The Saint is the Sinner

The Saint is the Sinner

By Servemist

Chapter 5

Welcome friends. We are at the halfway point in our story! If you joined me for the journey from the beginning, thank you. If you are just coming to the party now, you will need to read the first four chapters, otherwise the story will not make sense. Go ahead and read, I will be sitting on the beach, waiting for you. This chapter is smaller than the previous chapters. It’s more of an organization of characters and setting the table for the rest of the story.

If you enjoy this story, please rate it highly, if you do not like the story, please leave a comment and I promise I will do better in the next few chapters. I would like to thank my editor 1moeannie, who has the uncanny talent of making my story clearer. I would also like to thank Wax Philosophic. She continues to provide me with positive feedback. Please take the time to search out both of their names on the Lit site and use both as a resource and inspiration.

Bill

Summer of 2000

 

“I’m falling even more in love with you Letting go of all I’ve held on to. I’m standing here until you make me move. I’m hanging by a moment here with you”

 

 

Hanging by A Moment – Life house

 

“What am I?” That is the question Michael had asked about a year ago. Since then, I have been treading lightly. I am sure it’s not him; it’s me. I just can’t seem to get into that conversation that starts with “It’s not you, it’s me!”

We do have our fun, every morning for us, it was “Mr. upper lip, meet Mr. lower lip”. It’s fun and for once, I was sort of happy. Sort of! For one reason or another Michael always preferred staying at my place. Then, either in the morning or in the evening, he would leave. Weekends were spent at my place. I didn’t push it. I was praying he wasn’t married. Maybe not talking about it, kind of avoided the uncomfortable conversation.

One morning while I was finishing taking care of his “morning wood”, which was a daily ritual, which I really didn’t mind.

“Let’s take a ride to my place today,” Michael said, as if he was thinking about it as he said it. You know that ‘not sure I should be saying this tone’.

So, we took our morning shower which included him fucking me. Another ritual that I really didn’t mind.

We headed south on the Garden State Parkway to exit 98, continued south to route 35. As we got further and further south, the houses got bigger and bigger.

Vivian and I would always take this route when we met some friends who had a beach house in Lavallette. The houses were huge, and we would always pick the nicest house and say, “That’s the one we’d buy, if we won the lottery.”

My jaw dropped to the floorboards when Michael pulled up to a gated house, which was by far the biggest house in the area. The gate opened when Michael pressed an access code and drove to the front of the house. The house had a really nice beach cedar shakes in blue with bright white molding around all the windows. The landscape was perfect. It had a five-car garage, where two G series Mercedes Benz were parked. Which was strange since Michael always drove the same old Sonata.

The house was easily 5000 square feet. His garage was bigger than my apartment!

As I finally picked up my jaw from the floorboards I wondered aloud, “Michael, what the fuck?”

Michael turned to look at me, grabbed my hand, “Baby, my family is the largest exporter of Aluminum Oxide, Refined Petroleum, and Aluminum Ore, to the United States.”

He had a concerned look on his face and explained, “It is very difficult to bring someone from the outside into my home.”

I was still thinking “Did he just say fucking Aluminum Oxide?”

I just said, in a questioning tone “Ok?”

Michael brought me out of the fog. “This is my home, I bought it new 10 years ago. You are the very first boyfriend I’ve ever brought here.”

Michael continued “My family is always concerned with who I bring home, or if this person could harm our family business.”

Michael raised his hand to my chin, and I turned to face him. “I want you to stay here with me.”

He had such a pleading look on his face. He knew I enjoyed my independence, how I enjoyed coming and going of whenever I wanted.

“Michael, this is fucking crazy!” I said as I turned back to his front entrance.

While in my stunned state, I hadn’t noticed a man and a woman standing at the entrance in uniforms. I later found out; they were just two of ten people in charge of maintaining the place.

Michael raised his hand, touched my shoulder, said softly “Stay with me tonight?”

What else could I say, I looked at him and grinned “You are getting so fucked tonight.”

Michael laughed, “That was my plan.”

