked around and then grabbed the back of my head and guided my lips
to his mushroom cockhead.

I lapped and slurped at the wide piss slit of Arlo's penis, delighting in
the taste of his transparent ooze. All he did was groan upon first contact
with my tongue. His massive hand rested on my shoulder blade as he spread
his legs wider and started a gentle upward humping motion trying to get more
of his cock into my small mouth.

The blowjob could not have lasted more than a couple of minutes when he
started to tense and I could sense his penis was about to blow off some
daddy milk. He tried to push me off his cock as he approached his impending
orgasm but my lips and little hand clung to his pulsating shaft.

"You don't want this stuff to go in your mouth", he panted as he put up a
weak battle to remove my sucking mouth from his cockhead.

But I did and kept on nursing on the big-cocked cabbie.

"Its all sticky and not right for a little boy to drink...", he groaned.

Then, with just his massive cockhead wedged between my lips, Arlo lost his
control and milky fluid blasted out of him. It felt like a garden hose of
warm water had gone off in my mouth. He flooded my mouth in his daddy milk,
and all the while he tried to contain himself, moaning internally as he shut
tight his eyes.

I gulped and swallowed but still some spilled and even shot out between my
lips, flowing down his big penis shaft to soak his hairy nuts. The fly of
his slacks became saturated in a mix of his semen and my first-grader's
saliva.

Then suddenly he shoved me away and told me to sit up. I did as the man
said. As Arlo hurriedly stuffed his fat meat back into his slacks, I could
see a man in a heavy-duty gray apron and helmet coming toward us.

He stopped at Arlo's window and asked if everything was okay.

"Everything is fine", Arlo replied nervously.

The man wore heavy gloves and leaned into the driver's side window a bit and
smiled.

"Hi there.", he said to me.

"Hi", I replied in a soft voice. I was so mad that his apron covered his
crotch.

Then he re-directed his attentions to Arlo as he said, "I was just dumping
some stuff...welding a new fender onto a Thunderbird inside and saw your cab
again here. Just wanted to check things out..."
Apparently Arlo had used this same alleyway before for quick trysts.

"We were just about to go", Arlo again said with great tension in his voice.

"Okay, I just wanted to check see", the man in the welder's outfit said. He
then leaned in again and said, "Bye little guy."

Arlo re-started the engine and slowly pulled away from the side of the
building. He was a bit flustered and ashen.

"Is sumpthin' wrong?", I asked him.

"No, no...nothing is wrong", he replied. He switched on his dispatch radio
and told the woman he'd filled the tires; that they'd simply gotten a little
low on pressure.

We emerged from the alleyway where Arlo turned left and then sped off to
make the next green light.

Suddenly he broke the silence by asking, "That felt very good...but was
very, very bad."

I told him he made a lot of daddy milk even compared to other men.

He asked if I had done that before and I told him yes.

He looked over at me, scanned up and down my little figure seated beside him
and shook his head in astonishment.

"I should tell because you did that very good," he said. "So you can keep it
secret?"

I nodded and promised I would never tell. Arlo seemed hesitant but mildly
relieved to hear my pledge of secrecy.

We soon pulled up in front of my school just as the first bell was sounding.
I gave Arlo the money for the cab ride and he took it.

"I should not take this because you make Arlo happy this morning but I have
to show the company.", he explained.

"That's okay", I replied innocently, not understanding the connection
between his squirting daddy milk into my mouth and the taxi fare. I then
hopped out of the cab and raced to the side entrance where Sister Margaret
sternly said a good morning to me and observed that I was a little later
than usual.

Fortunately before I had to respond, since she'd seen me exiting the
taxicab, she filled in the gap by adding, "I suppose traffic on Michigan
Avenue was terrible though...always happens when the weather becomes lovely
like this morning."

I went to my home room, put my bag away in the cloakroom and then sat at my
desk, hands folded as usual.

Promptly, at the sounding of the eight-forty-five bell, when classes begun,
my teacher, Miss Allen, rose from her desk and told us to stand. As was
daily procedure, we all faced the crucifix on the wall over the door, made
the sign of the cross and then recited the "Our Father". As I said "...they
Kingdom come...", I happened to look down at my little blue tie and saw that
Arlo had splurted up some of his daddy milk onto it. We then pivoted
ninety-degrees to face the flag over the big windows and said the "Pledge of
Allegiance", throughout which I talked myself into figuring nobody would
really know what or from where the white streaks on my tie had come.

As we sat down, Miss Allen walked up and down the rows of little desks
handing out arithmetic coloring workbooks. "We'll be doing pages one and two
this morning, children. Do not, I repeat, do not, begin coloring on these
until I get back to the blackboard and tell you what I want you to do.", she
instructed.

When she got to my desk, she stopped and asked me why my tie was all messy.

I grew red and wanted to fade into the wooden seat of my desk.

"I don't know", I mumbled.

"Well, it's a mess...that's so unlike you, Kevin", she said. "Do you have
another one you can put on? We have an all-school mass this morning at ten
o'clock."

