Dead Bedroom - Erotic Horror

[night69]

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t.me

The house pressed dark and sharp against the blue sky of the morning as the gravel crunched under the tires of our old Ford Taurus. My husband, Chris, gripped the wheel and looked over at me, his hazel eyes flat and cold. Eyes that used to pour over me. Eyes that used to spark when he laughed. Before his business went under. He jerked up the emergency brake as we pulled in front of the house.

 

[night69]

The house pressed dark and sharp against the blue sky of the morning as the gravel crunched under the tires of our old Ford Taurus. My husband, Chris, gripped the wheel and looked over at me, his hazel eyes flat and cold. Eyes that used to pour over me. Eyes that used to spark when he laughed. Before his business went under. He jerked up the emergency brake as we pulled in front of the house.

"Well. We're here," he said. "Come on, boys. Wake up."

"They can sleep a little longer, can't they?" I said, putting my hand on his forearm.

He pulled his softly furred arm away and sighed.

"I guess. going to have to wake up to this sometime, though," he gestured at the rundown house.

"Let's just go see what Mom left in there," I said.

He sighed and opened the car door, saying nothing in return.

 

[night69]

"Well. We're here," he said. "Come on, boys. Wake up."

"They can sleep a little longer, can't they?" I said, putting my hand on his forearm.

He pulled his softly furred arm away and sighed.

"I guess. going to have to wake up to this sometime, though," he gestured at the rundown house.

"Let's just go see what Mom left in there," I said.

He sighed and opened the car door, saying nothing in return.

I looked back at the twins nestled in their car seats, each clutching a separate corner of a red dinosaur blanket. Their identical heads slumped against their shoulders. They were four years old and in a rare moment of potential energy. Usually they careened around, grabbing, laughing, shouting, digging, tumbling. Their little faces smudged and grinning. They were happy boys. Dark like their father. Tall like me.

I nudged my car door open, careful not to wake them and followed Chris to the front porch. The porch swing I used to curl up on to read hung suspended by a single rusty chain. The arm rest lay cracked against the rotting floor. My mother's silver wind chimes tinkled in the cold breeze, the only human sound against the backdrop of the dark woods surrounding the house. The front yard stood winter brown and crackled under my boots as I approached the front door, my breath puffing in huge white clouds.

 

[night69]

I looked back at the twins nestled in their car seats, each clutching a separate corner of a red dinosaur blanket. Their identical heads slumped against their shoulders. They were four years old and in a rare moment of potential energy. Usually they careened around, grabbing, laughing, shouting, digging, tumbling. Their little faces smudged and grinning. They were happy boys. Dark like their father. Tall like me.

I nudged my car door open, careful not to wake them and followed Chris to the front porch. The porch swing I used to curl up on to read hung suspended by a single rusty chain. The arm rest lay cracked against the rotting floor. My mother's silver wind chimes tinkled in the cold breeze, the only human sound against the backdrop of the dark woods surrounding the house. The front yard stood winter brown and crackled under my boots as I approached the front door, my breath puffing in huge white clouds.

"Jesus, your mother was living in this?" My husband muttered as we climbed the front steps.

"She was a proud person, Chris."

"Proud don't pay the bills."

I ignored him and felt around the door frame for the key my mother always kept stashed there. My fingers lit on the key and drew it into my palm.

"Ok, I got it."

He stood back as I inserted the key into the lock and cranked it against the years of neglect. The bolt slid back and I turned the worn brass knob, pushing my shoulder against the heavy mahogany door. The swollen wood caught and squealed against my weight.

"Can you help me, please," I looked back at Chris, who stood with his hands thrust into his pockets staring out at the woods.

"Yeah, yeah. Sorry." His brow crinkled. "Did you see that?"

 

[night69]

"Jesus, your mother was living in this?" My husband muttered as we climbed the front steps.

"She was a proud person, Chris."

"Proud don't pay the bills."

I ignored him and felt around the door frame for the key my mother always kept stashed there. My fingers lit on the key and drew it into my palm.

"Ok, I got it."

He stood back as I inserted the key into the lock and cranked it against the years of neglect. The bolt slid back and I turned the worn brass knob, pushing my shoulder against the heavy mahogany door. The swollen wood caught and squealed against my weight.

"Can you help me, please," I looked back at Chris, who stood with his hands thrust into his pockets staring out at the woods.

"Yeah, yeah. Sorry." His brow crinkled. "Did you see that?"

"See what?"

"I swear I just saw someone cross the yard. Like from the corner of my eye."

"Can you see the kids?" I asked him, anxiety welling in my chest.

"Yeah, they're still sleeping," he said, standing on his tiptoes to better see.

"It's going to be weird living in the country," I said, hoping to reassure him. "Sound really carries out here."

"Let me get the door," he said absently and hurled his muscular shoulder against the wooden door.

It screeched and groaned with each thud of his shoulder. Soon it gave and the living room from my childhood appeared through the crack in the door, but different. Decayed. Entropic. The wallpaper fluttered in the cool breeze from the open door like strange leaves. The brown carpet was matted and tattered at the edges. I remembered the feel of it under my knees at Christmas as we handed crisply wrapped presents to one another. The smell of cinnamon and coffee. My mother's small hands brushing through my hair. My father dangling curls of shiny red ribbon above our disinterested black cat. Laughing. Hugging one another with each slip of the box lid, each whisp of tissue paper.

