Father Christopher Di Mucci

It took me a long time to become a priest. That included a four-year college education at Fordham University and six years at a seminary. After that, I was assigned to a parish in one of the outer boroughs of New York City. After a couple of years there, I was thirty-one-years-old by the spring of 1957.

I’m not going to explain my motives for doing all that work and overcoming the obstacles that I had to face. Suffice it to say that I did consider it a calling. Otherwise, I’m sure I never would have reached that goal.

The Church wants to make sure that they get the right men for the job. It’s not like getting an accounting degree and applying for an accounting job. Among my thoughts during that training were, I can help people and make a difference in their lives.

Yet, during my time at the parish, I began to have doubts not only about the profession but about the Church itself and many of its tenets. I’m also not going to fully explain why that happened, but I’ll hint at some as I write this.

Certainly, thirty-two years ago one event or I should say several, totally shook me. It was April 1957 and years of preparation and sacrifice were compromised in a few hours.

Forgive Us Our Trespasses

During the two years I had been doing Confessions, I had heard quite a bit of honesty from my parishioners. Some people even admitted to committing crimes, including felonies, although murder never came up. It struck me that the words felony and misdemeanor were the rough equivalent of mortal and venial sins. If one got convicted, then there were certainly going to be consequences, just as there supposedly would be if one died with one of those sins on one’s soul.

I say supposedly because I was beginning to question how literally I should take the concepts of Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, and Limbo. Other religions had different versions of the afterlife; who was to say that ours was accurate in every detail? In fact, there was no detail provided for a lot of those concepts.

Of course, I had no one to discuss such ideas with, and thus I never mentioned my thoughts to anyone. I guess I was supposed to bring that up in my own monthly Confession, but I didn’t have the nerve to do it. There were other aspects on my mind that I didn’t mention, which made me wonder about the point of going to Confession at all.

When it came to sexual misconduct, I found that the male penitents were far more forthcoming than the female ones. The guys – men and boys of all ages – would often reveal their acts and thoughts in great detail. I couldn’t help but be interested in what they were revealing to me. I would ask them questions, and they would usually answer me fully.

One of the most common sins was the viewing of pornography, which was almost always accompanied by masturbation on their part. I wanted to know about the content of what they were looking at, and I found out. That could range from fairly tame girlie magazines to the most hard-core stories and pictures imaginable.

A few had seen what were then called “stag films,” which in those days certainly were available for viewing if one knew where to look for them.

Besides the usual infidelities, guys would confess to – well, just about anything, and it went far beyond mere fantasies.

Some had indulged in homosexual acts; more than a few had actively engaged in pedophilia. At least three of them admitted to fondling their own daughters or nieces. One man said that he enjoyed spanking his teenage daughter and he would masturbate thinking about it as soon as he could later. And, of course, paying for prostitutes was often mentioned.

I could sometimes recognize their voices from previous sessions. It seemed that some would confess to the same sins several times per year. It was as if they wanted to chat about themselves and their views of “dirty topics,” maybe even brag a bit.

Anyway, I learned quite a bit about human nature from those guys, information that I otherwise would have not known about.

The women and girls, by contrast, were much more circumspect when talking about such matters. They might admit to feelings of lust if that was not “appropriate” in their minds – even if was about a fiancé or a husband. A few would admit to marital infidelities. But their tales were quite condensed, like maybe one or two sentences. They were reluctant to answer any questions I might have about further details.

A Female Penitent

One Saturday afternoon, I was sitting in my Confessional booth at the back of the church. Most parishes had a set-up with the priest sitting in a middle booth with a door, while the parishioners kneeled in adjacent spaces that only had curtains.

A person would wait on one side until the priest was done with the one on the opposite end. Then he would open the door covering the window over there. The windows had a sort of mesh covering. I had a little light in my space, but I always had it turned off. The person kneeling was also in semi-darkness. Thus we couldn’t see each other’s faces. Anonymity was considered important back then.

