Warning: Yohji POV, low angst, introspection about sex, love and lying. (prose-like)
Lies Between the Lines of Love
‘Learn to work the saxophone, I’ll play just what I feel
Drink Scotch whisky all night long and die behind the wheel
They got a name for the winners in the world, I want a name when I lose
They call Alabama the Crimson Tide…
Call me Deacon Blues’ (Steely Dan)
If I had used a knife to carve notches on my bedpost…I wouldn’t have a bedpost at all.
Sometimes the eyes of Ken or Omi look a little skeptical to my sexual conquests.
But it is all true. Sordid. Dirty. Naughty and nasty and raw.
Sex is like a dirty secret everyone wants in on but will not admit to knowing about. Not so with me.
I know the whispered words of desire and the hushed tones of lust.
I know sex like I know my own hair color or the lay of my skin.
In fact, I would say that sex is like a second skin….overlapping the other layers of flesh that I wear.
Flesh of a killer.
Flesh of a wounded man.
Flesh of a happy sinner.
Flesh of a dead soul.
Okay, so maybe sex is more like a…fourth or fifth skin.
The movements of it are inherent to me. A dance I know very well…I could give lessons.
And some people need lessons.
Each person I look at…I wonder about. Call it perverted curiosity taking over.
A girl enters the store and she walks quietly among the flowers, her gaze darting over toward me and then darting away again.
She wants a lover. A man to be gentle yet bring her to wondrous pleasure. A husband. A dedicated man.
Hmm…I can be some of those things. But no…I’ve never been too good at hiding my roguish ways.
Then a woman walks in, leather purse hanging on her arm. Sunglasses covering the eyes and lips of candy-apple red in a permanent smirk.
She could handle a one-night stand. Drunk or sober as long as it’s wild passion. Adult fantasies. Satin sheets and expensive perfume.
I have done those things….and they can be quite nice. But I’ve grown tired of acting the bed-warmer for professional women looking for bad boys.
I find that I cannot control where my thoughts take me most times.
Or maybe I don’t want to control them, not really.
That is a good enough excuse for me idly pondering the sex lives of my teammates.
Omi helps a customer. Always a smile and always a friendly word. Sweet……
Or just deceptively harmless. A boy about to become a man.
All that kindness may fly out the window in the face of youthful hormones. I remember those feelings well. The build up of want, tight in your pants…the ache dominating your every thought.
Omi would be a quick learner, perhaps even reading up on techniques ahead of time. He would love you the morning after. He would make you breakfast. He would make the old feel young again and the young feel adult. He is everything a mother wants her child to find.
I don’t let my mind go too far into degradation. I stop at good thoughts…I refuse to stray to thoughts about ‘actual’ sexual acts with Omi as the star.
Ken laughs good-naturedly with a child. His smile is a little wild as he helps some young lady along with her purchase. Ken-ken probably has had sex. Some little tumble before Weiss happened….some young thing, all eager hands and hot breath. He would have no timing or art, but it would be done thoroughly and with true affection. Some laughs and some touching on heart-felt feelings….all to fade away with the onslaught of hungry bodies meeting.
I can see how both Omi and Ken would be a catch. They wear the cover of normalcy so easily.
I couldn’t be tender enough for someone like Omi. I would shatter him by accident…or on purpose.
But I couldn’t be a constant ball of fire for someone like Ken either. Sometimes, I like to descend into depths of pity and despair and anguish.
Ran cuts through the gathering crowd of girls. He pays them no mind and he ignores their stares.
All ice, all the time…..or so it seems. I think Ran keeps things hidden.
Just like the katana in the sheath, Ran keeps precious things close and secure….only coming out when he needs it to, not when he wants it to.
He would fight you to the end. Fight the want and the feeling of losing control of emotions, fight the hands on his skin and fight the lips drawing near….always a fight.
His skin would be smooth and surprisingly warm. He would try to hold back his moans…as if allowing them would admit some sort of defeat. But once he gave in, the game would change.
Those fingers would grip and hold and demand. Those lips would seek and devour. That body would curl around you and drown you in its’ heat.
He would leave in the morning. He wouldn’t talk about it at all. He would ignore you.
I laugh softly to myself, resting my head against one upturned palm.
I was stupid to think I could handle someone like Ran.
Stupid to follow the path my body led me on…stupid to let my heart get involved….just plain stupid.
But that’s me.
When the sign says ‘Road Closed’, I keep driving on. Headfirst toward a dead-end, careening over the curve at midnight and wondering where my sanity fled to as the metal burns.
I’ve tried to let the old words work their magic within my brain.
One night stand. Just a warm body. Desperate. Needed someone to take away the pain, the nightmares, the agony. I was drunk…..but, even if any of these things applied, Ran can claim none of them.
He admits to no weakness. He doesn’t have ‘feelings’. He needs no one and nothing. He doesn’t drink either. So, neither one of us has a reason for falling into bed and having sex and then hiding from the fact.
Other than….just wanting to. Attraction.
Can it be that simple?
Did I just want to play out a concealed fantasy I harbored about the red-head? Possibly.
And letting this happen, has it changed how I feel about the man? Maybe.
When faced with scary truth, I back away like a bad groom at the alter. Funny….I think Ran does the same thing.
He runs one way and I run the other.
But we get nowhere.
I get to sit here and think about sex. Ran gets to work with a silent glare directed at no one and everyone.
My hands begin to recall muscled abs as I watch him move and that sends useless signals to my groin.
Those feelings are okay…can’t be helped, not with a guy like me.
But I keep lying to my heart.
It keeps pestering me to throw it into the fray and I frantically flee from that notion.
Ran and I can agree on this I think.
Love is a weakness that neither of us can afford.
Return to Archive