"Oh god, it's worse than I thought," my husband groaned as he peeked around the corner.

"It's going to be fine, Chris," I said and stepped inside. "Why don't you go and check on the boys?"

 

[night69]

"See what?"

"I swear I just saw someone cross the yard. Like from the corner of my eye."

"Can you see the kids?" I asked him, anxiety welling in my chest.

"Yeah, they're still sleeping," he said, standing on his tiptoes to better see.

"It's going to be weird living in the country," I said, hoping to reassure him. "Sound really carries out here."

"Let me get the door," he said absently and hurled his muscular shoulder against the wooden door.

It screeched and groaned with each thud of his shoulder. Soon it gave and the living room from my childhood appeared through the crack in the door, but different. Decayed. Entropic. The wallpaper fluttered in the cool breeze from the open door like strange leaves. The brown carpet was matted and tattered at the edges. I remembered the feel of it under my knees at Christmas as we handed crisply wrapped presents to one another. The smell of cinnamon and coffee. My mother's small hands brushing through my hair. My father dangling curls of shiny red ribbon above our disinterested black cat. Laughing. Hugging one another with each slip of the box lid, each whisp of tissue paper.

"Oh god, it's worse than I thought," my husband groaned as he peeked around the corner.

"It's going to be fine, Chris," I said and stepped inside. "Why don't you go and check on the boys?"

His boots clomped over the faded hardwood as he stalked out.

I went to the dust-smocked mantle and brushed my hand over the top, slicing through the pale dust with my palm, revealing a dark crescent of wood beneath. My fingertips traced over a photograph tucked against the wall. I picked it up. My heart beat as I recognized the jagged script on the back.

It was him.

Warmth spread across my belly. Wetness gathered warm and urgent like a gulf wave between my thighs. Antony. My Antony.

I flipped over the photograph to see his wide bright smile, his muscular shoulders flecked with water from the lake. His sandy hair tousled and wet.

I remembered that day. We were seventeen and we were in love. The midday sun glittered on the water like diamonds on blue satin. His cheeks and shoulders were scattered with summer freckles and his laugh boomed across secluded swimming hole. He bounded into the water, his obliques cutting long lines of tight flesh against his flat belly. I followed him, squealing and splashing in the waist-deep water feeling my nipples tighten. He ducked under the water and swam toward me, grabbing at my thighs as he popped his head just above the surface, smirking. His hair slicked back, curling faintly at his neck.

My body was crisp and new then, before my children. Unstretched and taut, I was a virgin with high, firm breasts. Not a wrinkle. Not a crease. My thighs were lean and long from riding horses with my older brothers, my arms and shoulders lined with muscle from pitching square bales of hay and slinging saddles onto the back of my sorrel gelding, Ranger.

 

[night69]

His boots clomped over the faded hardwood as he stalked out.

I went to the dust-smocked mantle and brushed my hand over the top, slicing through the pale dust with my palm, revealing a dark crescent of wood beneath. My fingertips traced over a photograph tucked against the wall. I picked it up. My heart beat as I recognized the jagged script on the back.

It was him.

Warmth spread across my belly. Wetness gathered warm and urgent like a gulf wave between my thighs. Antony. My Antony.

I flipped over the photograph to see his wide bright smile, his muscular shoulders flecked with water from the lake. His sandy hair tousled and wet.

I remembered that day. We were seventeen and we were in love. The midday sun glittered on the water like diamonds on blue satin. His cheeks and shoulders were scattered with summer freckles and his laugh boomed across secluded swimming hole. He bounded into the water, his obliques cutting long lines of tight flesh against his flat belly. I followed him, squealing and splashing in the waist-deep water feeling my nipples tighten. He ducked under the water and swam toward me, grabbing at my thighs as he popped his head just above the surface, smirking. His hair slicked back, curling faintly at his neck.

My body was crisp and new then, before my children. Unstretched and taut, I was a virgin with high, firm breasts. Not a wrinkle. Not a crease. My thighs were lean and long from riding horses with my older brothers, my arms and shoulders lined with muscle from pitching square bales of hay and slinging saddles onto the back of my sorrel gelding, Ranger.

His hand slid up my inner thigh under the water and grazed the edge of my bikini bottoms. His fingers lingering as he looked up at me. I reached for his hand and slid it under my swimsuit. His green eyes held steady to mine, his smirk fading in a look of serious concentration. The wind sifted through the bright green leaves in a hushed whisper as he stood up to his full height to pull me to his lean chest. I turned my mouth up to his and his soft, full lips covered mine. It was my tongue that nudged his mouth open to lap and caress. I could feel his erection pressing against my belly through his yellow swim trunks. That insistent warmth surged inside my body. My clitoris swelled as I pressed against his thigh, wrapping my long legs around his middle. He cradled my bottom as he carried me toward the sun-warmed granite boulders on the shore where our bright towels lay spread like Christmas ribbons.

He stepped up onto the sparkling boulder with me still wrapped around his hips, the muscles in his thighs arching and striated as the water streamed off of our bodies.

