In 1968 I was r*ped by a Roman Catholic priest.

I was ten years old. My Mom volunteered me to be an alter boy. That meant I had no choice. In those days parents were a bit too trusting and thought nothing of sending a child that age to walk many blocks to go to a church to train with a man in his 30's who has never married, was supposed to be a virgin and lived with other men.

I was supposed to attend an alter boy training class at the parish office next door to the church. There were supposed to be other alter boys there. There weren't It was me alone with Fr. O. Fr. O. had me sit down in a chair and began by telling me I looked nervous and tense and offered to give me a massage. I'd never had a massage so didn't know what to make of the offer so I shrugged my shoulders. I confess it felt good. It felt really good. His hands undoing my shirt felt good. His hands massaging my bare back, neck, shoulders all felt really good. His fingers combing through my long blond hair felt good. His fingers massaging my scalp felt good. Standing up while he undid my pants felt strange but up to that point everything felt good.

Keep in mind it was the 1960's and ten year old boys were not educated in the ways of the world. I hadn't a clue about sex or where babies came from. I'd also been indoctrinated into believing that Roman Catholic priests were virtually sin free and were holy men whose mission was to lead everyone else spiritually. One obeyed one's priest because priests were God's representative here on Earth. So when a priest slips his hand in your underwear and tickles your pee pee while he massages your butt with the other hand and it feels good, you don't question it. Up to that point, I was O.K. with everything he did. Had he sucked my dick I'd been very O.K. with that as well.

He didn't. What he did was undo his own pants, take out his big hairy cock and shove it in my face and order me to suck on it. I was scared and panicked but obedient. If you disobeyed a priest you went to hell or at least purgatory where you spent a lot of time screaming in agony apologizing to God for disobeying the priest. His cock was disgusting. Now I want to clarify. I am bisexual. Today, I'd have gladly sucked it down my throat and enjoyed doing so. But at ten, I found it disgusting, hideously disgusting and it was all I could do to keep from puking with that thing shoved down my throat. After a while he took it out and bent me over and shoved it all in one unbearable stroke, all he way up my ass. Filling my ass with gasoline and lighting it on fire would have felt as a relief compared to having that monster up my ass.

My mother found my blood stained underwear the next day. I was taken to the emergency room. After some vicious interrogation it was determined that I had been sodomized. I'd not heard of that word but apparently in those days if you'd been fucked in the ass that was all the evidence needed to prove that you must surely know what the sin of Sodomy was and so I was duly punished. My father was furious with me. My mother was more furious with me for lying to her about what the priest did. At first I wasn't going to say anything at all I was very scared of going to hell but then my parent's interrogation took over and I was afraid of them so I confessed to the horrible sin of being r*ped by a priest. My father accused me of choosing to become a faggot (I'd never heard the word but anyone who has been ass fucked is obligated to know what a faggot is automatically) I was whipped by my father for roughly a hundred strokes give or take. I passed out some where around counting off the 75th stroke and when I came too it was over and I had a few more strokes so I think I got around a hundred total and that makes sense as my father was very methodical and liked round numbers ending in zero. My mother was hysterical as now that I was no longer pure I was no longer eligible to become a priest and that was something she promised God before I was born.

After interrogating me regarding every conceivable sexual partner I could have seduced my parents finally settled on assuming I was actually r*ped and that there may very well have been a distantly remote chance that I may have actually told them the truth to begin with. Of course there was no apology for the whipping. If I wasn't guilty of that I was probably guilty of something equally horrible. The assumption was that little boys were in a perpetual state of being guilty of some horrible sin for which he was never caught so a good periodic whipping was always in order.

By this point it was a couple of days later and now I had scars, bruise and still bleeding welts from the whipping but lots of parents whipped their kids in those days so it was no big deal taking me down to the police station and the cop who examined my asshole seemed completely unphased by what my father did. He did tell me what a horrible sin it was to take a dick up my ass but other than that and sticking a bare finger up my ass for whatever reason he did and said nothing else. He suggested my parents take the complaint to the church. I don't think they ever wrote a report.

So we went to the cardinal's office, got the run around and two weeks later my mother and I got letters informing us we had been excommunicated. So we moved to another diocese.

My mother wasn't going to let a little thing like excommunication get in the way of her going to church and they really didn't do a back ground check on new members of a parish. So we pretty much picked up where we left off in our spiritual life though I really didn't want to be an alter boy any more.

