by K D Grace
Even so, it was difficult to forget Kyle completely. When he wasn’t talking, he had the sweetest mouth I’d ever stuck my dick into. I was thinking about that one evening in the shower, after a long day spent painting. The warm water relaxed me, I had a handful of liquid soap, an erection I could have used to pound nails, and I hadn’t been with a man since moving to the country several months earlier.
I knew what I had to do and I did it. I closed my eyes and took my cock in my hand, remembering the last time Kyle had been on his knees in front of me. We’d spent the evening at Throttlebottom’s, a dark little bar where most of our friends hung out, and we’d returned to my apartment a little more toasted than usual. As soon as I pushed the door closed, I pushed Kyle back against it. I covered his lips with mine and then drove my tongue into his mouth. He sucked on it and sucked hard. He was just as horny as me and we stripped off our clothes, tossing them aside until we were both naked.
With my hands on his softly rounded shoulders, I encouraged Kyle to his knees. He kissed his way down my chest to my belly button, found my treasure trail, and followed it to my neatly sculpted nest of black hair. He cupped my balls in one hand and wrapped the other around my cock shaft. Then he took my swollen purple cockhead in his mouth and painted it with his tongue.
He was taking too long, so I grabbed the back of his head and thrust my hips forward, sinking my cock into Kyle’s mouth until I could feel his warm, boozy breath tickle my crotch hair. Then I pulled back and thrust forward again.
My hips began moving with the memory, fucking my fist as I remembered fucking Kyle’s face. Faster and faster, unable to restrain myself.
Then my breath caught, my entire body stiffened for the briefest of moments, and I spewed come all over the shower wall. Unable to catch my breath immediately, I leaned against the newly installed tiles and let the warm water cascade over my body until I could finish bathing.
When I stepped out of the shower a few minutes later I caught the unmistakable scent of Old Spice, reminding me first of my stepfather and then of my scout master, neither of whom had understood me but both of whom had encouraged me not to hide behind a societally imposed facade. I smiled.
Then I realised someone had been watching me shower. I wrapped a towel around my waist and called out, ‘Who’s there?’
When I received no response, I hurried through the house, checking every room for evidence that someone was in the house with me. There weren’t many places to hide – I’d finished painting but had not yet furnished most of the rooms. I looked under my bed, opened all the closets, and even looked inside the dryer. I also checked every door and every window and found them all locked from the inside.
Although I was still bothered by the feeling that I’d been watched, I returned to the bathroom to finish pampering myself. By then the scent of Old Spice had disappeared, replaced by the floral scent of my body wash and the barely perceptible odour of my own come. I shaved, I tweezed, and I moisturized, not letting my personal grooming falter despite my dating drought.
Then I tucked myself into bed with a thick paperback and read until I was too tired to keep my eyes open. I fell asleep with the hall light on, just in case.
By the time my living room furniture was delivered two weeks later, I’d forgotten about the creepy feeling I’d had that night. With more furniture in the house it felt more like a home and I felt more comfortable in it. At that point I still lacked furniture for the office, so I had half a sheet of plywood resting on two sawhorses to hold my laptop computer and my printer, and I sat on a three-step aluminium stepladder. The novel was going nowhere – I’d written the first page a dozen times – but I wasn’t deterred. I knew I would start my real work once I finished work on the house.
Late one afternoon I sat at my makeshift desk, a number two pencil in my hand and a yellow legal pad in front of me, stared out the window at the back yard, a vast tract of untended grass and overgrown shrubs that desperately needed my attention, and pondered the umpteenth rewrite of my first page. My mind drifted, first to the job I’d left behind in the city and then to Kyle. It had been months since I been with another man and several days since I’d handled the problem myself.
As I thought about Kyle – about his golden, shoulder-length hair, his pale blue eyes, and his full lips – my cock began to react, causing my pants to tighten at my crotch. I adjusted myself with my free hand.
