I love him
A confession of the sacred and profane
I love him. Pure and simple. Probably the only pure thing I've ever done in my short dirty life. Him is Haikki. Who couldn't love someone like that? A man who embodies all things good, clean and decent, even if he thinks of himself as unclean as me. Yeah, I know he's killed, murdered 1000 for the sake of one and was damned for the dirty deed. But I don't care. Haikki is unsullied, sins washed away in the dark blood of vengeance.
To be born as clean as he, without a trace of taint on his soul. Not like me. Not foul from the womb, not stained with guilt, the corpus delecti of a crime of passion; talk about your original sin folks. What's more original then me? I came into the world nailed to a cross. Here is born Sha Goyjo, I live and can't seem to die for any trespasses. Not even my own. Gods help me.
Oh, that's right. According to Sanzo, the Gods don't save anyone. Guess I'm walking proof of that. But back to business, I love Haikki. His eyes, pools of green to drown your heart in. His hair, stroke able, soft and brown and his body slim and pale. Soft as Sanzo's but more welcoming. On those nights when the rain falls heavily and his mind falls heavier, Haikki comes to my bed to bury himself six feet deep in red hair and willing flesh. Gods help me; those are the nights I pray for.
Let the world be flooded away, let it rain for 40 days and 40 nights like the missionary stories, just so I can be kept afloat in his tears He may shake and weep and call the name of his murdered woman, but it's me who kisses those tears from his face, who holds his body as the lightning stabs the sky and whose mouth is filled with his lips, tongue and cum. Making love to him is a sacrament.
I lust for Sanzo. Hot as firecrackers and just as explosive. It's a pipe dream, I know. He would never bed me; that would mean he'd had to be intimate, even a fast fuck means you have to allow some entrance to yourself, and that is the one thing he could never consciously allow himself do or have done. .But mental pictures of him faint and wanton, cheap feels of his unconscious body when injured, stuff that makes for good thoughts on lonely nights when the bar maids are ugly and I ain't that drunk or desperate. Thanks Sanzo for the one hand salute.
The Saru, I like him. He's fun to tease. It's so easy to get him riled up. Eat his food, give him enough demons to fight and the kid is set. I don't think Goku knows yet what girls, or for that matter guys, are for, and Sanzo would skin me alive if I have the little monkey a live demonstration. Somehow, I think the big guy wants to do that himself. Far be it from me to get in the way of a man spanking his monkey. Cripes, did I really say that? Ewwwwwww, bad mental picture.
But I love Haikki. I think in some ways, we all do. He is mother, cooking our food, mending our physical hurts and listening to our mental pains. He is father, driving the car, seeing watching over us and protecting our backs in a fight or in a card game where I've bluffed some big mook out of three of a kind with a hand full of shit.
But most of all, I love him, when we're sitting around doing nothing and he is relaxed and his fingers idly play with my hair. Its then, that damned smile of his is genuine. Not some make believe "I'm ok- You're ok" bullshit grin that plastered on his face most of the time. No, it's in those rare moments, his smile is transformed into a holy relic and his hands an altar for me to kiss and worship at.
I didn't lie that one night three years ago, when I said there was nothing precious in my life.
I'd be lying now.
A confession of the sacred and profane
I love him. Pure and simple. Probably the only pure thing I've ever done in my short dirty life. Him is Haikki. Who couldn't love someone like that? A man who embodies all things good, clean and decent, even if he thinks of himself as unclean as me. Yeah, I know he's killed, murdered 1000 for the sake of one and was damned for the dirty deed. But I don't care. Haikki is unsullied, sins washed away in the dark blood of vengeance.
To be born as clean as he, without a trace of taint on his soul. Not like me. Not foul from the womb, not stained with guilt, the corpus delecti of a crime of passion; talk about your original sin folks. What's more original then me? I came into the world nailed to a cross. Here is born Sha Goyjo, I live and can't seem to die for any trespasses. Not even my own. Gods help me.
Oh, that's right. According to Sanzo, the Gods don't save anyone. Guess I'm walking proof of that. But back to business, I love Haikki. His eyes, pools of green to drown your heart in. His hair, stroke able, soft and brown and his body slim and pale. Soft as Sanzo's but more welcoming. On those nights when the rain falls heavily and his mind falls heavier, Haikki comes to my bed to bury himself six feet deep in red hair and willing flesh. Gods help me; those are the nights I pray for.
Let the world be flooded away, let it rain for 40 days and 40 nights like the missionary stories, just so I can be kept afloat in his tears He may shake and weep and call the name of his murdered woman, but it's me who kisses those tears from his face, who holds his body as the lightning stabs the sky and whose mouth is filled with his lips, tongue and cum. Making love to him is a sacrament.
I lust for Sanzo. Hot as firecrackers and just as explosive. It's a pipe dream, I know. He would never bed me; that would mean he'd had to be intimate, even a fast fuck means you have to allow some entrance to yourself, and that is the one thing he could never consciously allow himself do or have done. .But mental pictures of him faint and wanton, cheap feels of his unconscious body when injured, stuff that makes for good thoughts on lonely nights when the bar maids are ugly and I ain't that drunk or desperate. Thanks Sanzo for the one hand salute.
The Saru, I like him. He's fun to tease. It's so easy to get him riled up. Eat his food, give him enough demons to fight and the kid is set. I don't think Goku knows yet what girls, or for that matter guys, are for, and Sanzo would skin me alive if I have the little monkey a live demonstration. Somehow, I think the big guy wants to do that himself. Far be it from me to get in the way of a man spanking his monkey. Cripes, did I really say that? Ewwwwwww, bad mental picture.
But I love Haikki. I think in some ways, we all do. He is mother, cooking our food, mending our physical hurts and listening to our mental pains. He is father, driving the car, seeing watching over us and protecting our backs in a fight or in a card game where I've bluffed some big mook out of three of a kind with a hand full of shit.
But most of all, I love him, when we're sitting around doing nothing and he is relaxed and his fingers idly play with my hair. Its then, that damned smile of his is genuine. Not some make believe "I'm ok- You're ok" bullshit grin that plastered on his face most of the time. No, it's in those rare moments, his smile is transformed into a holy relic and his hands an altar for me to kiss and worship at.
I didn't lie that one night three years ago, when I said there was nothing precious in my life.
I'd be lying now.