Vignette: Guilt and Glory A prequel to Shenanigans in the Presbytery

We thought while you were waiting for the next installment of the Gary Saga, we would whet your appetite with this little prequel and back ground story, compliments of Steve62Reeves (our own Artist-Brah):

 Story and Original Art by Steve (Artist-brah) with incidental edits by Mule and Stefan.

For Father Gary it was one of those days that was full of joy, but also full of guilt. He knew the Lord sent them to test him. it was a struggle he had confronted so many times before that he was used to it.


It was early, the sun was shining and, so far as a priest ever did, he had the day off. His housekeeper, Mrs O’Hanlon, had gone to visit her sister (the one with the feckless husband and six children under 10). At least he thought it was that sister. There were a few of them, details of whose affairs were shared with him daily to the extent that he found it difficult to distinguish one of their car crash lives from another.


Before she had left to catch the bus to Colorado Springs? Grand Junction? (Who could remember), she had, as usual, fed him one of her gargantuan breakfasts.  Over time he had gently steered her away from the fatty, sugary things she would have been inclined to feed him, and towards more sustaining muscle fuel. She constantly grumbled that feeding the constantly hungry young Father would very likely bankrupt the Parish, but they both knew that secretly she was proud of her part in sustaining the muscular, handsome young man in charge of their souls. One one level he was the son she would like to have had but never did and on another, more elevated and less selfish level, she reasoned that if the Lord had sent them the best of His soldiers, it as her job to take care of him and nurture him.


He smiled as he thought of the way she fussed over him constantly, and at his embarrassment at the way she would speak of the need to keep his muscles primed in the service of the Lord, not that she was was ever specific about exactly how the Lord was served by his having muscles which strained his priestly clothes to, and often beyond, the bursting point. It was another “grumble” that she was constantly having to repair shirts and pants that had given up the struggle of trying to contain his biceps and thighs. He knew she was secretly pleased and, he had to admit, so was he.


Alone in his bedroom he rummaged in his ‘private’ dresser until he found a particularly revealing set of posers he had bought recently and a stringer vest that although it was XXXL, stretched over his muscles like shrink wrap. Since he expected to be alone until this evening, he decided he could afford to push what boundaries there were. There were many things to praise the Lord for but right up there was the anonymity of internet shopping which enabled him to buy skimpy briefs and tops which were guaranteed to show his muscles off to their best advantage, if only to himself in the mirror. Needless to say when not in use they were safely tucked away where Mrs O’Hanlon wouldn’t find them, along with the magazines, fighting DVDs and other things which bumped up his heart rate and the blood flow to his cock.

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Yeah that's the one, my favorite...or maybe go with
 my OTHER favorite...hmmmm...

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 As his heart began to pound slightly and his excitement rose, as he always did in these situations. he turned over in his mind how he had ended up where he was. On the one hand a pillar of the community trusted and respected by his parishioners and on the other literally a mass of muscle and hormones seeking an outlet.


He believed in God, of course, but the uneasy feeling that he was failing Him never left him. Not in the superficial sense of thinking or doing things of which people would disapprove of in a priest but in the sense of not confronting head on the issues which were thrown in his path. He had immersed himself in bodybuilding when he was a young teenager to avoid choosing between the sinful but appealing path that his dick was urging him to take, namely deflowering every guy and girl who made themselves available to him, and the virtuous one urged by his priest and parents, the unappealing one of being classed as a nerdy, do-gooder wimp and ignored. 

In reality, although it had been satisfying to build his body in the way he had, it had solved nothing and, in fact, had only made things worse. By spending hours in the gym and consuming vast amounts of food, he had packed on extraordinary amounts of muscle but this had only increased the determination of girls (and some boys) to share his bed. He had sublimated his desires in his sport and had resisted but he had never been quite sure which team he would have preferred to play for, had he yielded.


So when he had graduated, he had joined the Seminary, to the delight of his mother. But did God call him or had he again simply run away from making a decision? He had perceived it as a refuge but there had been dangers there too. He had been naive not to anticipate that there would be some good-looking fellow seminarians keen to feel his, by now. literally outstanding muscles. That had been when the wrestling had begun. Luckily, before that had developed into too, too many  something elses to torment him, he had been ordained and eventually given his own parish. Tentatively, and not really knowing where it would lead, he had started the Wrestling for Jesus campaign. He told himself he did it because it was a cool way of attracting new members to his flock. That and the fact that no-one ever beat him. But he wondered if there was more to it.

Although he had been over it in his head many times, he had in the end locked all these issues away and accustomed himself to leading a solitary life and sleeping in the lonely bed that he had made for himself. And they remained locked away as securely as the fun things he bought on the internet.

All that was for him to bear, at least when he chose, or was made, to think about it. Apart from the occasional dislocated joint among his more stubborn wrestling opponents and a few broken hearts among the adolescent female members of his congregation, he had never hurt anyone else. Though as a justification it might not satisfy the Bishop, in his own mind it went a long way to palliating the thoughts that occupied his mind and the things that he did. And being celibate somehow seemed better than simply being a virgin, even if both of them were in fact almost true.  I mean he intended to be celibate and was most of the time, and as for virgin, well compared to some of his peers...


