Dedicated to my boyfriend, Kevin Healey, a talented champion of autism, we could've got married if it wasn't for the Chinese virus. these commie cunts owe us an apology. Hope you like my story, contact me [dot] keith.harris [at] telford [dot] gov [dot] uk
He was lying on the gurney, waiting for me. I'd lied to the undertaker, I'd said I wanted a viewing, open casket. I wanted him to look nice. I'd never seen him in a suit before. The truth was I just wanted to see him one last time.
It wasn't as if I was planning this all along. All I wanted was a few more hours with him, a few more hours to only deepen the pain that filled me. I didn't mean 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 love to him. He was so beautiful, so young and innocent, still scarred from the violence of his life, though he'd never talked about it to me.
I'd laid him, dressed, on my bed, the curtains drawn, the door locked. I restrained myself for a couple of hours. But I loved him and I didn'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 frustrated 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 wounds the coroner had left, the incision where he'd cut into the dead flesh, looking for something I could never understand. Thank god for the abbreviated autopsy.
They'd found him – the police – slumped on a bed in a cheap flat on the bad side of town, dead. Overdose, they'd said, and the coroner had agreed. Heroin. Suicide. There had been a broken syringe lying beside the bed, but they didn't know where he'd got the drugs from. There had been no 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 from an old love-bite. I don't know 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 mouth with a gentle kiss.
His cold 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 didn't react, 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 trousers.
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 minutes which only made me madder with lust. Tearing off the last few vestiges of his clothing, I grabbed a pot from the bedside table and smeared Vaseline over my rock-hard cock, massaging my balls as I stood over him, desperate to consummate my love one last 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 press the head of my cock to his opening. I pushed myself into him much easier this time, though my cock was so hard that the head was swollen far beyond normal, 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 hard, forcing myself to take it slow.
'I love you, Kevin,' I panted.
I began to push in and out of him, as gently as if I was making love to a woman, my lust turning me into a barely-controlled monster. I chewed at his shoulder, his nipples, his lips, tongue-fucking him as my cock slid slowly backwards and forwards inside his tight bowels. Pushing myself in as far as I could, I made humping motions to force every last inch of my cock into him.
It didn't last very long. I couldn't help myself, but I started bucking violently into his body. It didn't matter that I was fucking a corpse, it didn'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 mingled 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 company. I played with my cock, already slippery with a mixture of my orgasm and Vaseline, until it began to harden again beneath my fingers. I slipped a rubber cock ring down over the swelling head, threading it down to the thick base.
The rubber pulled back my foreskin. I was about seven inches long, and a couple thick at the base, so the ring 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 palm of my hands, bucking my hips up to meet 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 body. I played with his limp cock, squeezed his cold balls, wondering whether there was still a spark of life trapped in there. I locked my arms around his soft thighs and started slowly pumping in and out of his loose bowels. My own semen churned around my cock, 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 second time that day, jetting my life into his cold, dead bowels.
As soon as my orgasm had subsided, I turned him over and entered him again. My semen was already beginning to trickle down over his balls and onto the sheets and he was so relaxed now that I could push my full length in with one easy thrust. My cock was still erect, but only because of the ring. I moved in and out until the sensation became too much for me. Then, with one final push, I sheathed myself in him up to my balls and kissed his neck and cheek.
There was only way I could ever truly have him now.
'Why couldn't you have taken me with you?' I whispered into his ear. 'Why did you leave me?'
He didn't answer. I sighed and pressed my cheek to the side of his head. I hadn't felt the tears start, but my eyes were burning now. I tried to hold back the choke of a sob, but I couldn'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 muzzle of the gun to his cold lips. His teeth scraped along the barrel as I forced it deeper in, until the muzzle pressed against the side of his cheek, pointing straight upwards.
I had said I'd never leave him, that I'd always be by his side. I had to keep my promise to him, even if he wouldn't see it honored. I would never leave him. I took a deep breath and squeezed my eyes closed. My finger tightened on the trigger.
'Goodbye, Kevin,' I murmured, tears filling my eyes at this last moment. My last moment with him. I pulled the trigger.