I was surprised when I caught a whiff of Old Spice and felt a moist pair of lips on the nape of my neck. I spun around quickly, knocking my legal pad to the floor.
There was no one behind me. I was alone in my office.
After I retrieved my legal pad and returned it to my makeshift desk, I wiped my fingers against my neck. They came away damp. I considered my fingertips for a moment before convincing myself that I had been sweating and that what I had actually felt was a trickle of sweat rolling down my neck. My daydreaming about Kyle had made me imagine something else.
I pushed myself away from my desk and left my office. I knew I was alone but I checked every room just in case. I found no one else in the house and nothing out of place. I grabbed a beer from the fridge and stepped out on the back porch to drink it. My back yard looked even worse from downstairs than it did from my second floor office, and I knew I would need to tend to it soon.
I drove into town two days later and made my first stop the town’s only hardware store. I selected a variety of tools to help me deal with the overgrown yard, and was staring at a display of hoes when I heard a voice behind me.
‘You the one that bought the Samuels’ place?’
I turned to find a weathered old man leaning on an aluminium walker. He made my plumber look like a youngster.
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I am.’
‘Heard you been fixing up the place.’
‘I’m doing what I can.’
‘Don’t get too attached.’ He coughed into his fist.
‘Why’s that?’
‘You won’t be there long,’ he said.
I looked a question at him.
‘Your kind don’t stay around here.’
‘My kind?’
‘City folk.’ He coughed into his fist again. ‘You and your city ways. You all want something you can’t find around here.’
‘I’ll be fine.’
‘That’s what the last guy said. But he didn’t last long.’
The old man glared at me and I glared back. He blinked first and then shuffled away without further comment.
I took my selections to the front counter where an acne-scarred teenager rang up my charges. After I paid him, he said, ‘Sheriff Johnson bothering you?’
I glanced toward the rear of the store but the weathered old man and his aluminium walker were out of sight. ‘That was the sheriff?’
‘He used to be, years ago,’ the kid said. ‘My dad says that back in the day Johnson ran the town with an iron fist. He still thinks he does, but most people ignore him.’
I attacked the front yard first, collapsing into bed each evening with sore muscles and a sense of satisfaction. Nearly two weeks after my conversation with Sheriff Johnson, after I had finished with the front yard and planned to begin work on the back, I caught a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror mounted on the back of my bedroom door. I was in the process of stripping off my clothes and I stopped to examine myself. All the hard work on the house and the yard had changed me.
Where once I had been soft in the middle, with no noticeable muscle definition, I had developed the kind of body I had once admired on others and I was especially pleased that I sported a taut abdomen with clear signs of a developing six-pack. Hard physical labour had done for my body what years of gym membership had not. Kyle would be surprised by the change, as would my other friends, but I had no desire to return to the city, even to gloat.
After I shoved my dirty clothes in the hamper, I showered, pampered myself, and crawled into bed. I no longer slept with the hall light on, and the roo
m was nearly black. The little bit of moonlight that usually filtered in through a gap in the drapes was hidden behind storm clouds that had been threatening to break loose all evening.
I was almost asleep when I felt weight on the bed behind me and caught the scent of Old Spice. My eyes snapped open. I knew there would be no one in bed with me if I rolled over, just like I knew there was no one else in the house. I wasn’t about to climb out of bed and tromp through all the rooms to prove it. I closed my eyes.
The weight shifted and I opened my eyes again. I felt a hand on my left hip under the covers and still I didn’t roll over. The weight shifted again and I felt someone press against my back. Warm lips brushed my neck. A thick erection that must have been seven inches long nestled in the crack of my arse. The hand on my hip slid down to my crotch and cupped my balls. My cock began to swell.
Nearly a year had passed since I’d been with another man and occasionally taking matters in my own hands had done nothing to relieve my sexual frustration. I squeezed my eyes shut and convinced myself that I was having a particularly tactile dream.