I was almost 11 when my mother suggested that a different parish in a different diocese and with different priests would mean things would be different. They weren't. Despite my taking my excommunication seriously which meant was in total agreement that I should not be a member of the Roman Catholic church, my mother again volunteered my services as alter boy and since I was not fully trained I had to go to training class yet again. this time I rode my bicycle and kept it nearby and if any priest came close I was NOT going to stick around. That was the plan.

So the alter boy training class of this new parish was in the actual church and I was relieved that there were about ten other boys already there. Everything went as well as could be expected and then we all got dressed in our vestments and the priest said mass. There were only about 20 people who attended besides us, some were parents of some of the other alter boys. Then I went home.

The following Saturday after serving after noon mass it was just me and the priest (same one who trained me) and he put his had on my shoulder and began to give me a massage. A frightening chill went down my spine. He must have noticed my trembling and asked if someone had hurt me. I told him about the other priest and he hugged me. He told me he too had fucked several alter boys but he always makes sure they feel good when he does. He offered to suck my cock and I was so relieved that he wasn't going to force himself on my that I let him. It felt really good. I liked it a lot. Also it didn't hurt that he was really good looking, had long red hair so he was kind of feminine looking and was fresh out of the seminary at around 27 years old. He was also a really good cock sucker. I was too young to cum but it felt really nice and tingly all over and then when he offered to kiss my ass hole and make it better, how could I refuse. I expected to get a quick lip to ass peck, you know, like the way a parent might kiss a boo boo and make it better. His idea was to tongue kiss my boo boo. He licked my ass hole for over an hour. The sensation was delightfully soothing and I really didn't want him to ever stop. It made me feel really good that he seemed to absolutely adore doing this really naughty dirty thing that felt so good to me.

So this became a regular thing. Every time I served mass with that particular priest he gave me a blog job and a massage and ended by spending way too much time licking my ass which I felt was no where near enough time. I was nearly in love with him within a few weeks.

One day that priest asked if he could play a game with me. He wanted to dress me up like a girl, put my hair in pigtails and put some make up on me and nail polish on my nails and pretend I was a girl and pretend to fuck me. He promised not to put it in my ass but rather just rub in between my butt cheeks. I agreed to since he always made me feel so good. So after mass we were alone in his room at the rectory. I was dressed up like a little hooker in bra, panties, stockings, high heals, make up, nails and pigtails. I was bent over his bed and he was naked pretend fucking me. It actually felt kind of good having his erection running between my ass cheeks and the head rubbing against my asshole without actually penetrating while he reached around and jerked me off. He had me say a lot of really dirty things to him while he did this like "Oh yes Daddy r*pe me hard, make it hurt Daddy, oh yes I'm such a sissy faggot!" and other similar things while he continued to pretend r*pe me. Physically it felt good so I didn't mind but the words were a bit of a mind fuck and it felt weird and awkward and a bit humiliating but when someone spends so much time sucking your dick and with there tongue up your ass, you cut them some slack.

That would have been fine. I'd have agreed to do that weekly for years if he wanted. The only problem is we were about to find out we were not alone. Just as he was squirting his come between my legs and just as I was confessing to enjoying being "r*ped" the door was thrown wide open and there stood the head priest, the pastor and the boy scout leader who knew all the parents and everyone else in the parish AND a boy scout who had accompanied him to the rectory on parish business (in that boy scout council, churches sponsored the boy scouts) who I believe had just earned his eagle badge and whose two younger sisters were both in my school, one in my class.

The shit hit the fan. I was outed at school. Have you got any idea what it is like to be outed at ten years old in the 4th grade in 1968? So my father's original suspicion that I was a faggot was confirmed. I was whipped a hundred strokes per day for the next ten days and grounded for eternity. Since we were already excommunicated we couldn't complain to the bishop of our new diocese. Since I was a repeat customer I could not file a r*pe report with the police and my father's boss wouldn't let him get yet another transfer and he was already pissed off at me since he lost $2000 selling the first house and had no intention of losing any more. I had no choice but to go to school and face all the kids who instantly knew that I love sucking cock and getting fucked in the ass by men. Of course the fact that none of that would be true for a couple more decades made no difference. I had confessed it to three witnesses while in drag getting butt fucked. The priest in question was transferred and my still devout mother decided to attend mass in yet a different parish twenty miles away. She dragged me along but now she refused to let me be an alter boy because I was unworthy to even approach the alter. Of course she forbid me from taking communion as I was not worthy but she did make me go to confession every Saturday which meant my father had to drive us both ways twice a week and I got whipped for that every week until I was 16.

