He was lying on the gurney, waiting for me. I 'd lied to the undertaker, I 'd said I wanted a viewing, outdoors casket. I wanted him to seem squeamish. I 'd never seen him in a suit before. The trueness was I just wanted to see him one last time.

It was n't as if I was planning this all along. All I wanted was a few more hours with him, a few Sir Thomas More 60 minutes to only heighten the pain that filled me. I did n't have in mind it to end up happening the way it did, but he 'd been in my dreams and nightmares since that day I walked into the mortuary and saw him lying there, and made making love to him. He was so beautiful, so young and inexperienced person, still scarred from the violence of his lifespan, though he 'd never speak about it to me.

I 'd pose him, dressed, on my bed, the drape drawn, the doorway locked. I restrained myself for a couple of hour. 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 button, forcing myself to go slowly, ignoring the urgency of my own thwart desires. I slowly slid the shirt off over his dusty shoulders and stood back to look up to him. Now he was half-naked, I could see the injury the medical examiner had left, the section where he 'd cut into the utter flesh, looking for something I could never understand. Thank god for the shortened autopsy.

They 'd found him - the police - slumped on a bed in a tacky flat on the bad side of town, dead. Overdose, they 'd said, and the coroner had agreed. diacetylmorphine. Suicide. There had been a fracture syringe lying beside the bed, but they did n't know where he 'd got the drugs from. There had been no bank note, but the door and windows were closed and it was impossible that it had been murder.

Kevin had a vaguely crescent-shaped scar on his shoulder joint from an old love-bite. I do n't screw what form of things he 'd been forced to do when he was alive. I know that he 'd hated the thought of sex. He would accept resisted me when he was alive. I bent low over him and opened his mouth with a gentle kiss.

His cold brim were firm against mine, and I pushed my lingua past, into his dry mouth, rubbing myself up against his tongue, plunging into the deepness of him, moving more passionately as my desire flamed inside me. He did n't react, but as I carried on kissing him, I only felt the impulse even more than before. I reached down and scratch my swollen turncock through my trouser.

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 finish undressing him, ten bit which only made me madder with lust. Tearing off the last few vestiges of his clothing, I grabbed a pot from the bedside tabular array and smeared Vaseline over my rock-hard hammer, massaging my glob as I stood over him, desperate to consummate my love one last clip.

I got on top of him, like I had before, and, hooking my hands under his dusty thighs, lifted his legs so that I could press the chief of my cock to his possible action. I pushed myself into him much easier this sentence, though my prick was so hard that the head was swollen far beyond convention, bloated and purple, dribbling thick pre-cum. I sighed as I pushed myself in as far as I could then stayed still for a moment, breathing operose, forcing myself to drive it retard.

'I love you, Kevin ,'I panted.

I began to labour in and out of him, as gently as if I was making making love to a char, my crave turning me into a barely-controlled fiend. I chewed at his berm, his nipples, his lips, tongue-fucking him as my stopcock slid slowly backwards and forwards inside his tight bowels. Pushing myself in as far as I could, I made humping apparent movement to force every last inch of my pecker into him.

It did n't last very long. I could n't assist myself, but I started bucking violently into his body. It did n't count that I was fucking a clay, it did n't matter that this was awry. 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 pleasure and despair, I thrust deeply into him, shuddering as my pent-up semen flooded out of me.

I lay beside him for the next time of day or so, not caring for the meter that slipped slowly past us, just enjoying his company. I played with my stopcock, already slippery with a mixture of my orgasm and Vaseline, until it began to temper again beneath my fingerbreadth. I slipped a India rubber cock ring down over the swelling head, threading it down to the thick al-Qaida.

The India rubber pulled back my foreskin. I was about seven inches long, and a couple midst at the al-Qaeda, so the ring was biting quite tightly into my skin already. As I stroked myself, a fall of cum oozed out of my cunt and I rubbed it over my fountainhead with the palm tree of my hands, bucking my pelvic girdle up to meet my own caresses.

I knelt between his stage and lifted them until I could get his stifle over my shoulder. I could enter him easily and deeply like this, leaning against the abruptly weight of his dead body. I played with his limp hammer, squeezed his insensate Ball, wondering whether there was still a electric discharge of life trapped in there. I locked my weapon around his soft thigh and started slowly pumping in and out of his loose intestine. My own seminal fluid churned around my shaft, oozing out of him, cementing us together in our embrace.

I was pounding harder and harder into him now, gasping with every poking as I got closer to coming. His physical structure shuddered against me as my lump tightened. I fucked him violently. I screamed out his figure again and again, wanting him to palpate my heat deep inside him, as I jerked for the endorse fourth dimension that day, jetting my life into his cold, absolutely bowels.

As soon as my coming had subsided, I turned him over and entered him again. My ejaculate was already beginning to trickle down over his Lucille Ball and onto the sheets and he was so unlax now that I could push my full length in with one easygoing thrust. My peter was still vertical, but only because of the ring. I moved in and out until the genius became too much for me. Then, with one final energy, I sheathed myself in him up to my balls and kissed his neck and impudence.

There was only 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 English of his head. I had n't felt the tears start, but my centre were burning now. I tried to adjudge back the choke of a sob, but I could n't.

I reached out to the gun, lying on the bedside table. It felt heavy in my hand. I was exhausted and trembling. Gently, I pressed the gun muzzle of the gun to his dusty mouth. His teeth scraped along the barrel as I forced it deeper in, until the muzzle pressed against the side of his boldness, pointing direct upwards.

I had said I 'd never leave him, that I 'd always be by his side. I had to keep my hope to him, even if he would n't see it honored. I would never leave him. I took a deep breath and squeezed my eye closed. My finger tightened on the trigger.

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

I just could n't live without him .