Derelict Places?

I’ve often wondered about such places, and what feelings one might pick up inside one. I know some are taken over by rough sleepers, or unpleasant characters, but some have a level of security. Not far from here is an abandoned seminary, and I wondered…..what may be learned, or felt here? 

There’s a portakabin near the main gate in which sat a solitary and rather bored guy in a uniform. He was engrossed in a movie when I tapped on his window, and I think he was quite surprised to see a young woman there. His initial scowl melted away, although he wasn’t quite quick enough to get the gruffness out of his voice when he said “What?” I didn’t reply, so he tried again. “Can I help you, Miss?’ 

Better. I decided before I got here that honesty was the best policy. “I wonder if you’d let me just look around…take a few pictures…?” I showed him my Pentax, and he looked disappointed, so I chimed in again. “Look, I’m sure you get asked this a lot, but I would imagine  I’m not the usual urban explorer you get here? Please….just let me look around for an hour or two.” I could see he was wavering between a yes or a no, so I passed a banknote to him. He reached for what looked to me like the biggest key I’ve ever seen. It weighed a tonne as well. Solid brass. “Ok…here’s the rules. I need to look in your bag to make sure you aren’t carrying matches. And if you’re not back here within two hours, I won’t come looking for you…I’ll just call the cops.” 

I let him rummage through my bag and saw him colour up when he found the tampons and spare panties. I’m not on my period, but ask any girl…she’s usually got an emergency kit with her. 

I walked up the moss-covered steps to the heavy nail-studded door, manhandled the bastard-heavy key in and was surprised to find it turned easily in the well-oiled lock. I was half expecting a creak, but the big door opened smoothly….

….right on to the most gory, huge crucifix I’ve ever seen. Talk about first impressions! 

Wandering through the place I began to empathise with the young men who passed through these doors. The corridor of offices where they literally signed their lives away….the upstairs dormitory’s…cubicles, open to a central corridor….no midnight wanking here, lads. Downstairs there were classrooms, lecture theatres a huge refectory, and little rooms with altars. I know these weren’t consecrated though. They were where the aspiring priests practised mass and would have been critiqued by their tutors and fellow students.. 

But the main chapel….ohhh…what a place. Even under the dust, there was that familiar smell of old incense and furniture polish. I guess every Catholic Church smells like that. The pews had been pushed against the walls so the middle of it was one, vast open space. And then the organ. Catholics are useless at this. The old pipe organ, clearly way too small for the size of church, lay in ruins. Someone had disassembled it, stacking the pipes neatly, but why on earth would they have done that? 

I went behind the altar next and pretended to be a priest for a minute or two..it felt rather naughty. And speaking of naughty….there was the old style confessional box. No face-to-face here. The priest sits in the middle, with the penitent either side. I went in one side and closed the heavy, dusty curtain. “Bless me father, for I have sinned.”….and why not sin while I’m there? 

The dress and panties were off before the thought had fully formed even! Armed with just my camera, I walked, naked, back to the altar. One of the benefits of a Catholic Church is that there are usually plenty of statue pedestals to put a camera! A little fiddling with focus and timer and I climbed up on the altar and adopted a series of poses. Demure, legs together…..Kate Winslet ‘Titanic’…..legs spread….masturbating. I have no idea whether or not this altar is still consecrated….neither did I care….in my mind were images of these sincere, devoted, sexually frustrated young men, celebrating mass for the first time in here….making their sacrifice on this altar which they kissed as they started and ended mass. Where, I wonder, would they kiss me? 

I looked around for a candle stub, but was unlucky. So instead, I decided to let Miss Brain float free, and edge until she found something juicy. Young men sneaking off for an illegal wank? Hmmm close, but no cigar. Two young men having an illicit relationship, going no further than jacking one another off? Better….but not quite there. Ooh! How about a secret Order of nuns, whose job it is to cleans the bodies’ of priests. What if, twice a year, a priest can call on the services of a young nun? What if, for 24 hours, his and her vows of celibacy are suspended, and they can spend 24 hours in debauchery? 

In an instant, I was that young nun. My ‘partner’, a new priest only a year into his priesthood. I would be his first vow suspension….and his first, ever. He wanted me naked, and so I am naked. He wanted me on the l]altar, and so I am on the altar. He wanted my mouth…my vagina, and my bum. He told me of his teenage years when he and another altar boy had ‘fooled around’….how, for a laugh, they had done ‘rudies’ together in the woods…..how his cock, and that of his friend had been pouring pre-cum….how his friend had backed up against him, and how his cock had slipped inside his friend. The young priest had me anally, calling me his teenage friends name. 

When I came, the edging I’d done came back to bite me, and I squirted heavily onto the dusty floor. The steadily blinking red light of my camera told me it had captured the whole, depraved scene. 

I collected my dress, and stuffed my panties in my bag. I wanted to return to the dormitory. Once there, I lay on one of the creaky old beds, and felt sexual tension engulf me like a wave. The sheer number of Hail Marys said in this cubicle by men…boys, really, ‘atoning’ for their morning hard-ones. Well, boys, this one’s for you. 

I spread my legs and went for it. Purely vaginal this time, purely clitoral. I felt myself opening, and wanted to take in ever penis that had ever been denied here….every drop of semen spilled, however innocently during the course of wet dreams. (Confessable, apparently.) This orgasm felt so different to the one in the chapel. This one felt…private…like it was personally addressed to each and every man who has passed through this place. The last batch of men through here must be in their forties by now. 

As I dressed and walked past my little man in the hut, still engrossed in his movie, I wondered if the men I’d just orgasmed for could feel it? Maybe their long-ignored privates twitched, or tingled.

Or maybe, far more likely and healthily, their cocks hadn’t been ignored over the years. Maybe they’d seen sense and decided that while marriage and sex isn’t allowed, it says nothing about visiting sex workers. Maybe, during their holidays, for one day, that dog collar is left on the bedside table, and their cocks are put to the use God intended. 

Now that would be a nice thought.