About the Author: Hello! My name is Titus Tugwell, and I write gay erotic fiction. A lot of my work contains fantastic or paranormal elements. I strive to entertain. I hope my stories turn you on and get you off!
This chapter is brought to you by Nifty.org, which is run on donations from readers like you! Donate here: http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html
If you'd like to support my work, consider becoming a patron on my Patreon! Patrons gain access to rewards and exclusive content like newsletters, short stories, question and answer sessions, polls, and an interactive gay erotic "Splooge Your Own Adventure" narrative. Join by visiting http://www.patreon.com/titustugwell
Haunt Me Harder A Gay Erotic Ghost Story by Titus Tugwell
Chapter One: Wet Dreams
They always began the same way: with a cock in his ass. He could never quite remember how the cock got there, but it didn't matter; he couldn't imagine a better place for it than his ass. And, of course, the cock was attached to a man.
Sometimes this man looked like a handsome actor he had seen on television or in a magazine. Sometimes he looked like a hunky professor from his college days or a strapping stud from a half-forgotten summer fling. But Will Cooper knew, somehow, the way one sometimes knows things in dreams, that all of these people were the same man. The physical details varied somewhat each time, but it was always the same man, and he was always fucking Will in the ass.
"Come," the man said, as he shoved his massive cock deep inside Will's hungry hole. His beautiful, naked torso arched backward slightly as his balls pressed up against Will's supine body. He pulled back suddenly, and his long shaft slid partway out of Will's ass. Then, just as suddenly, he plunged it back inside.
"Yes," Will moaned in delight.
"Come," the man said again, and he continued ramming his rock-hard rod into Will's rear-end.
Each time the man's cock entered him, Will relished the fleeting sensation of being filled up. Almost as soon as the feeling arrived, however, it was gone. But then... there it was again! And again! In and out, in and out, faster and faster. "I'm so close!" Will shouted up at the man.
"Come!" the man practically yelled. He stared down at his eager lover, and Will, looking back up at him, noticed something unexpected there in his eyes. Something he couldn't quite identify. Was it desperation? Loneliness?
The man continued to fuck him harder and faster, until suddenly Will could hold on no longer. A stream of white, hot jizz erupted from the tip of his own erect penis and hung suspended in the air for a moment, like a ribbon, before splashing in droplets on his naked chest. Ribbon after ribbon of spunk spewed forth from the head of his dick and rained down on his nude body. He closed his eyes momentarily, groaning in ecstasy.
When he opened them again, the man was still there, gazing down at him. But he looked different. The skin was taut on his skeletal frame, and it had turned gray with rot. A few wispy strands were all that remained of the hair on his head. His eyes had gone cloudy, a ghostly white, and his dark lips were pulled back to reveal a mouth full of crooked yellow and brown teeth. It was from this terrifying maw that the man issued his final command in a low, rattling wheeze: "COME!"
Instantly, the man was gone. In his place, rising up like a giant hand getting ready to squash an insignificant insect, was a tall, dark wall of water. It seemed to climb higher and higher in slow motion, until Will was completely engulfed in its shadow. He tried to scream, but nothing came out.
Then time caught up to itself. The watery wall came crashing down at full speed, pummeling Will with its debris. The weight of it was immense, and the impact knocked the air right out of his lungs.
Darkness and cold surrounded him. He couldn't breathe, and he didn't know which way was up. The waves violently dragged him this way and that, as if he were just a plaything, a human ragdoll. He struggled with all his might against the formidable forces pulling at his limbs, threatening to tear him apart, and for a brief moment, his head broke through the surface of the water. He greedily gulped at the air, trying to suck in as much as he could.
His efforts were cut short, however, when another wave crashed down on him like a barrage of hammers. Once again, the darkness swallowed him. He had to keep fighting. If he could only get his head above water again...
But he was so tired. Without enough oxygen, his body was growing weak. He instinctively tried to inhale, and a rush of cold water flooded his nose, his mouth, his lungs... Once again, there was a sensation of being filled up.
And then, emptiness.
A loud sound awoke Will, and he shot up in bed.
Bed. He was in his bedroom, the loft in his apartment on Cumberland Avenue.
