A Cocky Confession Story Collection

By Eric Alan Westfall

If you click the "buy me now!" icon wherever you are, you'll be reading an eclectic collection—fantasy, contemporary, historical, and erotica enlivened with humor.

The Effing Fates Made Us Do It: It's okay, finding my fated mate at ten, and he's eight. I'll give up my dreams of being a high school and college stud like my brothers, only gay. But that? No way, no how. That is never happening.

Ain't We Got Fun: It's an ordinary morning, two husbands getting ready for work. But then the lawyer husband, who has to be in court soon, drops to all twos. And...there's a high school graduate and a coach involved. What?

The Last Three: The war is lost. The survivors of their people are gone through the portal. Now it's up to the Last Three to save what is most precious to their race. Can they?

A Moment at Madam Maud's Molly House: 1816 in Another England. Our hero's new client tonight is a big one, and he doesn't quite have the skills needed to keep the man happy and bring him back. His co-workers have to teach him everything he needs to know. Fast.

A Cocky Confession: How was I to know the stud in the gloryhole ridden booth at the arcade was Father Ramon? Not until my buddy Chance arranged for us to meet at the church when I came to make repairs. So showing up anonymously in the confessional week after week regaling him with my many and varied sins, in detail, doesn't make me a stalker. Really.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eric Alan Westfall
• Release date: Aug 6, 2018
• ISBN: 9781940935195

Book preview

The Effing Fates Made Us Do It

Can I tell you something? I mean, promise you won’t get mad?

Bastard.

Okay, I’ll tell you anyway.

The day we met, when I held out my hand to shake yours, which I had to do since daddy raised me to be polite, I was thinking, No.

And I was thinking, Hell, no.

And I was thinking like my big brother Andy used to say when he didn’t know I was around, "Not only hell no, but no to the fucking hell no."

Only, I couldn’t say that out loud. Any of it. Ten year old sons of my daddy didn’t use language like that. Well, at least not anywhere there was the slightest chance of daddy hearing, or somehow knowing about it. Which was pretty much damn anywhere. Daddy allowed me the occasional damn but anything more than that, and daddy and I had a conversation.

A conversation between daddy’s hand and my butt. And back then, one of daddy’s hands was bigger than my skinny butt. I was tall for my age. A bit over five feet, at five feet and a half inch. Half inches were important, since daddy was six eight, and I wanted to get just as big as him as fast as I could.

Go ahead, laugh. Not everyone in the Legion has to be huge, and five ten is a very respectable height for a Legionnaire in his adult human form.

You finished now?

Fine.

So like I was saying, I really wanted to say that stuff out loud. But that would have been most likely a big bad, or if daddy wasn’t in a good mood, a really big bad, what with new neighbors, and introductions, and all. For a little bad, the conversation was short and I got to keep whatever I was wearing on. Which kind of meant if I had even an inkling I might do something bad, it made sense to have on my thickest pair of underwear, and jeans other than one of my almost worn-out ones I liked to play in.

For a big bad I got to keep my underwear, and the conversation was a lot longer and a hell of a lot more difficult to bear, since with daddy, it was really more of a one-sided conversation, until I was finally allowed to wail out a very true I’m sorry, I won’t do it again.

A couple of times, when I was just a little kid, I tried to get in an early I’m sorry, I won’t, when we were having a conversation about a big bad. But daddy was really good about detecting an insincere sorry, so I gave that up.

A really big bad was bare bottom. And a long, vigorous conversation. A heated conversation, you might say. And sometimes I walked kind of funny when he was done, and couldn’t sit down for a week.

Asshole! It was not just like when you fuck me through the mattress, or the wall, or the table, when it’s your turn to top.

Okay, so, yeah, you’re good, but you aren’t that good. Alright, alright. Some of the time you are. Now can I get on with this?

So, back to that day. I was holding out my hand to our new neighbor’s son, who made sure I knew he was exactly five and a half inches taller than me, even though he was two years younger. Or as we figured out later, one year, ten months and seven or eight days young, depending on how you counted. A handsome—

Yes, dear. I did think you were handsome back then, and still do. Is that enough ego-feeding for now?

Good. Thanks.

As I was saying...a handsome, awfully damn scrawny for his size, eight-year-old human, with dark brown hair and hazel eyes.

My effing—though even that could be anything from a medium bad to a big bad if I said it aloud—fated mate.

I had plans for my life! I wasn’t ready to settle down. I already knew I was gay, so I was sure by the time I got to high school I would be a big stud like my dad and Andy and Jack. I was going to have jocks and nerds and every guy in between after me, begging for me to do them. And since I’m damn smart, I was going to be a gay A student.

And then college. Where I’d continue to cut a swathe through all the eligible older men on and within not less than a twenty-mile radius of the campus, plus guys my own age, too. Eligible, of course, meaning breathing. Gay Legionnaires. It’s what we do and do so well.

After that, Harvard Law. Followed by a brilliant legal career with a series of sophisticated boyfriends, before I would finally select the one to settle down with. But not soon. I figured I’d have to be old in human terms, at least thirty, before that happened.

I was going to follow