Learning My Lessons In Church Youth Group

I kept moving my mouth up and down while he drilled the roof of my mouth and throat with machine gun-like fury, and just when I thought it was over he moaned and spurted a few more times.


After barely graduating high school in 1977, I was finally beginning to learn why paying attention in school might have been a good idea, because I had been unable to gain admittance to either of the 2 local community colleges because of my poor grades.

That was embarrassing, especially since I don’t think that Hudson Valley had ever rejected an application before mine, although that was likely just a rumor or a story concocted by a friend who wanted to rub it in.

I did gain admittance the following year and went on to graduate with respectable grades, so things worked out in the end, but the year that passed after high school was brutal around my house, not that I didn’t deserve it in retrospect.

Looking back, I was not nearly as cool as I thought I was. I was a dumpy guy who unwisely took as much pride in my body as I did in my schoolwork. Not morbidly obese but plump, and added on to that I had a wise-ass remark for just about everything made me the kind of guy people find easy to dislike.

One thing I did find out early was that girls didn’t find me all that appealing, and that would have made me a lonely guy were it not for the ride some anonymous man gave me one night as the library closed. He found me appealing for some reason, and when he suggested I do something to him to thank him for the ride and I told him I didn’t know how, he showed me.

Up until then I was so naive sexually that I thought blow jobs meant you actually had somebody blow on your dick, but that man set me straight. Furthermore, I learned that I liked it, and I liked giving them more than receiving them. That way I didn’t have to contend with the shame of my chubby body and my equally fat but short dick.

That willingness to please others made me more popular than I had been, and even though I knew I was being used, it was a lot better than sitting home pouting and eating. My slovenly ways were annoying to my parents though, and when we got new neighbors next door, I paid the price.

Their names were Bruce and Grace Temple, and I paid them no mind when they had moved in many months ago, hardly noticing them except that they had to be the whitest white people imaginable. They were in their late 20’s I supposed and had no kids, but they did have one passion that they somehow infected my mother with.

Upon moving in the neighborhood, the couple got in tight with the local church right away, and they talked the priest into starting a youth group because they were concerned that young people were losing their way with all the long hair, the foul language and the pot smoking. The St. Francis Youth Group would seek to change that.

My parents, my mother to be specific, must have had a talk with our new neighbor Grace Temple, because after watching me sit around the house for a while without having a job bite me in the ass, Mom told me how it was going to be.

“You need direction Jimmy,” Mom explained. “You need somebody to set you on the right path, because it’s clear I’m not able to do it, and neither is Dad. That’s why I want you to join this Youth Group down at the church.”

I remember brushing that off with disdain, and I think my mother started to cry a little at that point, saying what a failure they were as parents, and while that worked a lot of the time with me, this time I didn’t budge.

Sit in a church basement a couple nights a week with a bunch of nerds? Listening to our next door neighbors play missionaries, preaching against everything I liked? I had better things to do with my time, although blasting music through my headphones and masturbating a lot was not all that productive either.

“Besides,” I said using my bizarre brand of logic in a vain attempt to make this not happen. “It’s a Catholic church and their name is Temple. It’s probably some ruse to convert people to Judaism or something.”

“Nonsense. Grace assured me it’s non-denominational,” Mom replied.

“Tens and twenties are preferred I bet,” was my rebuttal.

“We are paying for it, so all you have to do is go.”

“Waste of money,” I responded, surprised that I had guessed correctly the youth group was a business operation.

Frustrated, Mom tried another tactic. I could join that group, or I could move out on my own, and she said the old man was backing her up on this one. With no job I obviously couldn’t live on my own, and while I wasn’t positive that they would actually throw me out, there was something about the way she talked that had me believing it.

I agreed to it, even though the prospect of spending an hour or so one night a week down there in the basement of the church pissed me off.

“Not one night. They meet 3 nights a week,” I was informed. “And they meet from 7 to 9.”

“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath when I heard that, and I didn’t mutter very subtly either because Mom heard it.

“That’s why you need this. You always have to have the last word, and that combined with your foul mouth…”


The first night I went down there, I arrived with an attitude and kept my mouth shut while my eyes glazed over listening to Bruce Temple give a kind of pep talk and then tell about this singing group he wanted to start.

