Father Chet Morecock

As a 5th grade youngster at St. Stephen’s Elementary, it was quite an exciting day when we were told that Father Chet would be coming in to teach the boys the ins and outs of the birds and the bees.

The promise of the usual suspects making crass remarks in an open forum about sex was far more to my liking than an average afternoon of algebra, taught to us by a woman who had a horrible short tight blonde clown curl hairdo and who’s breath reminded us constantly of the dog shit sandwich she must have eaten for lunch.

Let me say first, that growing up Catholic, I’ve known many men of the cloth to be kind, generous, honest, and true believers in the Christian faith who actually chose Jesus Christ over openly sleeping with women or men.

And not all priests are raging homosexuals and/or kiddie ticklers.


Most of us, having already viewed pornography, had a thorough knowledge of at least how the deed was done. I still remember the first XXX feature I sat through with a pillow on my lap. The main character’s name was Dr. Morecock, and he had sex with a woman while wearing a cut-off shirt that exposed his midriff. I couldn’t understand why a man would show their penis to another person, yet choose to cover up their nipples.

As is appropriate to this scenario, I’ll fast forward to the good part, although there are several other fantastic pieces of the story that I don’t remember quite as accurately.

The question was posed to Father Chet as to how large a grown man’s penis would get when erect. Taking a thoughtful pause, Father Chet bluntly answered, “about 11 inches.”

Stifling gut laughs, we got our rulers out so fast I’m surprised someone didn’t lose an eye.

Now, depending on the level of one’s intelligence and exposure to sex, this must have caused several future reactions:

Some of the boys probably look back fondly on this and laugh like I do, accepting of their allotment of developed ding dong.

A few of them probably feel like the description was inappropriate and place blame on it when they whine to their therapists.

But I like to think that there’s at least one stupid, poor, sheltered, bastard out there walking around with a sweetass 9-and-a-half inch cock who’s too ashamed to mention it to anyone, let alone share it with a horny guy or girl who’d appreciate it because he thinks he’s inadequate.

For the record, Father Chet had short, spikey, peroxide blonde club hair, spoke with a thick lisp, and walked with more swooshes than Nike.

I’m not saying this makes him gay. I’d hate to perpetuate a stereotype. I live in a glass house so I don’t own any stones. I just thought a mental picture would be nice.

What made him gay was when it turned out that he was fucking a guy who lived two doors down from my Grandparents.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

I’d guess it’s safe to say Father Chet couldn’t resist, who my Grandmother referred to as, “the weirdo guy’s” big and bad 11-inch dick.