Peter

Summer of 2000

 

“And when there’s nowhere else to run, Is there room for one more son. These changes ain’t changing me. The cold-hearted boy I used to be”

 

 

All these things that I have done — The Killers

 

It’s funny, England doesn’t really have seasons. It’s either cold and damp, or not as cold and damp. The weather was just one thing about England that depressed me after all these years. The other was the fact, that I believe I have fucked every single and not-so-single man in Jolly Old England. Don was replaced by Jack, and he was replaced by John, and on and on.

I was becoming a cliché. The very definition of the stereotypical gay man in England and The United States for that matter. Those gay men just sleep around and can’t have a “normal” relationship as opposed to a “normal” straight couple.

After all this time my company finally decided that my move from the States to England would be permanent. They moved me into a larger flat in Vauxhall section of London. I loved it there. The environment was so vibrant. Each day in one form or another, something beautiful would be discovered.

Luckily for me, my new flat is a stone’s throw away from the Royal Vauxhall Tavern. Walking into the Vauxhall Tavern, you would never know this place can kick it. During the day, there are bar stools all over the place, it seems like any other tavern in London.

At night, there’s always a party, the stools magically disappear. On one such occasion, I walked in at my usual eleven pm arrival time, settle into my usual reserved table in the corner. As a senior editor at one of the most important publishing houses in all of England, you can have a reserved table at a gay bar. If anything, it’s a colorful way to pass the time. I ordered my usual Jefferson Ocean bourbon. I drink it neat, they make it in small batches, so it always tastes smooth. It is what I consider, very American, and I was still very American. A new boy walks toward me, someone I haven’t seen before. Long hair, parted to the side, very slender body, pale complexion, wearing a white retro sex pistol tee shirt, with baggy jeans, a wide black belt and black boots bringing my drink.

I smile “I haven’t seen you before.”

He smiles back, placing my drink in front of me and holding his serving tray over his chest. “I just started this week.”

Introduce myself “Peter Nelson,” I extend my hand.

He takes my hand “Liam Graham,” with a smirky smile.

The handshake was strong and confident, not like most the boys I adore.

I probe further, “Well, Liam Graham, where is home?”

“I’m from Guilford, Surrey.” Still smiling at me.

In my best English accent, “You’re a long way from home lad.”

Liam laughs, “Yeah, that was spectacularly bad.”

“Well Liam Graham, from Guilford Surrey, come back soon and I will do a better job,” I give him a devilish grin.

With a cute blush, Liam says, “I will.”

I watched as Liam turned and walked away. They comeback, sadly, they always comeback.

Bill

Winter 2000

“It hurts!” I say with an uncomfortable expression on my face. Pleading, “I need you to stop and take a break.”

Michael places a hand on my leg. “You dealt with worse pain than this.”

I am looking at Michael with eyes wide and a panicked look on my face “It hurts, and I need a break now!”

Michael and Trixie look exasperated as they listened to me whine.

“Okay, Cesar, take a break.” Trixie says.

Cesar stands up from his tattoo stand, removes his rubber gloves, and walks towards the back of the tattoo parlor.

Trixie lifts my right arm and looks at the tattoo of St. Joseph that is being placed from my elbow down to my wrist. “It’s almost done.”

I’m looking at the bottom of my arm in the mirror, looking at the blood on my elbow. I instinctively move my arm up and down. I feel the tightness of my skin and pain in my elbow. It is true, what they say about the level of pain relative to where a tattoo is placed. On certain parts of the body, it’s tolerable. A tattoo placed directly on the bone hurts like a bitch!

I look at Trixie and Michael, giving them the impression that I am in more pain that I am “This fucking hurts worse than all the other tattoos combined.”

Over the course of a year, I let Trixie talk me into getting a tattoo. Then that one tattoo led me to get a second, then a third. Finally, I look at my right arm and with the addition of St. Joseph, it will be a full sleeve. Just black and greys. I think I look like a badass!

Trixie grins evilly at me. “Just wait till we start on the left arm.”

Bill

Spring of 2001

 

“I’m not afraid Of anything in this world. There’s nothing you can throw at me That I haven’t already heard”

 

 

Stuck In A Moment You Can’t Get Out Of — U2

 

I can’t say that Michael and I are in a rut. To be in a rut, at some point in time, you would have to not be in a rut. I worry that he is, or I am passing time, till something different comes along. It just seems that we are holding our breath, hoping the other guy says something.