As he approached the flat-topped boulder, I unwrapped my legs from his middle and scooted backward onto my pink and yellow hibiscus beach towel. His cock jutted hard and thick against the wet fabric of his swim trunk as I untied my string bikini top and let the triangles of fabric fall away from my breasts. I could feel his eyes running over my body.

He licked his lips and crawled on top of the boulder to join me.

"Is it ok if I touch them?" He asked.

"It's not a museum," I quipped.

We giggled as his hard farm boy hands cupped my breasts. He lowered his lips to my petal pink nipples and kiss each one tentatively. I arched my back toward his warm mouth and touched myself through my wet bikini bottom. He sucked on my nipples, drawing small circles around my areolas.

 

[night69]

His hand slid up my inner thigh under the water and grazed the edge of my bikini bottoms. His fingers lingering as he looked up at me. I reached for his hand and slid it under my swimsuit. His green eyes held steady to mine, his smirk fading in a look of serious concentration. The wind sifted through the bright green leaves in a hushed whisper as he stood up to his full height to pull me to his lean chest. I turned my mouth up to his and his soft, full lips covered mine. It was my tongue that nudged his mouth open to lap and caress. I could feel his erection pressing against my belly through his yellow swim trunks. That insistent warmth surged inside my body. My clitoris swelled as I pressed against his thigh, wrapping my long legs around his middle. He cradled my bottom as he carried me toward the sun-warmed granite boulders on the shore where our bright towels lay spread like Christmas ribbons.

He stepped up onto the sparkling boulder with me still wrapped around his hips, the muscles in his thighs arching and striated as the water streamed off of our bodies.

As he approached the flat-topped boulder, I unwrapped my legs from his middle and scooted backward onto my pink and yellow hibiscus beach towel. His cock jutted hard and thick against the wet fabric of his swim trunk as I untied my string bikini top and let the triangles of fabric fall away from my breasts. I could feel his eyes running over my body.

He licked his lips and crawled on top of the boulder to join me.

"Is it ok if I touch them?" He asked.

"It's not a museum," I quipped.

We giggled as his hard farm boy hands cupped my breasts. He lowered his lips to my petal pink nipples and kiss each one tentatively. I arched my back toward his warm mouth and touched myself through my wet bikini bottom. He sucked on my nipples, drawing small circles around my areolas.

I slipped my hand down his shorts and touched his rigid, silky penis. He froze as a small pulse bumped against my palm. A small drop of slippery hot liquid slid from the head.

"Oh no. I think I can make it. Just give me one second," he breathed in my ear.

A sudden urge to grip and stroke him until he exploded into my hand seized me, but I fought it, withdrawing my hand and twining it through his wet hair, kissing him again and again as he slid his hand down my belly and under the stretchy fabric of my swimsuit. His fingers rubbing and stroking against my clit. I gushed and moaned as he slid a single finger inside of me.

"Am I hurting you?" He asked, his eyes wide.

"No. Don't stop," I breathed as the heat inside built with each stroke.

I pressed my fingertips against my swollen clit, as I had done so many times in my bedroom, laying on the carpet in front my stereo as Pink Floyd vibrated through the speakers. He moved his finger in and out as I stroked myself under the warm sun. The heat. The flush. Red bloomed behind my eyes as my orgasm spasmed through my belly.

I rolled over and pulled down his shorts to see his thick circumcised erection bob against his flat belly. The head was purplish and pearled with beads of clear ejaculate. I wanted to kiss it. To take it into my mouth and suck. He shivered as I pushed him down lightly to his back and kissed down his torso to his eager member. I slid it into my mouth, tasting the saltiness of it as it slid over my tongue. The smell of his sun-warmed skin rose around me as I bobbed my head and gripped his shaft, using my saliva to work up and down the delicate skin.

Very suddenly my mouth was flooded with viscous, salty cum.

The memory of this shimmering day was so real, so urgent, that I could feel my panties warm against my throbbing pussy. Someone was calling my name from far away.

"Ellie...Ellie? Ellie!"

I snapped out of my reverie to see Chris standing in front of me, his flinty black eyes staring into mine. He reached for my shoulder and then let his hand drop back to his side. Both of my sons stood rubbing their eyes in the same eerie twin gesture behind his legs.

"Mama?" Ollie, my oldest by four minutes said, his black eyes prefect replicas of his father's.

 

[night69]

I slipped my hand down his shorts and touched his rigid, silky penis. He froze as a small pulse bumped against my palm. A small drop of slippery hot liquid slid from the head.

"Oh no. I think I can make it. Just give me one second," he breathed in my ear.

A sudden urge to grip and stroke him until he exploded into my hand seized me, but I fought it, withdrawing my hand and twining it through his wet hair, kissing him again and again as he slid his hand down my belly and under the stretchy fabric of my swimsuit. His fingers rubbing and stroking against my clit. I gushed and moaned as he slid a single finger inside of me.

"Am I hurting you?" He asked, his eyes wide.

"No. Don't stop," I breathed as the heat inside built with each stroke.

I pressed my fingertips against my swollen clit, as I had done so many times in my bedroom, laying on the carpet in front my stereo as Pink Floyd vibrated through the speakers. He moved his finger in and out as I stroked myself under the warm sun. The heat. The flush. Red bloomed behind my eyes as my orgasm spasmed through my belly.