“Sort of like ‘Up With People’ but on a local level,” Grace Temple chimed in as her husband handed out sheets of paper that had lyrics of a song on it. “Let’s give it try. I’ll bet we sound great!”

The Temples were both animated people in the church basement, unlike when I would see them next door where they seemed cold and robotic, and as I looked at this chalky couple I had a revelation of my own.

“You take away his reddish brown hair, put a white wig on him and this guy could pass for Johnny Winter,” I suggested to a guy sitting next to me who looked as happy to be there as I was, and he broke out laughing at that, causing people to turn to look back at us.

“Give her a wig and she could be Edgar Winter,” he countered as the signing started, drowning out my laugh.

It was a dreadful song sung by the most off-key collection of nerds imaginable, but after it ended Grace and Bruce Temple were excited because to them it sounded divine, and they pictured us going to old folks homes to cheer them up, or maybe roam the halls of the local hospital to brighten spirits.

“Bad enough being stuck in a hospital, but listening to this shit would have half of them jumping out the window,” I opined to my acquaintance, who thought I was a riot and introduced himself as Nate.

That was the only night that Nate went there, but he helped make the night bearable and after the meeting broke up and we filed outside he said it was cool meeting me but he wouldn’t be returning. I thanked him and told him I wanted to give him something to remember me by.

I brought Nate around the back of the building to a little dark alcove where I went down to my knees, pulled down his pants and gave him head. Nate didn’t last long and his dick was actually smaller than mine, something I wasn’t used to, but it was the highlight of the night for me.

“How was the Youth Group?” Mom asked when I got home.


“Great!” Mom chirped, so eager to hear what I didn’t say that she elaborated on that one word answer. “I told Dad that when you got back you’d say, ‘I’m glad I came!’ I’m proud of you Jimmy.”

I didn’t say I was happy I came, but I had cum, getting myself off as I sucked Nate’s cock, but I didn’t explain that to Mom, choosing to go upstairs and listen to some Johnny Winter instead.


My next visit to the Youth Group was more of the same. We sang that song again and we may have been even worse that time, and there was some talk about selling candy bars to raise money for something, followed by a speech by Bruce Temple about keeping your moral compass focused and being judged by your actions while seeming to be looking a lot at me.

I thought that might have been my imagination, but I was to find out after the meeting that I was not wrong about Mr. Temple looking at me and it was indeed my morals he was concerned about.

Mr. Temple grabbed me as I was filing out with the rest of the sheep, and after telling his wife that he was going to walk home with me instead of riding with her, I got a sinking feeling in my gut.

After he asked me how I was enjoying Youth Group so far, and after I lied and told him it was alright, he got to the point albeit in a meandering serpentine way that took most of the half mile walk.

“I was informed by someone who shall remain nameless Jimmy,” he said as he stopped me under a streetlight so he could make eye contact with me, “that you were seen pleasuring a fellow group member out back after the last meeting.”

“Pleasuring?” I asked, knowing what he meant but wanting to hear him say it, but he denied me that pleasure.

“That’s all I was told, but the person was certain that he saw you give a young fellow pleasure.”

“Was that wrong?” I asked as innocently as I could manage. “I didn’t get a list of rules or anything.”

“I think some things should go without saying,” Bruce replied, looking uncomfortable enough to make me suspect that his wife made him have this talk with me.

“Well Mr. Temple, to be honest with you, I talked with a particular young fellow during and after the meeting, and after he expressed to me that he wasn’t planning on coming back to the next meeting, I tried to persuade him not to quit,” I declared, and with a straight face too which speaks of what a wise-ass kid I really was back then.

“Nate – I know the person you were with – now he didn’t come back tonight, did he?” Mr. Temple asked.

“No. I guess I failed,” I admitted.

“I spoke to Nate’s parole officer and he told me he wouldn’t be coming back because he violated his parole.”

“Oh. A convict,” I mumbled, adding that title to the growing list of people I had “pleasured” in Mr. Temple’s words, and then in order to divert this chat I had a idea. “You know, if we ever get this singing group together, it might be cool to go to the county jail and cheer them up. Maybe Nate would be there.”

“Excellent idea Jimmy,” Bruce chirped in recognition of my idiotic idea, but the temporary diversion didn’t take and as we neared our houses he got back on track.