As my might guess, the next several years were a continuous living hell. I was bullied beyond belief on a daily basis. Every guy who wanted a blow job or to fuck an ass assumed I was obsessed with taking their particular cock up my ass and down my throat. Before my 11th birthday I'd been fucked more than a fifty year old two dollar whore. You can't report a r*pe when it has happened so many times because the cops won't believe you. All you can do is take it and either hope to survive or pray for death.

So by this point you may be wondering why this is in the revenge category of stories.

The summer I was 17 and just before what should have been my senior year in high school, my father was transferred. I was actually giddy when I heard the news. It meant my torment would be over. The problem was, he was transferred right back to that original town in the first parish in the first diocese where all my trouble began. But, at least nobody there knew how much I adored being r*ped by priests. I had changed physically a lot since I was ten and absolutely no one recognized me or remembered me at all, not even when I told them my name. I must have not been a very memorable child at ten. I turned 18 at the end of September. My mother registered us again at the parish as one does but this time under a different last name. I was surprised that neither of the two priests who were there before recognized my mom. But I suppose seven years does a lot to a person's looks and memory. The priest who originally r*ped me was still there and so was one of the other priests but the pastor and three other priests who were there before were transferred out and replaced by yet more.

I remember that first Sunday when my mom and I attended mass together and found that the priest who r*ped me was saying mass. Fr. O. had gained some weight and had a beard but it was the same fr. O. I felt empowered when I realized that I towered over him by at least six inches. I was six feet tall and he was around five and a half. I was no longer afraid of him. In fact, I was toying with the idea of catching him on his way out of the church headed for the rectory and giving him a taste of his own medicine.

Now you probably noticed that despite everything that happened, I still went to mass. My mother was responsible for that. Had it been up to me, I'd never had stepped foot in a church again. I was by then long converted to atheism. But one does things for one's mother when asked and often without much question. I would never admit to her in those days that I was a devout atheist.

On our way out the door of the church after mass, that priest was asking nearly everyone as they exited if they would like to volunteer for bingo. When my Mom and I got to the exit he made the same request of us but then threw in "we feed our volunteers quite well." To my mom, that was all that was needed. She signed us both up. That meant she didn't have to fix dinner Friday nights. That meant for the conceivable future, my Friday nights were ruined. My Dad had let off a bit on the eternal grounding since I had turned 16 and gotten a job. So I had over the summer regained some semblance of a personal and even social life. I had met a few people over the summer and by the time the first day of school came I was already acquainted with some of my classmates. None remembered me of course and that was fine. I got to start over and I was happy even though it was in the very place where my troubles started. But having my Friday's ruined was NOT on my agenda.

I was still only 17 for a couple more weeks when I started at the bingo hall. So I was assigned to the kitchen mostly to wash dishes and do cleaning. I couldn't cook any food until I turned 18. After three hours I could stuff my face with whatever I wanted and even take some home. My mother did the same and that meant we had leftovers on Saturday and she did't have to cook then either. To her, that was reward enough.

My 18th birthday landed on a Friday. No party for me. My Friday night was spoken for. I couldn't even hang out with my new friends. My Mom promised that Saturday I would get cake and presents. despite that I was in a foul mood.

So when we got to the bingo hall an hour before bingo started, the priest in charge, yes, you guessed it, the same one who originally r*ped me, informed me that since I had just turned 18 that night I was now eligible to sell lucky tickets. Nobody wanted to do that for whatever reason. I could care less one way or another, my birthday and Fridays in general were ruined so six of one half dozen of the other. He handed me a pocket apron and grabbed a big pile of lucky tickets, gave me some change to make change with and told me to go out and sell as many as I could at 25 cents each or five for a dollar or thirty for five dollars. Despite having done one or two dumb things, I'm not a dummy. Very quickly I discovered that there was absolutely no oversight. They didn't count the tickets when they gave them to me. They didn't count the money when I gave it to them. All the money went into a big box and was counted at the end of the night. There were five of us wandering around the bingo hall selling the lucky tickets to thousands of bingo players. There was no way to determine how much cash the team should have at the end of the night let alone how much each individual volunteer should have. After the first hour I had to take a leak and walked back into the office and was about to take off my apron and turn it in temporarily to go take a leak and the priest, yes that same one, just told me to go take a piss and not bother taking the apron off and just go back out to the hall as they were losing money every second I left the hall and next time to use the men's room closer to the hall entrance. So I went to the men's room, entered a stall and looked down into the big pile of money in my apron as I sat pissing.

That was when I began skimming off the lucky ticket sales. I pocketed a hundred dollars that night. Five twenties. They didn't miss it. They had no way of knowing how much I should have turned in so they didn't miss it. I know I turned in thousands of dollars that night. At one point I had about seven thousand dollars in my apron.

