For I Have Sinned

by Rafael Henry

Rising to the challenge.

'It's good to see you here again Leon.'

'Thank you Sir. It's good to be here.'

'So, are you having fun? I saw you playing with the boys earlier this morning. Are they behaving well for you?'

'Yes Sir. Very well. Mostly.'

'Oh? Only mostly ?'

'Yes Sir. There's always one.'

'And which one might that be?'

Leon looks behind him to see if that little holy terror, Max, is in sight. He is indeed very visible, and looking his way with a big smile on his face. He's thinks Leon is in trouble with the priest, and that he finds most amusing, the little minx.

'Over there. That one.' He says, pointing at the boy in little white shorts.

'The English boy?'

'Yes. He's their representative this year. They put him my tent, unfortunately.'

'And why is that so unfortunate Leon?'

'Because he's so naughty Sir.'

'Because he doesn't like you Leon? Is that why…….do you think?'

'I think he likes me, but that doesn't stop him.'

'So what does he do that annoys you?'

Then there's a pause while Leon considers his answer.

'Oh, nothing much. I think he wants his own way all the time Sir. You know, like the English always do.'

'Absolutely Leon. Can't you reprimand the boy? How old is he?'

'He's thirteen sir. But rather immature.'

'In what way is he immature?'

Another pause while Leon thinks.

'In every way Sir.'

'But isn't that rather an endearing quality in a young teenager Leon?' The priest quietly enquired, laying his hand gently on the boy's shoulder. This gesture makes his body tense, just a little.

'I suppose it could be Sir.'

It certainly could. There are just the two of them in the tent, one of those old-fashioned ridge type with ropes holding it all up, hopefully, and a flap at the front for getting out in the night to pee on the grass behind the tent, and things like that. The leather shorts he's wearing has a flap too. At the front that undoes. The whole thing lowers so you can access all that lies within. But something has caught the attention of his sleeping companion, Maximillian Brown from Walthamstow, an obscure place somewhere in London where most of the boys are just like him. Naughty in the old-fashioned sense, which means………well, we'll see won't we.

'Can I do that next time you want to go Leon?' Asks the flaxen headed English boy with a broad smile fixed onto an already dirty face. It's only Nine in the morning and he's a dirty face. The word is that English boys don't wash. Oddly, being a German boy with a reputation for cleanliness, Leon is attracted to boys like him. The cheeky ones who cheek him, asking for a well-deserved smack on the bottom. He'd give him one too if the boy hadn't darted off, slapping his own bottom like that. His heart beat faster as he looked, annoyed, as the boy mocks him yet again, bending forwards and showing Leon his bottom, and then patting it again, as if to say, 'put it right here German boy'. He likes the boy's shorts too, that let you easily see what's underneath, as if he didn't already know. And then what does the English boy do next? He pretends to be an aeroplane, his arms spread out wide as he runs in circles around Leon shouting achtung spitfire , over and over again . Now, to a young German boy, the grandson of an ME109 driver, that is annoying!

'So you seemed to have met your nemesis Leon?' The priest observes giving his shoulder another encouraging tweak.

'What's one of those Sir?' Leon asks, innocently, who had never had any use for the word up to now.

'Someone who has the measure of you, the beating of you Leon. Why don't you try a different tack? Just do what he wants.'

'Do you think that'll work Sir?'

'It might. Worth a try anyway. I'll talk to you tomorrow. See how it went with this untimely affliction that's landed on top of you.'

How did Father Koch know that? The boy had landed on top of him last night just after they had got undressed. It was just playfulness. Interesting playfulness. Silly fooling about, but rather fun at the same time.

All the boys, and girls too, go swimming in the lake every morning before their breakfast of muesli, boiled eggs, bread rolls and cold meats. The English boy complained to Leon that there was no fried bacon. He always had fried bacon when he went camping in England, so why not here? That's what the English are like when they go abroad. They always want what they get in England. Leon thought Max very parochial, but despite that failing, there was something about him when he looked again. And again.

