PRINCE OF LUST

by Lucien Burr

I knew if I were to linger in the world, then I would do the unthinkable. I would fall in love with a man. I would touch him. I would love it.

My body and my mind crystallised to that singular focus; a building rhythm in my groin, hand cupped with pestilent desire, the blood and the body: I achieved a kind of mysticism.

Asmodeus licked slowly, methodically, taking the blood I used to summon it into its body like a holy sacrament.