Epilogue

Maria had gone away for two months with her parents to their country house in the Ardèche, where she was bored. The village square, five kilometres from the house, took on a festive air in the evenings with its multicoloured lanterns, and the summer people crowded onto the terrace of the only café, playing bowls, arguing, drinking and laughing. She cycled to the village. She soon got to know the boys her age on holiday who, like her, were bored.

It didn't take her long to get to know their big brothers and little brothers. The boys formed a gang, wandering aimlessly around the village, messing about, shouting and pushing each other. She flirted with them without preference. She let herself be kissed and felt up in the worst-lit part of the square, behind the church. Every boy tried his luck with her, but Maria didn't seem to have any preference. No sooner had one boy finished kissing her, making out with her, getting a hand-job and having them squirt into their trousers, than another took his place. They didn't understand her, usually a girl would choose a boy and leave it at that, otherwise she was considered a whore. The girls, the sisters, were home after ten, except for one or two who had a boyfriend.

One evening, it was almost midnight, and three of the most daring boys in the gang wanted to go further afield. Maria had got them all fired up and they thought they could get her without any trouble. They just had to find somewhere out of sight, so one boy said:

— Let's go to the old cemetery, where it'll be quieter.

— Good idea, let's do it discreetly, otherwise the others will follow us.

— They've gone to bed, it's late.

They didn't ask Maria for her opinion, but she followed them. They crept like shadows into the little cemetery. There they had to decide who would be first. Maria had understood what they wanted, so she stretched out on the little lawn at the entrance to the cemetery and waited. She took off her panties, put them in her jacket pocket and pulled her skirt up to her waist, then unbuttoned her blouse, leaving the boys to remove her bra if they wished. They were in semi-darkness, barely lit by a dingy street lamp in the square. The boys were now intimidated, paralysed. Maria called in a low voice to the boy who had come up with the idea for the cemetery:

— Come, Pascal, come…

He made up his mind. He lay down heavily on top of Maria.

— Pull your shorts down, it'll be more practical.

The boy thought he was being silly, so he complied and slid them onto his lap. Maria took the boy's taut, quivering cock in her hand and guided it. The boy knew what to do, like all boys, he came very quickly, surprised, without really understanding what was happening to him. Bewildered, it took him a little while to withdraw and make way. The other two boys were sitting next to them, waiting their turn. One of them, Jean-Marie, had pulled his cock out of his fly and was jerking himself off. He was just as surprised to come, the scene had excited him, he had been jerking himself off out of habit of the porn films he watched on his parents' VCR, without thinking any further. The third boy, Antoine, pulled down his trousers and briefs before climbing on top of Maria, he was too excited, he didn't last very long, but he took full advantage of the girl, he had fucked her and cum in her pussy, not like his idiot friend.

▼

Naturally, the boys bragged. The next afternoon, they were whispering in the village square, far from adult ears:

— You really fucked her, that's not bullshit.

— Me and Pascal, we fucked her, Jean-Marie was jerking off, he came before… he couldn't take it anymore.

— Fucking… stupid… he's stupid. Look at his face.

— Us… us, can we fuck her?

— Did you really come in her pussy?

— I'm telling you… ask Pascal.

— It's true, I did fuck her…

— Was she naked?

— No, we were in the cemetery, we could have been surprised. Sometimes, the priest… she didn't have any panties on… she pulled up her skirt…

— It's better when they're naked. We make love naked…

— You couldn't see much anyway.

— Yeah, but it's still better. When we fuck, it's naked.

— Would you get naked too?

— I don't know, if it was just the two of us… yes… that's normal, but… in front of everyone.

— I'd do it, because… when we fuck, it's naked, that's how it is.

— She's a real slut, that girl. Can you believe it, guys, she gets laid like that? In front of everyone…

— You don't want to fuck her, do you?

— You're joking… but that doesn't mean I won't.

— Is she coming tonight? Maria, is her name Maria?

— We'll see about that. She usually comes in the evening.

— Fuck, I've got a hard-on… I can't wait for her to get here.

That evening, five of them waited for her. They slipped into the cemetery like conspirators, keeping an eye on Maria as she walked behind them. She looked devilishly exciting in a pink miniskirt, white blouse and slim-fitting blue jacket.

— We don't stand there, everyone can see us.

— Where, then. We can go further… outside the village… in a field.

— We won't see anything… then… we don't have time…

— There, between the two old family vaults, that wouldn't be bad.

— Yeah, it's not bad, but we need a blanket.

— The priest always leaves the door open in the vicarage, and there are blankets in the chest in the entrance hall.

— You seem to know a lot about the priest.

— Oh, shut up, you idiot.