“Whatever you did to that young man, don’t you realize that it’s just a shallow attempt to fill a void in your heart?”

“I don’t know. Nate seemed to like it and I not only enjoy giving head, I think I do it well,” I explained.

“Head? A head of what?” Bruce Temple actually said.

“Head. Sucking cock. Putting a dick in your mouth.”

“Oh my,” Bruce exclaimed while shivering like somebody dropped an ice cube down the back of his shirt. “That’s sinful.”

“Is it just a sin when a guy does it?” I challenged. “It’s not a sin when your wife does it to you though?”

“No – I – my wife?” Mr. Temple almost yelled. “My wife would never do such a thing.”

“You’re kidding, right?” I asked, suspecting that this guy might be playing with my head like I was his, but the look on his face suggested he was both very serious and very ignorant. “You should ask her for it.”

“My wife? The woman I adore? The future mother of our children if we are so blessed? I could never ask her to do that.”

“Oh. Too bad because you don’t know what you’re missing.”

“Well – er- I- uh – never jumped off of the roof of a skyscraper but I don’t really want to know what I’m missing with that,” he offered in weak rebuttal.

“Not the same Mr. Temple, although if somebody gives you great head, it might give you the same rush as that,” I suggested. “Without the messy splat on the ground.”

“If you want, I’d be glad to let you know what you’ve been missing all these years,” I offered, knowing what he would say and loving the way he was twitching and sweating.

“My word. That’s the kind of thing that dock workers and ladies of the night and degenerate opium addicts take pleasure in,” Mr. Temple babbled before catching himself. “Forgive me. What I said was wrong and I should not pass judgement on others. After all, when you point a finger at someone, the rest get pointed at yourself.”

“Grace will wonder if I got lost,” Bruce said as he sensed he wasn’t getting anywhere. “Perhaps we can discuss this at a future time Jimmy?”

“Sure,” I answered, and as I went in the house I was feeling confident that I wouldn’t be welcome at the Youth Group any more after that.

Wrong again.



I had just taken the garbage out and was planning to duck back in the house when I heard my name being called, and I recognized the less than masculine voice as being Bruce Temple’s. The smart thing would have been to pretend I didn’t hear but by reflex I looked up to see Mr. Temple waving at me to come over.

Expecting either a reminder that the group meeting was the following evening or much better yet, a request not to go to the Youth Group meetings any more, what I got was an arm around the shoulder and another pep talk as I got herded into the house through the patio.

All the split levels in our neighborhood were the same, but the downstairs that we used as a family room was pretty empty here with only a couch, a lamp and religious pictures on the walls, probably because they were still in the process of getting settled in.

I got the reminder about the next night’s meeting, and then as he sat me down on the couch he made a request of me.

“I need to ask you to please not do that thing – you know – what we talked about – to any of the other members of the group,” he requested, and since most of those geeks ignored me anyway because I didn’t join in much, that was no problem.


“Since we spoke the other evening, I tried to do a little research…”

“Oh, did you ask Mrs. Temple if she would…”

“No no no!” he interrupted. “I did not, and may I ask you to please never mention anything like that to her because she has lived a very sheltered life,” I was told, and just as I was thinking that he must have too, he said that very same thing.

“I’m not “hip” to many modern things,” Mr. Temple confessed, using his fingers to make quotation marks around the word hip. “You probably realize that already, but I did ask a trusted member of my circle about what you were talking about, and he said that what you said you enjoyed doing is done a lot these days.”

“Giving head?” I acted with a smirk, getting a shiver and a nod in return.

Back then there was no Internet or any easily obtained material on sex, so a little of his ignorance was understandable I suppose, but how you could live 28 years and not at least know about things boggled my mind.

“What you spoke about,” he started up again. “It sounds decadent but when I spoke to my friend he says that his wife performs – what was that word he used? – fellatio – on him quite often.”

“What does he do afterwards? Go to confession with his wife?” I asked cryptically.

“I didn’t ask but my curiosity was piqued.”

“Enough to ask your wife for some?”

“No. Please stop mentioning Grace. I feel guilty enough talking about this to you as it is. She’s down at the church thrift shop working today,” I was told. “Anyway, when we spoke the other day you mentioned something.”