As a young teenager he could have gone the way of fighting, fucking, drugs, getting into trouble but he hadn’t. He still could. The potential were there: the muscles that impressed the male members of his flock and attracted the females, the tattoo which made him seem cool and edgy to the younger members and the confidence and presence which meant that none of them gave him any trouble. He had to confess he liked all of that, even though it was proud of him and that was wrong.


However, always having to have a plausible explanation was tiresome - from explaining the wrestling to the Bishop as a means of attracting new members to the church, through to straining to hear the sound of Mrs O coming back unexpectedly early. He had developed a deviousness which saddened him. But whether it was down to God, Fate or just the result of his own mistakes and decisions he had made, it was just the way things were. His sardonic conclusion was that there were worse things than being 33, handsome and built like the side of a house or, in his case, a church.

Looking at himself in the mirror, he adjusted his clothing, if you could call it that, to best effect and threw a few muscleman poses. He intended just to relax in the warmth of the day and make the most of being in his own in his other skin.


When he was first posted to this parish he was surprised to be given this big house all to himself. Apart from having plenty of room to set up his own private gym, the other thing he had noticed, and immediately made plans for, was the secluded veranda leading out from what became his bedroom.

Muscles bulging, he dragged the solitary sun lounger out of the corner and across the floor. He lowered himself into carefully but, despite that, it still protested loudly at having to bear the weight of his 265 pounds. Taking the line that he had committed several sins already that morning and that another wouldn’t hurt, he took in the fine sight of his big, heavily muscled body stretched out before him. He flexed and felt himself out, running his fingers through the thick mat of hair that coated his chest. They said that bodybuilders shaved themselves to avoid their muscles being obscured but there was no way of hiding his thick chest so he never bothered.

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He dozed for about half an hour when he heard the clatter of a ladder thumping against the wall.

Darn, he had completely forgotten that today was the day that guy was supposed to be coming to do some work around the house. He was the brother of Maria, whose tits and ass were the Devil’s latest Grade A temptation sent to test him. There was no doubt the Devil knew what he was about - Maria had begun to fuel the majority of his nocturnal emissions, as they were sometimes euphemistically called, and when she was in the congregation on a Sunday, he had to take care to stand directly behind the pulpit to avoid embarrassment.


Slightly pissed off, he heaved himself off the, again protesting, sun lounger to check out what was going on. Hopefully, they wouldn’t have to interact and the guy would be on his way shortly.

It was not often that he came across a man who came close to him in size but even the briefest of glances indicated that this was one brawny dude. The absence of a shirt as he climbed the ladder told its own story; it wasn’t lying on the ground at the foot of the ladder because the guy was hot - or rather it was lying there precisely because he was very hot - and knew it. Gary noticed how his broad back rippled and how his thighs were so massive that he had to splay them widely either side of the ladder as he climbed. He saw how the lightweight aluminium buckled and bounced with each step as the big man hoisted himself upwards.

He watched silently; his expert eye put him at about 290 pounds which was a good 20 pounds of muscle more than himself. He rapidly but assiduously scanned the parts that made up the very pleasing shape and estimated their dimensions in the way obsessive bodybuilders do: height about 6'2' or 6'3"', chest 55'', biceps 22'', waist 34'', thighs (Man, those thighs!) 29''.  The brawny tradesman was an impressive physical specimen for sure.   Not  as lean and sculpted as the ripped Gary,  but a heavy block of muscle that piqued Gary's interest.

It was a familiar routine. When he saw another muscleman, the pleasure which flooded his senses was unmistakable but the reactions which accompanied it troubled him. His muscles flexed of their own accord, his eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared to suck in air and expand his chest. If he was confronted with a particularly impressive specimen, as was the case now, his already significant bulge also began to grow. He knew better than to try to answer the question whether this was the result of sexual attraction or was the atavistic response of one alpha male to the presence of another. That was definitely something he’d locked away years ago.

As ever, he was not sure what to do. In ascending order of inconvenience and, more to the point, risk the options were: to stay out of sight until the dude left, to introduce himself and indulge in a bit of admiring but metaphorical dick-measuring, to provoke a disagreement which would lead to some manly posturing (maybe more) or whether to make a play for him and see what happened.

He knew the last one was crazy really. He was not scared of a confrontation; he knew he could more than take care of himself.

After having filled his brain with images which could fuel his fantasies later, he retreated to the lounger to think it over. Whichever it was to be, there was plenty of time.


Check out the original story: Shenanigans in the Presbytery

 No Gary  Tales Next Week but instead we bring you:

 HALLOWEEN SPECIALS WEEK with two tales of the Macabre for you...

One involves THE GROWING MENACE OF CLOWNS

and the Other a battle of wits and strength between MULE AND A DEMONIC BODYBUILDER

PLUS IN FUTURE WEEKS...

OF THE CONTINUING GARY SAGA....