- DISCLAIMER - The following story, novel, or chapter contains homosexual themes and is not intended for anyone under the legal viewing age - If depictions of homosexual activities disturb you - Do Not Continue To Read This Story - Feedback appreciated
Copyright - 2005 - Max Williams (Kollegekid54321@hotmail.com)
Chapter 4
The bed was empty. The evil-looking ticking on the mattress was almost entirely rotted, and the rusty springs poked menacingly through the cloth with sharp edges that glinted in the night. True, one hundred years could rot a mattress, but if it were just the case that it was an old mattress, then what was with the six foot divot in the center? There was a body-shaped crevice, a human impression pressed deep into the surface of the bed, and even in the cold, desolate room, in the abandoned house with the shuttered windows, it could be believed that the bed had been occupied until recently. Very recently, as it turned out.
The mind had woken. The mind had been thrown into consciousness with a startling jolt, and had woken to perceive that it was in a different place than it had last been in, but after an hour's worth of looking around, frightened, it had slowly pieced together that this was, in fact, the same room the mind had been put to sleep in.
Lights were different . . . no . . . furniture was different . . . no . . . the furniture was still there, the lights were still on. It was the 5 inch layer of black filth covering everything that had thrown the mind off. Where . . . are . . . the . . . colors . . . the mind wanted to know. It formulated thoughts as quickly as it could, but one hundred years takes its toll on a sleeping mind, and the mind had enough trouble with the body that was locked into its resting position. Why . . . cant . . . I . . . move . . . it had queried for hours, trying to budge a finger, trying to move a toe. All the mind could do was look around with barely focusing eyes at the black filth and white light that lit up the depressing and wretched monochromatic room. Co . . . ma . . . a . . . coma . . . The mind was still trying to rationalize its current state as the white light slowly filtered away and was replaced by a gradual blackness that took the room from disgustingly bright to depressingly black. Had the mind been working at a normal pace, it would have realized that it had spent thirteen hours inventing and expressing its three thoughts, but it also would have realized that the body was slowly starting to come around. And in fact, it had. As soon as the last light began to stray from the cracks in the shuttered windows, the mind began thinking oh . . . no . . . the blackness . . . and was entirely interrupted by the body's tense lungs, trying all day to breathe a breath, suddenly expanding and filling with air. Another deep breath followed, expelling little bits of gray air from the body's nose, and another after that. Within five minutes, the lungs were going at an incredible rate, and the mind, with its first oxygen in one hundred years, began finally processing things beyond its immediate recognition. The eyes aligned and focused, the fingers twitched, the feet spasmed, and the mouth opened and shut, croaking slightly. The ears began picking up the busy sounds of traffic and water lapping a shore as suddenly as if the body had been a radio that had been turned on. The nose was filled with scents; unpleasant, unhappy, deathly stale and rotten scents that made the mouth begin to gag up dry balls of dust that smelled like even more death. And the mind suddenly felt a pull. A slight, little tug from inside the body, which intrigued it. The mind concentrated on this pull, and felt it again. Then again, and then again. And then the pull turned into a refreshing stream going past the mind, and then dousing the mind with a pleasantly optimistic pressure that forced the mind, after a century of hibernation, to slowly go with the flow of the pressure, and be pushed from the skull to the body. As the heart began pumping again, slowly gaining in speed and pressure, the mind was caught in the flow of blood, and slowly distributed throughout the body, until finally it could be said that the mind and body were separate no more, and had become once again a man. With this, the eyes snapped open, and for the first time in a hundred years, there was life behind them. The shrunken pupils and yellow eyes looked around the room and finally took in what they could not before.