It took a moment for him to realize that the loud sound that had awoken him was his own frantic breathing. He continued to inhale and exhale, and his racing heartbeat began to slow. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness in the room, the absolute terror that had gripped him only moments earlier began to fade.
He wasn't underwater. He was in his bedroom. He was covered in a cold sweat, but otherwise, completely dry. Well, except for... He lifted the gray flannel sheet on his bed to assess the situation. As he suspected, his crotch was a sticky mess.
He sighed and picked up his phone, which had been charging on the bedside table. The lock screen said it was five-thirty in the morning. An hour before his alarm would go off.
"Well, fuck," he said groggily. There was no point in trying to get back to sleep.
He dropped the phone, yawned, and stretched. Oh well, he thought. He'd been planning on getting up early to finish packing, anyway. Now he had an extra hour.
He threw the soiled sheet off of himself and stood up. The feeling of the soft carpet beneath his bare feet was a comfort to him after that horrible dream. The same dream he'd had the night before. And the night before that. The same horrible, hideous dream. He vigorously rubbed the sleep from his eyes, as if he could rub away the mental image of the man's grotesque face along with it.
Turning, he inspected his naked body in the full-length mirror of his closet door. Staring back at him from the glass was a slim young man with messy blond hair and bright blue eyes. He was sort of pale, despite his recent efforts to get a tan in time for the trip, and his muscles, still sore from his daily workouts, weren't nearly as prominent as he'd hoped they would be.
Still, there were some things to like. He approved of his nipples, which were round and smooth and slightly larger than the ones he'd seen on most other men. And, perhaps because he didn't have a lot of body hair, he'd always been fond of the thin column of fuzz that ran down from his navel and blossomed into a beautiful patch of blond fur just above his cock.
His cock, too, wasn't bad, although right now it was doing that weird thing it sometimes did after orgasm: still hard at the base, totally soft at the tip. He absentmindedly grabbed at his manhood, and his hand came away with some of the thick, sticky come that still covered it.
All right, then, he thought. Shower first, pack later.
One long, hot shower later, he threw on a tee shirt and some comfortable shorts and made a few last-minute additions to the items in his blue duffel bag. After a quick breakfast of cereal and toast, he slung the bag over his shoulder, headed out into the hallway and locked the front door of his apartment. He jogged down the three flights of stairs to the lobby of his building and stepped out onto the sidewalk and into the sunlight. Glancing down at his phone, he saw it was now seven o'clock. Good, he thought. They'd be arriving any minute.
As he waited, he mentally went over the list of things he'd decided to bring with him on the trip. Shirts, shorts, tank tops, flip-flops, sunglasses, sunscreen, toiletries, a towel, and, of course, the cute new bathing suit he'd bought just for the occasion... Was he forgetting something?
He noticed he was biting his fingernails and stopped himself. It was a nervous habit he'd fought hard to break over the years. Why was he feeling so nervous lately? This vacation promised to be just what he needed: a week out on the lake with friends, far away from the city and the daily indignities he endured as a waiter at The Tubesteak Factory. And yet...
He couldn't shake this ominous feeling he had. It wasn't unusual for him to experience some jitters before going away on a trip, but this was different. Something about this upcoming vacation had his stomach tying itself in knots. And then there were the nightmares. He shivered, remembering the man's big, white eyes and skin the color of decay.
Just then, a little red sedan pulled up to the edge of the curb and stopped, idling. The driver-side door opened and a handsome man stepped out onto the street. He flashed a toothy, white smile at Will and ran a hand through his wavy brown hair. "You ready?" he asked.
Steve Henderson was taller than Will, maybe an even six feet. He had blue eyes that seemed to sparkle in the sun and a strong, angular jaw that was often home to an infectious smile. Currently, he was wearing a tight-fitting blue-and-white striped button-up shirt that accentuated his eyes and his muscular frame. The top few buttons had been left undone, exposing a small expanse of chest that was covered in little brown hairs. He raised an arm and rested it on top of his car, and Will watched his pectoral muscles shift and resettle under the fabric as he did so.
"Ready," Will replied, grinning. He temporarily forgot about his disturbing dreams, and his only thoughts were of the fun-filled week ahead of him.
"All right, then," said Steve, walking around to the back of his car and opening the trunk. "I've got some junk in the trunk, but I think I can fit you in." He winked at his friend and bent at the waist, moving things around in the trunk of his car to make room for Will's duffel bag.
