External Link/Members OnlyThe Sacrament of Penance.
I am sat in the Blessed Sacrament Chapel in private prayer and meditation before our Lord on the Altar. I will be following the recitation of the Rosary and the Litany of Our Lady, culminating with Benediction. And then I intend to go to Mass – a precious weekly privilege and joy. I am looking at a picture of Jorge Mario Bergoglio, Pope Francis, and thinking about his life and what brought him to where he is today and wonder about his frailties and flaws. As I study the picture, I see that he has a genuinely kind face and he looks all holy like, and I smile to myself. For all my sins there will be a price to pay, either in this life or the next.
If at the one moment in your life when the chance of something transcendental is offered to you, if you have this chance to move beyond the surface of things, to understand – and you say, No, maybe not….what then ? How do you explain the rest of your life to yourself ? How do you pass the time until you die ? Do you substitute for that an interest in what – punting ? do you spend the next 30 years trying to be fascinated by the act of breathing ? It is one of life’s great mysteries to me.
And so I make the decision that I need to confess all.
24 hours earlier I am sat in a public sector, old school meeting – this is the type of meeting which goes on for hours with no real purpose or agenda – they are just trying to make it get to lunch and no-one wants to make a decision, and we go around in cycles and I look at the participants and each and every single one of them are public sector 9-5 lifers, with their crap suits, Ford Mondeo’s and the constant worries over perceived job security. They aren’t interested in money, ambition or moving things forward as long as the sandwich van turns up on time. Wankers.
I’ve made a decision though. I’m going to indulge in 30 minutes of old school vigorous and enthusiastic perversion in the company of a fit young blonde. So as I emerge out of the car park I am ringing up Directors Lodge to make a booking with Emma, who will fit the bill nicely I reckon. And as I drive into Pinxton, I see a bloke walking down the road with an axe in his hand. Anywhere else I would look at this as being somewhat odd, but here it kind of doesn’t look out of place for some reason.
As I get out of the car, I look up and nearly bump into a young, fit brunette pushing a pram with 2 other kids in tow. I look at the kids and they are about 8-9 years old, but she only looks around 25 at the most. She looks like she could be a right dirty cow and as I cross the road, she clocks me and gives me a look of utter disgust, but I return the look with a confident and cocky smile.
I’m shown up to the room and pay the 12 notes and then strip off and start wanking myself over the scruffy porn mag, which I notice is even more glued together than the last time I was here, and this make me smile for some reason. And then Emma walks in and she looks all Catholic like, all milky white skin and Rosary beads. And I wonder whether Pope Francis would approve of her look – she looks holy. But the holy look does not translate to her mouth very much, as she starts off by looking at me wanking and saying ‘you look a right cunt, you do, have you been wanking yourself all week thinking about me ?’. I can’t imagine Mother Teresa coming out with that kind of pillow talk. Emma then tells me that she wants to see me fucked up properly and gets the bottle of poppers and tells me to sniff for 15 seconds and then hold it in for another 15 seconds – and this does the trick and the next thing the room caves in and I am on all fours whilst she sets about my cock and balls and I am trying to watch the action from the bed and through the nicely positioned mirror.
And Emma is confident and chippy and she looks like she runs or goes to the gym or plays squash or something like that as she looks athletic. And then she is ordering me to turn around and I do just about manage this without falling over and she is spitting into my mouth and I ask her if she will piss into my arsehole, but I am so fucked up that the words forming in me head are not the ones coming out of me mouth, and I look in the mirror and I look like a stroke victim, dribbling saliva out of the corner of my mouth, but Emma gets my drift and she gets me on all fours and pulls my arse hole open and very soon I feel a warm flow of piss running over and into my anus – and this feels weird and good at the same time, and as I am in this position and she is doing this, I think to myself that I ought to pop into B&Q next time to buy a funnel to help things along. And then she asks me to clean her cunt and arse hole out, which I willingly do and I get a taste of the piss and then my tongue is wedged up her arse a good few inches and I am enthusiastically eating it out and whilst this is going on Emma is telling me about all the cocks she had up there today and how I should get me wife to come over and she can have a go at licking out Emma’s arse as well. And at think about this and I reckon my wife would appreciate this somehow.
And I am back on the bed wanking my cock and Emma grabs me by the throat with one hand and feeds me poppers with the other and the combination of the 2 activities is both weird and pleasing. And then I ask if she would suck my cock and I finish on an amazing and awesome blowjob where she is biting my cock, spitting on it and using her fingernails. And my vision is going as I’ve overdone the poppers but quite frankly I don’t care and I know I will burn in hell. And then I come. And then weirdly I go into a coughing fit as a result of the poppers and the 20 a day habit I have and over bladderisation – and I feel the closeness of death upon me.
And now I’m sat in the Blessed Sacrament Chapel and I am partly reflecting on yesterday’s activities at the Directors Lodge and it is like I am looking back at a dream of something which I wasn’t involved in. Sometimes my whole life seems like a dream; occasionally I think that someone else has lived it for me. The events and the sensations, the stories and the things that make me what I am in the eyes of other people, the list of facts that make my life. I think about the kind of people I look up to and find inspiring – John Kennedy, Kathleen Kennedy, Gerry Adams, Mother Teresa, Pope Francis, Scott Wellend – and I realise that they are all flawed in some way.
And with unsteady legs and mind, I make my way to take the Sacrament of Penance. And as I make my way to the confessional, I am singing 'Let it Be' by The Beatles.
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