My Priest Offered Me His Cock as Comfort After the Funeral
“You have no idea how dirty I am. I’ll have to tell you all about it in confession later.”
“Your father was a good man and I know that you will miss him.”
I looked up from where I was praying in the front row of the church. The mourners had all left, leaving me alone with the empty casket. The casket was just for show during the funeral; we’d had Dad cremated according to his instructions.
“Thank you, Father. You’ve been a comfort to us all.”
The priest slid onto the bench next to me and I pushed off my knees to sit beside him, turning slightly so I could see his face. Father Mike was new to our parish, only here less than a year, but he’d worked closely with my father in his role as a deacon.
As I studied his handsome face, I thought it was a damned shame that he was a man of the cloth. Unlike most priests who were old and ugly, Father Mike was smoking hot.
In his forties, he had dark hair, dark eyes, and this late in the day, he had a dark shadow of stubble across his jaw. His boring black pants and shirt did little to hide his muscled body. Thick biceps stretched the limits of his shirt sleeves, a hint of ink peeking out beneath the fabric.
