The Last One to Let You Down

by K. L. Hiers

  He could still taste Cypress’s lips, his come, and his scent was all over him. He could breathe it right in, and wow, did it make him shiver—

  The keypad for the back door that led into the parking lot began to beep, and Tom scrambled to get up from the floor. He tried to fix his hair and quickly adjust his clothes.

  Crap, did he look like he’d just sucked someone off and came all over his pants? He didn’t have another second to evaluate his appearance, grinning stupidly as Bosco walked in. “Hey, Bosco. Got a first call?”

  “Yeah,” Bosco grunted. He was already wearing his suit, his cell phone out and in his hand. “What are you still doing here?”

  “Finishing up Mr. Dresser.” Tom shrugged. “I’m getting ready to go home in a minute. I was, uh, you know, thinking.”

  Thinking about being called a good boy and how hard I’m gonna jack off to all of this later.

  “You okay?” Bosco raised his brows.

  “Me? Huh? No, yeah, I mean, I’m totally fine.” Tom wiped his hands off on his pants. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Because you got smacked by a very angry woman today.”

  “Oh, that. Right.” Tom smiled, but it was strained. He’d almost been able to forget about it. “I’m okay. Seriously. It wasn’t about me, you know? She was just…” He gestured helplessly.

  “In pain,” Bosco finished.

  “Yeah.”

  “Our job is pretty fucked up.” Bosco patted the top of Tom’s head. “Go home, rest up.”

  “Where’s the first call? You need some help?”

  “Hospital morgue. Nothing hinky. Scott is up with me tonight.”

  “Okay. Be safe.”

  “Always.” Bosco gave a salute and continued up through the hallway to go into the office. He would have to do the paperwork for the removal before leaving, and Tom planned to be long gone by then.

  Tom was thankful that Bosco hadn’t shown up a few minutes earlier or else he would have gotten quite an eyeful.

  And wow, why was that so thrilling to think about?

  Did he actually want someone to watch him?

  Did he want someone to hear Cypress call him a good boy?

  Tom hadn’t thought of himself as particularly boring in bed, but he was starting to reconsider that now. What he had shared with Cypress was by far the kinkiest thing he’d ever done, and it had opened up an entire new world of exciting possibilities.

  He’d tried most sexual positions, both bottoming and topping, and he’d tried to date a few women when he was younger. There was one time he and an ex-boyfriend had played with some fuzzy handcuffs and spanked each other a little bit.

  As Tom recalled those shallow dives into sexual exploration, he knew they were nothing compared to what Cypress was offering him.

  In the brief time they’d spent together, Tom had never felt so calm. His brain shut down, his anxiety faded, and his troubles all vanished, lost in the smooth roll of Cypress’s rich voice. All he had to do was listen, and he could be a good boy.

  Just thinking the words again sent a delightful little shiver down his spine.

  Tom had never experienced anything like this before, and whatever power Cypress had wielded over him in this hallway was the most intense spell Tom had ever witnessed. He couldn’t wait to see what Cypress would show him next.

  But first, he lamented, he had to go home right away and get changed before Bosco asked what was on the front of his shirt.

  And his pants.

  And his belt.

  Fuck, he’d made such a mess.

  He also had to make sure Junior got his money as soon as possible.

  Standing up, he reached back to check for the stack of cash in his pocket. It was empty. He frantically turned all around the hallway, eyes tracking every inch of the floor.

  Maybe it had fallen out somehow while he and Cypress were messing around.

  He immediately recalled Cypress’s firm hand right there on his ass, and he angrily kicked the wall when he realized he must have taken it. “That son of a bitch! Damn him! That stupid ridiculously pretty motherfuckin’ son of a bitch!”

  Bosco was walking back through the hallway, paperwork tucked under his arm, just in time to catch the last of Tom’s fit. He looked concerned, asking slowly, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m trying to work through some stuff. I’ll be fine.” Tom ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m getting my stuff and going home right now. I promise.”

  This night couldn’t possibly get any—

  “Huh. What’s all over your pants?”

  When Tom woke up the next morning, he knew he had two very distinct problems to sort out before the day was over. Two men in his life were blackmailing him now. Not just one, but two.

