Jameson was raised in a Catholic Church. It was never his mission to become a priest but when both of his parents die in a car accident, he feels he owes them that much. Things are going smooth until Jameson finds himself with a broke down car in th...
THIS IS AN EROTIC ROMANCE. IT WILL MOVE FAST PACE AND HAVE A PLOT, BUT MOSTLY SMUT AND LOVE. HOPE YOU ALL ENJOY.
ONE LAST THING, I MEAN NO DISRESPECT TO THE CATHOLIC RELIGION. THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION AND MY "PREIST" IN THIS BOOK MAKES IT ABUNDANTLY CLEAR THAT HE IS NOT A GOOD MAN. ENJOY
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Jameson (pictured below)
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"Bless me Father for I have sinned."
"It has been four months since my last confessional." The soft feminine voice says on the other side of the cramped and hot booth that I sit inside. Swiping the sweat from my brow, I exhale and repeat the same words I feel I say a hundred times today.
"Speak my child, for the Lord is listening," the woman exhales and I wait. I then hear her sobbing uncontrollably but I force myself to stay quiet. Most want pitty for things they knew were wrong before they didthem.
"Oh Father, I have slept with a man who is not my husband!" I try not to cringe as the woman wails. I do not want to do this, but something I feel must be done. My father would be proud, my mother would be over the moon, but they aren't here. They are with God, or so I hope. A silent but heavy breath leaves me as I screw my eyes shut. I fight back tears as I listen to the woman cry about a sin she decided to commit. I'm not one to judge but don't cry over spilt milk. Especially one that you knocked over with your own hand. Minutes pass and I realize she is done confessing.
"May our Lord and God, Jesus Christ, through the grace and mercies of his love for humankind, forgive all your transgressions," I blurt out in a rush. The woman scoffs heavily and I swear I feel her eyes roll.
"You know Jameson, your father would ashamed at how pitiful you are at this," she bites out and I immediately recognize the high pitch tone of her voice. I clench my teeth as the anger I got from my holier-than-though father comes to the surface.
"Well, Claudette, I'm sure your husband of a decade would love to know that you laid with his brother."
Claudette's sharp intake of breath lets me know I hit a bullseye. I mean I do sit on what I assume to be a damn throne at the front of the church. My eyes see everything. The longing stares, the bitter stares, the lust filled ones. I'm like a small version of what people believe God is. A man who sits on a throne and watches what we do. I mimic what they feel he looks like as well. Although my dirty blonde hair is cut short right now, it was once long and wavy. My eyes make the sky look dull, and when I'm not surrounded by church walls, I work out, and do work that God wouldn't favor. Tall, muscular, dangerous. But in realistic terms, God wouldn't look like me. He wouldn't look like anyone because he's not a fucking person.