Will took the opportunity to admire his buddy's butt. It was true; Steve did have some junk in the trunk. His white chino shorts tightly hugged the curves of his ample ass as he dug around in the back of his car. Will found his mind drifting to the handful of times he'd seen that ass in the flesh over the years.
"I'll grab your bag," said Steve, straightening. He held out an open palm.
Will shook himself from his reverie and handed over the bag, which Steve promptly hurled into the trunk of his car.
"And away we go," said Steve, slamming the trunk closed. "Hop in."
Will gripped the handle of the rear-left car door and pulled, but it wouldn't budge. He tried again. Nothing.
"Ah, ah, ah," said a voice on his right. "What's the password?"
Brendan Murphy was hanging out the front passenger-side window and looking back at him over his shoulder, grinning ear to ear. His pale blue eyes bore a mischievous glint, and a few locks of his bright red hair were poking out from underneath his teal baseball cap, which he always wore backwards. He was a bit broader and bulkier than Steve, and the massive arm he'd draped over the passenger-side door was shockingly white in the morning sun. The lack of color suited him, somehow, but Will took comfort in knowing he would not, in fact, be the palest person going on this trip.
"Quit it, Murph," said Steve, making his way around the vehicle and stopping in front of the driver-side door. "Unlock his door." He tried the handle of his own door. "And unlock mine while you're at it!"
"I'll give you a hint," said Murph, ignoring Steve. "It's the same as my safe word."
Will was about to hazard a guess when he heard a small mechanical click. He tried the door handle again. This time, the door opened, and he found himself staring into an unfamiliar face.
The stranger stared back with big, warm brown eyes that sat above two prominent cheekbones. His full lips were turned up ever so slightly at the corners in a small, sympathetic smile. The hairs on top of his head stood up in a two-inch-tall forest of tight black curls, and his smooth skin was the color of melted milk chocolate. Will thought it was perhaps the most beautiful face he'd ever seen.
"There you go," the stranger said. He had stretched his upper body across the length of the backseat so he could unlock the door for Will. Now he returned to an upright position, and Will climbed in next to him.
"Aw, you're no fun," Murph complained, pulling his head back inside the car.
"Thank you," said Will, holding out his hand to the stranger. "You must be Isaac. I'm Will."
"Isaac," the man confirmed. "Nice to meet you, Will." He firmly grasped Will's outstretched hand and gave it a hearty shake. "Steve's told me all about you."
Steve had told Will quite a bit about Isaac Baldwin, as well. He and Isaac were both programmers for Eggplant Computer Systems, and they'd met at work. After hooking up twice in the office supply closet, the two had become good friends. Will had heard all about Isaac's mammoth muscles and winning smile in poetic detail, and yet it still hadn't prepared him for the reality that was Isaac Baldwin.
Even sitting down, he seemed to tower over Will. His hair nearly brushed up against the fabric on the ceiling of the car. The gray tank top he was wearing could hardly contain his bulging pecs, and a big brown nipple playfully peeked out at Will through the right armhole. Will could also make out individual abdominal muscles under the material of the shirt; he counted six in all. Allowing his gaze to travel even lower, Will saw that gravity was pulling down on the polyester of his fellow passenger's red gym shorts in a way that conspicuously outlined a rather large something sitting right between his two massive thighs.
Will didn't want to stare at Isaac's lap, though. Partly because it seemed impolite, but mostly because his attention was drawn, almost magnetically, to his companion's beautiful, friendly face. There was so much warmth there. He'd never met anyone before who oozed so much sexuality, while simultaneously exuding such sincere kindness and goodwill. It was totally mesmerizing.
"Good," Will replied, getting lost in Isaac's rich brown eyes. "I hope. I mean... I hope it was good things. What he said about me."
Isaac chuckled. "All good things."
Steve rapped his knuckles against the window of the driver-side door. "Murph, you twat, let me in!"
"Come on, Steve," Murph drawled, grinning broadly. "You of all people should know my safe word."
There was a brief pause, and then came Steve's voice, sounding a little hesitant: "Fluffernutter?"
"Wrong!" Murph called out gleefully. "That hasn't been my safe word in years!"