  The first was his shitty ex-whatever forcing him to sell embalming fluid for illicit use and would be expecting his drug money today.

  The second was his hot crush who promised to keep silent about selling said embalming fluid in exchange for sex.

  Oh, and he had apparently robbed Tom of the aforementioned dirty money last night.

  Tom couldn’t call or text Cypress to confront him about the missing money because they hadn’t exchanged phone numbers. He blamed the fuzzy afterglow of the exceptional blowjob for not thinking to ask, but he knew exactly where Doyle’s Flowers was located.

  Groaning lightly, Tom dragged himself out of bed and shuffled toward the bathroom. He would definitely be paying Cypress a visit today. Whatever his reason for taking the money, Tom had to get it back before Junior could try to blab about what was going on.

  He grumbled as he found his third problem of the morning, his hard dick sticking against his thigh inside his shorts, no doubt from the morning hour and recalling what had gone down in the hallway with Cypress.

  He got the water going and began to stroke himself underneath the spray, trying to handle it quickly. He still had to get dressed, drive to work, and fix the inventory. He should have done it before he left, but he couldn’t stay inside the building a second longer once Bosco started asking what was on his pants.

  Tail tucked between his legs, Tom had fled back home and gone right to bed without any dinner.

  Ah, that added another problem that required attention soon: his stomach’s grumbling.

  Tom leaned his head against the shower wall, sucking his fingers into his mouth as he continued to quickly jerk off. It wasn’t the same thick heat of Cypress’s cock, but it was enough to mimic the memory and tip him over the edge, spilling his load as he remembered what a good boy he’d been.

  He finished washing up and got out to dry off, selecting a fresh set of gray scrubs to wear for the day. He wasn’t expecting to work any funerals, and he still had at least one clean suit still hanging in the bag from the dry cleaner’s in the back of his car if he needed it.

  After brushing his teeth, he glanced through his bathroom toiletries for some cologne. He’d been wearing the same one for years, a very common masculine scent he could buy right down at the drugstore. Not great, nothing special, but it worked.

  He couldn’t help but think about how good Cypress had smelled, and if he had to see him again today, maybe it was worth taking a bit of a risk.

  He picked out a neglected bottle he’d gotten for some birthday or Christmas, a cologne that had a strong herbal scent with hints of citrus. He had loved it but worried it was too much to wear at the funeral home again.

  The first time he’d worn it to work, Mr. Crosby had politely asked if he’d spilled a new chemical.

  Tom hesitated to put it on but decided he could dare to live a little. He wasn’t some quiet, shy embalmer. He was bold, brave, and sucked dick in hallways. He could do this.

  Fuck it.

  After Tom was enveloped in the new aroma, he marched out of his little house with his head held high as he reviewed his brewing plans for the day.

  Grab some breakfast, have the morning huddle with his co-workers, fix the invento
ry, confront Cypress while smelling amazing, get the money back, have a light snack, then pay Junior and make it clear he was absolutely done working for him.

  Despite his new scent giving him a fresh boost of confidence, he could feel the strings of his carefully woven plan starting to unravel. He’d already told Junior many times before that he was done, and it still kept happening.

  Shit.

  He still had to try.

  Tom swung through a fast-food joint to grab a sausage biscuit and some tea, adding a ham biscuit to the order for Earl to thank him for borrowing his handkerchief yesterday.

  He arrived at work a few minutes early, coming through the back door into the hallway from the side parking lot. He noticed the majority of the empty stretchers were now gone, most likely having been used last night by Bosco and Scott.

  Tom paused to check the login sheet for the walk-in cooler, noting at least four new names. He heard someone punching in the code for the back door, turning around to see Aaron walking in.

  “Morning,” Aaron grumbled, blearily nodding a greeting over a large to-go cup of coffee. His tie was hanging loosely around his neck, and his shirt wasn’t tucked in.

  “Good morning,” Tom said. “Long night?”

  “Scott and Bosco had a worse one,” Aaron replied hoarsely. “Don’t expect to see them for the morning huddle. They’re sleeping in. Got four new calls last night, all back to back, including this poor ol’ bastard who died in the tiniest bathroom ever made by man.”

