Altar Attendant at Lughnasa

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Stripping and Humiliation

Boys prepare for the annual Rite of Lughnasa.

ver 1.2

[Posted to the Forced Nudity Archive in 2017]

When I arrived at the altar boys’ Robing Chamber, Sean and Patrick were already there.  ‘Brendan! Why are you always late?’ they called.  They grabbed my arms, one on each side, and propelled me to the back door, the one that goes into the Rectory.

‘But, guys, we’re not allowed in there,’ I said.

Sean and Patrick gave each other a long look.  ‘That’s right; Brendan has never served at Lughnasa before.  Yes, Brendan, on one day a year we are allowed in.’

It is true that Lughnasa is different from the other festivals we do at our church. When Father O’Toole chose us for the service, I had never even heard of it.  It is held at midnight on August first, which was a Wednesday this year.  He had a list of likely boys to serve, but he still asked some strange questions (did I have contact lenses? did I have artificial joints, or other surgical implants? did I have any tattoos, even tiny inconspicuous ones?).  Later, my parents seemed pleased that I had been chosen.  Dad had work that night, and Mom said no women could attend Lughnasa, so I rode my bike to the church.

When we three boys went through into the Rectory, it was deserted.  The other boys guided me to the large bathroom. They found a wooden box labelled LUGHNASA on a high shelf.  In it there was a bar of coarse yellowish soap.

‘Showers,’  Patrick said.  ‘Use this soap.  Get really clean.’

Sean sniffed the soap and made a face.  ‘Hand-made from local tallow.’

We were running late, so we all went into the shower together.  I was standing beside two really cute, really naked boys; in a shower designed for one person.  I could barely avoid an erection.  I didn’t look down, and thought of my unwritten book report.

That soap was very harsh; it stung my skin.  Sean used it to wash my hair.  Patrick repeated, ‘Get really clean,’ then he washed the soles of my feet, and between my toes.  He washed my willy and goolies—all over!  And clear up inside my bum-hole!  I had a colossal erection for sure.  But then Patrick and Sean were washing each other, and didn’t even seem to notice my embarrassing display.

While we dried off, we snapped each other on the bare bums with our towels.  I snuck peeks at their naked bodies.  Sometimes in the past I had imagined what certain boys (including Sean and Patrick) looked like naked.  Now my imagination had some great fuel for the future.
Sean’s willy was thick and bouncy.  Patrick’s was short and stuck out.

I picked up my boxers to start dressing.  But Sean stopped me. ‘Tonight, no clothes under your robe.  No one will be able to tell if they see us walking to the Chapel.  Maybe if they are really observant they will see your bare feet, but that’s it.’

They didn’t tell me why.  They just said, ‘Don’t worry.  It’s fun.’

Patrick added: ‘Brendan, take off your watch and that ring.  And the ankle-bracelet.’  He lifted my St Dymphna medal from around my neck.  ‘This, too.’  When that was off, I felt really naked;  I had not taken it off even once since I was five, when Grampy gave it to me, saying it would protect me from Pagans.

The LUGHNASA box had some other things in it.  Some sort of red paste. We put it on our lips, like lipstick.  Then there was some pink for our cheeks. Patrick explained that we did this because the lighting in the midnight service would be only candles.

But then they surprised me even more.  They put the red on my nipples. And pink on some other parts of my body.  And, guess what: they made the acorn of my willy bright red!  Sean and Patrick applied the red to their acorns, too.

We put on the special Lughnasa robes:  Made with no artificial fibres, undyed, hand-woven in one piece, laced up the back, with a pull-cord hanging from the nape of the neck.

Then we raced to the entry door of the Chapel.  We arrived in time; the music had not started yet.  Father O’Toole was waiting there, as usual.  I noticed he had bare feet, too.  And gnarly arthritic toes.

We didn’t have our usual ceramic censers.  Instead, we had some boxy square metal ones.  And when Father O’Toole lit them, they did not smell like the usual incense.  I asked him about it.

‘The heather we burn at Lughnasa is harvested from the heath just outside of town.  These censers are over two hundred years old: they were made from tin that was mined and smelted within sight of this location.’

There is no mining around here at all any more.

He had a far-away look in his eyes.  ‘In tonight’s rite, we acknowledge that this place is part of us who live here.And we are part of this place.  And we are part of each other.’  

We usually have a prayer before going in.  But tonight Father O’Toole didn’t do it.

While we waited quietly in line, Sean was just in front of me.  So I was staring at his back.  I figured out how the pull-cord connected to the lacing on his robe would work.  One good yank on the cord, and Sean would be naked!  Strange.

The organ began to play.  The door opened. It was the grand procession into the Lughnasa rite.  But (of course) that rite is secret, so my story must end here.


Submitted: April 25, 2021

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