Max had to swim in his pants. That's typical of him to forget his trunks, not that he thought he'd need them. On English scout camps they always swum naked, the girls too. That's proper camping, while the grow-ups watched them and took snaps for their albums. At night the boys played in their tents, just as the girls played in theirs. Last year he'd shared with an older boy who showed him how to do things that he might like to do, sometime. When he got home, playing in bed, we wished he had done one or two of those things.

Leon thought long and hard about the things the priest had suggested to appease the little blighter from across the English Channel. So that night, just the two of them tucked up in their tent-for-two, he gave in to Max's infantile demands. Max was playing with the torch they were all issued with. He pulled the front of his pants down and shone it on his flaccid skinny penis.

'What's yours like Leon?' He asks ever so quietly, trying to convince the German boy he was going to behave nicely tonight.

'Why?'

'Because I need to know. That's why. Show me or I'll scream.'

Leon showed him his own penis as Max illuminated the handsome piece, somewhat larger than his own, and without any of that spare skin Max's had. Max continues to shine his torch on Leon's private parts, even more exposed now by twiddly English fingers that tickled as well as stimulated. Leon's looking at Max's. Should he, or should he not?

He does, and as he does he watches the upward progress of Max's excitement. Much to Leon's delight, it grew and grew until it could grow no more. What perfection, now just like his, but still half the size.

'I want to lie next to you Leon.' Was the next ploy, something that Leon readily agreed to. So sleeping bags unzipped, the two are close now. Abandoning his traditional English reserve, Max thrusts his face at Leon's, giving him a fair old covering of his spittle, unused to the subtle art of kissing as he is. He'd found that very few English boys wanted to be kissed while they played with each other. He always wanted to but they thought it was all too queer. That's strange because they are , so why not act like it?

Leon liked the kissing bit, once he'd persuaded Max not to lick him in that way, but to use his mouth in the accepted German manner, and tongue as well, just as he learned how at his Catholic boarding school. You could twiddle the two together, touching and teasing, slipping and sliding in that joyous way the English can't seem to get the hang of. And what it does for the other parts? Wow!

The tent was getting hotter and hotter, and in more ways than the mere temperature of the now quite fetid air. Not that the boys cared. Next to each other now, they have other things on their minds.

Doing it together, simultaneously with hands, or in Max's case, a thumb and two fingers, is fine, by mutual agreement. For a while at least. But Max, casting aside his traditional English prejudices, suggests another method of relieving each other.

'Are you sure?' The breathless Leon asks.

'Of course I'm sure! It takes longer.'

'Does it?' The boys says, surprised.

'I think so but there's only one way to find out.'

They decided that Max should be done first. After all it was his suggestion.

All went well to start with, but due to inexperience, the temperature dropped off somewhat and the tried and tested method was re-adopted. Things are looking up immediately as he slides Max's foreskin up and down at some speed, as the boy with arms folded behind his head, looks on.

'Now Leon, do it the other way again.' Says the breathless Max, with his impeccable English accent. Posh even.

So Leon does, and all's well. He's tasted success for the first time, and with an English boy. Now that's something to tell the grandchildren.

The other way around went well too. Just the very thought of being done to, in that way, by this cheeky little dingbat was almost enough to tip Leon over the precipice and into an orgasmic void. But it took a little more than thought. Marginally more adept at this than he was at kissing, Max also succeeds, eventually. He was bound to, the way Leon was feeling. Nothing would have stopped it, and when it came, boy, did it. Far from throwing his head back, and then sideways to get rid of it on Leon's tummy, the entire contents was dealt with in the best way possible, thus avoiding any unnecessary complications.

The breathless Max looks at Leon in the half-light as a smile gradually forms on both of the boys' faces. Such a sweet triumph.

'Where's it gone Max?' Asks the whispering Leon.

'Here.' Answers the smiling open mouthed cheeky English cheeky git, pointing.

'Fantastic. Come here.'

So Max does come, and they kiss, better this time, and with a significant difference.

'Where did you learn that Max?'

'Oh, in one of our country's venerable institutions where they very sensibly don't allow girls to get in the way of what boys need to do. That's where we learn all these things; but not in the lessons.'

'Heilige scheize! How do enter such places?'

'Easily. You don't need to be brainy.'