  “Wait, you had to go out? But you weren’t on call.”

  “Bosco and Scott couldn’t get into the damn bathroom,” Aaron explained, dragging a hand through his curly hair. “This guy died on the toilet, fell forward, and his body was blocking the door. Nobody could get it to open more than a few inches because it kept hitting his damn head and shoulders.”

  “Oh, shit.” Tom grimaced in sympathy.

  ”Shit, yeah. Like literally shit because like, it was everywhere. It was such a mess.” Aaron slurped at his coffee noisily. “There was no way Bosco and Scott could fit their big asses in there, so they called me, Mr. Skinny, to come save the day.”

  “So, wait, what did you do? How did you get the door open?”

  “Oh, man,” Aaron groaned. “It was horrible. After I wiggled in there, I had to take a sheet and wrap it up around the dude’s neck, and like, sit back on the edge of the tub and pull as hard as I could. My feet were sliding in liquid poo the whole time, and I was finally able to lift him enough for Bosco and Scott to push the door open the rest of the way to get to him.”

  “Never a dull moment, huh?”

  “Ha, right? Ugh, that was at four o’clock this morning, we finished up around six, and I never went back to sleep.” Aaron made a face. “I swear I can still smell the poo. There was so much poo.”

  Tom began to lead the way to the office door, asking sympathetically, “Why didn’t you stay home and crash? Gerald, Junior, and Mr. Crosby are all here to call those families.”

  “Because we got four,” Aaron protested. “I’m not leaving them hanging with four new families to see. We can each take one and divide it all up.”

  “Okay, fair, but you’re gonna need more coffee.”

  “So much more.”

  Tom headed into the office with Aaron dragging behind him, spying Earl at the dispatch desk with Gerald and Mr. Crosby flanking either side of him. He didn’t see Junior thankfully, and he hoped he wouldn’t see him until much later.

  Like after lunch.

  Or never.

  That would be good, too.

  “Morning, guys!” Tom called out.

  “Morning,” Gerald muttered, flipping through a yellowing folder. It looked like a preneed file, a set of funeral arrangements made prior to death. Probably for one of the people who had passed away last night.

  “Good morning, Tom.” Earl waved. “Hey, Aaron.”

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” Mr. Crosby said, offering a kind smile. A strong wind would have been enough to blow him over if he didn’t have his cane, and he was as white and wrinkled as all the papers in the waste bin next to Earl’s desk.

  “Gonna be a hell of a day, so I hope you’re all wearing clean underwear,” Earl quipped.

  “Clean and starched.” Tom smiled and handed Earl the fast-food bag. “Ham biscuit?”

  “Oh, I always knew I liked you, Tommy Boy!” Earl exclaimed, eagerly opening up the bag and breathing in the contents. “I don’t care what Aaron says about you, you’re okay in my book.”

  “Thanks again for yesterday,” Tom said, gesturing to his lip. He still had a small scab where it had been split open, but it felt much better now.

  Earl gave him a thumb’s up and mumbled something positive through a mouthful of biscuit.

  Tom sat down at his desk, sipping on his tea as he waited for Mr. Crosby to get started. The senior employee usually led these morning huddles and gave out the assignments for the day.

  “Hmm. Well, now. This everyone?” Mr. Crosby asked, glancing around with a little frown. “Where’s Mr. Frakes?”

  “Mr. Frakes died four years ago,” Gerald reminded him flatly.

  “No excuse,” Mr. Crosby scolded. “We’ll need to start docking his pay if he continues to be tardy.”

  It was worth mentioning that Mr. Crosby might very well be losing his mind.

  “Now,” Mr. Crosby said, raising his voice to fill the small room. “We have four new calls. Scott and Bubba—”

  “Bosco,” Gerald quietly corrected. “Bubba quit.”

  “—Are going to be late, but I shall not dock their pay because they asked me for permission as they should. That’s what responsible employees do. Communication is key for all of us to serve our families to the absolute best of our ability.