— Go ahead, since you know.

— It's always me…

The boy, a little redhead of fifteen, finally went. The boys remained standing, Maria was leaning against one of the vaults, saying nothing.

The little redhead quickly returned with a tartan plaid.

— There you go…

An idea was running through his head, the boy wasn't shy, he turned his head towards Maria:

— Can you get naked?

Maria smiled, she thought he was cute:

— Of course, kitten.

Maria sat down on the blanket and took off her jacket; it wasn't cold, just heavy and stormy. She unbuttoned her blouse. The boys couldn't see much, it was dark between the two vaults. She got rid of her bra. Just then, the window overlooking the cemetery in the vicarage lit up, casting a yellowish glow over the cemetery and giving it a mysterious, baroque appearance. The little redhead murmured:

— It's nothing, it's the priest's room, he's going to bed.

— Do you know where the priest's room is?

— Yes, I do…

— What are you doing in his room?

— Shut up, asshole!

Maria stood up, unzipped her little skirt and took it off. The boys were reassured, their eyes fixed on her, and now they could see her better. All she had left were her panties, which she gracefully removed:

— Does that suit you, kitten?

The little redhead didn't answer, he just watched. As Maria lay down on the blanket, Pascal, who had been the first to possess her on the first evening, said softly:

— It's my turn… it's normal. I was first yesterday. I'm the one who started.

He thought that if he went behind them, the girl's pussy would be full of their sperm, and that disgusted him. Maria replied:

— Yes, Pascal, but you take your clothes off and I'm naked, so… you do the same.

He was speechless:

— Do I have to take everything off?

— You can keep your sandals.

— Ah!

The boys looked at him.

— If you don't want to, I'll do it.

The little redhead was already taking off his dirty T-shirt.

The priest had found the right angle to see what was happening under his window, which was wide open because of the heat. He noticed that the girl had seen him, lying as she was, but hadn't said anything; he could hear what the boys were saying. He laughed:

— He's not going to do it, the little bugger.

The priest didn't particularly like Pascal, a repressed fag. In fact, the boy, a big lump, hesitated, he had his modesty, he didn't like to show himself naked.

— So, are you going?

— Ah, shut up.

Finally, he had to go, the others were waiting and he didn't want to look like a wimp. First he took off his shorts, he didn't know why, he hadn't thought about it, but everyone could see he had a hard-on. He took off his shirt and lay down on top of the girl. He was embarrassed to be the focus of the boys' attention, he had no experience, it must have been obvious, he was awkward. He'd jerked off twice in the morning thinking about the girl, seeing Antoine fucking her and Jean-Marie jerking off, it was hard to think about the girl. Still, he didn't come immediately on her belly before penetrating her. The girl guided him; it didn't take long, but he thought he had put on a good show.

The little red-haired boy had stripped naked, he had given the signal and the others followed him or started to follow him. The priest stared at the boys, amazed that they were doing this under his window. He wondered who would be second as Pascal left the room and got dressed, satisfied.

— Go ahead, Jean-Marie, fuck her pussy instead of jerking off.

He was jerking off, incorrigible, he couldn't help it. The little redhead said even louder:

— If you don't go, I will.

The boy rushed over, rubbing himself on the girl's body and, before even penetrating her, sheepishly ejaculated on her stomach. This time, the little redhead took his place without asking.

▼

The priest liked Jules, a boy with red hair, charming, small for his age, very curious about sex (he heard him in confession where the boy hid nothing from him, curiously, the boy made a clear difference between the confessor and the man). He remembered the first time he had given him oral sex when the boy had come to help him tidy up the vicarage. They'd done a good job, his predecessor had left an incredible mess.

The priest was young, and Jules thought he was handsome. He was tall and athletic, and his short hair gave him a martial air, but he had an eternal benevolent smile at the corner of his lips, laughing eyes and a soft, persuasive voice. The priest loved boys; he knew how to bewitch and charm them.

Jules' parents lived in the village all year round, working in the town where Jules' school was. The priest had been there for six months, looking after several parishes, and at first Jules didn't see much of him. His parents would take him to Mass, and the priest would intrude on Jules' dreams, strange wet dreams in which the priest would appear naked, with a gigantic cock. Jules wasn't in love, he was confused.

The priest had tried his luck with Jules, thinking that he wouldn't be able to resist him for long. When he caressed the boy's back and bottom, he felt him quiver under his hand without trying to escape.

