I remember going to church as a little boy. It wasn’t boring, it wasn’t fun, but it wasn’t boring. I remember the church was big. It was big, and it was bright in places and dark in places. The windows were many, stained glass with pictures from the bible. I didn’t understand what the father was talking about, but I knew he was talking about the pictures on the windows. I looked at them and the candles. There were lots of candles.
I remember everybody was nice and dressed nice. And everybody smiled. Everyone shook hands and hugged before church, in the middle, and after mass. Once I asked Father Joseph if this was his house. It wasn’t it was God’s house it was our house. My grandmother cleaned it every Saturday. Sometimes I would go with her. She would touch every part of the church she could reach with a rag. She was old but the work seemed to make her happy. I would play and run around. I knew God didn’t mind it was my house too.
But what I remember most was communion. Everyone would quietly and politely exit the pews and line up to taste of God. Everyone but me. My father told I was not baptized. My mother divorced him when I was little and I was never baptized. My older brother was and he would taste of God. And he was quiet and polite with his hands folder together in line. I would watch the faces of the people as they went back to their seats. They didn’t seem happy or sad or satisfied. I knew I would be filled with joy if I could have a taste.

Neat! Like writes on memories!

sounds really good keep it up

thank you teddy some of my earliest memories

thank you
I rarely finish what I start but this one is coming pretty easy

thanks for sharing. churches can be beautiful places and they are sometimes shacks. the church is where i lost my crown.

do tell

oh you tempt me trailing

i shall need to collect my thoughts

take your time i have all day

revision comments appreciated positive or negative

I remember going to church as a little boy. It wasn’t boring, it wasn’t fun but it wasn’t boring. I remember the church was big; it was big, and it was bright in places and dark in places. The windows were many, made of stained glass with pictures from the bible. I didn’t understand what the father was talking about, but I knew he was talking about the pictures on the windows. I looked at them and the candles. There were lots of candles.
I remember everybody was nice, and dressed nice. And everybody smiled. Everyone shook hands and hugged before mass, and in the middle of mass, and after mass. It was like everyone was family. Laughing and smiling, touching and talking, people didn’t mind being close to one another. Maybe it was because everyone smelled good. Maybe they knew God was watching. My dad even joked with my grandpa at church. Whether or not they got along with each other during the week didn’t matter come Sunday .
Once I asked Father Joseph if this was his house. It wasn’t it was God’s house; it was our house.
My grandmother cleaned the church every Saturday. Sometimes I would go with her. She would touch every part of the church she could reach with a rag, until the whole building smelled of pinesol. She was old but the work seemed to make her happy. I would play and run around. I knew God didn’t mind it was my house too.
But what I remember most was communion. Everyone would quietly and politely exit the pews and line up to taste of God. Everyone it seemed but me. My father told me I was not baptized. My mother divorced him when I was little and I was never baptized. My older brother was and he would taste of God. And he was quiet and polite with his hands folded together in line. I would watch the faces of the people as they went back to their seats. They didn’t seem happy or sad, or even satisfied. I knew I would be filled with joy if I could only have a taste.

very nice

thank you pk
its a work in progress
hopefully ill finish it

my pet cat liked me that day. i sat in a wingback chair in my sister's hand me down graduation dress that i wore not because we couldn't afford to buy a new one. it was just very beautiful and a shame to have been only worn once and a perfect fit.

i quietly unwrapped presents mother had bound in satin ribbons. i wore silly rings on my fingers, they belonged to a boy, and a strand of pearls round my neck and wrist. i have the picture of that very moment.

we'd be on our way to church where i grew up ever mixing celebration and mass since i was a small girl.

it was fourteen and eighth grade. i had done everything i was supposed to do. i had boxes of ribbons, merits and scores, pictures with pom poms and art and science awards. i did not feel proud and i did not feel boastful. i'd already been informed secretly and behind a closed door.

i was on my way to church again to pray and to celebrate. i sat in my pew and waited for some moment to feel. i think it was only time to move along.

next up in high school i found theater and another church more beautiful than the other.

impromptu could make you pee in your pants but i felt adrenaline and it bubbled over on a wooden classroom stage. my teacher liked me but made me work hard. i was the sex act, the screamer, the director among assorted other parts.

the time came for church where convent and school girl converge. i was to play jesus. she picked me for that role. she said it would take a real slap, a real beating. we even practiced those scenes.

i consructed my costume, very simple but incomplete. daddy fashioned me a crown of thorns from sticks and branches in our yard and marveled how authentic it looked. it was a thing of beauty though hair pins would not hold it down and i wondered about it falling off.

the performance in church went off without a hitch though i was slapped hardest for it. that crown flew. my final line, i should say cry, we never rehearsed that part.

im feeling blocked

lemmee know when y'all ready to hear the real deal

i am enjoying this too...

(((ak0)))

i love you too

I'm intrigued and hoping you both continue these.

The real deal, ak0, ooooooo- yes please..................

catholic school girl blues

fcking had become the only thing i cared for. in my gorgeous body and precious face, it was all becoming to me.

id sit in the boring classroom in itchy wool skirt and cotton oxford shirt, cognac loafers, clap clop clop down the stairs and up again for the same old lessons. id wash my face at lunchtime, brush my teeth and stare into the mirror schoolgirls streaking past me. i was fixed in myself. i never could understand their glee.

i dressed in satin underneath. i dared under white blouse forest green demi cup and floral string bikini against my tanned body, i was no longer pale as id been naturally.

and i dreamed, daydreamed of my girl lips spreading and my back arching breasts bouncing. and that face, my face so beautiful and lips opening speaking only sweetly.

i found every way and every place and every time and every boy that struck my fancy. i was free. i never wanted love just touch and touch i did. myself and everything i managed under the blanket of constraint.

and every confession, confessional box, i never uttered the pleasures of my sin. id been there and done that long before sixteen. god was only quiet to me.

and the wooden stage played its part. i masturbated reverently on the real stage in a quiet auditorium. unbuttoned and moaning my hands on myself, i was so slippery and beautiful and orgasm so sweet, again.

i walked so sadly in those halls. it was echoes and dead. i had done it all before just waiting for the next time. i already knew.