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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 heart emoji.

“You guys want to get high?” Hunter asked. “I brought my vape. We could go out back.”

“Fuck yeah,” I said. We started on our way out when I noticed a busboy coming out of an area in the back of the club. There was a stairway at the end of the hall that looked intriguing. “Hey, I may have a better spot.”

Ten minutes later, the three of us were drinking and getting high on the Beach Ball roof. We listened to other pub crawlers making a similar trek along West Oceanfront, looking for fun, booze, and sex. Personally, I had everything I needed right in front of me, sitting close in a circle.

Hunter Cabot was stunning in every sense. If Amy was a ten, Hunter was a fifteen, at least. The Forty-Niners signed the twenty-three-year-old former college football star this week. He had a reputation for being a playboy. The blond, muscle-bound athlete always had a girl hanging onto him, and he loved the attention. Amy said he left UCLA with a long line of discarded sorority girls. This didn’t surprise me. Just seeing what was pressing against the front of his jeans, between those tree-trunk thighs of his, was making me more lightheaded than I already was.

While Gage Ramsey was openly bisexual, his dating history primarily involved women, according to Amy. When we were initially introduced, I assumed his bisexuality was a ruse to get into his best friend’s panties, but I was way off. I’d seen him look at enough men to know he was always hungry for cock. I imagined the handsome, half-Hawaiian stud was getting plenty on the side. Gage was a twenty-two-year-old medical student with a slender waist that curved into a wide, muscled V-shape. I figured the young man, who exuded sexuality, was never lonely for any extended periods.

“This was a good idea,” Hunter said, taking another hit off of my vape. He was in a distressed gray tee that clung to his firm upper body and often came up above the waist of his tight jeans.

“A great idea,” Gage chimed in, taking the next hit from the handy device. He usually didn’t gawk at Amy’s brother, but that wasn’t the case on this night.

“Mmmmm… thank God for California weather,” I said, pulling off my short-sleeve so that I could enjoy the light nighttime breeze in my tank top. “My buddy lives in Pittsburgh, and it just snowed there this morning. We’ve got it so good right where we are.”

“Amen,” Gage added.

Gage reached over to hand me the vape, and his fingers brushed my palm. He gave me a look at the same time. It was a look I’d recognized, but not from him. Amy told me that he fawned over me when they were alone, though he never did anything suggestive in my presence. According to her, he makes her show him any shirtless or indelicate pictures she’s taken of me. He told her that he’s never met a guy with as chiseled a frame as mine. I’ve always found it flattering, but it was beginning to pique my curiosity.

“You guys want to hit up another bar?” I asked.

“I’m fine here,” Gage said, shifting his leg and then taking a moderately quick tug at his cock. He was hard. Curious.

“Same,” Hunter replied, reaching toward me for another hit.

“So, what’s the deal with you guys?” I asked. “How come you’re both single?”

“I’m seeing a chick,” Hunter claimed. “Nothing serious. She seems like kind of an idiot, but she likes to get fucked. I was going to bring her tonight, but it was her brother’s birthday, and I’m not ready to do the whole family thing. We might hook up later tonight.”

“Nice,” I said, then looked at Gage. “What about you? Any ladies or… anyone else?”

“I’ve got a few guys in rotation,” Gage answered. “Some heavier than others, but no relationship prospect. I went on a date with a girl from my Clinical Terminology class, but she was kind of uptight.”

“You know, Amy thinks you haven’t been with a guy in over a year,” I said. “She assumes since you never talk about them, you aren’t dating. I don’t want to be intrusive—”

“Go for it,” Gage interrupted. I think he knew where I was going and was dying to get his sexual history off of his chest.

“How often do you hook up with guys?” I asked.

Opening the floodgates turned out to be a piece of cake. Gage, who was usually filtered about his love life, became frank and exceptionally vivid as he shared his most recent sexual exploits. I don’t think he liked that his best friend in the world thought he was chaste, so he let Hunter and I know in no uncertain terms that this was not the case. A few times, I looked at Hunter, who was clinging to Gage’s every word and appearing to grow excited.

I wasn’t planning to admit to any personal tales of promiscuity in front of Hunter, so I listened without sharing. The fact was, even though Amy and I had satisfying sex, I always looked forward to fucking around behind her back with random strangers. But I secretly pined for guys with whom I was more familiar.

“I’ll be honest, I’m kind of shocked,” Hunter said, alternating his crossed legs in an apparent move to relieve his throbbing cock. “My sister has no idea.”

“I prefer to keep this part of my life secret,” Gage said.

“Then why tell us?” I asked, running my fingers across my crotch.

Gage shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe I thought you might be interested,” he said.

“Interested?” Hunter asked.

“You heard him,” I said. I looked at both of them and then moved my hand across the front of my jeans. My cock needed air no matter how this was going to go (although, I had an idea). I released it from my jeans and let my meat flop into my palm. “I don’t know how you feel, Hunter, but I know I need to see if this guy is half as talented as he claims.”

“Only one way to find out,” Gage said, leaning forward until he was staring down my throbbing ten-inch shaft.

While my girlfriend was a few miles away, probably resting her head against her toilet, her best friend in the world was showing off his excellent cocksucking skills by wrapping his lips around my swollen wand. He undersold his gift. And that was precisely what he had: a glorious fucking gift from the gods of fellatio. Gage pressed his nose against my trimmed blond pubes. I think he needed to prove that he could fit a few more inches down that sheath he called a throat.

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