For Love of the Dead Page 4

  Jake paused, to heighten the anticipation, picking up a lighter and taking his time to ignite the several dozen tea candles he kept in ceramic holders scattered about the room—on a shelf above the headboard, atop his dresser, and on the bedside tables. He winced when the lighter grew hot but kept going until he was sure he had enough light for the desired effect. When he turned to approach Mario again, he grinned at the other man’s expression when he caught sight of Jake’s eyes clearly for the first time. Neither the dim light in the living room nor the atmosphere of the bar had been bright enough for Mario to appreciate their true color before now.

  Jake enjoyed the moment; he always did. He knew, without being at all stuck up about it, that he was very good looking. Every morning, his mirror showed him a square jaw, wide cheekbones, a beauty that was somewhere between rugged and classically handsome, a clear complexion set off by the longish locks of his tousled mop of hair that no matter how he attacked it with brush or comb always seemed artfully and attractively disheveled. His lips were full and lush, his teeth naturally square and white, strong teeth like blunted boulders, his nose wide but nonetheless gracefully formed, suiting the rest of his face.

  As for his eyes: he knew his eyes were his best feature. They were not merely blue, but terribly dark, akin to midnight, at first a monotone color almost black. Under the bar lighting, Mario had probably not even noticed they were blue and had instead assumed they were a very dark brown. He would have completely missed the strange sparkling within Jake’s pupils, flashes of cerulean or the purple-tinge of morning glory, which instilled them with light and life, a vibrant twinkling. People meeting him often could not resist staring, sensing there was something to be discovered within those strangely attractive orbs, and though modest by nature, Jake always vicariously enjoyed the intrigued pleasure a new lover gained from looking into them.

  “Your eyes,” Mario whispered, softly and with amazement.

  “I know,” Jake replied.

  Without another word, he climbed onto the bed and stretched himself the full length of Mario’s body, careful to distribute his weight so the young man would feel no discomfort. Bare chest to bare chest, muscled stomach to muscled stomach, he lay atop him face to face, letting him get a closer look. Mario reached up and lovingly traced the bone under Jake’s right eye with a finger, moving down the side of his nose to the indentation of his upper lip. Jake’s tongue peeped out and licked. Even at that slight touch, he could feel Mario’s body shudder beneath him. Mischievously, he opened his mouth and took the finger in, wetting it, then nuzzling at the webs of flesh between Mario’s fingers, licking his palm, relishing the quivers he elicited. He found to his great delight that a single hand, a palm, a wrist, could be the site of erotic pleasure and he hastened to experiment with the new discovery.

  Jake kissed Mario again and again. Not on his mouth this time, but using the center of his body like a road map, planting kisses on his throat, his chest, his solar plexus, his stomach, as if placing markers along the route to a forbidden destination. He paused at his navel—an outie, he noticed with pleasure—a tight knot of flesh, a perky protrusion, lighter than the rest of Mario’s stomach. He rounded it with his tongue; the skin of Mario’s belly fluttered. While his lover was distracted, Jake adroitly unbuttoned the darker man’s fly, and instinctively Mario lifted his hips so Jake could work his jeans past the hump of his butt.

  Absent underwear, the staff of his dick sprang up like a monument, long and slender, proud and erect, the tip jauntily curved upward, vibrating with the surge of the thick, milky juice it contained. Even now, a droplet oozed from the end, rolled over the glans, and dripped off, a tiny splatter marring the perfect surface of Mario’s heaving stomach. Without hesitation, Jake lapped it up.

  He returned to Mario’s cock, lavishing the source of the milky fluid with enthusiastic attention. His lips roved around the smooth flesh of the head, encasing it in warmth, and he formed the tip of his tongue into a sharp point to tease at the opening, coaxing out a few more drops of Mario’s salty essence. Mario moaned and his hips thrust forward, but Jake had been waiting for the motion. He avoided taking the pulsing organ into his mouth, instead prolonging his teasing by licking along the underside of the shaft, moving from tip to groin with excruciating slowness, then back from groin to tip at a much faster speed.

  Down slow. Up fast. Down slow. Up fast.

  Mario’s body writhed and squirmed. His breath came in harsh pants and the hair of his groin grew damp with sweat. It was like being jerked off with infinitesimal languor by Jake’s tongue rather than his hand.

