What a package this pack was packin', if you catch my drift.
When they transformed into these furry beasts, their shirts ripped off in the most cinematic fashion.
I really couldn't have imagined how hot it would get me, under the collar.
A Priest should not be having these kinds of thoughts and dare I say it, bodily sensations.
At the rectory we were warned about the full moon, about the rising tides and the powers that overcome. My own Mother would never even leave the house on a full moon, in case the energies took her over. I came from a supersitious lot, but now, as my habit gets tighter around my waist and my body urges will me closer into the centre of this group of half men, half beats.
I had always tried to be pious, to be holy and pure.
My urges up until this point had been manageable.
It is normal, no? A virile young man with passions and urges. They even talked of the passion of Christ, but as a youth, it was the half-naked pictures on the walls, windows and ceilings that impassioned me. Honestly, it was the first thing that had attracted me to the church. To be around other men without those pesky and perceptive women. They always knew, you know, when your desires do not rise for their scent, their presence.
I never understood it, how men would find that floral scent or those frilly clothes to be of excitement. They bored me to say to least and repulsed me to say more.
I should rewind the record a little more, to add a little context to this situation, as I want to make sure you understand me well.
I am a Priest, dressed all in black, almost like a monk. I knew that growing up in New England at the end of the 20th century, this would be the best option for a man like me. I had never hated or repelled the carnal urges that existed within me, and they were strong with men, with muscular youth and brooding adults.
At first it is the smell, the musk and the aura. Intoxicating, I had thought, except, now with added supernatural and may I say communal element.
I craved men, like one craves a hot bath after the bitter cold, or a bed after a long journey. This urge tingled under the surface of my skin, like electricity. The hair on the back of my neck would stand erect, as well as other things. I knew of other men, like me, who craved the flesh of their own kind, yet they seemed different to me. They joked and cajolled and begged for the approval of others. I do not know how to explain it, but they were somehow inferior. Yes, I craved men, but it made me feel special and important, not desperate and needy.
One week ago, while I was covering the confession booth, I found myself overtaken by my sexual urges. Before I even heard the chapel door open and heavy steps lead to me, I had a feeling inside of me, deep inside.
I sat on the hard and cold wooden seat, surrounded by the wooden casket of the confession booth. As my senses became primed, a heat began to build from the soles of my feet. As each heavy footstep made it's way up the aisle, facing the pulpit and hanging cross of Jesus, the fire inside grew hotter.
What was this feeling? It was already stronger than anything, like the stories of Nosferatu, which I often laughed at it's unlikely occurrence. The strangest part was how this hunger inside me actually satisfied as much as it pervaded me. I was being fed while I was being starved.
The pit of my stomach began to bubble with anticipation, my hands began to tremble, sweat on the edge of my brow. Then the door of the confessional opened and closed with a whisper, and this presence and I were alone in this close proximity.
I breathed in deeply, savouring and soaking up this almost animalistic aroma. I wanted to bury my head into it and like pollen to a bee, wrap myself in it until I ceased to become.
"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned" a deep, gravelled voice greeted my ears. There was a hint of a foreign accent, and a gravity of power and age. This was a man is what I could think, but how half right I was.
My heart continued to beat harder in my chest, my collar feeling tighter around my neck. I tried to loosen it a little but as my fingers slid in between my moist neck and the hard, stiffened collar, my mind flashed to a wild and hairy hand gripping my neck firmly, almost crushingly.
The voice continued, "I hope I can be forgiven for the sins of my past but also for the sins of the present and the future…"
My mouth became dry as I tried to mutter, unconvinvgly, the rote catecism of my training.
"You see…" the voice of breath of my assailant almost compelling me closer to the veil between us,
"I have desires of things not of this world, as you know it, and I proffer to expand my vision further. I have had immoral thoughts of another, that I can do little but abide by"
I manage to mutter, "And what… are these urges of which you speak?"
This voice grew wilder and thicker, deeper and seemed to emcompass all around me.
"To consume and abuse and pleasure…" and then he pushed his hand through the wooden lattice separating us and pushed me against the wall.
It all happened in such a blur and I presented no resistance.
His huge and monstrous body was hot and powerful, as he held me against the wall with his bulging form. I released all tension as I let myself be held by him, willing him to comsume me with his body.
His breath was pressing hard into my neck, pulsating throughout my body, reverberting.
He ravaged me, in the most passionate and carnal way I coiuld have imagined. His will and power so forceful I was unable to resist, and resist I did not want.
He ripped off my robes and began to devour me, heating me up.