It was a room of generous proportions, with a beautiful bay window, although what the window looked over was uncertain given that the interior shutters were both closed and nailed shut over them. Surely at one time there had been generous draperies over both the windows and the recess of the bay window, but all that remained were crumbled piles of blackened rot scattered on the floor, and a black broken curtain rod hanging at an angle off the wall. The man's body was still twitching most erratically, but he hazarded a movement off of the bed, and found that his left leg, at least, was under pretty good control. The other leg also swung over the side of the bed, and the man found that while he couldn't yet stand, he could see everything in the room much more clearly. The bed that he was laying on was a half- tester, with an elaborately carved roof covering half the bed. Elaborate draperies could also have been found here originally, but even as the man stretched his toes, he looked down to see that his feet were in more piles of blackened muck. The walls were black, smudged with green and white spots where water damage had rotted them, and the floors were wooden and squeaking, covered with the sodden black and green remains of elaborate and beautifully patterned carpeting.
The man's lungs were still uncontrollably breathing deeply, and as much as he wanted to stand, the flow of blood from his heart was still wetting his body inside, and it made him dizzy, and uncomfortable, and sick . . . very sick, he decided, as he began involuntarily coughing up more balls of dry dust and grey air.
After another half an hour of coughing so violently that pieces of his dried throat began coming out, the man felt able to stand, and did. He wet rotten floor felt pleasantly cool against the cracked skin of his feet. He made his way slowly to the bay windows, grabbing everything that he could for support. Once there, he collapsed into the framework of a blackened chair, and looked out through some broken slats of the sealed shutters. The poor light of night was augmented by a bright streetlamp that lit up a space he didn't understand. It was wide, flat, and gray, covered with yellow stripes. He remembered there being a street that went all the way to the lakefront. As it was, there was just this - expanse - of ugly gray and then trees, bushes, and weeds . . . some wavy lights off in the distance that might possibly be reflections on water. The man pulled back into the room, and uncertain, got to his feet again. He tested them out for a second time, and then took some more wobbly steps toward the center of the large bedroom. This time, he went to the large walnut mirror. Its carving matched that on the bed, mostly walnut with burled panels, with elaborate cornucopias of fruit and vegetables carved into the drawer fronts. He leaned onto the cool marble top of the dresser and bent his aching neck degree after painful degree until he could look at the blackened mirror. A wistful, yearning expression crossed his face as he raised one impossibly stiff arm, flexed it twice until it actually bent at the elbow, and then used his hand to wipe the disgusting grime away from the surface of the cool smooth glass. After one wipe, the man saw his own eyes, and was startled. After two wipes, he could make out the long locks of disgusting gray hair that hung limp and dead over his shoulders. After fives wipes, he had revealed the whole of his lanky, bony face to himself.
The grungy hair of his disgusting beard hung to his waist and was almost as gray as the hair on his head, excepting the black smudges of rot and filth. His teeth were yellow and chipped, and his nose was a shriveled little knot of flesh, stuck ridiculously on the end of his face. His body, young and fresh and pleasant and supple when he had last known it, was now lanky and pathetically thin, even through his tattered archaic clothes. And as the man took this all in, as he looked at himself in the mirror and flexed his aching, crumbling muscles, his haunting eyes lit up and danced with delight. The tired old eyelids fully revealed the yellow of his eyes, as he cracked several bones and sent a puff of dust into the air by standing up ramrod straight, as he had been taught to do in his younger years. His eyes sparkled as his cracked lips smiled and heaved a dusty sigh of relief from his exasperated lungs, and began to laugh.
Meghan lay on her back, trying to breathe hard, but looking around, kind of bored. Jason was on top of her, slowly thrusting his hips against hers, moving his strong nine inches in and out of her with a decidedly uninteresting cadence. She looked at his handsome face, brown and stubbly, with his mouth slightly open, panting hard. His eyes were squeezed shut, like they always were, and his strong hands were planted firmly on either side of her on her parent's bed. She didn't know why she liked this so much - he was incredibly handsome, but unbearably bad in bed. All the same, he was incredibly handsome - the lines that his broad shoulders made, and the way that his chest flexed as his torso rhythmically bobbed up and down as he pumped into her made her feel warm and horny. His abs were contracting and releasing, popping out and sinking away as his slapped against hers, and his sturdy brown arms were getting increasingly larger and larger as he tensed more and more before he cumming. He was a great specimen of manhood, in his youthful prime, fucking the pussy that he loved - she stroked the downy hairs on his chest and began feeling her way up and down his abs, feeling the muscle contract into a soft rock-hard mass and relax again, she felt the firm movement of his dick inside of her and the reassuring crunch of his rough hair on hers. She looked into his face, strained and sweating with exertion, and traced the square jaw line, the hard brown cheeks, the straight brown hair hanging over his face, and the wet lips of his open mouth. He was a man, and what a man - Meghan was suddenly overcome with a wave of attraction to this hot masculine creature buried deep inside of her, and began orgasming on his hard hot shaft.