  When the larger man’s sensitive lips felt the rush of blood in the veins of Mario’s dick signifying he was reaching the verge of coming, he stopped. Positioning himself on his knees and elbows, he gazed down at the naked man beneath with a satisfied grin. Mario reached up, grabbed his shoulders and sought to pull him full length down atop him. But Jake resisted. He rolled off the bed and stood fully within Mario’s range of sight. He unzipped his fly, seeming to pause for an instant between the unlocking of each of the zipper’s teeth. The bulge of his dick was revealed inch by inch, practically bursting the seams of his white briefs.

  Like a stripper who had honed disrobing to a fine art, Jake rolled his own pants down from the waist past the swell of his butt, sliding them past his muscular thighs and rounded calves, taking his time until they pooled at his ankles and he could step out of them. He allowed Mario only a moment to appreciate his huge manhood, cached inside the shorts. He’d intended to heighten the anticipation by denying the dark boy the sight for as long as possible, but Jake’s urgency was growing too great.

  Delaying his own satisfaction was delicious self torture, but he knew he could only hold out so long. Even now, his dick straining against the elastic band of his briefs was growing painful. He had to free it soon and indulge its desires, or he feared he would blow his first load where he stood. And free it he did.

  He peeled off the briefs, sighing at the small relief the absence of the constraining cotton provided. His dick jutted out, not impossibly huge but thick, like a column on the portico of a temple honoring some forgotten fertility god, the veins standing out in bas relief, pumped full of blood. With one part of his mind, he gauged his level of arousal, and though he was almost desperate to bury his staff in Mario’s delectable ass, he judged he had another minute or two before the desire completely overtook him to the exclusion of all else.

  Jake took advantage of the time. He placed one hand on his hip and raised the other above his head, palm behind his neck and flexed his biceps to make it stand out. His body twisted slightly and his lats sprang into prominence. He knew from experience that most guys expected him to be beefier than he was due to the breadth of his shoulders and the barrel of his chest. Almost always, once they got a look at him nude, his lovers were shocked and pleasantly surprised by what they saw.

  Jake stripped like a young god. Though his frame was large, it was sheathed in trim, toned and athletic muscle, lean and powerful like a greyhound. Seeing him only from the front, guys often thought he had a football player’s or wrestler’s build. But when Jake stood sideways and shirtless, he had the smooth, long muscles of a swimmer or runner, and his waist from front to back was so flat and slim, it was remarkable all his internal organs fit within its scope.

  He posed for a long moment. The midnight dark thatch of hair under his exposed armpit released a trickle of perspiration that rolled down the side of his chest and over the ridges of his upper ribs. His dick lay full and hard against the thigh above his slightly bent right leg. He tightened the muscle of his thigh and it sprang out, only to smack back against his thigh when the muscles released.

  Mario gasped in wonder, and that was all the signal Jake needed.

  He flung himself on top of the Greek youth. Their fingers clutched at each other, slipping from sweat-soaked skin, slapping against hard-muscled flesh as they sought a grip. Their lips joined and their tongues sought ea
ch other’s throats in a wrestling match where each strove for dominance in the other’s mouth. Mario gave in first and, with a cry of desperate pleading, wailed, “God! Yes!

  Do it! Do it now!”

  Without further encouragement, Jake slipped his hands underneath Mario’s shoulders and flipped him onto his stomach. His ass was everything he’d hoped for—the perfect bubble butt. Even now, the muscles were clenching and unclenching, the smooth satiny globes begging for entry, the puckered pulsing skin of Mario’s rosebud hungry with desire.

  Jake positioned himself with the tip of his dick poised at the entrance to the other man’s eager hole, allowing him to feel the pressure but not quite penetrating the threshold—not yet. He waited while Mario thrashed and cried out with inarticulate, primal sounds beneath him until he heard the words he’d been waiting for.

  “Fuck me! Please! God! Fuck me hard!”

  Jake was happy to obey. He plunged down in a swift, smooth stroke and felt that marvelous ass open to receive the pleasure he offered. It was a mark of Mario’s arousal that, although he was tight and firm, there was little resistance. The initial thrust pierced to the boy’s core, and from Mario’s squeal of mingled pain and ecstasy, it was clear Jake had hit the sweet spot on his first try.

  Mario clamped his teeth down on the pillow to keep from screaming in earnest. His fingers clutched at the rumpled sheets. His feet scrabbled at the blanket jumbled at the foot of the bed in a parody of running. He pushed upward with his ass, slamming his tailbone against Jake’s groin, urging him deeper, ever deeper.

