Page 5 of My Saintly Demon

I never thought that was who I was. But somehow it feels right. When the bishop ended our affair, I threw off the rose-coloured glasses of living life chained to a church. It was more than a simple affair to me. I sacrificed not only my reputation, but my sanity. Matthew’s rejection sent me in a rapid downward spiral. While I should be worried about what comes next, I’m not giving it headspace.

I’m going to enjoy the baser things in life and not feel a damn bit guilty doing it.

Digging out the lighter and marijuana I had shipped to a private postal box, I collapse onto the pleather recliner and light up. Drawing it deep into my lungs, I let the pungent smoke settle over me as I slowly blow it out. When the relaxed buzz sneaks in on the edges, I fire up the laptop porn. I learned my lesson and this time I’m busting a nut before I hit the booze. And I want to find that man from the last video again.

Cueing up the video, I lounge naked with a joint in one hand and my dick in the other. The dark-haired man with the huge dick fucksmyface and not some tiny blonde twink’s. The twink is cute, but not my type. Letting my head fall back on the chair, I listen to the moans from the laptop speakers as I stroke myself. When I close my eyes, the dark and handsome man waits for me.

He’s perfect.

Broad muscular shoulders, just the right amount of stubble, and mesmerizing blue eyes. It’s his tongue on me,wicked and hot as he licks a path from my balls up to my cock. A groan leaves my lips, and I spread my legs wider. He buries his face there and I wish I had brought a toy out, because my imagination is on point tonight.

The joint tumbles from my fingers and I slide down farther, ignoring the squeak and pull of pleather on my ass as I shift. Coating my finger with spit, I tease myself before I give in and push inside. But it’s not a finger inside my hole. It’s the man with the dark hair filling me with his huge cock and it feels so fucking good. His satisfied smile peering down at me as he pumps draws a gasp from my lungs. It’s so vivid I feel the drop of sweat from his brow hitting my chest. That’s my tipping point and I shudder before coming on myself with a roar.

“Must be something in that weed. I swear I wasn’t alone.”

Still panting, I fumble around to find a discarded pair of underwear and mop up my mess.

I’m happy I skipped the gin tonight. Spent and noodle-like, I reach down and find the joint I dropped still smoking on the floor, and raise a shaky hand for a drag. I’ve never come that hard by myself before. And it was never so… real. I swear that guy was dicking me down in the flesh and not my imagination. Masturbation is fun and all, but I want to find men and lots of them.

How’s that old saying go? Once you get a taste of the good stuff, you’ll never want to use artificial again? Something like that, anyway.

My eyelids droop and I peel myself off the recliner to stagger into the bedroom. It’s been a long day and I need to sleep.

After all, I get to do this again tomorrow.

* * *

“Yeah, like that. Swallow it all.”

The suction is perfect. The heat is fucking amazing and the tongue on this man is out of this world. I’m going to come down his throat and not even warn him.

I grab a fistfull of his hair and shove him down farther on my hard cock and he doesn’t even flinch. His blue eyes peer up at me, challenging me to go further and I do.

He just smiles around my dick and I don’t know what he does, but whatever it is feels like my entire body just left earth and I’m soaring somewhere where the word bliss doesn’t even begin to describe what I’m feeling.

“Holy shit. Holy shit.”

If I wanted to warn him I was about to blow I couldn’t have. It’s the orgasm to trump all those before it and I lay there in a spent heap as he pops off my dick licking his lips.

“Good morning, Father.”

My eyes fly open and I turn my head to the side quickly on the pillow to check out the other side of the bed.

It's empty.

With a shaking breath, I place my hand on my chest. That had to be the most vivid wet dream I've had since I was a kid. I could have sworn the same man from my masturbation session last night was here with me and swallowing my dick like he was a circus sword eater. The dried cum on my thigh is already pulling at my skin and I need to shower and move on with this day. No time for any debauchery just yet.

But I'm definitely cataloging that dream for later replays.

After I shower and dress, I pull out the bishop’s letter and read the threats again. To remain silent as they fire me for crossing lines so many of us have before. A few even made bigger missteps than me and were just shipped away with a stern lecture about not letting it happen again. But you know what? Being a hypocrite is hard. I don’t want to do it anymore.

I want to practice the most base of human behaviour and pursue happiness. Not some kind of notion of what happiness should be based on the pages of an ancient text that’s open to misinterpretation. I want what makes me happy. Whatever brings a smile to my face and the whole body warmth of feeling truly content. I’ve lived in this moral castle for so long I almost forgot what it’s like to do what I want simply because it brings me joy.

While what brings me most joy these days is porn, sex, and booze, I’m done feeling like a lesser human because of my tastes.

When the doorbell rings and Matthew lets himself in, calling out my name before I've even allowed him into my home, I'm beyond angry.

"Charles!" he barks, and I know he wants me to come running, but that’s not happening.

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