Happy Birthday To Me!

In 1976 $100 was a lot of money. That was enough to buy a really nice Bicycle. That was enough to buy a really nice used black and white TV or a half way decent new stereo. It was enough to buy a new suit though I didn't wear suits. It was enough to buy some nice clothes. It was enough to take my friends out to dinner and a movie. It was also enough to buy a junk car. After giving it some thought, I decided to hold onto it and combine it with more that I planned on taking.

The next Friday I was very eager to start my volunteer services. I also had to piss a lot. I grabbed a total of twenty five twenty dollar bills and stuffed them into my wallet. In 1976 that was what my Dad made in two weeks and he worked for the government. I went about my business selling lucky tickets to the throngs of bingo players and got to know some of them. It is funny how gamblers go through their routines or have their particular superstitions. One guy wanted to count out every 7th ticket and buy it. Another counted every 13th ticket. Most wanted only to buy from fresh blocks of tickets. So every ten minutes or so I had to take my box back to the back room and make it look like I got all fresh tickets. You learn thing like that when selling gambling tickets. About the tickets. They were folded and sealed. The prizes were a fresh new ticket, or a dollar or five dollars, or twenty dollars, or fifty dollars or a hundred dollars of five hundred dollars. I literally had people buying blocks of five hundred tickets who expected to win thousands by doing so. Who was I to judge. All I knew was I was making a killing.

By the third week, after confirming that there was no oversight and no accounting methods used at all, I got bolder and began skimming around twenty percent. Today, casinos have very sophisticated accounting techniques that will tell if someone is skimming the take. For example, they actually count the money from each dealer and they know how to determine statistically, how much money each gambler is going to spend at a time and how much per square foot they can expect to take in on a given night and they even calculate in such things as the weather or how well a football team did that night. They have it down to a science. But in those days, church bingo was very unscientific and so was book keeping. I figured out quickly that the better I was at selling the tickets the more I was going to take home that night. I got to where I was selling over ten thousand dollars worth and that meant I was taking two grand a week. That's what my Dad earned in two months. This was better than dealing drugs or pimping. There was no chance of getting caught.

As of the day I graduated from high school I had skimmed $75,000 from the bingo receipts. I had eaten over 75 free meals. I had taken home over a hundred bottles of liquor from the parish liquor room (we sold liquor, beer and wine to bingo players) and I had swiped a variety of equipment, tools etc. It seems the more you volunteer the more they trust you. Nobody ever suspected anything when I quit my $2.50 an hour job. Nobody suspected when I bought my brand new Van and paid cash. Nobody suspected when I had nice clothes and nobody suspected when I bought myself a brand new 25" color TV, a new hifi and other nifty toys. My father didn't look a gift horse in the mouth when I offered to start paying room and board before my 18th birthday and at a rate of $50 a week. In those days that was a huge amount.

In July our parish decided to expand Bingo to three nights. Other parishes were holding bingo on Wednesday or Saturday night so we added both. I had thought it would reduce total sales but I was shocked when it actually tripled our weekly take which meant I tripled mine. That summer I skimmed an additional $75,000. By the first day of college I had a nest egg of over $125k. That was three times what my parent's house was worth and ten times what my Dad earned in a year. For the next four years I continued what I was doing and ended up taking $1.5 million +. That was when I graduated from college with my degree. I paid cash for my education and owed not a single cent. I literally had moving boxes stuffed with hundred dollar bills.

Then one day, after I had moved from there and was being a lazy bum basically a well educated 22 year old retired bum living in the beach house I bought 1500 miles away, my mom calls me up to tell me about the priest who was arrested for embezzling hundreds of thousands of dollars in parish funds and how he refused to tell the authorities where he hid his loot. Yes, that priest. They found a huge stash of illegal porn in the closet of his room in the rectory, all depicting little boys. Once that happened the victims all came crawling out of the woodwork. There were law suits. Some were settled. That priest was defrocked. The last I heard he died in prison. That diocese was sued for millions of dollars. Some of the victims got more than I did. I figure I'm even as far as that is concerned. The priest got a piece of ass and I got an education and nifty retirement fund.

Meanwhile, had that priest been a little more patient, I'd have let him do all that to me and more by the time I was 13. Even though middle school and high school were a living hell from a social standpoint, I really did enjoy sucking cock and getting it up the ass by then. But the priests didn't turn me into a sissy faggot. They simply recognized me as one already. The first one was a jerk and got what was coming. The second one I liked but he was stupid.