Page 12 of My Saintly Demon

Probably.

But it’s taken care of, and now I need to find that freaky little priest and make sure he’s okay.

Because like it or not, I can’t help myself.

I kind of care what happens to him.

And doesn’t that just fuck up the whole reason for me being here?

CHAPTERSEVEN

CHARLES

As soon as Matthew was far enough away and occupied by… shit, I don’t even know the tall drink of water’s name.

A damn demon.

Doesn’t matter. He provided the diversion so I could get back up to the rectory. What the hell did Matthew even bother coming back here for, anyway? Did he just want to make it even more crystal clear I have no home or job past 8 PM tonight?

My ass cheeks are still slippery with margarine and the cum drying on my pubic hairs has moved past the mild irritation phase and into the ‘please shower now’ phase. I should want to scrub the surface layer of my skin off because of the shame of what I just did.

I asked a complete stranger to fuck my face in the church kitchen. And when he declined, I masturbated in front of him. It was a thrill. I won’t lie about how much I loved it. Showing off for a sexy man who was clearly interested, even though he chose to eat cookies over me.

Mark that down as yet another thing I never thought I’d do. Seems like I’m one of thosegive them an inch and they take a miletype of people. And I need to kick the feelings of shame to the curb. Discovering your sexual preferences and appetite later in life is never a bad thing. Even if it is in church.

Will he know I’m up here and let himself in? Will he want me to relieve him now? My spent cock twitches with the thought and I pause once outside the door to the rectory.

Oh fuck, I hope so. Those horns on his head grew along with the cock in his pants the longer he watched me.

But he also said some things that make zero sense to me. He’s the poster child of all things immoral. Yet he doesn’t want casual sex. And something about not being a good demon. None of this makes any sense and I’ll need chemical assistance to get through the rest of this day. It’s not even noon and I already want to smoke up.

The door closes behind me and I pause at the half-full (hurrah for optimism!) bottle of gin on the counter. Shaking my head at the early hour, I head to the shower and bypass the booze for now. The demon will know where to find me. Apparently, I’m on his channel and I think that might work in my favour. I won’t address the fact he’s not human for now. That little morsel can be conveniently ignored for as long as I need.

But that was a close call, with Matthew showing up. I’m not even sure why he did. He dropped off everything earlier. I know when I need to leave and I know what I will or won’t do about it as well. Although, it would have been nice to see Matthew’s face walking in on me while blowing some rando in the kitchen.

Dammit, I didn’t even get the snack I wanted when I went down there. Ah well, not the first time I chose sex over food, and probably won’t be the last. Funny how your priorities can change when the proper options present themselves and you finally know what you’ve been missing your whole life.

Ditching my dirty clothes in the bedroom first, I turn on the shower and pull my thoughts back to thinking about what I need to pack, so I get out of here in the few short hours I have left.

A pang of disappointment settles when I remember the Cook family are scheduled to baptize their little boy tonight. As much as I hated forcing myself to do most parts of this job I didn’t agree with, the Cooks are a nice family. Daniel even has a gay brother he chose as the child’s godfather and I genuinely liked the meetings with all of them. I’m letting them down by walking away.

Scrubbing my hair harder than necessary, I realize that’s all my life is. One big let down for other people.

Hey, Charles, did you get the scholarship? No, my GPA was too low.

Hey, Charles, did Susan say yes to a date? No, she said I’m not her type.

Oh, Charles, did you water the plants while we were gone? No, I’m sorry, I was busy and forgot.

Oh, Charles, did you talk the rich parishioner into writing a cheque to fix the church roof? Yes! Because he asked if I could blow him for that much money and, of course, I said I’d do it in the Lord’s name.

I still got shit on when I delivered the cheque because it wasn’t as much as they wanted. So I’m always full of disappointment. And something inside me hurts when I think about it.

Turning off the shower, I reach for my towel and screech when someone standing there hands it to me.

“I nearly had a heart attack! Next time, announce you’re in the room.”

“Like with trumpets or something?”

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