"Don't be alarmed, Mike," Pestle said. "One of my jobs is to provide counseling to lonely soldiers with emotional problems. I find that it's easier to talk openly, without inhibition, if we are, so to speak, in the natural." He then added, "I certainly understand if you are uncomfortable and wish to leave."

Now Mike, just seventeen, was only vaguely aware of heterosexual relations and knew absolutely nothing about homosexual behavior. But he did know that three nude men, one of them a fifty-six year old priest with a boner, was as unholy a trinity as you could encounter. He didn't waste a minute in packing up his guitar, putting on his coat, and heading for the door. Father Pestle was begging him to reconsider. "Please, Mike, please stay. If you want to keep your underwear on, that's alright with us."

To Mike, these men, especially the priest, were still authority figures so he was afraid to confront them. But, as he walked out, he muttered under his breath, "This has *nothing* to do with folk mass." As Mike ran down the hall he heard Pestle, now in tears, blurt out one final plea: "Folk mass? I thought you said 'Fuck my ass'."