After the big clean-up, the priest offered him a glass of wine with water in the kitchen, and the boy was a little drunk, the priest asked him innocently about his sex life, whether he had a girlfriend, whether he masturbated, insisting that it was no great sin, all boys did it, even him. The boy confessed that he masturbated every day, several times a day, thinking about naked girls (he ogled his older sister when she came out of the bathroom and looked at his father's magazines), and he even sometimes thought about the boys in his class while jerking off (the priest knew this, he had listened to him in confession). He confessed his greatest sin (the priest didn't know him), he had masturbated with his cousin, or rather, he had masturbated him and his cousin had masturbated him back, he didn't go into details, it was last year, during the Easter holidays, they had done it several times. He hadn't done it again (he hadn't seen him since).

— It's not a great sin, Jules, all boys do it.

— Really, Father?

— Did you enjoy it?

Jules blushed and lowered his eyes:

— Yes, Father.

— That's good, Jules, a little sin can be pleasant and without consequences. It's part of learning for boys, it's just a game.

Jules was reassured:

— But they say that… they say…

— … they say a lot of silly things, Jules, would you like me to show you a new game?

Jules looked up, the priest was watching him benevolently:

— What is it, Father?

The priest was sitting at the kitchen table and turned round in his chair:

— Come here, Jules, stand up in front of me.

Jules, intrigued, complied. The priest pulled up his T-shirt and stroked his stomach and nipples, then, as he caressed him, pulled down Jules' shorts and briefs to his knees. This conversation, the memory of his cousin and the priest's hands on his belly, the pinching on his nipples, had aroused him without him being able to hide it, Jules was ashamed. At first he thought the priest had pulled down his shorts to catch him thinking dirty thoughts, because despite the priest's reassuring words, Jules knew it wasn't right. It was quite the opposite. The priest's eyes shone.

— Are you hard, Jules? That's lovely…

The priest's gentle hand on his sex sent a small electric shock through Jules' body. This hand crept between his legs, grabbed his testicles, and Jules reflexively spread his legs, it was very sensitive there, and the priest's hand knew it. Jules was ashamed to be standing practically naked in front of the priest and enjoying his caresses.

— You've got lovely little balls, Jules.

The priest's voice was gentle and kind, reassuring, his eyes laughing. Jules had already had his balls groped by the doctor, a stern woman in a white coat, but this was very different; the priest's fingers knew exactly where the most sensitive parts of his body were. Jules understood nothing of adults, so he involuntarily arched his back under the caresses, offering his body as a sacrifice.

The priest took him in his mouth, he closed his eyes, it was delicious. Jules knew what fellatio was, he had hidden from the priest that his cousin had put his sex in his mouth, he had come in his mouth, it was disgusting, Jules had spat it out, his cousin was laughing.

Jules had found it disgusting to have cum in the priest's mouth, but he changed his mind when he saw that the priest was not spitting it out, he was swallowing his cum without complaining, the priest smiled at him, he said, his mouth still full of his cum:

— Did you like this new game? Jules. We can start again if you like. Did you like it?

Jules liked it. He wondered what he would say to the priest when he went to confession on Sunday. He also knew not to say anything to his parents or friends.

▼

Jules struggled on top of the girl, she had been nice to him and asked him to calm down, but it was impossible. He'd cum in her pussy, as the grown-ups used to say. She whispered in his ear:

— Did you like it, kitten?

He would have done it again, but the others were getting impatient. In spite of him, she whispered to him again:

— You can do it again later, kitten.

The last two fucked Maria with varying degrees of success. Antoine, the most experienced, had wanted to go last, so he could take his time and wasn't disgusted by the others' sperm. He waited for the boy, Marc, a shy, skinny, speccy man, to finish, and he came, disappointed, like Jean-Marie, on the girl's stomach before he had even penetrated her. Antoine liked the girl, she was pretty, friendly, cheerful, he liked her big tits, he kissed her, caressed her, penetrated her, the girl spurred him on. He could feel the boys' eyes on him, but he didn't mind. His belly rubbed against the girl's soiled belly, his hands grabbed her tits, the cool night breeze caressed his balls, the girl's pussy overflowed with sperm, he liked it. The little redhead had been right to ask her to undress, strangely enough, he wouldn't have dared ask her, it felt good to feel her naked body against his. He worked her slowly, conscientiously, the girl moaned muffledly and encouraged him. He waited for that moment to give it his all, she gave a little cry, he made her come just before he let go.

The girl's scream stunned Jules, she had come, he thought that was how girls came, it had been a little scream, he had been told that girls could scream when they came, it must have depended on the girl. No one stopped him when he climbed back on top of the girl, she said:

— There you are again, kitten.

He didn't answer. He was groping her, kneading her breasts, he hadn't had time the first time. He didn't know how he'd penetrated her, it had just happened.

