Some 30 years ago I wrote, with pen and paper, a long history of my gay sexual experiences, from my first sexual fumblings – right up to the day of writing. Then I added events and chapters as they happened for the next ten years or so, ceasing only when time and freedom ran out and then I found out all about computers so I transferred everything into electronic words.
The whole thing was too long and rambling but that didn't matter because I never intended to publish my sexual autobiography. However, since I hit my 60s, (and now my 70s) I've felt that I should really let others partake in some of the fun that I enjoyed.
So I've attacked and divided up the story, edited it to the best of my ability, made it more readable and turned it into eight parts for you to read.
The original writing was also very much in my 1980's/90's style – comparatively polite and lacking conversation, so I hope that my efforts to liven the stories up meet with your approval.
And the stories are in English from England, so please put up with my British spellings and phraseology.
This therefore is the SECOND of those segments of my life – "Monks at the Monastery".
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During my childhood, our whole family were practicing Roman Catholics and we went to mass every week without fail. Our local church was actually a Monastery that was situated off the edge of our village and whose grounds backed onto what was known as 'The Heath' – an expanse of sand, gorse, bracken and heather – miles in extent in most directions. Over the years, through our support, we became friendly with a number of the friars and priests – so much so that some of them would visit us and occasionally spend evenings at our house, chatting, having a few drinks with my parents and enjoying their freedom. I remember one elderly friar who visited us and who was introduced to Green Ginger Wine; my father's favourite tipple at the time – a wonderfully warming tonic. But it was quite potent and on this particular occasion he overdid things and apparently had to be found and rescued, along with his old moped, at about two in the morning, from a snowdrift up on the heath – pissed out of his tree!
We came to know many of them quite well and from the age of perhaps 12 I started doing small tasks at the monastery under their guidance. Soon I became a regular visitor and before long I began to take a more active role, helping out at their Sunday masses and other services. Then, once I was past my 18th birthday and therefore officially an adult, I began to get invited to stay behind after mass for some tea or a meal and despite the reputation of monasteries as being quiet places this place hummed with activity. Soon I was invited to use their considerable sporting facilities and much of my spare time was spent around the monastery.
One particular friar was always given the job of 'looking after' me – chaperoning me around the extensive monastery and I quickly became his friend as well as his responsibility. He was Brother Matthew or just Matt once I knew him better.
Anyway, I initially came to know him better than the rest because he, like the old friar before him, got quite drunk one night when he called at our house – on Green Ginger Wine again of all things and I walked back to the monastery with him.
Because the monks weren't really supposed to be drinking to excess and because of the experience with the elderly monk I went with him to make sure that he reached his room quietly and safely. I was almost 19 by now and my parents decided that, as the only one who hadn't been drinking, I should be the one to escort him back. It was a fair old walk, but those were the days when you walked a lot – no reliance on motorised transport. When we left home he was just somewhat fuzzy but by the time we arrived at the monastery, some four miles away, it was all he could do to stand up.
We trudged along, me with my arm around his waist for much of the time until we eventually reached the monastery. I used his key to open the door and let us in and guided him up to his room and once there he sat heavily on his bed, looking quite vacant.
"I need to get undressed so I can go to bed," he slurred, "Where's my 'jamas?"
They were on a chair so I handed them to him and stood to await his next move but his fumbling hands were no match for his belt and shirt buttons so I helped him get undressed down to his underpants, managed to get him into his pyjamas and ready for bed.
"I need a wee," he mumbled as he stood there but it was clear that I'd have to help – he was sober enough to know that he needed to go but it seemed doubtful if he'd be able to find his penis or aim properly so I led him to his bathroom and stood him by the toilet.
"How do I do this?" I asked out loud as I considered the best way to help.
Tentatively I reached to his fly and found the top of his underpants. I pulled them down and wondered if I was doing the right thing, then his hand came and joined mine.
"Yes, help me get it out," he mumbled, as he began fumbling around in his underwear.
"Ok, stand still," I said as swayed beside me, "I'll see if I can find it."
As I supported him with one arm, I reached into his underpants and found his limp penis. I took hold of it and pulled it out – there seemed to be an awful lot of it! I eventually pointed it at the toilet pan while I propped his body up against mine. I could now hold his cock with both hands and I both held him and pulled back his foreskin.
"Ooh that's nice," he groaned and he pushed his hips up towards my hand to try to make his cock slide through my fingers.
I felt his penis thicken slightly in my hand.
"Concentrate on what you're doing," I said and soon he began to piss and I thought he'd never stop.
Finally I was able to shake his penis for him, push his foreskin back into place and prepare to put it away, but as I did so he started to dribble again.
"Haven't you finished yet?" I asked as I held his cock over the bowl again.
"Don't know," he slurred.