Steve's fist thumped against the window. "Well, we haven't dated in years!"
Murph frowned, then reached over and unlocked Steve's door. "All right, I'll give you a pass. But just so you know, it's 'Kalamazoo' now."
"Kalama-who cares?" Steve said grumpily, sitting down in the driver seat and pulling his door closed.
"You're supposed to update your safe word every couple of months," said Murph, "for security purposes."
Steve rolled his eyes. "I don't think that's a thing," he said.
"It's nice of you to join us, Steve," said Will, in jest.
Steve smiled in spite of himself and turned to face his friends in the back seat. "Now that we got that out of the way," he said, "let's get this show on the road."
"Ew," said Murph, "who says that?"
Steve ignored him and turned to look out the windshield at the road ahead of him. He gripped the steering wheel with one hand and used the other hand to shift into gear. "Lake Tallywacker," he said with a smile, "here we come!"
The first hour or so of the drive was pretty quiet. It was early morning, and everyone was still waking up. For a long time, Will sat and watched the New England countryside go by outside his window. At one point, he almost dozed off, but he fought to stay awake. He always got a boner when he fell asleep on a long car ride, and he didn't want to get an erection in front of Isaac. At least, not yet.
A sound made him turn to his left, and he saw Isaac reach down and pull something out of a black backpack by his feet. It was a worn paperback, which he proceeded to flip open and hold in his lap. Will looked on as he began to silently read his book, still as a statue, only moving when he needed to turn a page. He looked so peaceful in that moment, and he practically glowed in the golden sunlight streaming in through Will's window.
Then, perhaps sensing Will's eyes on him, Isaac looked up inquisitively at his fellow passenger.
"What are you reading?" Will asked quickly, feigning interest in the book to excuse his staring. "I can't read in the car, it makes me sick."
"Reading in general makes me sick," Murph chimed in from the front seat.
"Oh, it's an old favorite," said Isaac, holding up the book so Will could see the cover, "but I had to revisit it. I figure it's required reading for this trip."
Will looked at the cover of the book. It was old and faded, and slightly frayed where it had been bent over the years. One corner seemed to have fallen off entirely. It featured a drawing of a frightened-looking woman in an old-fashioned maid outfit standing in a darkened room. Behind her, there was an elderly woman in a tattered white dress. She appeared to be floating in midair. Her skin was gray and her eyes were like two big, white orbs. Above both of these figures, in bold red letters, were the words "The Ghost in the Parlor."
"Um," said Will. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was suddenly bone-dry. "Sorry, but... why is a book about a ghost required reading for this trip?"
"Well, I was sort of kidding," said Isaac. "But, you know... it was written by Montgomery Moorcock."
Will waited for further explanation, and when none came, he asked, "Who?"
"The author," Steve offered from the driver seat. "Wrote a lot of gothic horror... He was the original owner of the place my parents bought. I didn't mention that?"
"No," Will said slowly. "You... must have forgotten to mention that."
"He actually did a lot of his writing there, at the lake house," Isaac explained. "Ended up living there, toward the end." He waggled the book in his hand. "This is the last book he ever wrote, and by far the weirdest. And he wrote it all there, at the lake house. Right before he died."
"And get a load of this," said Murph, craning his neck to face Will and Isaac. "According to local legend..."
"Murph." Steve cut him off, shaking his head.
"What?" said Murph, visibly confused.
"What?" Will repeated.
"Nothing," Steve said emphatically. "Listen, we are going to have a relaxing week of fun in the sun while staying at the amazing house my parents just bought on Lake Tallywacker, and that is the end of that!"
An awkward silence fell over the car.
"Okay," said Murph, after a moment.
"Yeah," said Will. "Fun in the sun." Suddenly, the air in the car seemed thick and heavy. He felt as if he were underwater. Again. He wondered what Murph had been about to say.
He looked out his window at the passing trees and mountains. Who cared if the house once belonged to a writer of ghost stories? Obviously, that had nothing to do with the terrifying dreams he'd been having lately... Right?
Fun in the sun, he thought. Fun in the sun. He repeated the phrase over and over in his mind, like a mantra. But no matter how many times he thought it, he just couldn't ignore the sudden feeling they were driving in exactly the wrong direction.