Confessions of a Bad Boy

By John Valjean

Adam Paul has something to confess: he loves raunchy sex with men who are off limits! And now the young Southern Californian stud has his sights set on Father Valentine, the handsome young priest at Our Lady Queen of Angels. But first Adam is going to share his filthiest sexual conquests in the confessional, all in an effort to seduce the man of the cloth!

Adam can't keep his hands off his girlfriend's brother, his married boss, his best friend's father, or his sister's fiancé. As the notches on Adam's bedpost accumulate, will Father Valentine be able to resist the muscle-bound hunk or will he abandon his vows to the church! Confessions of a Bad Boy promises the usual twisted, steamy, scenarios that you've come to expect from John Valjean!

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Valjean
• Release date: Sep 22, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005240981

John Valjean

John Valjean has been writing erotica on his moderately successful Tumblr from 2014 to 2018, before the site stopped allowing dirty stuff. At the behest of his husband, John took to writing long-form stories based on his deepest, dirtiest sexual fantasies. When he's not writing, John enjoys going to movies, binging tv series, cooking and baking, and spending time with family and friends.

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Confessions of a Bad Boy

By John Valjean

Text copyright © 2020

John Valjean

All Rights Reserved

Disclaimer: This book contains sexually explicit material and profanity. Please do not read further if these things offend you. All characters depicted in sexual acts in this work of fiction are 18 years of age of older.

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intentional.

Chapter 1: Up on the Roof

I’m generally not the nervous type. But for a brief moment, as I stepped into Our Lady Queen of Angels, the Catholic church my family attended for almost a decade, my stomach was aflutter. After I turned eighteen, my attendance withered down to twice a year at best. Even then, I was usually antsy to depart and dive headfirst into some rapturous sinning. There’s been a lot of that of late. At twenty-two years old, there have been so many sexual partners, both above and beneath, that I stopped counting somewhere around one hundred. And yet today, walking into this house of worship, a dash of tension came over me as I plotted my next sexual conquest.

Walking into the chapel, there was a sense of detachment where once there was belonging. The ample open space smelled of Chrism and incense, aromas that brought me right back to attending services with my parents as a preteen boy. I was scarcely curious about sex in those days. The soft light against the blanche walls and lit candles on the opposite side of the large hall were romantic, almost dreamlike. As inviting as it should have been, I didn’t feel welcome.

It was all that sinning.

The confessional was to my right. It was an ornate cherry wood booth with two entrances, one for the priest and one for the penitent. Me being the latter, of course. My name is Adam Paul, and I had some things I needed to get off of my forty-four-inch chest. I took a deep breath, stepped into the wooden enclosure, and knelt in front of the ten-inch square window with a wooden screen. It could be opened from the opposite side.

Bless me, Father, for I have sinned, I started. "It has been several years since my last confession. But this week, I think I crossed a line by sleeping with someone I shouldn’t have. Knowing that the person was, uh, sort of off-limits, made it more tempting. More dangerous. Those two things combined were impossible to refuse."

I was on a Friday night pub crawl with my girlfriend Amy, her brother Hunter, and her best friend, Gage. We had eight stops on our ambitious list. Still, after taking the temperature of our quartet after the fourth, it was clear that they were not prepared to go the distance. While we were not a group of sloppy drunks, attempting to drop in on another pub would have been pushing our luck. We were packed tight in the middle of a cramped dive called the Beach Ball, where many of the regulars enjoyed a level of intoxication I was not eager to experience.

So was Amy.

Wooooooo!!! screamed Amy, holding her third shot of Don Julio straight into the air. About a quarter of it leaked down her arm. "This is the best night eveeeeer! And I’m surrounded by my favorite guys ever, too!"

Poor, drunk Amy had said this three times in the last twenty minutes and the weariness on Hunter and Gage’s mugs were becoming less and less subtle.

I’m glad! I yelled, my voice failing to combat the relentless pounding that exited the bar’s sound system.

We need to cut her off! Hunter yell-whispered in my ear.

Okay! I returned in the same hushed bellow. I’ll call us a Lyft!

We’re going? Gage lipped, pointing his thumb out the door.

Just us, I replied, wagging my index finger at Amy and me.

"Just us, what?" Amy asked.

It might be time to shove off, I told her, putting my arm around her shoulder.

Wha…? Amy said. She scrunched her face dramatically to convey her displeasure. Bu’ we’re all having sush a good… a good…

You okay, sis? Hunter asked.

I may or may not feel so good, Amy answered before pushing herself through a sea of degenerates to get to the restroom.

Shit, I said. I’m going to go wait for her.

We’ll come with, Gage said, putting his arm around my shoulder.

I’ll grab us some beers, Hunter added. This could be a while.

My poor girlfriend’s hacking could be heard over the music, or whatever was emitting from the Beach Ball’s speakers. Hunter joined Gage and me after a few minutes with two beers apiece.

Compliments of the lady in red, Hunter said, pointing his head in the direction of a haggard fiftyish blonde wearing a long scarlet terrycloth beach dress that had seen better days. She smiled and threw our group a friendly wave. She insisted.

Are we supposed to invite her over? Gage asked.

Go for it, I said. He did not.

While Amy puked all her pub-crawling fun down the drain, the three of us drank and joked around while we waited for her. The lady in red came up to say hello and ended up staying to chat for a while. She was funny as hell, and vulgar too. Her name was Carmen, and she said she had been coming to the Beach Ball for years (she actually said for fucking years). I asked her if she would mind checking on Amy, and then she disappeared for ten minutes inside the ladies’ restroom.

"I think this belongs to you," Carmen said when she eventually came out with Amy on her arm.

I might not have any more to drink, Amy said, finding it impossible to maintain her focus on anything.

Good idea, I said. Let’s get outta here.

No, I don’t wanna ruin your fun, Amy replied. You stay. I’ll call for a ride. It’s only ten minutes. I’m jus’ gonna go home and go to bed.

Are you sure? I asked.

Totally, she answered. Seriously. I wan’ you guys to have fun.

Amy texted me when she got home to let me know that she was okay. Well, not so much okay as she was stationed near her new best buddy, her restroom toilet. She took a selfie, not seeming to care about the saliva dripping down her chin or the makeup that was smeared so severely it looked as though her face was melting.

I shouldn’t share this, right? I asked, showing the picture to Hunter and Gage. Maybe with the hashtag, love is blind?

Only if you hate having sex with her, Gage laughed.

Good point, I said, putting my phone back in my pocket. I texted Amy a