Of course, my name was slotted into the front of my door, so everybody knew who I was. Certain priests got more traffic than others according to their demeanor – the extent to which they were harsh or friendly. I seemed to be pretty popular, maybe because of my relatively young age.

Sometimes the afternoon could get rather boring. That was especially true with kids under about the age of eleven. They would mention trivialities, for the most part, and I would send them on their way to recite a few prayers in the nearby pews.

Of course, as I described above, at other times the task could get extremely interesting indeed. In those cases, I would do my best to give them advice, although in truth I often didn’t know what to tell them that would be useful.

Then that day in 1957 arrived that changed everything. I had been there for about an hour when I opened my little trap door and I heard the usual greeting, “Good afternoon father.” It was a female voice that time.

“Good afternoon.”

“Bess I father, for I have sinned, it’s been – I guess about six months since my last confession.” That was a bit longer than average, but I had heard much longer gaps being revealed – like years, for example.

There seemed to be a slight hesitation on her part, but that was extremely common and not worth mentioning. Then I heard, “Father I’ve been a very bad girl. I mean, I’ve thought about and done the filthiest acts.”

After another pause, she said, “Obviously I’m talking about sexual issues, Father. I absolutely need to tell you about all of it.”

The first thing I did was to guess something about her based on her voice. She seemed to be young, perhaps even a teenager. Yet she didn’t sound childish. There was some firmness, even confidence in the way she spoke.

Then it struck me, in those first seconds, that she was quite different from any other woman that had been in my booth over the previous two years. Tell me “about all of it?” I had never heard a woman even come close to such a statement before.

I gave her a brief encouragement, “Go ahead, you can feel safe telling me about this,” and she was off to the races, as that expression goes.

“Obviously, the first thing I want to talk about is masturbation.” I noted that she hadn’t called it a sin yet. “I mean, Father, I can’t keep my hands out of my own panties. In fact, I whack off every chance I get. I do it at home when I’m in bed at night; I do it in one of the ladies’ rooms at school too.”

Previously, I had thought that smoking was the worst thing girls would do in there. I was obviously wrong about that. “Do you go to a Catholic school?”

“No, it’s part of the City University, City College in fact.” Okay, a co-ed, as they were commonly called back then. “About the masturbation, I’ll even do it in a park if I find a place where I think I can get away with it.”

I wondered if she had ever been caught. “So why do you do this, do you think?”

“Because I get these cravings, I can feel them in – in my crotch, but it affects the rest of my body too. Like, my nipples get hard. It can get to the point where fluids are starting to flow out of me; I mean, my panties are getting wet. You know what that is about, don’t you Father?”

That was very unusual. Her question was not a plea for advice – I had heard plenty of those – but rather a forthright query about what I might know about. I said, “Well, sort of.”

“It’s how a woman lubricates her – well, her genitals when she’s aroused. That way a man can more easily penetrate her.” Before I could say more, I heard, “When that happens to me, that’s when I know that I’m going to fondle myself as soon as possible. I want to, I need to, reach an orgasm; you do understand that, Father, right?”

Yes, I had never heard a woman reveal her thoughts to me like that. My face felt warm and there was sort of a trembling going through my body. Rather than answer her directly, I said, “What do you think about during these, ah, sessions?”

Did I ask that in order to help her in some way or rather to satisfy my own salacious interests? I was having trouble keeping my mental clarity.

She didn’t seem to mind, however. “Oh, I’ll tell you if you want to know. In fact, I feel compelled to tell you. One of those fantasies is obviously about intercourse, I mean with a man. And there are many variations on that. Not that I’ve actually done any of them yet.

I supposed that should be interpreted with some relief. I heard myself say, “How do you know about these variations?”

“Because I have friends, female friends, who have told me about them. They found out from some of their boyfriends who have seen stag films or explicit magazines. I wish I could see those too, but it’s hard for girls to get them.” For the first time, I heard her laugh a bit. “Father, you obviously don’t have a clue about what girls talk about when no one is around to overhear them.”

“No, I suppose not.”