I rolled over and pulled down his shorts to see his thick circumcised erection bob against his flat belly. The head was purplish and pearled with beads of clear ejaculate. I wanted to kiss it. To take it into my mouth and suck. He shivered as I pushed him down lightly to his back and kissed down his torso to his eager member. I slid it into my mouth, tasting the saltiness of it as it slid over my tongue. The smell of his sun-warmed skin rose around me as I bobbed my head and gripped his shaft, using my saliva to work up and down the delicate skin.

Very suddenly my mouth was flooded with viscous, salty cum.

The memory of this shimmering day was so real, so urgent, that I could feel my panties warm against my throbbing pussy. Someone was calling my name from far away.

"Ellie...Ellie? Ellie!"

I snapped out of my reverie to see Chris standing in front of me, his flinty black eyes staring into mine. He reached for my shoulder and then let his hand drop back to his side. Both of my sons stood rubbing their eyes in the same eerie twin gesture behind his legs.

"Mama?" Ollie, my oldest by four minutes said, his black eyes prefect replicas of his father's.

"Hey there, handsome. Did you and Artie have a good nap?"

Guilt surged in my chest as I gripped the picture of Antony in my hand.

"Who's that?" Chris asked, reaching for the photograph.

I pulled it back to my chest away from his grasp.

"He was my first boyfriend. He died on his way to pick me up for a date."

"Oh," Chris said, his mouth a thin, neutral shape.

He didn't ask me anything else. He never did anymore. He just took our sons hands and led them upstairs to see their new rooms, leaving me holding the photograph and smelling Antony's skin on my hands.

***

I woke up alone in my mother's old bed, feeling the newly washed sheets crackle under me. Chris had been on his laptop when I went to bed, the blue light casting shadows across his tired face in the dark living room. Since his business went under, he rarely slept in the same bed with me anymore. He fell asleep on the couch, his head tilted backwards, his hands slack at his sides.

At first, I had wondered if he was watching porn. I had agonized in front of the mirror, plucking at the folds of skin on my sides and lifting my breasts, imagining my husband's hands running over my hips like they did when we were on vacation in Florida. His fingertips had traced my stretchmarks as he breathed hot in my ear, whispering how he loved my big breasts and pregnancy-stretched skin. I went downstairs to confront him about his porn usage, thinking about my students at the prison where I taught GED courses. My resentment bubbling into sexual fantasy where I was the center of their desire.

I padded up behind him, expecting a barrage of young bodies being fucked in a cacophony of pinks and browns. I held my breath, my heart beating.

The screen had been covered in spreadsheets.

As I lay in bed in the dark, shifting in the unfamiliar and yet familiar mustiness of my mother's house, the bed compressed beside me. The springs groaned as the mattress bowed under the weight.

"Chris?" I whispered at the large form under the comforter.

No answer. Typical.

"Chris? Are you ok?"

 

[night69]

"Hey there, handsome. Did you and Artie have a good nap?"

Guilt surged in my chest as I gripped the picture of Antony in my hand.

"Who's that?" Chris asked, reaching for the photograph.

I pulled it back to my chest away from his grasp.

"He was my first boyfriend. He died on his way to pick me up for a date."

"Oh," Chris said, his mouth a thin, neutral shape.

He didn't ask me anything else. He never did anymore. He just took our sons hands and led them upstairs to see their new rooms, leaving me holding the photograph and smelling Antony's skin on my hands.

***

I woke up alone in my mother's old bed, feeling the newly washed sheets crackle under me. Chris had been on his laptop when I went to bed, the blue light casting shadows across his tired face in the dark living room. Since his business went under, he rarely slept in the same bed with me anymore. He fell asleep on the couch, his head tilted backwards, his hands slack at his sides.

At first, I had wondered if he was watching porn. I had agonized in front of the mirror, plucking at the folds of skin on my sides and lifting my breasts, imagining my husband's hands running over my hips like they did when we were on vacation in Florida. His fingertips had traced my stretchmarks as he breathed hot in my ear, whispering how he loved my big breasts and pregnancy-stretched skin. I went downstairs to confront him about his porn usage, thinking about my students at the prison where I taught GED courses. My resentment bubbling into sexual fantasy where I was the center of their desire.

I padded up behind him, expecting a barrage of young bodies being fucked in a cacophony of pinks and browns. I held my breath, my heart beating.

The screen had been covered in spreadsheets.

As I lay in bed in the dark, shifting in the unfamiliar and yet familiar mustiness of my mother's house, the bed compressed beside me. The springs groaned as the mattress bowed under the weight.

"Chris?" I whispered at the large form under the comforter.

No answer. Typical.

"Chris? Are you ok?"

I felt a hand slide up my arm and slip under the back of my neck. The comforter reared up as a warm, taut body slid against mine. I felt the warm pressure of kisses on my neck and a large hand close over my breast, kneading it. An erection, hard and smooth, pressed against my thigh. My body flushed with pleasure, I reached for the hand on my breast and guided it to my aching clitoris. We hadn't had sex in months. I was dripping for him.

