I rummage underneath my bed and take out two Playboy I’ve been hiding from Mother. With a grin on my face, I plop down on my bed and sift through the magazine until I find a pretty picture of a naked lady and start rubbing myself.

What?

I never said I was a saint. Far from it, actually. I’ve done some very bad shit in my life. People would be afraid of me if they knew. But that all happened before I became a preacher.

Not in the official sense, of course. I’m not ordained. I just like to give back to the people, and I do it by preaching.

However, preachers have needs too.

And boy … my needs have been piling up since I saw that girl in church on Sunday. Something about her electrified my body. Like it suddenly came alive again after a long sleep.

For some reason, I can’t get her off my mind.

No matter how many days pass, I can’t stop thinking about her, wondering who she is, and why she’s started visiting my church. Why she’s here. If she ever has the same naughty thoughts as I have about her.

I admit it. I’m not ashamed to say I’m infatuated with the very thought of having her right here in my bed.

Is it wrong? Hell yeah, but I don’t care.

Right now, I just wanna blow off some steam, and beating my meat seems like the perfect way to do it.

So I grease the pipe with some gun oil from my nightstand and start to rub one out.

However, the longer I stare at the pictures on the magazine, the less in the mood I’m feeling. I don’t know what it is, but random nude chicks just don’t do it for me anymore. And whenever I think of her, my cock springs right back into action.

So I close the magazine and my eyes and focus on the image I have of her in my mind; her sultry eyes focused solely on me as she strips down, removing her clothes piece by piece. So sensually, so carnal that I touch myself.

I groan from the thought of having her bounce on my length, her tits jiggling in my face, and I come so damn hard it spurts all over.

“Fuck …” I hiss, biting my lip.

God, oh God.

You and I both know I needed that more than anything.

I grab some tissues and pat myself down to clean up the mess. Right then, the door opens, and Margaret’s eyes widen at the sight of my sloppy joe.

“Oh, God,” she mutters as she slaps her hand in front of her eyes.

She’s never sworn before, so I can’t help but laugh.

“Lord Almighty,” she mutters, turning around and slamming the door behind her.

“Sorry,” I say, hoping she can still hear.

“Pray to God I forget this as soon as possible.”

I laugh again. “I’ll beg him for mercy, I promise.”

“Of course, you will.”

I don’t even have to see her roll her eyes because I know she’s doing it.

“Can’t you just not do that?” she asks.

“No,” I reply, grinning like a fool as I get up from the bed and throw away the tissues. “Preachers have needs too.”

“I don’t wanna hear it!” she quickly interjects, making me shake my head.

“I came to tell you someone’s waiting for you in the confessional. Multiple people are waiting, actually.”

“Great,” I huff, grabbing my pants and pulling them on.

I hate that fucking confessional. It’s too … official, and I’m not a priest. But since the people asked Mother specifically to put a confessional in the church, she couldn’t refuse, despite my hesitations. The people wanted this, so she gave it to them.

Maybe the people in this neighborhood like the privacy the confessional offers. And if that’s what people want, we’ll give it to them. Anything to help, right?

“They’ve been waiting for a while now,” Mother adds.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” I reply, staring at my tattooed body in the mirror as I put on my shirt and collar right. “Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

“My what?” she scoffs.

I open the door and see her standing with her arms folded. “Nothing,” I say. “Let’s go.”

“I’m not going in there with you,” she says, frowning.

“Like I’d want you in there,” I retort. “We’re not stuffing a clown’s car. This is a church.”

Her eyebrows are so low I swear they’re permanently stuck. “You know, half the time I really don’t know what you’re saying.”

I smile and pat her back as we both walk through the corridor. “That’s a good thing; trust me.”

“Well, I’ll see you when you’re done, okay?” She raises her brow. As if keeping tabs on me is anything new for her.

“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter. “I’m going.”

We each go our own way. I straighten my collar before I go up to the main area and look around. A few people are in the pews, praying or silently sitting there, overthinking their sins. For those who glance my way, I give them a fake smile and a nod as I walk past and enter the confessional.

The wooden bench underneath my ass feels so damn hard that I find it hard to stay seated, but I guess we all make sacrifices for the greater good. Besides, I’ve got to keep up appearances of being a semi-okay preacher.

But dammit … I hate how confined this space is and how ancient it makes me feel to look at the latticed wood between me and the other side.