I shook my head.

"Well, it must be cleaned then," she said in a definitive tone. "Do you
think you can do that if I send you to the boy's bathroom?"

I nodded and mumbled, "I think so."

"Who will go with Kevin to the boy's bathroom?", Miss Allen asked of the
other boys. Until we were in the third grade, all students had to use the
buddy-system whenever leaving the class room, which included going to use
the bathroom.

This kid named Nathan raised his hand real fast. He was sort of my best
friend in school even though he always had to go to the bathroom to pee.

"Okay, Nathan and Kevin you may go to the boy's bathroom and nowhere else
along the corridors, please", Miss Allen said as she reached into her desk
drawer. "Here, Kevin, use some of this on that tie." She handed me a packet
of some liquid soap, which I took.

Nathan was already at the door to the corridor.

"And don't be forever, this time, Nathan," Miss Allen warned. "I want both
of you to do as much of this workbook as you can when you get back!"

In unison, Nathan and I said, "We will!", as we scampered out into the wide,
silent corridor. It was always rather exciting and scary to be allowed to go
alone, even though with a buddy, to the bathroom or to run an errand for
Miss Allen. The hallways were immaculate and yet a bit foreboding to a
seven-year-old when no one else was around. Everything seemed bigger and
shinier when not filled with other kids racing about.

And near the boy's bathroom, which was at the very furthest end of one long
corridor of classrooms and assorted strange doorways, hung an enormous
crucifix. The girl's bathroom was at the other end of the corridor
completely so it was always quite the boy's adventure to head off to the
boy's bathroom. And the bathroom itself was something like a giant bank
vault. One had to open an outer door and then a set of inner doors and then
turn a tiled corner to enter the main bathroom area.

Inside, there were three pedestal sinks directly alongside three porcelain
urinals - the sort that are molded as one large unit and reached from chest
height to the floor. Further down the wall, were three toilet stalls.

As Nathan went to use the urinal furthest from the sinks and closest to the
first stall, I stepped up to the sink nearest the urinals and stood on my
toes to turn on the faucet. I had no clue as to how to go about cleaning my
tie so, at first attempt, I simply leaned into the stream of water with it
still around my neck, and got it all wet. Quickly it became apparent that
was not going to work.

Nathan always seemed to have to unbuckle his pants and open them whenever he
had to take a pee. I don't know if perhaps he made a mess once or if his dad
taught him to do that in order to avoid making a mistake on his uniform
shorts or underwear. But he always opened them and let them drop a bit
around his thighs before peeing. To me it sort of looked like the way I
would take a pee - if I were maybe four years old.

We could both hear footsteps coming down the corridor and then the outer
doors open.

"Oh...hello boys", a deep, elegant voice boomed from behind us. I was just
tall enough to see the man's reflection in the mirror in front of me. It was
Father Reilly, one of the big wig priests at Holy Name. I saw him a few
times in church and in the hallways talking to the Principal but had never
talked to him directly before.

I was so nervous as Nathan and I coincidentally, and in near unison,
mumbled, "Good morning Father, how are you?", as was the standard greeting
we were taught whenever encountering our elders.

"Fine, boys. And how are both of you this morning?", he replied.

"Fine, thank you, Father", Nathan and I also both said through rote reply.

Father Reilly was a very handsome, tall and trim man with some gray hairs at
his temples. I always figured him to be older than my dad but not super old
- perhaps a man in his middle-forties.

"What home room are you from?", Father Reilly asked.

"Room 4", I replied.

"Therefore you two boys are in the first grade?", he asked.

And Nathan quickly yes.

"There is an all-school mass in just over an hour which I will be
officiating. Does your teacher know you boys are in here?", he asked as he
strode up to the urinal directly beside the sink where I was trying to
figure out how to wash my tie.

"Yes, Father", Nathan said. "Miss Allen gave us permission to be here."

Father Reilly's hip was nearly level with my shoulder as he unzipped his
black slacks. I don't know why but I had never before considered that a
priest might have to ever pee! As he unzipped and reached into his fly to
extract his super long, flaccid penis, he looked down at where I was working
and asked what I was doing.

I blushed as it forced me to look toward him to answer. Seeing his big soft
cock was almost too much. I could see it was very thick and had that same
funny skin on it like so many other men.

I mumbled out, "I got a stain on it and Miss Allen wants me to clean it." I
looked passed Father's meat to see that Nathan was also looking directly at
it - his mouth slightly open in astonishment.

Suddenly, Father reached into his fly again, before starting his flow of
urine, to heft out his huge scrotum. He could see we were both staring and
simply said, "When you get to my age, you don't have to pull your pants down
like yours are...but you still want to get everything out of the pants."

Dangling before our wide eyes, only a foot from my shoulder, was his
magnificent penis and huge bull balls, lightly sprinkled in hair. I watched
as he began to pee. Nathan was long done urinating but still had not pulled
up his pants.

