Take Me to Church (boyxboyxboy)✅

Chapter 2

Warning: As a reminder, this story contains content and language that some readers may find disturbing, offensive, and triggering. Read at your own risk.

Nick Kavanagh

While everyone was either on their way home or off doing after school activities or whatever, I was in Father Davis's classroom, helping him correct some theology tests. He just happened to need an assistant and my stepdad and everyone else had little trouble volunteering me after I spray painted a rainbow over a bunch of lockers. I was tired of the drabby, gray lockers.

Instead of sitting in a room for after school detention, the principal and the higher ups put me to work. I didn't really have much of a choice; one day I was Father Davis's assistant, the next day I was watching a bunch of elementary school kids in the afterschool program. I liked hanging out with the kids much more than hanging out with Father Davis or any other priest or teacher. Children never expected anything from me except to maybe play a game of checkers or Monopoly.

One thing about Father Davis was that he just happened to have an unhealthy obsession with underage boys. Whenever he needed his fix, he'd claim he "urgently needed" my assistance, even though I turned eighteen the second week of school. Unfortunately, I passed for sixteen or seventeen, maybe younger. I couldn't wait to turn eighteen, but nothing changed. I still acted like a submissive boy.

I really wasn't in the mood today, though. Father Kagan made me late for English class again because he also "desperately needed my services." I was tired. I just wanted to grade these tests and go home and play video games. That's it.

Sitting at one of the desks in front of his, I diligently went to work on the stack of tests.

"Those can wait," he said, leaning against his desk. I didn't look up, but I felt his eyes on me. I knew he wanted me to do something other than grade tests. I knew that from the minute I entered the classroom; I just wished I was wrong once in awhile.

"Would do you have planned next year?" he asked, taking a step forward.

"Dunno... haven't given it much thought." I couldn't see myself going anywhere. My grades were mediocre on a good day.

"We're all going to miss you. You w been such a good student."

Sure, but not in the way he meant it.

Father Davis ran his fingers through my hair and over the side of my face and I knew what was going to come next.

"Remember the fun we used to have last year?"

I wouldn't call that fun. Flashbacks of everything he did to me came flooding back to me and it was all I could do to black it out.

But I remembered. I remembered anything. As he lifted up his black robe, he placed his hand on the back of my neck.

"No... do I have to today?" I said quietly and pathetically.

"Oh, come on, a boy like you loves doing this and you do it so well."

I wanted to bite it off. It was the ugliest dick I'd ever seen. He ignored me, like all the rest, shoving it in my mouth. All I wanted to do was go home. It always seemed never ending. I counted in my head to distract myself, counting until it was over.

1, 2, 3, 4... fuck you, fuck you, mother fucker... 5, 6, 7... I fucking hate you. I want to fucking due... 8, 9, 10... done.

"Can I go home now?" I asked, wiping my mouth. I felt sick, like I always did. Staring down at my feet, I waited for him to say something.

"Go home now? You have work to do," he said, referring to the tests. "Now finish up."

As an altar boy, I was one of the best. That's what Father Lamy told me when I was twelve. From the time I made my First Communion, my mother insisted I serve as an altar boy. We never missed a Mass, so I didn't mind doing it since it gave me something to do. Church was so boring.

By the age of ten, I knew I liked boys in a different way. In other words, I knew I was gay. In a rare face to face confession, I disclosed my revelation to Father Lamy, the priest I spent the most time with, the priest I trusted. He was always really nice to me and made me feel important. He made me feel good about myself.

Father Lamy was supposedly nice enough to "show me" what it was like to be gay. In the parish center, when no one was around, he kindly asked me to take off my clothes... all of them. I didn't want to take off my underwear, but he said, "You want to go to Heaven, right?" Well, of course I did. "You don't want to disappoint your parents, do you?" No, I didn't want to disappoint them.

"I'm going to show you what it's like to be gay," he said.

"Are you gay?" I asked him.

"You're such a sweet boy," he said, avoiding my question. I really wanted to know if he was gay. He showed me all right. From that point on, I really didn't want to be gay if being gay felt like that.

Yeah, I made a great altar boy, one of Father Lamy's regulars.

As I mindlessly corrected the tests, my mind drifted away from Fathers Davis and Lamy to the boy in English class. I preferred thinking about him instead of fat ass over there, sitting smugly behind his desk. I saw the boy all the time, but didn't know his name even though we had other classes together. I saw his face a lot over the years. He'd probably been going to that school since he was six, like me. Maybe I came on a little strong, but I had fun making him blush. I had good gaydar and could smell a fag a mile away. Someone like Liam could never fall for someone like me.

Ah-ha! Liam... Liam... that was his name...

He was definitely cute.

And definitely gay.

I could dream, couldn't I?

After my detention with Father Davis, I went home and straight to the bathroom to take a scalding hot shower, trying to rid myself of sin and shame and self-hatred. I didn't want to be alone, but I had no one to turn to, no one to talk to, haunted by the thoughts in my head.

My mother, a blindlessly devout Catholic, should have been a nun she said. She loved God that much, she said. She also loved Morrie McGuiness, my stepfather who also happened to be an English teacher and head of the English department. After my real father split when I was five, she met Morrie at some Catholic fundraiser. My mother was a science teacher at the all girl's Catholic high school, Saint Bernadette's, nearby. I liked Morrie. He was always good to me, treating me like his own son even though I didn't deserve his love, kindness, and patience. I was nothing but a beast to him, a real asshole, especially at school. I was a little punk and I knew it. I got off on it and sometimes I just couldn't help myself.

The way my mother spoke about the Church... well, I could never disappoint her by divulging what Father Lamy did to me. There were others after him, but I never once said a word to anyone. I more or less put up with it. And maybe sometimes I sought them out voluntarily because I was bored and knew I was good at sucking dick. I wasn't good at a lot of things.

Unlike many of the others, Father Connelly was nice to me and I'd say even cute for a thirty something. I think he genuinely liked me, too. Anyway, he's a story for a different day.