“We talked about a lot of things.”

“Yes we did, but this thing in particular – and please, this conversation is not talking place. We never discussed this and my wife and your parents must not know we spoke like this.”

“I understand,” I assured him as his fidgeting and twitching drove me mad.

“You made an offer, as I recall.”

“To suck your cock?”

“Yes,” he shuddered. “Were you serious?”

“Sure,” I answered. “Why not?”

“Just like that?”


“I don’t know what to do though,” he said while wringing his hands.

“You don’t do anything except enjoy it,” I answered, and I have to be honest and admit that the idea of being the first guy to suck this guy’s cock turned me on a little.

“Now wait Jimmy. Besides this being just between us, I want to make it clear that I don’t want this to – how do I say this? I don’t want this act to culminate in my…”

“You don’t want to cum? To orgasm?”

“Exactly,” Mr. Temple said. “I merely want to experience what’s involved so I can better understand it. I’m rather embarrassed by my ignorance and question how I can counsel others if I’m like that.”


“What do I do?”

“Stand up,” I instructed, and after he got to his feet I knelt in front of him and started to undo his belt.

Mr. Temple was shifting his weight from foot to foot as I undid his slacks, and then they went down easily, exposing legs that were the same chalky white as the rest of him and were virtually hairless.

After almost falling trying to step out of his trousers, I was facing Bruce Temple in his boxer shorts, breathing heavily enough for me to hear as his knees knocked.

“Wait,” Mr. Temple said when I reached up for the elastic of his boxers, and it was an odd sight with me ready to take the underwear down while the wanna-be reverend was holding them up with both hands. “This is going so fast my head is spinning. Give me a second.”

I nodded and gave him a whole bunch of seconds as I looked over to the wall and saw this picture of one set of footprints in the sand, but when I brought my hands up again I got a little sermon instead.

“This is – I must confess I’m a very modest man,” he told me.

“It’s okay. Just pretend that I’m your doctor,” I suggested, but that was not the answer.

“I don’t go to doctors, and I know that’s wrong. It’s just that I’m…”

“Modest,” I said in finishing the sentence for him. “I know. So am I.”

That was true because I had major body image problems myself back then, and not without reason. I had boy boobs that were as big as my mother’s and was blessed with a squat toadstool for a dick, much of it hidden under the pillow of fat about it, so I knew how he felt.

“Going to be impossible to do this with your shorts on,” I finally said as my knees started to get sore from kneeling.

“Alright,” Mr. Temple said as he finally let go, allowing me to at last tug the boxers down, and when they cleared his stuff I was stuck trying to figure out why this guy was shy because Mr. Temple was pretty well hung.

Granted that the dick that hung underneath a soap pad-sized tuft of curls was not very thick but the slender tube was rather long and dangled down below a pair of good sized nuts in a wrinkled hairless pouch.

“Geeeez,” I heard myself say, calling an audible so I didn’t get caught using his name in vein, but I don’t think Mr. Temple heard me because he was staring straight ahead and biting his shirt.

I grabbed his dick, causing him to gasp and jump, and after giving the soft organ a couple of downward tugs I knew that he was not going to get much bigger when I got him hard, but considering what he started out with that didn’t matter.

There was a fat vein wandering down the top of the shaft that disappeared just before the mushroom head of his circumcised cock, and I could feel it pulsing in my fist as I raised it up.

“Mr. Temple? Didn’t you want to see this?” I asked while looking upwards, and after he took his shirt out of his mouth he looked down at me, and I kept looking at him as I put his dick in my mouth.


The word came out in multiple syllables as I moved my lips downward, his member getting stiffer every second as my mouth moved down until his pubes were tickling my nose, and then I let my lips slide back up to the tip where I had my tongue flicking the tender opening until I spoke.

“Okay?” I asked as I held the saliva coated missile, inquiring not only of his well being but whether he wanted me to stop, but all I got was a sweating and red-faced man breathing like a locomotive so instead of pressing more an answer I repeated my affection, taking his now fully erect dick into my mouth, poking my throat in the process.

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3 thoughts on “Learning My Lessons In Church Youth Group

  1. Joe Blow says:

    Reminds me of church summer camp when yunger yung and was converted to a cockworshipper bi my youth minister and you never forget your first

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