Page 124 - Some Dance to Remember

94 Jack Fritscher

balance in his riddle and made Ryan choose. The circle of men watched
him, Charley-Pop especially. His uncle Leslie grinned at him. “Speak up,
Ry.”
Ryan thought hard about it: he was his mama’s boy, and he was his
daddy’s boy. “I am,” Ryan answered, staring straight at his father’s boots
resting on the wood porch floor, “my daddy’s boy.”
His father picked him up and threw him into the air, twirling him
around, and landing him in his lap. “Hey, Les,” Charley-Pop said. “How’s
that for an answer!”
“You’ll be a man’s man,” his uncle Les said, “more than you’ll be a
ladies’ man. I can tell.”
Years later, when Ryan had left Misericordia at the age of twenty-four,
his uncle Leslie, who had been an ordained priest for nearly fifteen years,
asked him again the same question in a different way.
They stood alone in the privacy of the locked sacristy room off the
main altar of Saint Patrick’s Church. Ryan had served as altar boy at
Leslie’s mass and was helping him remove and fold his vestments.
“So now you’re out in the world,” Leslie said. “Do you like teaching
boys or girls better?”
Ryan was puzzled again. He suspected another trick question. A stu-
dent was a student, but there was a look in his uncle Leslie’s eye that made
him say, “I like teaching boys better.”
His uncle moved toward him, put his anointed hand on the back of
Ryan’s neck, and kissed him on the mouth. “I love you, Ryan,” Leslie said.
His uncle, a year past forty, was handsome in his roman collar. They
stared eye to eye. Leslie smiled. He knew Ryan better than Ryan knew
himself. He moved his strong hand to the back of Ryan’s head and pulled
his nephew into a close hug. He pressed his hard cock through his black
cassock against Ryan’s virginal groin. Ryan felt his own cock hardening.
He did not resist what he knew he wanted. He stood passive, feeling his
dick straining in his corduroys to be freed, released, liberated by a priest,
by his uncle.
“It’s okay,” Leslie said.
His hand unzipped Ryan’s pants and pulled his nephew’s stiffening
cock from his white cotton undershorts. His own erect penis stood out
at hard attention from his black cassock. He was a grown man, the best
kind of man, a priest. He was handsome with the mature athletic look of
the jock he had been in the seminary. He checked the locked door to the
sacristy and pulled off his cassock. In his black pants and white tee shirt,
he was the image of his brother, Charley-Pop.

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