The large fingers drew circles on my hardened kernel as I bucked against the warm hand, bringing my self to the jagged edge of orgasm. Before I came, I turned my back to him and reached for his cock.

"Fuck me from behind. Spoon fuck me. I want you inside of me," I breathed.

I could feel the head of his thick cock pressing against my soaking labia, as I guided him in.

He stretched me as his member drove into me. I gasped. It felt huge inside of me.

Almost bigger than I remembered. He huffed into the back of my neck and shuddered, flooding me with hot cum. My vagina spasmed as he pumped into me and rubbed my clit.

Blissful warmth surged over my body. I turned over to face Chris, to snuggle onto his chest and play with his chest hair. The bed was empty. I rubbed my hand over the sheets to feel for the warmth of his body.

"Chris?!" The hair on the back of my neck stood up. "Chris!" I screamed.

"Yeah?" Chris' voice echoed up the stairwell. "What's wrong?"

His heavy footfalls on the stairwell bounced around the large, empty house. I whipped the comforter back and flicked on the bedside lamp. A single golden hair curved into a parentheses on the white sheet. No one in the house had that sandy blonde hair.

Chris burst into the room.

"What? What is it?"

I hesitated. He looked at me blearily.

"I thought you were here with me, but it wasn't you. Someone else was here. Someone got into bed with me."

"Was it the boys?" He asked.

"I don't think they can get out of their beds," I checked the baby monitor, flicking the switch on the side to listen. Nothing.

"Ok, just stay here. Don't move." He said, picking up a hammer I had used earlier for hanging pictures.

His black eyes flashed bright with purpose as he strode out of the room. As he left, I noticed the broadness of his shoulders and strength in his arms. His elbow shone with scar tissue from his motorcycle accident years ago. His body had softened some as he aged, but it was still firm and muscular. His salt and pepper stubble glittered over a strong jaw. He was handsome. I wanted him. I wanted to feel him inside of me.

I called to him.

"Chris, come back. I'm scared."

I heard him trudging back up the stairs. Soon, he stood in the doorway, the hammer swinging from his fist.

"I didn't see anyone. The doors were locked. The boys are asleep. I think you had a bad dream."

 

[night69]

I felt a hand slide up my arm and slip under the back of my neck. The comforter reared up as a warm, taut body slid against mine. I felt the warm pressure of kisses on my neck and a large hand close over my breast, kneading it. An erection, hard and smooth, pressed against my thigh. My body flushed with pleasure, I reached for the hand on my breast and guided it to my aching clitoris. We hadn't had sex in months. I was dripping for him.

The large fingers drew circles on my hardened kernel as I bucked against the warm hand, bringing my self to the jagged edge of orgasm. Before I came, I turned my back to him and reached for his cock.

"Fuck me from behind. Spoon fuck me. I want you inside of me," I breathed.

I could feel the head of his thick cock pressing against my soaking labia, as I guided him in.

He stretched me as his member drove into me. I gasped. It felt huge inside of me.

Almost bigger than I remembered. He huffed into the back of my neck and shuddered, flooding me with hot cum. My vagina spasmed as he pumped into me and rubbed my clit.

Blissful warmth surged over my body. I turned over to face Chris, to snuggle onto his chest and play with his chest hair. The bed was empty. I rubbed my hand over the sheets to feel for the warmth of his body.

"Chris?!" The hair on the back of my neck stood up. "Chris!" I screamed.

"Yeah?" Chris' voice echoed up the stairwell. "What's wrong?"

His heavy footfalls on the stairwell bounced around the large, empty house. I whipped the comforter back and flicked on the bedside lamp. A single golden hair curved into a parentheses on the white sheet. No one in the house had that sandy blonde hair.

Chris burst into the room.

"What? What is it?"

I hesitated. He looked at me blearily.

"I thought you were here with me, but it wasn't you. Someone else was here. Someone got into bed with me."

"Was it the boys?" He asked.

"I don't think they can get out of their beds," I checked the baby monitor, flicking the switch on the side to listen. Nothing.

"Ok, just stay here. Don't move." He said, picking up a hammer I had used earlier for hanging pictures.

His black eyes flashed bright with purpose as he strode out of the room. As he left, I noticed the broadness of his shoulders and strength in his arms. His elbow shone with scar tissue from his motorcycle accident years ago. His body had softened some as he aged, but it was still firm and muscular. His salt and pepper stubble glittered over a strong jaw. He was handsome. I wanted him. I wanted to feel him inside of me.

I called to him.

"Chris, come back. I'm scared."

I heard him trudging back up the stairs. Soon, he stood in the doorway, the hammer swinging from his fist.

"I didn't see anyone. The doors were locked. The boys are asleep. I think you had a bad dream."