“Okay, so what have they told me about? I can tell you that.” She sounded a bit ebullient. For a second I considered cutting off that conversation; I certainly had heard enough to absolve her of misdeeds. “They told me about a lot, like for instance, oral sex and anal sex. They told me about cunnilingus – do you know what that is?”

“I’ve heard about it.”

“It’s when a girl gets her pussy licked. Sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have been so blunt.” You’ve already demonstrated quite a bit of bluntness, that’s for sure. “I also know about frottage – in other words, say, rubbing your bare behind into a guy’s crotch until he climaxes. One girl told me she succeeded in doing that even when the guy kept his trousers up.”

That was certainly an impressive feat.

“But Father, I’ve taken some of this into the real world too. I have a girlfriend, a female lover I should say, one of the other girls from my neighborhood.” I knew that she was going to tell me about what she did with this other girl. “We lick each other, fondle each other, put dildos and other objects into each other. It all feels so delightful. I guess you don’t know what a dildo is?”

“I’ve heard the word, but I’ve never seen one.” In fact, I had never expected to ever see one. I broke in, “I have to know, why are you even in here? You haven’t yet indicated that you feel at all sorry about your sins.”

“My sins? I know, you think I’m a slut and a whore, but I’m not. Maybe I just have the desires of a normal woman. You also think I’m a lesbian but that’s also not the whole story. I like men too.”

I protested, “I didn’t use those words; it’s not for me to judge you. I’m here to help you receive forgiveness.” Usually, this would be the point where I would mention that it was also God’s forgiveness, but I couldn’t quite do it. I did say, “Most of these are mortal sins, as you must know.”

She didn’t seem to be very worried. “So I’ve heard. But you can help me with this, that’s why I came here. In fact, I’ve seen you at times when I’ve gone to Mass.” She seemed to giggle. “All right, I only go to Mass now when my mother comes with me; she makes me go, in fact. But I know you, and I decided that you were the one who could help me.”

I was suddenly eager to see this person face-to-face; I wanted to know if I’d recognize her. In any case, it was time to wrap this up, even if she was fascinating to listen to.

“I certainly help can you, that’s why I’m here. But you have to seek forgiveness first.” She didn’t comment on that. Anyway, I didn’t know what to tell her to do as penance. Just stop doing what you’re doing?

It was simpler just to give her some prayers to say – a whole lot of them – and send her on her way. I said, “I’ll give you something to do for penance. When you came in here you said that you had sinned and that I should forgive you.”

“That was purely a formality to make sure that you listened to me.” She was pretty adamant in her disagreement. “I know exactly what I want you to do for me. You see, I’ve been getting out of control, I need to be reined in a bit.”

“That’s certainly true.” It came out sounding more than a little sarcastic.

“Thus I want you to punish me. The most direct way to do that is for you to take me over your knees and give me a good spanking on my bare behind.” She hesitated briefly. “I know, the strange thing is that it’s going to be both a punishment and a pleasure for me. Maybe you’ll like it too.”

One strange thing for me, although it was to be expected, was that I had an erection at that point. It had been there for a while but I hadn’t noticed it. I knew I should give her a lashing, all right, but a tongue lashing, and right now. Instead, I asked her. “How do you know you’ll like it, I mean get pleasure from it?”

I think she chuckled, “Because I’ve reached climaxes while thinking about it. That’s pretty good evidence, wouldn’t you say?”

I still couldn’t get myself together and dismiss her. Instead, I got into the logistics of the thing, “Where could we possibly go to do this?”

“So you are interested. I’ve already figured that out, I think. That old wooden building between the church and the rectory. There must be some place in there.”

Indeed there was, and I had a set of keys to the place. It was mostly empty. Our parish had bought it in the expectation of building a new school auditorium on the site.

Yet I also knew that I should definitely not do anything out of the ordinary on that day. By Sunday afternoon, the temptation would have passed, I hoped. But I was also extremely curious to know more about her. I said, “How old are you, anyway.”

“I’m nineteen Father; I’m still in my freshman year at C.C.N.Y.”