Especially when an older lady sits down and closes the curtain then stares at me profusely like she can gape straight into my soul. Scary shit.

She makes the sign of the cross and begins her talk. “I’ve been doing a terrible injustice toward one of my boys,” she mutters. “I should’ve punished him harder, but I just couldn’t. Not because I didn’t want to, but I felt so disgusted; I didn’t even want to confront him even though he’d earned it.”

“What has your boy done?” I ask.

“He’s been … well, how do I say this …” She smashes her lips together and frowns, looking down at her feet.

I lean in closer. “Done what?”

“He’s been doing … inappropriate things.”

“Like what?” I ask, cocking my head because I can’t believe where this is about to go.

“When he’s in the shower or in his bed, I’ve heard him make noises.” She looks away in disgust, her eyes clearly in despair.

And I honestly don’t know how to respond.

“Like dirty noises. And he’s still a boy. He shouldn’t be doing those things.”

I snort, trying to hold back the laughter, but I just can’t.

“Are you … are you laughing?” she asks after hearing my sniffling.

“You’re confessing about not punishing your boy hard enough because he was jerking off?”

Her eyes widen, and her face tightens. “Excuse me?”

“Is that seriously what you came here to do?” I ask, raising my brow at her. “You do realize wanking is absolutely normal for boys his age?”

Her jaw drops and nothing comes out of her mouth, which I’m thankful for.

“Ma’am, you don’t have to confess something that trivial.”

“Trivial? Trivial?” She repeats it like she didn’t hear what I said. That or she’s very, very mad. Crazy mad indeed.

“That sort of thing is disgusting!” she hisses. “I can’t believe you would say such a thing, Father.”

“Well, you came to me, not the other way around.”

“Oh!” She makes this squeaky sound that makes me wanna reach into her cubicle and slap the shit out of her just for coming in here with that ridiculous shit. Wasting my time.

“Are you for real?” she sputters.

“Realer than you,” I quip.

She grimaces. “You’re supposed to do your job.”

“I’m supposed to listen to real confessions here. Things that matter.”

“Are you saying my boy doing filthy things to himself doesn’t matter? That I should just leave it?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

She sighs out loud. “But you’re a preacher. You’re supposed to carry out God’s will.”

“So?” I shrug, trying not to let her get to me, even though I really wanna say something about that shitty comment about ‘God’s will.’ Fucking hell. “If you wanna know, I sent out the troops this morning too.”

“Troops?” She looks really confused now.

“Yeah, you know. Spank the monkey. Rope the pony. Milk the bull.”

She looks at me like I’ve got peanut butter stuck on my face.

“Rubbed one out.”

“Are you implying …”

I cock my head. “My dick was hard this morning.”

Another soft squeal leaves her throat.

“Don’t worry; it’s not anymore.” I roll my eyes. “Not by a long shot. Although I did have a very long shot this morning.” I grin to myself.

“I can’t believe this.” She shakes her head in disbelief. “A preacher, out of all people. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“Ashamed? Far from it. Everyone has needs,” I reply. “My point is, if you want to stop feeling guilty, you gotta stop thinking everything is a sin.”

“The Bible says you can’t—”

“The Bible also says you can’t mark your body.” I pull down my sleeve and show her my tattoos. “See this? Think God hates me now?”

“Oh, my Lord …” She clutches her chest. “Why did I ever come to this church?” she mumbles to herself. “I should’ve stayed with my regular one.”

“They were tired of your whining there, weren’t they? That’s why you left.”

“What?” A scowl appears on her face. “How dare you? I’m leaving.” She gets up from her seat, clutching her dress like she’s afraid I’ll see something. As if I’d ever wanna see her cooch.

“Good, and stop complaining. Maybe your son will stop wanting to play whack-a-mole then.”

“It’s because people like you rot his mind and make him sin!” she yells, the curtain already opened. Everyone can hear us now.

“He’ll never stop being an ass because he’s living with you, and that’s the worst kind of hell anyone can have. But you know what? I’m going to forgive you because I’m a nice person. And nice people do that kind of shit for other people, you know?” I get up from my seat and wave her away. “Just go … And thank the Lord for His mercy because I know you ain’t getting it anywhere else.”

As her self-righteous, scorned ass turns around and struts away, I look out at the people staring at me and yell, “Next!”

Then I go back inside the confessional and slam the little door shut.