The hand cupping my balls moved to my cock and I felt thick fingers make a fist around my rapidly stiffening shaft. The fist gripped my cock firmly and then moved up my shaft, stopping when the encircling thumb and forefinger reached my spongy soft helmet head. Then it moved down until the heel of the hand pressed against my pubic bone. The fist continued moving up and down, slowly at first and then with increasing speed.
As I was being fist-fucked, I felt a pair of lips travel around the back of my neck, gently at first, and then with increasing urgency. More than once I felt teeth nip at my neck. My breath began to come in little gasps as my orgasm drew closer and closer. Then, unable to restrain myself, I caught my breath and held it as I fired warm spunk all over my sheets.
Before I could catch my breath, the weight shifted behind me, and the hand holding my spasming cock released its grip. The hand moved between my thighs and encouraged me to lift my left leg. When I did, I felt the cock nestled between my butt cheeks slide down until the cockhead pressed against the tight sphincter of my arse. My entire body was relaxed following my orgasm, and the cockhead slipped into me with minimal resistance. Then, with one powerful thrust, the entire cock was buried deep within me.
Hips pulled back and pushed forward, the unseen cock driving into me hard and fast, and I pushed backward to accept every powerful thrust. Kyle had never fucked me like this, had never taken me in the middle of the night and had his way with me, and I moaned with unrestrained pleasure.
Lightning flashed outside, illuminating the entire bedroom through a thin crack in the drapes. For a split second I saw my reflection in the mirror mounted on the back of the bedroom door and I saw the covers bunched up as if two people were in the bed.
And then, with one last powerful thrust that buried the unseen cock deeper inside me than ever before, the cock stopped moving. I thought I heard a man moan with pleasure, and I felt a rush of warm air against my ear. But, at that same moment, thunder rolled across the night sky, completely obliterating any other sounds I might have thought I heard.
Then the storm clouds opened up and rain pelted the house. I felt asleep listening to the rain, convinced that someone was spooning me from behind, yet knowing full well that the only thing behind me was my imagination.
A few days later I discovered an old well on the property. It was little more than a hole in the ground, the low rock wall encircling the hole mostly collapsed, the boards covering the hole rotted away, and the entire thing covered by overgrown brush. I was tromping through the brush and would have fallen into the well if something hadn’t stopped me at the last moment, something that felt like a hand pressing against my chest.
I didn’t know who else to call, so I called the plumber and told him what had happened.
‘You found the well, did you?’
‘You knew about it?’
‘Every house that old had its own well. Most of them are sealed to prevent accidents.’
‘Do you know someone who can take care of it for me?’
‘I’ll send my nephew over tomorrow,’ my plumber said. ‘He’s a licensed contractor. You’ll like him.’
The plumber’s nephew, a wiry man a few years younger than me, arrived early the next morning. My hair was still damp from the shower and I was nursing my first mug of coffee as we walked out to the well.
He aimed the beam of his flashlight into the hole and rubbed his chin. ‘Before we can seal the well,’ he explained as he looked me over in an overtly sexual way, a way that no other man had since I’d moved into the house, ‘we have to clear out the debris that’s fallen into it. I can call a couple of guys and get started on the job this morning.’
We haggled over price for a few minutes before I gave him the go-ahead. He snapped open his cell-phone as I headed into the house. I was hanging curtains in the dining room and didn’t think anything about what was happening in my backyard until my plumber’s nephew pounded on my back door.
‘We got a problem,’ he said when I joined him on the back porch. He touched my forearm with the tips of his fingers. ‘There’s a body down the well.’
My backyard became a crime scene and was soon overrun with sheriff’s deputies and nosey townsfolk. The elected coroner wasn’t a medical doctor – he was a funeral home director – so the remains were sent to Dallas for examination.
The remains were quickly identified as Nick Samuels – the house’s previous owner – and Samuels was given a proper burial after an autopsy determined the cause of death. Samuels had been shot once in the back of the head and his body thrown in the well.