“You sound a bit older. But you certainly are a very cheeky girl.”

“Hah, I already told you what a bad girl I am. So, could I meet you later, outside that place?”

I should have said, absolutely not, but I was weak. “Yes, I really should talk to you further about these matters. How about four P.M.?” Oh God, I’m arranging a date with whoever this is.

“Yeah, talk; I get it. But four o’clock sounds fine. Anyway, it’s time I get going.”

“But I haven’t given you your penance yet.”

“You’ll definitely give it to me later, that’s for sure. By the way, I know what you look like, although you probably don’t know who I am. So, I’ll see outside, as we said.” Then I heard her get up and I assume leave. I was dumb enough to say, “Are you still there?” Of course, I didn’t hear a response.

For a second I was rankled. That was pretty rude of her to not say goodbye. Then I realized I had much bigger issues than that to deal with. Yes, I need to talk to her more later, get her straightened out.

Rather than ruminate on it all, I knew I should get to whichever parishioner was patiently waiting on the opposite side of my booth. Sometimes those confessions took a while, and the people coming in mostly understood that.

It turned out to be a man over there, although I had some trouble gauging his age. Thankfully, he had little controversial to reveal to me.

Ellen in the Gray House

Right on time, I was standing outside the gray wooden building where we would meet. It looked like it had once been a private house, maybe a two-family. In any case, it was of substantial size at two stories in height with an attic.

I didn’t know exactly how old it was, but I guessed it already existed when our parish built its church and rectory in the 1920s. At the moment, our church had only the most casual uses for it until we finally got around to demolishing it. It was mostly empty in fact.

I wasn’t feeling too anxious as I stood there. I thought again, I’m just going to talk to her and maybe give her a bit of advice. Personal counseling – that was certainly in my job description as a priest.

Then, it seemed suddenly, the girl – or was she a woman? – appeared and stood in front of me. I recognized her from seeing her around the parish although I didn’t know what her name was.

For a few moments, we said nothing to each other. I knew she wanted me to assess her first, and that’s what I did.

She was a fairly tall and rangy girl. Her body wasn’t what I’d call curvy, but there was a sense of physical strength about her. She was wearing glasses – black plastic frames, as was common back then – and she then pushed those back on her head so I could see more of her face.

She wasn’t beautiful in the conventional sense, but yet there was something about her expression that showed both defiance and self-confidence. Her hair was reddish-brown, and it wasn’t too long but it seemed that she didn’t brush it that diligently. She did have a white plastic headband to hold it in place.

Her clothes seemed quite conventional for a college girl of that era. It was a cool, crisp day in mid-April, so she was wearing a sweater that was unbuttoned in the front. Under that, she had a white blouse, then a dark skirt that came down below her knees, white ankle socks, and ordinary-looking brown shoes. Her bag was bigger than was common for a purse, and I guessed that she used it to carry her schoolbooks.

I looked up again and saw that she was assessing me too. Perhaps unconsciously, she had pushed her tongue against the inside of one of her cheeks. Then she said, “I’m Ellen, Ellen Morrisett. I know your name, of course, but I suppose it would be rude to call a priest by his first name.”

It’s also rude to ask him to spank you. Wait a minute, you’re not going to do that, remember? You’re going to just counsel her.

I said, “I have seen you around, although I don’t think I’ve actually met you.”

“I still go to Mass here, that is, as I said, when my mom makes me go.”

“Yes, you said she goes with you, to make sure that you actually get there, I presume.”

For the first time, I saw her smile a bit. “Well, it definitely works, I mean to guarantee that I arrive here.”

The impression she was giving, which I had already noticed in the confessional, was that she was quite self-possessed for someone her age. She wasn’t trying to be charming or coy and certainly not “sweet.” Yet her directness was refreshing in a way. In spite of myself, I was beginning to like her.

“Ellen, we really should get upstairs now.”

“Sure, to talk, as you said.”

I detected a note of sarcasm in that, but it didn’t bother me. I unlocked the front door and we went upstairs. On the second floor, there was a sort of sitting room or parlor. Perhaps it was used occasionally, for what I didn’t know, but it did seem a bit dusty in there.