▼

The priest was a little jealous and proud of Jules at the same time. He remembered their second game. It was a beautiful autumn day, and the priest had wanted to teach the boy to recognise edible mushrooms, at Jules' request. On the forest path, the priest had caressed and kissed him, without the boy rebelling. He then drew him into the undergrowth, out of sight of the walkers:

— You want to please me, Jules, I'd like to see you naked, all naked, in the woods… like a little faun.

Once again, the boy did not rebel. It was a bit chilly, so he took off his jumper and T-shirt and handed his clothes to the priest:

— I'll take the rest off, Father?

Jules was wearing red velvet ribbed trousers, he still remembered them, he had big walking shoes on his feet, he pulled his trousers down over his ankles:

— Shall I take off my pants too, Father?

The boy was mischievous, playing with him, provoking him. Before the priest could reply, he had slid his pants down his thighs, wiggling his hips like a stripper. The boy had a hard-on, his sex making wiper, he knew what he was doing and thought the priest was going to suck him off.

— Aren't you cold?

— No, Father, I'm fine.

The priest knelt down. He untied his big walking shoes and took off his trousers and pants, leaving his woollen socks on, because the priest liked a job well done:

— You're a real little faun, Jules, a pretty little faun…

Jules didn't understand. The priest turned him round and round several times. He'd thought of sodomising him, but then thought it was a bit early, he hadn't brought any lubricant with him, and for a first time, spitting wouldn't have been enough, he didn't want to hurt him. The priest got up with another idea in mind:

— We're going to play another game, Jules. Kneel down, you'll like it…

The priest untucked himself and pulled down his trousers, the boy wasn't stupid, he understood. He was a bit confused by the size of the priest's sex, by his enormous glans, by his big hairless balls, his pubis was shaved. The priest thrust his glans into his open mouth:

— Be careful with your teeth, my little Jules.

Jules soon knew how to do it, it was inborn in boys, he jerked him off while sucking him. The priest's penis grew bigger and tenser. With his hands on his head, the priest gave it a faster rhythm and pushed deeper into his throat.

— Look at me, my boy, I'm going to come.

The boy saw nothing coming. A flood of semen invaded his throat, flowed over his lips, he was disgusted, tried to spit it out, but more came, he choked and was forced to swallow, the priest had no pity, he pushed himself down his throat holding his head, leaving him no choice. Finally, the flow stopped and Jules was stunned. He remembered his cousin ejaculating in his mouth in surprise, but he had been able to spit it out while his cousin laughed, as if he had played a good joke.

— At first you find it disgusting, my little Jules, but you'll like it later, you'll see…

The priest smiled as he watched him spit out his semen, it ran down his cheeks, dripped down his chin, it was even on the tip of his nose, under his nostrils, he had smeared it all over his face. The priest had been chaste for too long, his balls were overflowing with love.

— You're really too cute like that, my little Jules.

He pulled him up under his armpits and held him close. The boy didn't react when the priest's tongue licked his face. It was the priest's turn to kneel down, the boy was now cold and shivering, but the priest took no notice. He worked on his sex with his tongue and his hands. The boy forgot all about the cold. When the priest slipped a wet finger into his anus, he came as he had never come before, tense as a bow, once again ashamed to ejaculate in the priest's mouth. The priest swallowed as he looked at him.

— Your cum is delicious, my little Jules.

The boy was relieved.

— You're cold, you've got goose bumps, get dressed, we're going to go.

They didn't see any mushrooms.

▼

Jules didn't know if he had made the girl come. She was nice to him, like the priest. She called him “kitten”, stroked him and kissed him. It was late, the boys had gone home one after the other, only Antoine had stayed until the end, he was only seventeen, but he was the boy who had the most experience with girls.

He liked this girl and offered to take her home on his bike.

— You're afraid I'll meet the wrong person.

— No, I just want to take you home. You don't have any lights on your bike, it's dangerous.

They covered the five kilometres without hurrying. Outside the driveway, Antoine had put his foot down to kiss her goodbye, and was preparing to turn back when he heard:

— Shall I give you a blow job, Antoine? Nice of you to walk me home.

He thought he had misunderstood. The girl was getting impatient:

— Well?

He put his bike against the fence and Maria knelt down. They stood at the side of the road and were briefly dazzled by the headlights of a car.

— Shall we stay here?

— There's not much traffic, and we're comfortable here.

Antoine realised that she was a bit of an exhibitionist, if not a lot, and that she sucked deliciously.

▼

In the days that followed, the boys passed the word around: “You can all fuck her, Maria, the girl, she'll let you, come in the evening, behind the church, to the cemetery. We can all have her”. Unfortunately, Maria didn't come to the village every evening, so that night the boys left with their tails down.