Father stared at the institutional tile work ahead of him, his arms akimbo,
exposing himself fully to we boys on either side of him.

Then as his stream of pee slowed, he took his right hand and gently shook
off his penis. But he still did not put it back into his pants. It just hung
there with him very slowly, almost imperceptibly, milking it a few times. He
pulled on it a few times giving some indication of how long it must get when
erect. How I just wanted to lunge at the man's long penis and suck it down
my throat. But I couldn't with Nathan standing right there.

Then he very slowly stuffed his soft cock back into his slacks and zipped
them up. He stepped away from the urinals one or two paces and turned to
Nathan. Seeing that the boy still had his pants and underwear down to his
thighs, Father said, "Here, let me help you with these." And before Nathan
could even react, Father Reilly squatted behind the child and like any
father, or any dad, he pulled up the boy's pants. I saw him quickly reach
his hands into Nathan's pants as he tucked in the boy's shirt and zipped him
up.

Father then stood up again and said, "There. Now you're ready for Miss Allen
again."

Nathan, all red-faced, said a meek, "Thank you, Father."

Then Father Reilly turned his attentions toward me. "Now, how can I help
you?", he asked, seeing I was having problems washing a tie.

He came over to the sink beside mine and washed his hands. As he dried them
on the cloth auto-towel dispenser, he asked what it was that I had gotten on
it.

I knew it was cab driver sperm but couldn't tell Father Reilly that. And so
I simply said that I didn't know.

"Well", he said. "First things first. You should take off the tie before
getting it all wet like that." He came up behind me and I could feel
Father's body heat warm my back and head as he pressed into me.

He loosened its knot and pulled the tie off my neck. He looked closely at
the soaked navy blue tie. "Hmmm, white streaks here and there...its not
bleach though," he said with some curiosity.

He filled the sink with water. "What is this?" he asked looking at the small
pouch on the basin.

"That's some soap Miss Allen gave for me to clean the tie.", I replied.

"Good", Father Reilly said, squeezing some into the basin of cold water.
"We'll try this and see what happens. The entire time, the tall man stood
behind me, reaching around me to wash and rinse my school tie. A number of
times, I could feel his bulge pressing into my shoulder blades. If Nathan
hadn't been there, I'd have done as Jerry has instructed, even though Father
Reilly was a priest and all.

Father rinsed my tie a few times under the faucet and looked at it again
carefully. "It's still sort of in there", he said. "But not as bad as it was
before...strange...I wonder what it could have been? I can think of only a
couple of things that stain that way..."

Father stopped his thought in midstream as if he'd caught himself saying too
much. "Well, it should be clean enough by mass time if you can get it to
dry." He said. "Tell Miss Allen to lay it flat by the open windows in your
classroom."

"Thank you, Father", I said to him. Still pressed into my back, he patted
the top of my head and said, "You are most welcome and I'll be looking for
you two in the front pews...that's where your class sits at the all-school
masses."

As he stepped away to dry his hands again, I know for certain I could tell
his slacks were all tented where men get their big boners.

"You two get back to class as soon as you're all done there!", he said as he
exited the bathroom.

Nathan and I stood there in silence perhaps a minute before he started
giggling, "Did you see Father's wanger?"

I nodded and grinned, "YES! Really big, big wanger!"

"I didn't know that they even had wangers like our daddies and us", Nathan
admitted as he continued to giggle. "And his was like the size of my whole
head!"

"I know", I agreed, secretly wishing that Nathan had fallen down his urinal
so I could have sucked it for Father.

"And did you see his big ball things?", Nathan continued. "He could like
play baseball or something with it!"

I laughed and said we better get back to our class room. I picked up my tie
and we returned to roam the vast corridor, which was still empty.

Nearly an hour later, as our class began to line up to head over to the
Cathedral for Mass, Miss Allen handed me my tie from the large window sill
where it had been laid out to dry in the April morning breezes that came
through.

"Here, Kevin", I think it's dry enough for you to put on for Mass. "You did
a fine job cleaning it although tell your mother you should get a new one
soon." She then helped me to re-tie it as she counted heads and had us form
a line according to our heights.

We had a monthly all-school Mass where all the grades came together for a
larger ceremony than were the regular daily masses. There were more songs
sung, more priests on the altar and more people from the city in the
congregation in the back rows. The front half of the Cathedral was reserved
for all the classes. As first graders we got to sit right up front.

Before most masses, one or two priests would hear confessions for an hour or
so.
And as we filed into church, I just happened to spot Arlo, my cab driver,
exiting one of the confessionals in the rear back. He looked all drawn and
nervous as he then slipped into one of the back pews planning apparently to
stay for mass.

The archbishop said mass. And there beside him, on his right, stood Father
Reilly and on his left stood another very young priest.

As one of the eighth-graders went up to the pulpit and began the first
reading, oddly, for the first time in my young life, I looked around the
immense church and thought to myself, "Wow, I've seen and felt the big
penises of two adult men who are right here at this Mass!"

MORE TO COME...
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