"I did. Won't you come to bed?" I begged. "We could do some stuff." "Sorry. I still have work to do." My heart sank. "Oh ok." "I'll be up soon." "Ok." He put the hammer on the yellow paint-chipped dresser and walked out of the room. My heart sank. I just wanted him to see me. To remember me. To want me. Hot tears streamed down my cheeks as I lay down in bed and switched off the lamp. I swore I could feel someone stroking my back as I dozed off. *** It went on like this for months. I came to expect it. To look forward to it. I would bathe the boys and rush upstairs to slide under the covers and wait for his appearance. I knew then that it was Antony. My Antony reaching across the veil to touch me, to love me. I could smell him afterwards, like sunshine and clean sweat. Briny and warm. The scent of his shampoo touched the pillowcases. Even Chris noticed it on the rare occasion that he decided to sleep in the bed with me. He was forever pulling long strands of golden hair from his clothes. He dragged hairs from his mouth, shaking his head. "Where are these coming from?" He asked no one in particular. "And what is that smell? It smells like Vidal Sassoon." I felt like I was having an affair. Antony came to me every night. Some nights he just cradled me in his arms until I drifted off to sleep. On those nights, I dreamed about the plans we made as teenagers. We would sit on the sun-warmed boulders by the lake and thumb through National Geographic magazines, their pages wavy with moisture. He would prop his chin on my shoulder and point to the Sufi shrines, golden and ornate, in Turkmenistan . "We'll go there," he would whisper in my ear. I would turn the page to a glossy photograph of a dense green-black forest in Sweden, where wolves peered from the edges of the wood, their eyes yellow and steady and he would stroke my arm into gooseflesh and kiss the back of my neck. "We'll go there too." His lips brushed my ear. I would turn to him and twine my arms around his neck as he drew me into his lap to cradle and engulf me as the sun warmed our backs. I would wake up to find pine needles in my hair or a sandy locket that spun from my grasp and drifted to the bottom of the lake in a sad silverly ribbon all those years ago on my pillow. One night, after I read a chapter of The Hobbit to the boys and tucked their navy anchor-stitched quilts around their tiny shoulders, I rushed upstairs to get into the deep claw foot tub before my nightly rendezvous with my dead first love. We always called this bathroom the girl's room when I was a child because of the salmon pink tile and the pink ceramic fish with shiny porcelain bubbles mounted to the wall. I turned the faucet on to fill the tub and stripped off my clothes as the room filled with warm steam. I caught a glimpse of my body in the mirror. It had softened with the birth of my children and stretchmarks tracked across my belly and hips. My hair curled to my shoulders over the soft clear skin of my arms. I did not look like the actresses on the television. I looked like a mother. I looked like a friend. My breasts were soft and heavy and my arms padded, better to envelope, better to soothe, better to scrub pots and teach classes. I touched myself, gently parting the folds of my vulva to stroke my clitoris. My body knew me and I knew it and this was sexier than the flat belly of my teenaged years. As I peered into the steamy mirror, Antony's outline appeared behind me. My heart thudded in my throat. I hadn't seen him other than the dreams. I had only felt his presence and body. He approached and slid his hands over my shoulders to fondle my breasts. He lifted them and squeezed them as my nipples tightened at his touch. He slid his hand to the side of my neck and brushed my hair aside as he moved his other hand down to my dripping slit and slipped two fingers inside of me. I gushed into the palm of his hand and arched backwards to feel his warm, hairless chest heaving against my back. He was wearing the swim trunks from my memories. His erection pressed into my hip as he sucked at my ear lobe.

 

[night69]

"I did. Won't you come to bed?" I begged. "We could do some stuff." "Sorry. I still have work to do." My heart sank. "Oh ok." "I'll be up soon." "Ok." He put the hammer on the yellow paint-chipped dresser and walked out of the room. My heart sank. I just wanted him to see me. To remember me. To want me. Hot tears streamed down my cheeks as I lay down in bed and switched off the lamp. I swore I could feel someone stroking my back as I dozed off. *** It went on like this for months. I came to expect it. To look forward to it. I would bathe the boys and rush upstairs to slide under the covers and wait for his appearance. I knew then that it was Antony. My Antony reaching across the veil to touch me, to love me. I could smell him afterwards, like sunshine and clean sweat. Briny and warm. The scent of his shampoo touched the pillowcases. Even Chris noticed it on the rare occasion that he decided to sleep in the bed with me. He was forever pulling long strands of golden hair from his clothes. He dragged hairs from his mouth, shaking his head. "Where are these coming from?" He asked no one in particular. "And what is that smell? It smells like Vidal Sassoon." I felt like I was having an affair. Antony came to me every night. Some nights he just cradled me in his arms until I drifted off to sleep. On those nights, I dreamed about the plans we made as teenagers. We would sit on the sun-warmed boulders by the lake and thumb through National Geographic magazines, their pages wavy with moisture. He would prop his chin on my shoulder and point to the Sufi shrines, golden and ornate, in Turkmenistan . "We'll go there," he would whisper in my ear. I would turn the page to a glossy photograph of a dense green-black forest in Sweden, where wolves peered from the edges of the wood, their eyes yellow and steady and he would stroke my arm into gooseflesh and kiss the back of my neck. "We'll go there too." His lips brushed my ear. I would turn to him and twine my arms around his neck as he drew me into his lap to cradle and engulf me as the sun warmed our backs. I would wake up to find pine needles in my hair or a sandy locket that spun from my grasp and drifted to the bottom of the lake in a sad silverly ribbon all those years ago on my pillow. One night, after I read a chapter of The Hobbit to the boys and tucked their navy anchor-stitched quilts around their tiny shoulders, I rushed upstairs to get into the deep claw foot tub before my nightly rendezvous with my dead first love. We always called this bathroom the girl's room when I was a child because of the salmon pink tile and the pink ceramic fish with shiny porcelain bubbles mounted to the wall. I turned the faucet on to fill the tub and stripped off my clothes as the room filled with warm steam. I caught a glimpse of my body in the mirror. It had softened with the birth of my children and stretchmarks tracked across my belly and hips. My hair curled to my shoulders over the soft clear skin of my arms. I did not look like the actresses on the television. I looked like a mother. I looked like a friend. My breasts were soft and heavy and my arms padded, better to envelope, better to soothe, better to scrub pots and teach classes. I touched myself, gently parting the folds of my vulva to stroke my clitoris. My body knew me and I knew it and this was sexier than the flat belly of my teenaged years. As I peered into the steamy mirror, Antony's outline appeared behind me. My heart thudded in my throat. I hadn't seen him other than the dreams. I had only felt his presence and body. He approached and slid his hands over my shoulders to fondle my breasts. He lifted them and squeezed them as my nipples tightened at his touch. He slid his hand to the side of my neck and brushed my hair aside as he moved his other hand down to my dripping slit and slipped two fingers inside of me. I gushed into the palm of his hand and arched backwards to feel his warm, hairless chest heaving against my back. He was wearing the swim trunks from my memories. His erection pressed into my hip as he sucked at my ear lobe.

