Nature versus God

(8)

He was a Queer Pedophile, of course. And I am lucky that he only screwed up my sex life a little bit. It could have been much worse. His name was Father Murphy. He zapped me at the age of 12 or 13 in the Queen Street Orphanage. I believed the Son of a Bitch, and thencefourth when I confessed 'my sins' to this pathetic homo I used the magic words, 'self abuse.'.

Not that these confessions had any effect on my hormonal level: I continued to jerk off every twelve hours. But I felt very bad for doing it because God was watching me and furthermore God did not like (boom) what He was seeing.

In defense of Father Murphy I should say that he bought me a bicycle. It turned out to have a major defect: the front wheel bearing housing was so deformed that new bearings lasted only about two weeks.