The Monsignor is in.

            I genuflected.  My corduroy pants made the corduroy bending sound.  I made the Sign of the Cross again, knelt down in the second pew.  The holy light of the stained glass windows all over me on my hands and face.  I was saturated. My mother knelt in the pew behind me. My cock a tiny burning piece of shame.  My body the ugly casket for my smashed flat road kill soul.

            The confessional door closed behind me.  When I knelt down I heard the red light bulb outside my door click on.  Hot inside the dark.  Sweat drips going down the insides of my arms.  Down to my elbows.  I unzipped my jacket, unzipped the zipper all the way down, pulled the wool collar away from my neck.  I quick put my hands in my jacket pockets, tried to get some air moving by flapping my hands.

            My throat.  The air stuck inside there. My right hand fingertips to my forehead, my chest, to my left shoulder, my right shoulder.  Then my hands folded together, fingers pointed up to God, my elbows on the little ledge below the screened panel.

            Bless me Father, for I have sinned, I said, My last confession was four days ago.  These are my sins.

            The sunlight on the wood of the barn.  It was warm there in that spot without the wind.  The red paint was peeling off in places and the gray raw wood was sticking through.  The sky was bright blue, only one little putt of clouds up there.  The cement platform at the back door of the barn was ground down to round curves of light gray cement with chunks of tiny rock.  Manure all over on the platform.  Dry manure becoming earth, rich earth, the shit smell of cows and milk and hay and bales of straw.

The siding of the barn, little horizontal waves.  My hand against the waves of red wood, raw gray poking through.  Sun on the wood, the blue sky, the cloud, the dry manure—all these things were things outside me, yet for some miracle also deep within.  Like the day was a movie connected to the place just under my balls.

            I wanted to fuck the barn, fuck the manure rich earth smell coming up in the patch of sun.  The sun warm there, so warm against the red peeling wood, that place, so safe, protected from the wind.  My hand on my Levis button was heavy and deep too, everything deep and full and heavy, the pop pop pop pop of the rest of the five Levi buttons.  I’m still sore and wet from the last time and I’m still hard, hard and full and heavy.  The palm of my hand just touching my belly, the hair of me down there, then cupping my balls, underneath, the dark smelly crack.  Just pulling down my shorts I almost come.  Then my ass, my bare ass cool outside exposed, why does the wind suddenly find me there.  The hairs on my ass stand up with goose flesh.  Soft ass flesh against sun wood.  How warm the red peeling waves.  Big old horny red barn flirting with my ass.

            Oh.  Just the tip of my cock, underneath the fold of skin.  Grab it there and pinch.  The sun is bright and bright and the little putt of cloud.  The slide of my ass up and down on the wood, the so soft and all open of me down there.  The first sharp roll of ejaculation, not a shoot out this time, just a slow roll, the slow out of the end of so red piss slit one long drool down.  My tongue loves so much my lips.  My knees come unhinged, and for a moment, there is nothing.  And nothing is full and round, everything round and round and round and full and deep and hard and soft and heavy and safe and warm and wet, in the sun, pressed against the red wood barn, under the bright blue sky, protected from the wind, just the cloud, the putt of cloud, up high up there floating away eternity eternity.

            For I have sinned exceedingly.