I sat down on a couch and turned on a table lamp. Ellen sat in a chair opposite me. I came up with a somewhat irrelevant question. “Morrisett; is that an Irish name?”

“It is, but I’m German on my mother’s side.”

“I have some Irish and German on my mother’s side too. So, Ellen, my guess is that you are having some doubts about your faith.”

Her hands were folded in her lap and her glasses were still at the top of her head. “It’s not like I’m becoming an atheist or something but, yeah, I’m having some trouble dealing with Roman Catholic dogma, you could call it.” Then she surprised me. “What about you? You’re having some doubts too, I think.”

How did she know that? I didn’t realize how talented women were at picking up subtle social cues. My response was deliberately a bit snippy. “We’re not here to talk about me, we’re here to talk about you.”

“All right, what is it that you want me to tell you?”

“Ellen, you have to know that those were some grievous sins you confessed to this afternoon.”

“I didn’t really confess them; I was just telling you about them.”

“You could still be forgiven. You could say an Act of Contribution right now. I know the words if you need help.”

“You’re going to forgive me? I didn’t ask for that.”

“It’s not just me, it’s also God.” Or was it Christ? One and the same, I supposed, so it didn’t matter.

She was already a step ahead of me. “I know, you’re supposed to be a representative of Christ, but yet you’re just a man like any other. Tell me, Father Di Mucci, if these people resolve never to sin again, then how come they’re supposed to come back every four weeks?”

She had me with that one. “Sometimes I think they like talking about what they’re up to.” Like you?

“In my case, what I need, what I want, is to be physically punished. And I’ve decided that you are the one to do it.”

I was truly curious about something. “Yet you said that you are looking forward to it, that you expect to like it, in fact.”

She shrugged, “So, pain and pleasure can go together. I suppose that’s a new concept for you.”

“It’s not too late; you’re still a virgin, aren’t you?”

“That depends on how you define it. With another woman, no I’m not.”

“Lying with another woman; that’s a mortal sin too.”

“We do a lot more than just lie around. But I’m not surprised that it’s mortal; I already assumed that.” This girl is just so bold, as I had thought before. Yet I couldn’t shake the fact that her utter honesty was appealing. I could also detect her intelligence and her admittedly strange sense of humor.

Then she leaned forward, “So Father, I guess you need some guidance on how this is all supposed to go. I think I can tell you about that. I mean, I’m sure it can’t be that complicated.”

I can’t possibly do this. Yet I blurted out, “This is not fair to me. It’s a near occasion of sin on my part.”

“It’s a lot more than that. Why don’t you just admit that I deserve a good smacking on my naughty backside and that you are looking forward to giving it on me?”

I had no reply to that. So did Ellen take advantage of me, or did she know I was already giving in to temptation? Did it even matter? At that point she stood and took her sweater off, leaving it over her chair along with her bookbag.

Then she walked over the short distance to where I was. “Look, I don’t know exactly how this should go either, but it can’t be that difficult. We’ll figure it out. Ah, you’re right-handed, correct?”

“Yes, I am.”

Just get up and get out of this room. Go down the stairs and leave the building. But I couldn’t do it; I was curious to find out what she was intending.

It indeed wasn’t that complicated. She lifted her skirt above her waist and lay down across my lap with her head towards my left. She braced herself with her right leg on the floor while the other one went out along the sofa cushion.

Her underpants were fairly ample and they were white with blue dots. Ellen looked back at me and said, “Go ahead, put your hand in the waistband and pull them down.” She giggled, “It would be amusing if you left them dangling on my left ankle.”

My fingers were tingling and I knew that I’d go at least that far. When I had her panties down – well, I had seen various pin-up pictures, but that was the first time I had seen bare female buttocks, even in a drawing.

Her legs were long and not that thick, while her behind – I didn’t know what to compare it to, but now I’d say that it was “compact.” Her weight pressed down on my crotch and I instantly got an erection. She must be able to feel that, but there is nothing I can do about it.