There’s no statute of limitations for murder, so the new sheriff arrested the old sheriff and his aged cronies. In their day a jury of their peers might not have convicted the three men, but times had changed and more than half of the jury consisted of the type of people Sheriff Johnson and his cronies had worked to keep out of the county. The trial lasted a week and the jury deliberated less than an hour.
My testimony was minimal, confirming that I owned the property and that I had discovered the well where the body was found. They never asked and I never mentioned the presence in my house all those months when I was renovating it.
Six months after the trial ended, after I had put the finishing touches to the house, I visited the cemetery and stood beside the previous owner’s gave. As I told Samuels everything I had done to the house, I felt someone take my hand and I caught a hint of Old Spice wafting past me. I didn’t glance to the side but kept my attention riveted on the headstone until I finished my tale.
As I finished, the hand holding mine squeezed tightly for a moment and then disappeared.
I returned home, grabbed a legal pad and a pencil and sat on the back porch.
I was finally alone in my house.
Maybe it was time to start the novel. Maybe it was time to call the plumber’s nephew and find out if I had correctly interpreted his intentions.
Incubus At Your Service
by Maggie Morton
My friend, Lynne, had never gushed this much about something in her life. She’d been going on about this cleaning service she’d discovered for the last 15 minutes, and that had me rather surprised, as she was extremely un-effusive, especially for a woman. I knew to treasure whatever small compliments she gave me, because I probably wouldn’t be hearing another one for ages.
‘Oh, you just have to try them,’ she continued her avalanche of compliments. ‘They’re the best.’
I was hoping it was just that she was a little sloshed, but my higher reasoning skills told me she’d only had half a beer, and we’d already eaten a large meal at a Mexican restaurant down the street from the bar.
‘Here,’ she said, opening her purse, and removing a business card. ‘Trust me,’ she said, then, ‘Oops, look at the time, I’ve got to run. Love you, Nell!’
I picked up the card, read it: ‘I & S Cleaning Services, to fit
your every need.’ The cardstock it was printed on was a rich, dark burgundy, which for some reason made me think of bordellos and sex. God, Nell, you really need to get laid, I thought, then tucked the card into my purse and headed home.
That night, I dreamt of the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen. He had luscious, ebony hair which brushed his perfectly shaped shoulders – strong shoulders, the kind that would rest against you perfectly. He had a very seductive smile, richly pink lips that curved up in a promise of more, more, more! He had strong, sinewy arms, the kind that could hold you down for hours, the kind you’d want to hold you down for hours. He had a voice that rippled over your flesh, caressing all the best spots with each word. He had … and then my alarm went off. Goddamn it! I flipped the covers off me, in a serious huff, and started grumbling to myself under my breath. I glanced around the disaster that was my bedroom, took in each and every pile of dirty clothes. God, what a disaster. I found the cleanest shirt and pants I could and started getting dressed for work. After I had pulled on some clothes, I stumbled into the kitchen. And then I screamed.
There was a man standing at my sink! Wearing only an apron! Washing dishes! Well, that third part wasn’t the scary part, but seriously, what kind of psycho breaks into your apartment and washes your dishes while you sleep?
Was he trying to lull me into a false sense of calm? ‘Oh, I’m going to wash all your dishes and make your apartment all pretty, and then I’ll kill you!’ Oh God. Oh fucking God.
I tried to catch my breath after my initial shock. There was no way I could fight off a man his size, with those broad shoulders and that perfect back and those buttocks that just made you want to spread them and tease his little – wait, what was I doing? I had to hide, I had to call the police, I had to ... and then he turned around, and I gasped. He was the man from my dream, identical in every single way.
‘I’ve lost it. I’ve lost it, haven’t I?’ I muttered, turning my eyes downward. I barely heard him approaching, so his fingers on my chin surprised me a little. He tilted my head upwards, making eye contact with his lovely, full-lashed, emerald eyes, a huge improvement on my pale, dirt-brown ones.