We are just moving along at on an uneventful pace. Morning wood blow jobs, fucking in the shower, sex in every room of a 5000 square foot house and the very definition of Sex on the Beach, and I do not mean the drink.

You would think that a guy like me, would never complain. I really had no right to complain. Michael was great. He had in fact told me he cared a lot for me, and I am sure that he was expecting some sort of similar reply, but when I am pushed in a corner with him, I would simply change the subject and take him to bed.

I couldn’t figure out why I didn’t feel the same way he did. I liked him very much, the sex was out of this world. It was not just the sex though. Michael was different, to him, I mattered. He paid attention to me, he listened to me, we talked for hours, he told me about his country and how he wanted to take me there. He always made a habit of touching me. Not a sexual touch, but to touch me and let me know that he was there for me. That I was loved.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Peter

Spring of 2001

I traveled to our other publishing houses around the world. I felt each area is just as important as our London house, and each house deserved the same attention. Whether it is a moment in time when I can work with an incredible talent, and they teach me something or I can show them something. The pain of all the travel seemed to pay off.

When I first started in this business, I had the fortunate opportunity to learn from the best editor in the business. Annie Disbrow. Annie not only provided me with the information I needed, but she also provided real world understanding of the business. It was Annie who showed me the sacrifice each writer makes to put pen to paper. Each writer in their own way reveals more about themselves through their art than most people realize. I know that each writer I’ve met exposed more in a single conversation than I would in a lifetime.

I miss Annie, she retired somewhere, after she won the lottery. Two-hundred and fifty million and she fell off the face of the earth. She always was a smart cookie!

“Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your captain. On behalf of TWA, I would like to welcome you to the Humberto Delgado Airport.”

I get my luggage, find my driver, then once I arrive at my hotel room, I open a nice bottle of bourbon to melt the stress of travel way. Seems to be my process of late. I wonder if there is something more to life, something that I’m missing, or someone that I’m missing. Men seem to be interchangeable for me right now. Maybe it’s my fault! I mean, I like a particular type of guy, and after all these years, I’ve not evolved or matured enough to find something else alluring in a man.

Men who are more submissive, the one’s that seem to prefer for you to take control. The putty in your hands type, the shape their pretty bottom into what makes you happy type.

Haven’t really had that type for a really, long time.

Vivian

Spring 2001

 

“My happiness is slowly creeping back. Now you’re at home. If it ever starts sinking in. It must be when you pack up and go”

 

 

My Happiness — Powderfinger

 

I sprint to the front door. “About time” I leave Bill standing there with the door open.

“Nice to see you too!” Bill says eventually walking into the living room.

I yell from the kitchen. “Come in here and pour us a drink.”

Bill walks into the kitchen, gives me a kiss on the cheek. Walks to a cabinet that has wine glasses, picks up two. He opens a bottle of 1995 Joseph Phelps Insignia. A nice Cabernet Sauvignon. I love the intense aromas. Bill knows shit about wine, but I like to think, that I have evolved.

Trixie and I are really doing well. Inside the bedroom and out. We run lead in the paralegal division at our firm, we get to spend our days together, we get to come home together, and we get to have a lot of time naked together.

When Bill finds time in his busy schedule to visit it’s great. I enjoy the time we spend together.

“So, when you are inviting us to the house?” I ask Bill.

“You’re welcome to come anytime you guys like.” Bill responds while taking a gulp of wine.

I’ve got to teach him that wine is to be enjoyed slowly. Not in gulps.

“Memorial Day it is,” I confirm.

“If I had known that Michael was that rich, I would have fucked him,” I giggle.

“Sorry V, you don’t have the tools,” Bill patting his own ass.

I look down at Bill’s ass and say with a straight face “You must have the Willie Wonka gold ticket ass.”

“Yes, Yes, I do.” Bill says with a devilish smile

Bill abruptly stops for a second. “We are having a party that weekend too,” Bill continues “I think Michael has about 100 guests coming.”

Bill reaches for my hand “I need you and Trixie to come, my only guests” Pleading, “Please?”

I look at Bill and smile “Don’t you entertain all the time?”

“Yes,” Bill taking another gulp from his glass.

Again, with the gulps!

“They are Michael’s friends and family.”

With a little sadness in his voice. “I think they accept him being gay, maybe!”