  “Mr. Ayers will be waiting on the Delaney family. He’s already found the preneed file, and it’s going to be a Jewish burial at the Mordecai Hebrew Cemetery. Tom?”

  “Yes, sir?” Tom replied.

  “Is the prep room clear so the Chevra Kaddish can come in for the bathing later this evening?”

  “Mrs. Winslow and Mr. Dresser are both still in there, but Mrs. Winslow will be up front by this afternoon for her first viewing. We can move Mr. Dresser to a dressing table and place him in one of the other viewing rooms until the Chevra are done with the washing.”

  “Very good,” Mr. Crosby said. “I’ll be calling the Powell family. The notes from the first call Bubba took suggest it will be a direct cremation, but I suspect they may wish to view considering the toilet circumstances in which he died. That just leaves the Hun family and the Lowery family. Aaron?”

  “Huh? Yes, sir?” Aaron’s head snapped up from where he’d been dozing off.

  “They’re all yours.”

  Glancing around, Aaron mumbled, “Hey, where’s Junior?”

  “He’ll be in this afternoon to take the Winslow family in for the first viewing,” Gerald replied, snapping the preneed file shut. “You can handle two families, can’t you, Aaron?”

  Aaron didn’t look like he could handle keeping his eyes open, but he confirmed, “Yes, sir.”

  “Gerald is on Delaney, Mr. Crosby is on Powell, Aaron has Hun and Lowery. Junior will see the Winslows this afternoon.” Earl was muttering to himself as he took notes. “Hey, Tom, wait, what are you doing again?”

  “Getting Mrs. Winslow ready for her first viewing,” Tom replied. “I’ve done her make-up, but Miss Edie still has to do her hair. I’ll also be getting the prep room ready for the Chevra Kaddish to come in for the Taharah tonight.”

  “Got it.”

  “Let’s go build some enduring relationships with families in need.” Mr. Crosby beamed, ushering for everyone to disperse. He took some paperwork from Earl’s desk and began to head to his office.

  Wordlessly, Gerald tucked the preneed file under his arm and followed behind him.

  Aaron pulled himself out of his chair to grab the paperwork for the families he had t
o call and sighed loudly.

  “What’s wrong?” Tom asked, standing up to dispose of his tea.

  “Mr. Crosby took the paperwork for the Lowery family instead of the Powell family.” Aaron yawned. “Now I have to go get it from him before he calls them to make the appointment for the arrangement conference and expresses his condolences for their father passing when it was the Lowery’s mother who died.”

  “Good luck.”

  “Oh, and before I forget, the Dresser family wanna see their son tomorrow morning. I set it for ten o’clock. They’ll be bringing his clothes by sometime today.”

  “Sounds good. Casket ordered?”

  “They gotta make up their mind today when they come in to sign the contract. They’ll be here at eleven. I’ll let you know.” Aaron paused, leaning in unusually close. “Hey, are you wearing a new cologne?”

  “Yeah?” Tom grinned. “Do you like it?”

  “Smells funky. Like, a really good kind of funky.” Aaron paused. “It’s kinda like orange tea. I like it.”

  “Thanks.” Tom smiled, pleased his bold choice was going over well so far and headed into the back to get started while Aaron dashed up front to stop Mr. Crosby from calling the wrong family.

  First thing’s first. He had to fix the inventory. He let himself into the locked supply closet and adjusted the numbers quickly to cover what he’d taken. He felt a little relieved to have that vital task out of the way and next turned his attention to the deceased people.

  He moved Mr. Dresser onto a dressing table, a folding table with wheels used to help move deceased people around and dress them upon before casketing. It was also used for viewings in place of a casket or cremation container if a family hadn’t made a decision yet. He made sure to keep Mr. Dresser’s hands and head properly positioned as before and covered him back up with a sheet.

  Mrs. Winslow was next, and Tom was extra careful when moving her as to not disturb all the heavy makeup and restorative work he’d done. After she was settled, he cleaned both embalming tables and wiped everything down with disinfectant.

  He got Mrs. Winslow dressed in the sharp blue pantsuit her family had brought for her to wear for burial, but he had to cut the jacket up the back or else it wouldn’t have fit.