On the evenings when she came, even the youngest were there, boys aged twelve to thirteen who were interested in sex, they came last, under the watchful eye and advice of the older boys, up to nine of them came. After possessing her or trying to do so, the boys would get together and buy Maria an ice-cream and a soda at Mère Josèphe's, who would close her stall when there was no-one left in the square. Maria loved the clumsiness of the younger boys, guiding them and mothering them. They often ejaculated prematurely on her belly, so she had to calm them down. They were serious, disciplined, attentive, waiting their turn in silence.

One stormy evening, they had all taken refuge in the church. Inside, the lights were out and it was very dark, with lightning briefly illuminating the interior of the old church through its old broken stained glass windows. The boys were disappointed, so she offered to suck them off, a novelty that pleased them, and they were proud to see Maria swallow their semen. That evening, just as the lightning briefly illuminated the church, Maria saw the young village priest, like a ghost, kneeling on a prie-dieu at the back of the transept, watching the scene with interest – she could swear he was masturbating. The priest knew very well what the boys were doing in the cemetery; from the vicarage there was a window overlooking the old cemetery, with a view down between the two vaults, and Maria had seen it from her window.

▼

When he saw Jules being sucked and recognised the look on his face when he came, the priest was moved to remember the third game. He knew he would possess the boy one day, willingly or by force, he couldn't help it, it had become an obsession. He had always put it off. The boy came regularly and voluntarily to see him, after school or on Wednesday afternoons, sometimes on Saturdays, and his parents encouraged him to go to the priest's house, thinking that he had a good influence on him. The boy ended up enjoying sucking him and swallowing his semen without repugnance, he knew that the priest would return the favour, and that was like a drug for him, he couldn't get enough of it, he kept asking for more, once, twice, three times. The priest made him undress in the kitchen, he liked to see him naked, the boy knew that. Later, he took him to his bedroom on the first floor where the priest also undressed, the boy liked sixty-nines.

It had been two months since the first fellatio he'd performed on the boy in the kitchen and he still hadn't possessed him. In the seminary, between a blow job and a sodomy, a week passed at the most, everything went faster, the seminary was a den of homosexuals. But he loved this boy, he was hooked, he loved him, and he didn't want to hurt him.

That day, a Friday, he hadn't seen her all day, or the day before, or all week. Christmas was approaching, the mayor had hung lanterns from the lampposts in the square, the village was celebrating, and he felt very sad. He had eaten quickly and was preparing his sermon in the kitchen, a sermon about isolated, unfortunate people. It was ten o'clock when there was a knock at the door. It was Jules, his parents were in the village, visiting friends, and he was bored at home. The priest's heart leapt, it would be tonight or never.

The boy had locked the door after entering as he usually did, knowing that what he was doing would be frowned upon by the villagers. The priest did not reproach him for his absence.

— It's good to see you, Jules. You're looking very well?

— Good evening, Father.

They didn't talk much, Jules knew what he had to do, he'd only come for the sex. He undressed in the kitchen and improvised a little dance for the priest. The priest served him a little alcohol to get him in the mood, he knew it was the big night. The boy was euphoric, so he sat him on his lap and they ate the pastries that the priest hadn't eaten.

They went up to the priest's room. The priest had hung photos of boys on the whitewashed wall next to his bed, some in swimming trunks, others naked.

— This is new, that?

— Yes, Jules, I wanted to see some friendly pictures before I went to sleep. I was… I was a bit sad.

Jules saw several photos of himself and pointed at them:

— That's me, that, there and there.

Some of the photos the priest had taken at home, in his kitchen and bedroom, with a Polaroid camera, were indecent. Jules knew he'd taken them, but he'd forgotten.

— You can't show them to anyone, Father, I'm naked.

— Of course, Jules.

— I don't like it.

These photos were proof of his debauchery, Jules wasn't just naked, he was suddenly frightened of how they could be used. The priest felt he had made a mistake:

— I'll take them off.

— No, leave them on. If it makes you happy…

— I'll take them off, Jules, I promise.

Jules would have liked it better if he'd destroyed them, those photos were loot.

The priest undressed, the boy smiled, he had already forgotten, he had a hard-on. He threw himself onto the bed.

— Do you masturbate when you look at the photos, Father?

The boy was impertinent. The priest no longer had any scruples, Jules was behaving like a little whore. The priest lay down on the bed, his hand on the boy's sex, it tensed under the caresses.

— We're going to play a new game, my little Jules.

The boy didn't understand, or didn't want to understand, all he could think about was how the priest was caressing his sex.

— Turn onto your stomach, my darling.