'What do you need then?'

'A Vater and Mutter with some cash basically……old boy. And a sizeable penis of course. And nice firm testicles. They always check those first. Oh, and no pubic hair for at least the first two years. That's very important.'

'Why?'

'Most of the big boys like to have boys who look like girls for some odd reason. I've no idea why. By the way, that Father Kock likes the cut of your jib Leon. I can tell these things.' Max elaborates, still savouring the unsavoury residue.

'Jib? What's one of those?

'For heaven's sake Leon. Your body. You're a beauty, especially down here. [Max feels for Leon's still perky penis, and finds it. His large balls too]. It's a cracker, your fat German sausage, and no mistake. Look what it's just done. You'd go down a storm at my school. They'd never let you leave the place. But your Vater needs some cash to send you there. That can be a problem.'

Leon looks puzzled by these revelations, but knowing Max is English, and going by what he's heard about those nut cases over the Channel, he's unsurprised by what this moronic Anglo miracle has told him. But the bit about Father Koch?

He has always liked the German priest. He'd been going to camp for years now and Father Koch was always there, observing . All the girls and boys swam nude in the freezing cold lake, and when the boys came out dripping, their willies shrivelled by the cold water, resembling a mini walnut whip, he was there with a towel to minister unto those unfortunates with a comforting towel, always there to minister unto the boys and girls, thus restoring them to their earlier beauty. Many a time Leon had received such restorative attention from Father Koch. But he enjoyed it nonetheless. It made him feel a bit special, and his tingling body quickly warmed. The other boys noticed of course, jealous no doubt, walking away cold and dripping, and looking back, wondering what would be for Leon.

The next day, Leon's presence has been requested by Father Koch.

'Guten Morgen Leon, liebster junge.'

'Good morning Father.'

'And when was the last time you confessed your sins lieber junge?'

'Rather too long ago I'm afraid.'

'So a lot of water has passed under the bridge, so to speak?'

'I'm afraid it has Father.'

'I shall see you in the confessional tent this evening. Shall we say nine of the clock?'

'That would be perfect Father. It'll be good to get away from the English boy for a while. To be truthful, he's rather wearing me out.'

'Is he indeed?' The Father says, his ears pricking up.

'He's rather hard work for me if truth be told.'

'Ach du meine Güte! It sounds as if you have much to confess my child?'

I think so Father. Should I come as I am, in these things [he points to his stiff and cumbersome shorts] or in my pyjamas?'

Back in the tent, Max has more questions for Leon.

'Nine o'clock? That's a bit late isn't it? Are you going to wear those things?'

'All I've got Max. Unless…'

'You can have anything of mine. Shorts and pants? I've got plenty.'

'Maybe. Can I try?'

Big mistake. It's rest time after yet another bratwurst in a roll. Don't they eat anything else?

Leon tried on a pair of Max's dinky English pale blue knicker things which are in sharp contrast to what poor Leon has under those leather things he thought were so sexy. He was immediately aroused as he looks down, tightly held in by what Max has pulled up his legs, giving the German boy a big wet kiss, gratefully received. That set Leon off bigtime, which set Max off too. Anyway we'll leave it there shall we? Actually, no. Why leave a nice place?

The boys lay naked on the open sleeping bag, the heat of their joint bodies cooling very gradually. Max had asked Leon for a special favour, which, after some discussion about practicalities, he granted. Max wanted to try something they hadn't attempted before. Leon, knowing how much he liked stimulating himself in that most private part of his young body, and knowing what affect it had on the other part, thought it worth a try, especially as Max, girthwise, shouldn't be a problem. It wasn't any sort of a problem aided by gouts of Leon's spittle, and the outcome was exactly that; a complete success for the blond headed Saxon boy. Max had done all the hard work, wedged between Leon's legs, up on his elbows kissing him as matters progressed.

Leon felt himself for any possible result of Max's grunting and groaning, and that final sigh of relief. Yes, there it is, as he withdraws the longest digit for his perusal. So small doesn't necessarily mean little. Ditto for Leon, who during last year's jamboree, came third in the who can get it the furthest competition. Suffice it to say, Father Koch was not a witness to that very private event; something you might prefer not to mention at your next Confession.

