He was lying on the gurney, waiting for me. I 'd lied to the funeral undertaker, I 'd said I wanted a viewing, open jewel casket. I wanted him to look courteous. I 'd never seen him in a suit before. The trueness was I just wanted to see him one live on time.

It was n't as if I was planning this all along. All I wanted was a few Sir Thomas More 60 minutes with him, a few more hours to only deepen the pain that filled me. I did n't entail it to end up happening the way it did, but he 'd been in my ambition and incubus since that day I walked into the mortuary and saw him lying there, and made love to him. He was so beautiful, so Young and guiltless, still scarred from the ferocity of his biography, though he 'd never talked about it to me.

I 'd put down him, dressed, on my bed, the curtains drawn, the door locked. I restrained myself for a duad of hr. But I loved him and I did n't want to let him go.

I tried to explain myself to him as I undressed him, gently unfastening each release, forcing myself to go slowly, ignoring the urging of my own frustrated desires. I slowly slid the shirt off over his cold articulatio humeri and stood back to look up to him. Now he was half-naked, I could see the wounds the coroner had left, the incision where he 'd cut into the drained chassis, looking for something I could never understand. Thank god for the abbreviated necropsy.

They 'd found him - the police - slumped on a bed in a tacky flat on the bad side of town, beat. Overdose, they 'd said, and the coroner had agreed. heroin. self-annihilation. There had been a broken syringe lying beside the bed, but they did n't have sex where he 'd got the drugs from. There had been no preeminence, but the door and windows were closed and it was impossible that it had been murder.

Kevin had a vaguely crescent scratch on his shoulder from an old love-bite. I do n't fuck what kind of things he 'd been forced to do when he was alive. I know that he 'd hated the thought of sex. He would have resisted me when he was alive. I bent low over him and opened his rima oris with a blue osculation.

His cold lips were firm against mine, and I pushed my tongue past, into his dry sass, rubbing myself up against his spit, plunging into the profundity of him, moving more passionately as my desire flamed inside me. He did n't oppose, but as I carried on kissing him, I only felt the impulse even more than before. I reached down and itch my swollen cock through my pant.

I broke off the kiss, and, moving quickly, dragged off my clothes until I stood naked and trembling beside the bed. It took me ten minutes to end undressing him, ten minute which only made me madder with lustfulness. Tearing off the in conclusion few vestiges of his clothing, I grabbed a pot from the bedside table and smeared Vaseline over my rock-hard putz, massaging my balls as I stood over him, desperate to consummate my love one endure time.

I got on top of him, like I had before, and, hooking my hands under his cold thighs, lifted his legs so that I could urge the head of my cock to his opening. I pushed myself into him much easier this clip, though my putz was so hard that the fountainhead was swollen far beyond normal, bloated and empurple, dribbling slurred pre-cum. I sighed as I pushed myself in as far as I could then stick around still for a moment, breathing unvoiced, forcing myself to take it slow.

'I love you, Kevin ,'I panted.

I began to crowd in and out of him, as gently as if I was making dearest to a woman, my lust turning me into a barely-controlled monster. I chewed at his shoulder, his nipples, his mouth, tongue-fucking him as my peter slid slowly backwards and forwards inside his pixilated bowels. Pushing myself in as far as I could, I made humping motions to force every hold out inch of my pecker into him.

It did n't last very long. I could n't help myself, but I started bucking violently into his body. It did n't matter that I was fucking a corpse, it did n't matter that this was incorrectly. All that mattered was that I was with Kevin again, in every way I 'd ever wanted to be. He was mine. With a groan of jumble pleasance and despair, I thrust deeply into him, shuddering as my pent-up semen flooded out of me.

I lay beside him for the succeeding hour or so, not caring for the time that slipped slowly past us, just enjoying his caller. I played with my pecker, already slippery with a salmagundi of my sexual climax and Vaseline, until it began to harden again beneath my fingerbreadth. I slipped a rubber peter ring down over the swelling capitulum, threading it down to the blockheaded base.

The safety pulled back my prepuce. I was about seven inch long, and a distich thick at the nucleotide, so the ring was biting quite tightly into my skin already. As I stroked myself, a drop of cum oozed out of my twat and I rubbed it over my headspring with the palm of my hands, bucking my hips up to fulfill my own caresses.

I knelt between his legs and lifted them until I could get his knees over my shoulders. I could enter him easily and deeply like this, leaning against the dead weight of his torso. I played with his hobble turncock, squeezed his cold Ball, wondering whether there was still a spark of life trapped in there. I locked my limb around his soft second joint and started slowly pumping in and out of his loose bowels. My own ejaculate churned around my turncock, oozing out of him, cementing us together in our embrace.

I was pounding harder and harder into him now, gasping with every thrust as I got closer to coming. His body shuddered against me as my balls tightened. I fucked him violently. I screamed out his name again and again, wanting him to feel my heat deep inside him, as I jerked for the secondment time that day, jetting my life into his moth-eaten, idle bowels.

As soon as my orgasm had subsided, I turned him over and entered him again. My ejaculate was already beginning to trickle down over his formal and onto the shroud and he was so relaxed now that I could push my replete duration in with one easy thrust. My cock was still put up, but only because of the band. I moved in and out until the sensation became too much for me. Then, with one terminal push, I sheathed myself in him up to my ball and kissed his cervix and cheek.

There was exclusively way I could ever truly have him now.

'Why could n't you have taken me with you ?'I whispered into his ear. 'Why did you leave me ?'

He did n't answer. I sighed and pressed my cheek to the side of his question. I had n't felt the weeping start, but my eyes were burning now. I tried to harbour back the choke of a sob, but I could n't.

I reached out to the gun, lying on the bedside table. It felt hard in my bridge player. I was exhausted and trembling. Gently, I pressed the muzzle of the gun to his cold lips. His dentition scraped along the gun barrel as I forced it deeper in, until the gun muzzle pressed against the incline of his face, pointing unbent upwards.

I had said I 'd never leave him, that I 'd always be by his incline. I had to keep my promise to him, even if he would n't see it honored. I would never allow him. I took a deep breathing place and squeezed my eyes closed. My finger tightened on the gun trigger.

'Goodbye, Kevin ,'I murmured, crying filling my eyes at this last instant. My last moment with him. I pulled the trigger.

I just could n't live without him .