Jules turned obediently onto his stomach, it was the first time the priest had called him “my darling”, it was a change in their relationship, the priest loved him, couldn't do without him anymore, he hadn't come to see him for a long week, he wanted to think, and the priest had put naked photos of himself on his bedroom wall, and, he was sure, had masturbated while looking at them, he loved the power he had over him. The priest put a finger in his anus, it wasn't the first time, Jules had learned to like it, the finger slipped easily, coming and going, the priest had lubricated it well. The priest stopped his finger coming and going just as he was about to cum, and Jules groaned, annoyed and frustrated.

— You like it, my little darling, it's good…

The priest bent over his back, pressing, the boy felt the priest's sex between his buttocks, he wanted to cum.

— The third game is the most interesting, my darling, you're going to love it.

The boy didn't understand, he could feel the weight of the priest on him, and something was forcing him, penetrating his anus, much bigger than a finger. He wasn't naive, he'd always thought it would happen one day, he'd even dreamt about it, but there was a gap between dream and reality. He was surprised, he struggled, he screamed.

— I'm hurting you, I'll be careful, I'll go slowly, my little Jules… but… you have to go through with it… do you understand?

The priest didn't let go of him anymore, he was sinking into him, slowly but surely. Jules screamed again. The priest didn't give a damn, the window was closed, it was winter, no one would hear him, the priest couldn't back down, and besides, it wasn't the end of the world, the boy was getting on his nerves a bit, he was cosy, impertinent.

— Do you like it, my darling, do you like it… it's good… it's good… can you feel how good it is?

The priest began to come and go, he had him at last, it was so good, the boy was agitated, revolted, it was even better to feel him squirm like an eel under him, he didn't understand that the boy was staining his sheets, he was ejaculating. The priest climbed in cadence, unconcerned with the harm or good he was doing, he possessed him. The boy moaned. The priest didn't feel him cum a second time, just before he emptied himself at length into his bowels.

As soon as he released his embrace, satisfied, and lay down on his back, the boy fled the room. The priest heard him snooping in the kitchen, the boy dressed hastily, having left his clothes on the back of a chair that toppled to the floor. The front door slammed, and Jules ran home crying.

The priest saw the stained sheets, two large, distinct stains. When the front door slammed, he tumbled down the stairs, the boy had disappeared. He half-opened the front door and saw the boy's back, running away as if the devil was after him.

▼

The boy didn't come back. The priest blamed himself, he'd done it all wrong. But he had no regrets. The month of January passed without any news, and at the end of the month, he heard the boy's confession. The boy confessed in a mechanical voice to multiple masturbations and bad thoughts, and left without waiting for absolution. The priest could have confessed the same thing. His search for a new victim was unsuccessful, the parishes he looked after were deserted by young boys, and he despaired.

The first week of February was particularly cold and snowy, and the priest's spirits were low. He was absent-mindedly watching his little black-and-white TV in the kitchen when there was a knock on the door. He looked at the time, half past ten, and wondered who could be coming at this late hour.

Jules had entered without waiting for the priest to open the door, and had locked it. They looked at each other blankly, the boy's eyes red and wet, he had been crying, and the priest hugged him. The boy had changed in more than a month, a fine fuzz lining his upper lip, and the priest had the impression he'd grown taller.

The priest sat him down at the kitchen table and made him a chocolate, but the boy was speechless.

— How are you, Jules?

It was warm in the kitchen, the only room in the vicarage heated by a large wood-burning stove.

The priest took off the boy's big scarlet down jacket and hung it on the coat rack in the entrance hall.

— I've missed you, Jules.

Then Jules spoke:

— I was afraid, Father. I was so scared. I didn't understand what was happening to me. You hadn't hurt me, just a little, but I was terrified, it wasn't a game anymore… I'd missed you too.

He paused, having spoken quickly, and spoke more slowly, emphasizing the important words.

— I thought I was homosexual for liking it, a dirty faggot, a sissy, a queer. I wanted to take the time to think before coming back to see you, I read a lot, Gide… Proust is boring, others… a lot of thinking. All I wanted to do was come back and see you again. All I had to do was close my eyes to feel you inside me.

The priest stood behind him and stroked his head, smoothed his hair, had an infernal hard-on and without being aware of it, rubbed his sex against the boy's back.

— You understand, Father, girls attract me… I'm still young. I didn't want to be pigeonholed. The first game, the second game, had no consequences, they were just sex games between boys. The third game had nothing to do with it: I became your wife, I gave myself to you, like a woman, you possessed me, it was different.

The boy had matured a great deal during that sad month, and the priest wondered whether he wanted to break it off for good? Or pick up their relationship where it left off.