'Do you have to Leon? Confess everything?'

'Oh yes, everything. Otherwise there's no point in doing it is there?'

'I suppose not. You've got a point there. But that could be quite fun couldn't it?' Suggests Max.

Indeed it could be.

Leon considers Max's brainwave. After all, that is the whole point of the exercise surely? To be honest and tell all his sins committed. Father Koch is bound to ask for details. It's a requirement. When, how many times, and so on.

Leon is excited and actually grateful to Max, sufficiently so to want to plant a kiss on the tousled haired and pale northern boy who would look perfectly at home as a young naked slave boy in an ancient Roman market place.

'That was nice Leon. Shall I do you now? That's only fair.' He says, expressing that very English endearing but misplaced sense of fair play.

'No. Best save myself for later. Better to have a full tank. Just in case.' Leon says, teasing his erection again with two fingers and his thumb. It wouldn't have taken much at this point as he watches Max fiddling with his, but this was no moment for casual pleasure considering the challenge that awaited him.

'Saving yourself?' The perplexed lad asked. 'Not for him surely?'

For him? What, that horrid old man? Perish the thought!

At five minutes to nine, Leon is at the door flap of Father Koch's tent. There's a glow inside, and as he enters the dim space, he sees the priest sitting on a stool to the left of the pale-coloured privacy sheet that forms the division of the gloomy and over-heated space.

This is no ordinary confessional box. A tent. Yes, a tent pitched on the extreme periphery of the camping ground, far away enough for the intimate proceedings not to be seen or heard. Not under any circumstances. Father Koch had arranged the interior cleverly, he thought, by erecting a white sheet half way across the space from back to front, and then placing a small paraffin lamp by the far tent wall, with the effect that the shadow of the confessor will be projected onto the blanket with him the other side, unseen by the confessor. A rather neat arrangement he thought. Very graphic, in visual terms, but conforming perfectly to the rules. He would have Leon, sweet boy that he is, perfectly placed between the lamp and the sheet, standing in profile, and in so doing the boy's shadow will be perfectly projected onto the screen. Unseen, he can enjoy this visual feast, laid on by Leon the Confessor, in the most spirited way possible. He imagined the boy in dramatic silhouette, something he had never seen before, kneeling, and telling all.

'Eintreten' Says the voice from within.

Stooping, as one does, Leon enters the makeshift confessional, dressed in a white tee shirt, symbolizing his virginal purity which was Max's idea. Below that comes the cumbersome leather garment. One of the buttons that secured the front flap was undone, so one corner sagged down, despite the stiffness of the material, Max's idea again. Max was never slow in coming forward when he had another idea to get the gullible Leon into more hot water.

'Leon, don't wear those things underneath for goodness sake. You're lucky I took any interest in you at all wearing that kind of rubbish. How could your mother allow it?' Max says with amused indignation. Actually he hadn't taken too much offence at Leon's under garments, considering the damage all that leather could do to a boy's soft parts. Besides, it's what's inside that matters. If it takes you five minutes to get at a boy's bits and pieces, then it does. It would never have done for him, but then he's not the one wearing it. And don't worry, Father Koch didn't notice the Saxon tearaway, with that wiggling bottom of his that seems to promise everything he would like, and those perfectly fitting shorts that reveal just enough underneath to get a good German lad going, or a lad from anywhere come to that. And, furthermore, he wondered how such a beautiful creature like Maximilion Brown came from a town called Walthamstow? How very odd.

He'd started with Cubs and loved everything about it, especially the camping trips with the other boys, and all those silly games. The smell of cooking on a real camp fire, the nights spent giggling and playing together when he shared a sleeping bag with that boy from Redbridge and they both got funny feelings. Last year he graduated to the Scouts. Winning the first prize in the London-wide raffle meant a trip to Germany to attend the Jamboree. Being one of the youngest there, he got to choose a boy to share a tent with. My goodness, that one's a handsome boy. I shall have him. But I'm not too sure about the thing he's wearing. Never mind, where there's a will, there's a way.