I managed to say, “So now what?”

“It should be obvious. Just raise her arm and bring your hand down on me. Open your palm. Your fingers can be spread or maybe not; it’s your choice. Mix it up a bit.”

Somehow I was able to tap her twice.

“Come on, harder than that. I don’t need a warm-up.”

It wasn’t clear what she meant by a warm-up, but I did hit her a bit harder, maybe three times. I noticed the impression my hand was making on her flesh.

“Do it really hard.” She looked back at me again. “I told you, I’ve been a really bad girl. I’m having an affair with another female, I masturbate all the time, I’m always thinking about sex. God wants you to discipline me, show me the error of my evil ways.”

She obviously didn’t know what God wanted; she was trying to goad me into more vigorous action. If that’s what she wants, then maybe she should get it. I tried my best to meet her request. After a few more moments of harder spanking, I said, “You’re starting to turn a bit pink; I can see my handprints on you.”

“Good. It should be completely red at the end if you do a proper job of it.”

I got into a rhythm with my arm where I was steady but not fast with the strokes. Instinctively, I knew to make each one count, to make sure that she felt the impact and then considered its effect on her.

She started to make little noises, soft grunts and moans that sounded like “oh.” In the middle of those, she would say things to me.

“Oh Father, that’s right, punish me for my sins, I’ve been such a naughty girl.”

I was amazed that I improvised some of my own dialogue. “You’ve been more than naughty, you’ve been very arrogant. Ellen, you need to be taken down a few pegs.” Hey, that wasn’t a bad bit of acting.

“Yes, please, beat the badness out of me, make me into a good girl. I promise I’ll be good from now on.”

That was surely some acting on her part. The way she was moving her body certainly wasn’t acting. Sometimes she clenched her buttocks as if to avoid my blows; at other times she raised her hips to offer a better target. Her moaning grew louder and more insistent.

“My thighs, give me some on the back of those. I know I should keep my legs closed, but I’m always spreading them to put my hands down there. Or, sometimes, my girlfriend’s mouth.”

A little later, I stopped and shook my spanking hand. I also examined her behind more closely. Her hindquarters were getting red from the bottom of her back down into the tops of her thighs.

“My hand, it’s getting so sore, numb even.”

“I guessed that, and we do need something more effective, an implement I mean.”

“What implement?”

She had already hopped off of me, and she was standing there with her skirt dropped back as it had been. “I mean your belt, that’s what.” She also looked down at the bulge in my lap. “Yeah, somebody else is enjoying this I see.” Then she issued some instructions. “Take your belt off, then double it up, fold in half in other words.”

When I was ready, Ellen lifted her skirt and got right back into the same position. Even her dangling panties were still in place.

I said, “I think this is going to hurt more.”

“Yes, so be a wee bit careful when swinging that thing. A little bit will go a long way.” Is that something else she had heard from another girl?

I gave her a moderately hard whack with it, and she loudly said “ouch.” Then, “It’s okay, that’s about right. Keep going.” I did, and with that she was squirming around again, rubbing her hips against me. And yes, it did feel delightful.

It must have been that way for her too, because she soon said, “I can’t stand it anymore. I’m just getting so incredibly aroused. Here, take a look.” Just before that, her moans had become more like gasps.

“A look at what?”

She raised her hips and spread her legs. Her voice indicated that she was indeed short of breath, “Look between my legs, that’s what.”

I had never seen female genitals before, not even in a medical textbook, but I did notice how wet she seemed down there. She commented on it. “Those fluids coming out of me, that’s the sign of female arousal.” She had already told me that. “So please, fondle me, I don’t think I can climax from just a belting.”

I hadn’t considered the possibility that anyone could climax from a belting. Ellen must have sensed my hesitation and confusion because she gave me more instructions.

“First, just rub me along the outside, from top to bottom and back again. Then stick a couple of fingers into me and use your thumb on my clitoris. You can see it, I suppose? Do you even know what it is?”