— Do your parents know you're here?

— No, they took a little vacation, so I'm home alone. My sister took the opportunity to join her boyfriend. I was thinking about you… I put a porn movie on the VCR, took off my clothes and masturbated. Afterwards, I was even sadder, the movie sucked, I cried.

The boy had tears in his eyes.

— I've come to see you, it's late, I know… I hope I'm not boring you.

— No, Jules, I'm glad to see you. I've missed you terribly.

The priest leaned over to kiss him, taking the opportunity to place a hand on the boy's fly, feeling his bandaged sex harden at the touch of his hand. The boy continued:

— I masturbated to the film, but I didn't like it. Maybe… I'm a homosexual, so… I thought I'd come and see you, Father. You know what I mean?

— You're young, Jules, and one day you'll meet a girl you like.

— Maybe… I've got a girlfriend in the town.

— Do the girls like you with your pretty face?

The boy turned his head to the priest, smiling:

— They're after me, Father.

— You can see for yourself.

The priest had slipped his fingers into the boy's fly.

— Would you like me to undress… or would you prefer us to go up to your room?

The priest was relieved, he would possess the boy.

— It's very cold in the bedroom; the only heated room in the vicarage is the kitchen, where we are.

The boy was suddenly in a hurry, so he took off his thick wool sweater and stood up to finish undressing. The priest knelt down to unlace the boy's shoes and remove his pants. The boy sighed as he took them into his mouth. He had masturbated before coming to see the priest, yet he came almost immediately in the priest's mouth, who was surprised and swallowed the sperm offered to him hastily, the boy's hands clenched in the priest's brush-cut hair, he tensed on tiptoe.

— That's good, my little Jules, it's been a long time…

The boy didn't know if it was his sperm that the priest found good, or if the priest was asking him about his orgasm. The priest kept licking, sucking, wanking, caressing and sticking a finger up his rectum. The boy moaned, he couldn't remember how good it felt. He was about to cum a second time, his hands massaging the priest's skull, perching on the balls of his feet, thrusting into the priest's throat. When he came, he toppled backwards, held by the priest's hands and the table he hit.

— You like it, my little Jules, you've been deprived of it for too long.

The priest spoke with his mouth full, chewing the words. He straightened up:

— I'll be right back.

He went up to his room and came back down with two pillows and a bottle of lubricant. He cleared the table and put the pillows on it:

— You'll be more comfortable this way.

The priest lifted the boy and laid him on the table on his back, the boy shivered.

— Aren't you cold?

— No, Father, it's warm in the kitchen.

The priest opened the stove's pull cord as far as it would go, checked that the window curtain was properly closed and undressed. The boy was still surprised by the disproportionate size of the priest's sex. He didn't defend himself when the priest penetrated him, but closed his eyes.

▼

Jules didn't visit the priest as often. He had a girlfriend, but it was complicated. He wanted to finally fuck her, but she refused him, always had a good excuse, it was complicated. She gave him clumsy handjobs that left him wanting more, and when he couldn't take it anymore, he went to see the priest. Days went by. Spring arrived. He got angry with his girlfriend. She hadn't wanted to give him an unfortunate blowjob in the deserted public garden near the high school, she didn't love him, he concluded, and that same evening he took refuge in the parish priest's house to weep in his bosom. He explained that girls were complicated, and the priest was able to console him.

Summer arrived, and with it the summer boys and girls. The closed-door relationship with the priest was over. The priest took the boys swimming in a hole in the river, checking them out as they put on their trunks, taking photos, flirting. The boys would sneak a peek at the bulge in the priest's trunks, thinking that when they got older, they'd have one just as big.

The girls weren't interested in Jules; they were too old or too young, and treated him with disdain. Jules could see the priest having fun, laughing, surrounded by boys in admiration of him, and he would have wept, he was jealous, imagining the worst things. Then Maria arrived.

▼

Maria often thought of Séraphin. He wrote to her from Barcelona, Spain, where he had taken refuge. The police were interested in him and looking for him, and the fault lay with his cousin Ruben. Séraphin had been on the lookout for a car theft, unaware that Ruben was being watched by the police, and had found himself unwittingly mixed up in his cousin's dealings. Her first letter was full of spelling mistakes and words of love. Seraphim wanted her and was ready to go to prison to see her again at least once. Maria advised him to wait a while for things to calm down and asked him to talk about his new life in Barcelona.

Little by little, as the letters arrived, he wrote every day, and could post two letters in a single day. Maria was able to reconstruct his journey to Barcelona and his life there.