Headroom is limited in these tents, so the Father Koch suggests that it would appropriate for Leon to kneel down facing the tiny cruciform device hanging by a thread at the far end on the brown canvas wall. Leon can't see where the voice is coming from as Father Koch is hidden behind the sheet. Neither is he aware of the sharp image his body is making, projected as it is, onto the screen. But Father Koch is pleased with the result of his construction. A touch of the em>Cabinet of Doctor Caligari he thought. Most gratifying! He had aways admired the Expressionist cinema.

Caught in the Light of Contrition. That's Leon. Now for it.

'Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been……. rather a long time since my last confession I'm afraid.' Leon explains, his head lowered. 'I'm afraid I can't remember the date.'

'No matter mein lieber junge, no matter. Are you pleased to be here?'

'I am Father, very pleased, but anxious.'

'Oh je. Why is that?'

'My confession Father. Should I confess to everything Father?'

'Indeed you must. I cannot absolve your sins without the complete truth my susser junge. You are still young and pure. There is nothing you cannot tell me. But it may be easier for you to concentrate on recent events. Shall we start with that?'

'Oh yes Father. I would much prefer that.'

'So, what is the nature of your sins mein Schatz?'

'The English boy, Maximillian Brown. It is with him that I've sinned.'

'You must explain mein junge.'

'In detail Sir? Must I?

'Of course you must. Are you comfortable like that?'

'It's very hot in here Sir.'

'It is indeed. Der Liebling. Perhaps you are uncomfortably warm?'

'Indeed I am Sir. These things are thick Sir. May I?'

'Confess in comfort dear boy. Indeed, confess in comfort. When you are ready, you may begin, Kleiner Junge.'

Another minute passes.

The projected shadow, the image of the boy in profile and in every detail, is perfection itself.

And so he begins the tale, from beginning to end, with absolutely nothing left out. No stone unturned. Leon found the confessional experience quite liberating, to get all that sinfulness off his hairless chest, just as Father Koch listened to Leon's intimate descriptions of the various games the two boys had played together in the privacy of their tent.

The dark silhouette of the boy's form and intimate movements are etched in the sharpest detail as Leon relates the comings and goings of his times with Max, gradually became aroused as you might expect.

'You must explain, mein junge, exactly……. how, if you would.'

Gesegneter Vater, who shall never be denied, isn't denied.

So Leon explains, exactly how. And how well did the image form on the makeshift screen? Perfectly, as clear as clear could be, in every detail, every movement, every gesture. Oh yes, he listened well, head forward and close, to those unmistakeable sounds. Father Koch found those sounds inspirational indeed, such honesty, such integrity, such courage as he waited for the final conclusion. And then it came. The ensuing quiet. The deep reflection. Absolution.

The sounds of breathing gone, both sides of that magical divide, to nothing now.

Leon walked back to his tent carrying the cumbersome, and in Max's opinion, extremely un-sexy shorts.

'How did you get on Leon? Did you get it done ok?' Asks Max from where he is in the tent, lying on his back on his own sleeping bag, hands behind his head, legs wide apart and naked in the heat. Leon stops to admire the form presented to him by endearing English boy. He knows he's going to miss him when he's gone.

'Alright thanks. I did it.'

'What?'

'I confessed and got absolution. My sins are all washed away now.'

'What if you want to do it again?'

'Then you go back again.'

'And so on and so on. Is that it? The pattern of your whole life?'

'I suppose so.' He says, taking his rightful place next to Max.

When Leon pushes his fingers through the butter-coloured hair of the Saxon lookalike, he kisses the boy lightly on the cheek. Leon moves his knees further apart giving his new-found English boyfriend a better opportunity to re-acquaint himself.

'How are they now? Worn out?' He says, teasing again and giving everything a slightly harder gripping.

Leon chose his words carefully.

'So tonight? Nichts zu tun?'

'Oh, I wouldn't say that.'

Now everybody, don't forget every Scout's motto. Especially you, Maximillian Brown from Walthamstow.

Sei vorbereitet!!

The story concludes.

Iomfats.org

For I Have Sinned

by Rafael Henry

Rising to the challenge.

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