Her body contracted as she panted and yelled, and she felt her own smooth soft breasts get buried in his warm, heaving mass of brown flexing muscle. His pace continued despite her change in position, and she felt herself give her last few spasms all over his beautiful rod, and then, sated, laid back - only to realize that Jason, eyes still squeezed shut, was still pumping inside of her, except this time, was hitting deeper and deeper with every stroke. Meghan couldn't possible help herself, and began to feel another almost painfully deep orgasm grow in the center of her body, and this time, Jason slowed down. She could tell by the way that he suddenly got more forceful with his deep plunges that he was close to the edge, and she knew that she was too. He grabbed the bed on either side of her and began forcing himself so fiercely that he picked up the mattress with every thrust, his brown skin shining with effort, his face strained in an expression of intense concentration, and his round smooth butt clenching with the effort of tantalizing the head of his penis on the warm soft flesh he was plunging into. His efforts were literally picking up the mattress as his muscular arms felt the need to contract harder and harder as his throbbing brown rod found deeper and deeper pleasure. They were writhing, sweating, and bouncing hard, and bringing each other to the absolute brink.
Finally, as Jason absolutely gave a thrust that resulting in his pulling the mattress, and Meghan, almost completely upright, he felt the awesome release of his throbbing penis finally pulsate with the shooting of his hot huge load into the condom. The feeling of his shaft buried in hot, tight, warm flesh made him cum again, and again, and then the thought of his nine inches of brown member pulsing hard and covered with his own hot sticky juice made him shoot another load and begin pressing his dick into Meghan a little further. Meghan had been slowly building up to her climax, and when she finally felt Jason shove himself into her and touch her inside with his shaft, she had lost it and began coming, at which point his throbbing engorged head had been pressed against her in just the right way that her already ascending orgasm was catapulted into another league, and she couldn't help but contract her entire body in a violent, shuddering wave of feelings, furthered by the primal scream of pleasure that she couldn't help but emit from under this large, hot man. She yelled again, and again as she felt herself contract and writhe in absolute swollen pleasure, and then heard Jason groaning and yelling himself, in triumph. They grinded together for another five minutes, feeling him inside her, and her wrapped around him, and then finally, Jason pulled out, and falling on his back, panted, rubbing his hands through the hairs on his heaving chest. Meghan rolled over him, and with a supreme smile, put her head on his shoulder and weakly whispered "I love you" before shutting her eyes. Within a few minutes her breath had become to rhythmic for her to possibly be awake, and Jason, still wide awake, had put a lean, muscled arm behind his head, and stared at the ceiling.
He felt his soft dick still encased in it's rubber sack of juice, and reached down with the arm not around Meghan to pull it off, rolled it up tight, and then put it in a garbage bag that they always made sure they had handy for . . . for afterwards. He put his arm behind his head, and pulled Meghan up closer to him. He was happy, content, tired - a little, but bothered by something major. Meghan had been screaming his name, he'd heard her. But why hadn't he been saying hers? He tried to picture what he'd been thinking of when his eyes were shut, but couldn't. It had been a blur of hot mental pictures - but some of them scared him. And the one figure in particular that he'd kept picturing he didn't get at all. Jason took a deep breath and shut his eyes - Whatever. It must have been the argument, Jason didn't know. All he knew was that it was a slip up, that wouldn't happen again because . . . well, just because that wasn't Jason. All the same, he was glad that Meghan had been screaming so loudly that she hadn't heard Jason groaning "Sea . . . Sean . . . Seannn". His eyes snapped open again, but he shook it off, and tried to get a little sleep.