The steam from the bath rose around us and I found myself back on that granite shore, the cold quarry waters lapping against the gray stone. Antony knelt between my thighs and parted them with his palms, lowering his mouth to my wet cunt. I could feel his warm tongue lap at my tender folds, parting them and gently nibbling and sucking on the soft pink lips. I groaned and arched my hips toward his full lips.

As I was about to explode, I heard a knocking. Then a masculine voice saying my name.

"Ellie? Jesus, it's steamy in here. Ellie what are you doing?"

I was shaken from my reverie to see Chris standing in the middle of the bathroom, his eyes wide. The quarry lake dissolved from my mind's eye. Antony looked up at me from between my legs on the bathroom floor.

"What the fuck? Who the fuck is this?"

Chris lunged toward him, his fists tight, to grab him. As he reached Antony, the ghost rose dark and tall like an afternoon shadow on the wall. Chris fell backward onto the pink tile floor his hands sprawled behind him. I grabbed his arm and flung my naked body over my husband, hoping my weight would hold him.

"It's not what you think!" I said, panicked.

His dilated pupils tracked Antony's shadow figure. He gripped my upper arm and wriggled under me.

 

[night69]

The steam from the bath rose around us and I found myself back on that granite shore, the cold quarry waters lapping against the gray stone. Antony knelt between my thighs and parted them with his palms, lowering his mouth to my wet cunt. I could feel his warm tongue lap at my tender folds, parting them and gently nibbling and sucking on the soft pink lips. I groaned and arched my hips toward his full lips.

As I was about to explode, I heard a knocking. Then a masculine voice saying my name.

"Ellie? Jesus, it's steamy in here. Ellie what are you doing?"

I was shaken from my reverie to see Chris standing in the middle of the bathroom, his eyes wide. The quarry lake dissolved from my mind's eye. Antony looked up at me from between my legs on the bathroom floor.

"What the fuck? Who the fuck is this?"

Chris lunged toward him, his fists tight, to grab him. As he reached Antony, the ghost rose dark and tall like an afternoon shadow on the wall. Chris fell backward onto the pink tile floor his hands sprawled behind him. I grabbed his arm and flung my naked body over my husband, hoping my weight would hold him.

"It's not what you think!" I said, panicked.

His dilated pupils tracked Antony's shadow figure. He gripped my upper arm and wriggled under me.

"What is that thing?" He whispered.

"It's...I mean he is my dead boyfriend." The words sounded crazy. "The picture you saw."

Antony glided down toward the floor and reformed into the tall, lean apparition of a young man. His sandy hair curled onto his forehead and he swept it away with his gauzy hand.

"Were you fucking that thing?" Chris' gaze flashed with anger.

My anger surged through me, building in my pulsing jaw. My heart rate thudded in a tattoo of rage and grief. I balled his t-shirt in my fists and pushed my face close to his.

"Well you aren't fucking me! You haven't fucked me in months!"

He stared into my eyes, his mouth opened and closed. I never raised my voice. I was always the calm one. The even one.

He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me to him. Our mouth met fiercely. His lips pressed against mine, our tongues wrapping and darting around one another. His hands gathered my breasts and pressed them together, drawing them up toward his mouth. He sucked each nipple, the heat of his mouth delicious on my bare skin as he drew me down to the bathroom floor. I ground my hips against his, feeling his stiff cock through his pajama bottoms nudging against my mons as I sprawled on top of him.

He flipped me onto my back, the cold tile pressing against my ass, as he ripped down his pajama bottoms and drove his thick cock into my dripping cunt. I grabbed his ass and pulled him closer as I pushed against him. His black eyes looking into mine with searing focus. Suddenly he stopped pumping.

"I'm going to cum, but I want to see you cum first. I want to see you cum over and over again," he whispered into my ear.

