Read Online Alter Boys by Chuck Stepanek - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Chuck Stepanek
Ads: Link
discovered that dumping the snow over the curb meant ‘into the wind’ which created yet another dusting back to the sidewalk. An inept yet practical man, he modified, and dumped the snow on the other side of the walk; on the grounds. Fearing that he may have to justify his actions he began to form the words: ‘snow,’ ‘wind,’ ‘blow,’ ‘back.’ This intellectual dilemma preoccupied him as he reached the end of walk without realizing his progress. He was finished.
Walking back to the rectory a new dilemma surfaced: He was finished. Or was he? The priest had told him to ‘shovel the snow.’ And that’s what daddy had done. He had cleared all the sidewalks, but did that also include the rectory driveway? And what about the steps leading up to the church? He could ask the priest. A daunting proposition. First there was the matter of explaining that he had to throw the snow on the grass. Then it was the matter of asking if he should clear the drive and the steps. And there were other things. What about spreading sand or ‘Ice Melt.’ He looked in the direction of the rectory and thought about the intellectual and social labor it represented. Physical labor was better. He climbed the 13 steps to the entrance of the church and resumed pushing snow.
9
Gus was now fully planted . The sensation of manic sperm , all searching for an escape route , was maddening in his scrotum. He concurrently thrusted with his body to increase the sensation and withdrew with his mind to prolong the experience. He tried to think of benign things: Baseball scores, balancing his checkbook, last night’s “I Love Lucy” episode. He had learned to flick these images through his mind to help savor the sensation. But the boy. The boy and his perky bottom would win over his mental stopgap. “A light?! Just a l-l-light?” The tone was no longer harsh; it was desperate. “Heaven.” Thrust. “The angels.” Thrust. “You h-have to see th - the angels.” Thrust .
And now the boy squealed. Really squealed. Both from pain, and, had he been older and known the word, from mortification.
10
The 13 steps had been quick work. It was just a matter of pushing the snow under the railings and over the side. Daddy paused and relived the conversation with the priest. The priest had clearly said ‘sidewalks.’ He had not mentioned anything about the steps or the driveway. So that meant that daddy had done his job and had even done a bit more. He could go back to the rectory and tell the priest that he was finished but he would not mention that the snow on the back of the quad had been deposited on the grass and not curbside. It wasn’t that he intended to be deceitful, it was more a reflection of his inability to form the words to describe his totally justifiable actions.
Turning away from the church, he throttled the shovel by the neck, stamped his feet twice and began walking toward the rectory.
11
Corky was openly sobbing. Gus had made a few breathless attempts to get the boy to stop his sniveling (It was clearly distracting from the padre’s pleasure) and then he relented after determining it was a lost cause. Besides, he was almost there.
12
The human mind is an amazing thing. The lobes of the brain that control pleasure and pain are separated by a thin membrane. The same applies for the sensations of happiness and sadness, courage and fear, desire and repulsion. When any of these senses get over stimulated, impulses can jump the membrane and trigger a reaction from the opposite side. You can laugh until you cry. Cowards under great duress have been known to perform amazing acts of bravery. There’s even pain induced pleasure.
Until this night, Corky’s mind had been trained to lie dormant. He had the intellectual and psychological makeup of a small soap
Walking back to the rectory a new dilemma surfaced: He was finished. Or was he? The priest had told him to ‘shovel the snow.’ And that’s what daddy had done. He had cleared all the sidewalks, but did that also include the rectory driveway? And what about the steps leading up to the church? He could ask the priest. A daunting proposition. First there was the matter of explaining that he had to throw the snow on the grass. Then it was the matter of asking if he should clear the drive and the steps. And there were other things. What about spreading sand or ‘Ice Melt.’ He looked in the direction of the rectory and thought about the intellectual and social labor it represented. Physical labor was better. He climbed the 13 steps to the entrance of the church and resumed pushing snow.
9
Gus was now fully planted . The sensation of manic sperm , all searching for an escape route , was maddening in his scrotum. He concurrently thrusted with his body to increase the sensation and withdrew with his mind to prolong the experience. He tried to think of benign things: Baseball scores, balancing his checkbook, last night’s “I Love Lucy” episode. He had learned to flick these images through his mind to help savor the sensation. But the boy. The boy and his perky bottom would win over his mental stopgap. “A light?! Just a l-l-light?” The tone was no longer harsh; it was desperate. “Heaven.” Thrust. “The angels.” Thrust. “You h-have to see th - the angels.” Thrust .
And now the boy squealed. Really squealed. Both from pain, and, had he been older and known the word, from mortification.
10
The 13 steps had been quick work. It was just a matter of pushing the snow under the railings and over the side. Daddy paused and relived the conversation with the priest. The priest had clearly said ‘sidewalks.’ He had not mentioned anything about the steps or the driveway. So that meant that daddy had done his job and had even done a bit more. He could go back to the rectory and tell the priest that he was finished but he would not mention that the snow on the back of the quad had been deposited on the grass and not curbside. It wasn’t that he intended to be deceitful, it was more a reflection of his inability to form the words to describe his totally justifiable actions.
Turning away from the church, he throttled the shovel by the neck, stamped his feet twice and began walking toward the rectory.
11
Corky was openly sobbing. Gus had made a few breathless attempts to get the boy to stop his sniveling (It was clearly distracting from the padre’s pleasure) and then he relented after determining it was a lost cause. Besides, he was almost there.
12
The human mind is an amazing thing. The lobes of the brain that control pleasure and pain are separated by a thin membrane. The same applies for the sensations of happiness and sadness, courage and fear, desire and repulsion. When any of these senses get over stimulated, impulses can jump the membrane and trigger a reaction from the opposite side. You can laugh until you cry. Cowards under great duress have been known to perform amazing acts of bravery. There’s even pain induced pleasure.
Until this night, Corky’s mind had been trained to lie dormant. He had the intellectual and psychological makeup of a small soap
Similar Books