Séraphin had left in a hurry, hitchhiking with little or no money. It took him three days to get to Barcelona, sleeping in ditches on the side of the road to avoid the police, he was nevertheless stopped by the gendarmerie near Bordeaux, without any consequences for him. On the last day, a man driving a beautiful sky-blue Mercedes, a Spaniard, took him all the way to Barcelona.

Seraphin had fallen sound asleep in the comfortable car, thinking of Maria, and was hardening furiously, his hand on his sex. He was awakened as the man, Antonio (Maria knew his name from a later letter), was caressing him (he had unzipped his pants, pulled out Séraphin's sex, and was jerking him off with his right hand while driving). Séraphin was bewildered; the man in his forties, a little overweight, with a fine little moustache and regular features, was an affable man, an opera singer who lived in Barcelona. When Séraphin woke up, his mind foggy, Antonio apologized for having taken advantage of his sleep. He had been devilishly tempted by this splendid erection and hadn't been able to restrain himself, thinking he was doing him a favor. Later, on the road, after a nice lunch in a restaurant that the man had paid for (Séraphin hadn't eaten much since he left), he offered to perform oral sex on her (Maria understood that the man had offered her money). Séraphin didn't answer yes or no, and the man took this as acquiescence. He pulled over at a freeway service area and sucked him off, the first time Séraphin had ever been sucked off by a man, and it wasn't unpleasant. He wrote that during the whole act, he was thinking about her, and eventually convinced himself that he was ejaculating into her mouth. When he opened his eyes, the man was swallowing his semen.

▼

In Barcelona, it was late by the time they arrived, and the man put Seraphim up for the evening. Séraphin, exhausted, slept chastely in the guest room after a good shower to wash off the three-day journey. The next morning, as Séraphin came out of the bathroom, he said he'd been very embarrassed to show himself naked because he'd been thinking about Maria in the shower (he had a hard-on), adding that Antonio had examined him shamelessly, insistently and congratulated him (he didn't say why). Antonio gave him clean clothes, clothes he'd worn as a young man, and threw Séraphin's poor rags in the garbage can. The clothes were old-fashioned, but clean, Antonio gave him some money and wished him luck, a little sad to see him go and insisting that he telephone him, he wrote down his telephone number on a piece of newspaper and handed it to him. He wished to see him again.

▼

The Spanish cousins were not happy to see Séraphin arrive. They were suspicious of Ruben and Zanko, and rightly so, and thought that Séraphin was going to get them into trouble, they made him feel very strongly about it, and advised him to go to the police. Basically, he hadn't done anything serious, and his sentence would be light. They also told him they couldn't do anything for him; they had their own problems. It had taken Séraphin hours to find their camp on the outskirts of Barcelona, he didn't speak Spanish and had trouble finding the bus. One of Séraphin's distant cousins offered to drive him back to town, where he had some business to attend to. Too happy to be rid of him, Séraphin, discouraged, accepted.

▼

Antonio had left his telephone number, and he tried in vain to reach him in the afternoon. Séraphin was preparing to spend a night out in this unknown city, on one of Barcelona's beaches or in a public garden, without knowing what he'd do the next day. He even thought of trying to join Maria in the Ardèche. He made a last attempt at a late-closing bar on the Ramblas, where he had a coffee with the money Antonio had given him. The phone rang several times before he answered, and Antonio offered to pick him up, as Seraphim would have been unable to find his way back. They walked home, Antonio didn't live far, Seraphim was crying, relieved, Antonio had put a friendly hand on his shoulder, he explained that he had been lucky to find him at home at that hour, but that he was delighted to be of service. Séraphin did notice the slight smell of cum superimposed on the perfume of cologne and the whiff of Spanish Armagnac emanating from the opera singer (it seems, according to Séraphin, that he had spent the evening in a “gay” club and that an unexpected raid on the club by the “Mossos d’Esquadra” had caused him to flee in a hurry).

Seraphim was a handsome boy, with fine features and matte skin, an amiable boy, pleasing to men. Antonio, still frustrated from his interrupted evening, had succumbed to this fresh flesh, this innocence that changed him from the professionals. He prepared food for him, gave him wine to drink, and finally, a large balloon of Cognac to relax him, get him drunk, cajole him, spoil him, dry his tears. From what Maria understood, Séraphin didn't give any details. That night, they slept in the same bed, Antonio caressed him, rocked him, reassured him, and Séraphin let him do it, a little drunk. The opera singer, sensing the boy's readiness to welcome him, achieved his goal, he fucked him and wasn't surprised that he wasn't the first, such a pretty boy.

Later, Antonio, enchanted by his lover, found him a job as a waiter in Montjuic. Séraphin's letters grew fewer and farther between. He seemed happy to have become the dancer of an opera singer, a tenor.