He pulled out and scooted down between my legs to suck at my stiff clit. He pushed two fingers inside of me and curved them upward as he slid them in and out, while he sucked me. I pressed my heels into the tile as I came, jetting fluid across the floor. He pulled out his fingers and sucked them clean.

He picked me up and carried me to my childhood bedroom that adjoined the bathroom, his arms strong and steady. When we reached the full-sized bed draped in soft patchwork quilts, he lay me down and rolled me to my stomach. He ran his hands from my calves up to my ass where he parted the cheeks and probed his tongue into my anus, while he glided his fingers in and out of my pussy. I pressed my swollen clit against the bed, as he dragged me backward so that my legs hung off the bed, pleasure blooming in my belly.

 

[night69]

"What is that thing?" He whispered.

"It's...I mean he is my dead boyfriend." The words sounded crazy. "The picture you saw."

Antony glided down toward the floor and reformed into the tall, lean apparition of a young man. His sandy hair curled onto his forehead and he swept it away with his gauzy hand.

"Were you fucking that thing?" Chris' gaze flashed with anger.

My anger surged through me, building in my pulsing jaw. My heart rate thudded in a tattoo of rage and grief. I balled his t-shirt in my fists and pushed my face close to his.

"Well you aren't fucking me! You haven't fucked me in months!"

He stared into my eyes, his mouth opened and closed. I never raised my voice. I was always the calm one. The even one.

He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me to him. Our mouth met fiercely. His lips pressed against mine, our tongues wrapping and darting around one another. His hands gathered my breasts and pressed them together, drawing them up toward his mouth. He sucked each nipple, the heat of his mouth delicious on my bare skin as he drew me down to the bathroom floor. I ground my hips against his, feeling his stiff cock through his pajama bottoms nudging against my mons as I sprawled on top of him.

He flipped me onto my back, the cold tile pressing against my ass, as he ripped down his pajama bottoms and drove his thick cock into my dripping cunt. I grabbed his ass and pulled him closer as I pushed against him. His black eyes looking into mine with searing focus. Suddenly he stopped pumping.

"I'm going to cum, but I want to see you cum first. I want to see you cum over and over again," he whispered into my ear.

He pulled out and scooted down between my legs to suck at my stiff clit. He pushed two fingers inside of me and curved them upward as he slid them in and out, while he sucked me. I pressed my heels into the tile as I came, jetting fluid across the floor. He pulled out his fingers and sucked them clean.

He picked me up and carried me to my childhood bedroom that adjoined the bathroom, his arms strong and steady. When we reached the full-sized bed draped in soft patchwork quilts, he lay me down and rolled me to my stomach. He ran his hands from my calves up to my ass where he parted the cheeks and probed his tongue into my anus, while he glided his fingers in and out of my pussy. I pressed my swollen clit against the bed, as he dragged me backward so that my legs hung off the bed, pleasure blooming in my belly.

"Fuck me, Chris," I said as I bunched the sheets in my fists.

He spat into his hand and rubbed the head of his cock before he pushed it into me, splitting me, fucking me. A clenching heat seized my body as I rubbed my clit against the edge of the mattress. I gripped him inside of me, spurting my wetness all over his thighs.

I pushed backward off the mattress to decouple before he came and turned to face him.

"Lay down," I commanded, turning him so that his back was to the bed.

I lightly pushed his brown muscled chest and he fell backward onto the reds and blues and yellows of the stitched quilt. The muscles of his thighs contracted into lean cuts as I mounted him, enveloping his dribbling cock in my hungry slit. I faced him and looked into his shining black eyes, glazed with desire. I slid my hand under his jaw and held his throat as I bounced up and down. His hands sliding over my swaying breasts.

He clutched unctuous fistfuls of my soft flesh as he thrust up into me, his belly tight as his cum filled me. His teeth bared like a yellow-eyed black wolf.

I released his throat and dismounted, flinging my leg over his hips and draping my arm over his belly. His ribs rose and fell as he caught his breath. He looked down at me and drew me up in his arms to plant a kiss on my forehead. He smelled like soap and sweat and woodsmoke. His fingers traced the back of my arm as we lay entwined under the glow-in-the-dark stars plastered to the popcorn ceiling. I nestled against his chest to listen to his slowing heartbeat thud like a drumbeat.

"I'm sorry, El," he said, quietly stroking my hair.

A shadow raced across the ceiling and the temperature dipped. The lamp beside the bed flicked on and off, stuttering bright light across the dimpled walls. The lanky figure of Antony wavered in the doorway, a projection of a projection, gauzy and light. Streams of light floated off of his hands and face in bluish ribbons.

I waved at him. Chris bundled me tighter and spoke to the apparition.

"I can take care of her now. Thank you for reminding me."

Antony's figure flickered as Chris nodded to the ghost of my first love.

"I give you both my word," he said into my hair, his breath warm against my scalp.

Antony nodded, streams of color pouring from his face and dissipating into the quiet dark. His form sifted away into the dark, leaving only our quiet breath in the creaking house.

Chris sat up and pulled the quilt over us, smoothing it over our legs.

"I love you, El," he whispered.

"I love you too," I said.

And I meant it.

Sometimes the path back to light is a strange one, one shrouded in an unearthly caul.

Sometimes the dead come to remind us to live.