He was lying on the gurney, waiting for me. I 'd lied to the undertaker, I 'd said I wanted a viewing, open jewel casket. I wanted him to look nice. I 'd never seen him in a case before. The accuracy 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 Sir Thomas More hours with him, a few more hours to only deepen the bother that filled me. I did n't imply it to end up happening the way it did, but he 'd been in my dreams and incubus since that day I walked into the mortuary and saw him lying there, and made love life to him. He was so beautiful, so Cy Young and inexperienced person, still scarred from the violence of his living, though he 'd never talked about it to me.

I 'd laid him, dressed, on my bed, the mantle drawn, the door locked. I restrained myself for a couple of minute. 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 discomfited desires. I slowly slid the shirt off over his cold shoulders and stood back to admire him. Now he was half-naked, I could see the injury the medical examiner had left, the incision where he 'd cut into the idle flesh, looking for something I could never realise. Thank god for the brief postmortem.

They 'd found him - the police - slumped on a bed in a gaudy flatcar on the bad English of township, idle. Overdose, they 'd said, and the medical examiner had agreed. Heroin. suicide. There had been a kick downstairs syringe lying beside the bed, but they did n't know where he 'd got the drugs from. There had been no note, but the doorway and windows were closed and it was impossible that it had been murder.

Kevin had a vaguely semilunar cicatrix on his articulatio humeri from an old love-bite. I do n't do it what kind of things he 'd been forced to do when he was alive. I know that he 'd hated the mentation of sex. He would make resisted me when he was alive. I bent low over him and opened his mouth with a gentle kiss.

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

I broke off the osculation, and, moving quickly, dragged off my clothes until I stood naked and trembling beside the bed. It took me ten minutes to finish up undressing him, ten minute of arc which only made me madder with lust. Tearing off the last few trace of his clothing, I grabbed a pot from the bedside mesa and smeared Vaseline over my rock-hard dick, massaging my balls as I stood over him, desperate to consummate my love one finally prison term.

I got on top of him, like I had before, and, hooking my hands under his cold thighs, lifted his pegleg so that I could urge on the head of my cock to his scuttle. I pushed myself into him much easier this time, though my dick was so hard that the head was swollen far beyond pattern, bloated and purple, dribbling thick pre-cum. I sighed as I pushed myself in as far as I could then stayed still for a consequence, breathing hard, forcing myself to occupy it slow up.

'I love you, Kevin ,'I panted.

I began to promote in and out of him, as gently as if I was making erotic love to a woman, my thirst turning me into a barely-controlled lusus naturae. I chewed at his shoulder, his nipples, his backtalk, tongue-fucking him as my peter slid slowly backwards and forwards inside his tight bowels. Pushing myself in as far as I could, I made humping move to force every last in of my cock into him.

It did n't last very long. I could n't help myself, but I started bucking violently into his dead body. It did n't matter that I was fucking a cadaver, it did n't matter that this was wrong. 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 hour or so, not caring for the time that slipped slowly past us, just enjoying his ship's company. I played with my tool, already slippery with a mixing of my orgasm and Vaseline, until it began to inure again beneath my fingers. I slipped a rubber putz ring down over the swelling head, threading it down to the heavyset base.

The rubber pulled back my foreskin. I was about seven inches long, and a couple thick at the cornerstone, so the annulus was biting quite tightly into my skin already. As I stroked myself, a drop of cum oozed out of my slit and I rubbed it over my head with the laurel wreath of my hands, bucking my articulatio coxae up to meet my own caresses.

I knelt between his legs and lifted them until I could get his stifle over my berm. I could enter him easily and deeply like this, leaning against the drained weight of his body. I played with his limp putz, squeezed his common cold formal, wondering whether there was still a spark of life-time trapped in there. I locked my limb around his gentle second joint and started slowly pumping in and out of his open bowel. My own ejaculate churned around my turncock, oozing out of him, cementing us together in our embracement.

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 testis tightened. I fucked him violently. I screamed out his name again and again, wanting him to sense my high temperature abstruse inside him, as I jerked for the irregular metre that day, jetting my biography into his insensate, dead bowels.

As soon as my climax had subsided, I turned him over and entered him again. My semen was already beginning to trickle down over his balls and onto the plane and he was so make relaxed now that I could agitate my full-of-the-moon length in with one gentle stab. My prick was still set up, but only because of the anchor ring. I moved in and out until the star became too much for me. Then, with one final push, I sheathed myself in him up to my balls and kissed his neck and impertinence.

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 side of his principal. I had n't felt the tears start, but my optic were burning now. I tried to view as 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 deal. I was exhausted and trembling. Gently, I pressed the muzzle of the gun to his frigidity backtalk. His teeth scraped along the barrel as I forced it deeper in, until the muzzle pressed against the side of his cheek, pointing straightforward upwards.

I had said I 'd never go forth him, that I 'd always be by his side. I had to preserve my hope to him, even if he would n't see it honored. I would never will him. I took a mystifying hint and squeezed my oculus closed. My finger tightened on the trigger.

'Goodbye, Kevin ,'I murmured, tears filling my eyes at this conclusion moment. My stopping point moment with him. I pulled the initiation.

I just could n't inhabit without him .