Then answering the unasked question. “They definitely don’t accept me as being Michael’s boyfriend.”

Bill raises his eyebrow “I’m pretty sure, they see this as a tryst, and this is just fun.”

Since Adam passed away all those years ago, Bill has seen relationships as black and white. Either they will work, or they won’t. It’s almost like he is hesitant to invest himself.

If he sees that they are heading in the direction he believes won’t work, then it won’t. He just doesn’t invest in them. I’ve seen them together, and from the outside looking in. I just do not think Bill is being fair. Michael is a great guy, handsome, and rich. In what universe, does these mean problems?

Bill

Late Spring of 2001

Michael is sitting on a chair in our bedroom, with his legs spread. He’s not wearing a shirt; the top button of his pants is undone. Michael gestures with one finger to come to him. He is breathing hard, licking his lips, hunger in his eyes. I walk slowly toward him, knowing he never likes to rush. I stand between his legs. I bend over slightly grazing his lips with mine. I look into his eyes and lower my head again. This time I slightly open my mouth and allow his tongue to dance with mine. We kiss passionately, till he stops, places a hand to my chest.

He can sense my excitement. My breathing has quickened. He pushes me to stand in front of him. I want him to take me now, I don’t want foreplay this time. He slides both hands up my legs, then down. Each time caressing every part of my thighs, he has the look of need.

He then reaches up and grabs my left breast, massaging it then, slowly rolls two fingers over my nipple. He starts to lightly pull on them. He can hear me moan. That is his signal to use his fingers to roughly pinch my nipples. He knows that I like to feel the pain of my nipples being played with roughly. He knows that drives me crazy.

He takes my arm and swings me around, so my ass is now facing him. I feel him caressing it. Slowly moving his hands up and down my ass, squeezing each cheek. I feel his hand go between my legs and cover my cock. He squeezes firmly.

My cock is instantly hard, he slowly massages my cock up and down through my jeans then he moves his hand, and slowly unbuttons my jeans, pulls my zipper down, pulls down the front of my jockstrap, exposing my needy cock. I arch my back, providing him with full access to my cock.

He takes it in his hand and starts jerking my cock slowly up and down. His other hand is pulling the back of my jeans down, exposing my ass. My pants and jockstrap fall to the floor.

His one hand continues to massage my cock slowly, while his other hand slides between the cheeks of my ass venturing toward my asshole. I can feel him take one wet finger and massage the opening, while he continues to assault my cock.

I can feel him kissing my ass, and lightly biting me. The sensation is so stimulating I bend forward slightly, offering him my exposed ass. He removes his hand from my cock and spreads my ass cheeks and drives his tongue into my wet hole. I feel myself grind back at him, using his tongue as if it were his cock, and he was fucking me.

I grind harder and harder as I feel an orgasm starting to come over me. I feel as if I’m going to cum without him continuing to touch my cock. I quicken my pace using his tongue; I am breathing harder and harder. I am getting lightheaded, and I am about to explode.

“You know we could have done this in your back yard.” Michael’s voice is different. I quickly turn around and see Peter’s face starring up at me with a wet faced smile.

Peter

Late Spring of 2001

 

“Well, I can’t ever really believe. No one was sent to get me. And I feel like I’m being erased. No one got left here”

 

 

No One – Cold

 

“I hate flying.” This flight is longer than most.

I hate reflecting, like I can come up with any fucking answers to my life! I keep staring out my plane window, thinking some sort of lightning bolt will hit me in the head. Suddenly, clarity!

What was the matter with Don? He was so cute! When I needed him, he was there? When I wanted sex, he was there. When he wanted something, where was I? Maybe, that was the answer. He was there for me, but I was a no show for him.

I remember him leaving for good. He was yelling and crying at the same time. Telling me how much he loved me and asking why I couldn’t love him. All I could think about at the time, was the snot running down from his nose, and if he was going to do something about it?

He kept asking “Didn’t I do everything you asked for?”

He did. I think I want to go to extremes with him, just so that I would piss him off and he would leave. He did everything I asked, and always did it with that sexy smile.

To be alive, would require me to open up! Life has been painless for me. Some would think that would be perfect. I never really felt the pain of a broken relationship, to understand the importance of keeping it, or wanting to repair it.