  Jake pumped strong and constant, catching the rhythm of their bodies and coasting along with it. The sweat on Mario’s back mixed with his own perspiration and matted the hair on his chest. Moisture dripped from his groin and thighs and his breathing became ragged as the effort started to wind him. On and on it went; the endurance of the Greek boy was truly astonishing. Most guys would have shot at least once already. Mario’s ass would surely have fond remembrances of this evening for several days to come.

  Finally, the dark-skinned boy’s entire body stiffened as if frozen in time for a moment. The tension increased, building like storm clouds pausing as they crested a hill just before releasing a deluge onto a valley below. It was an electric sensation that Jake could feel in his dick, sweeping into his body through his groin, past his stomach and centering in his chest.

  Suddenly, there was a rumble in Mario’s torso, a deep and rolling sound in the lower register of his voice, and he gave vent to a harsh, rough growl. His orgasm took hold of his body, and from the shudders rippling across his lean physique, it was as if it had been wrenched from the innermost parts of his being with tongs or forceps.

  Jake felt like he had a bear underneath him, or a lion, or some other wild animal. The sound worked on him, seemed to get inside him. It was erotic and primitive and he knew his own release could no longer be denied. His hips bucked; he continued his pumping while his chest and shoulder muscles clenched and his entire body whipped back and forth with each thrust. He exploded, feeling his hot sperm shoot from the end of his dick, six or seven cataclysms of lust gradually ebbing to another dozen twitches when Mario tightened his cheeks to coax out the last few drops.

  When it was over and their breathing had returned to something akin to normal, Jake pulled out and, rolling over onto his back, he decorated Mario’s brow and eyelids with kisses before gathering him into the shelter of his chest, and together they drifted off into contented and surfeited sleep.

  Breakfast the next morning held its share of erotic promise but as both young men were worn out from the night before, their playful pinches, caresses, nibbles, and licks never progressed past the slap-and-tickle stage. Jake had done his best with the meager contents of his larder; he usually joined Lucille for meals in the main house. Coffee, bagels, some toast, orange juice just on the verge of souring when the sugars became the sweetest, and that wonderful fruit-flavored cream cheese. Jake enjoyed licking the sweet topping from Mario’s chest and stomach, and the Greek boy was delighted to return the favor while focusing on Jake’s thighs and the backs of his knees—who could have guessed cream cheese could be as erotic as the most exotic love oil?—but their sex play stopped before any actual intercourse.

  They showered together and dressed slowly and reluctantly, wanting to prolong the sight of each other’s naked bodies. They exchanged telephone numbers and agreed tentatively to meet again at the bar the following night. Each sensed something in the other, something he had been looking for, but both were too shy to take the risk of saying anything too revealing after but a single night of shared passion. All too soon, it was time for Mario to leave.

  Of course, when they emerged into the living room, now washed with the morning light, Mario caught his first eyeful of the photographs on Jake’s walls and the huskier man felt his heart twist and shrivel. He knew all too well what the likely reaction would be.

  “Are those...?” Mario said with disbelief after closing his dropped jaw. “Are those dead guys?”

  Jake lowered his eyes, shifted his feet uncomfortably and could only mumble assent.

  “Why do you have pictures of a bunch of dead guys all over your walls?”

  Seeing the fear and discomfort in the dark eyes made Jake cringe.

  “I can explain,” he stammered, not happy to have to justify his rather odd hobby but unwilling to compromise himself even for this man who he believed he might eventually come to actually love.

  Mario stood patiently waiting but it was clear from his stance and the way his eyes kept darting toward the door that he was on the verge of bolting.

  “I’m...well...I’m in the funeral business, actually.” He waved his hand to take in the cottage. “You probably didn’t notice last night...we were sort of preoccupied...” He ventured a tentative grin which was met with a stony expression. “The cottage is in back of the funeral parlor. Gentle Rest. It comes with the job.”

  “The pictures?” The color drained from Mario’s tanned skin and he looked slightly ill, his eyes still fixed on Jake’s face dubiously and holding more than a hint of fear which Jake interpreted as showing doubts of his sanity.

  In for a penny, Jake thought, and slumped onto the couch, motioning for Mario to take a seat in the overstuffed chair across the coffee table.

  Hesitantly, Mario sat, but he was careful to check, as Jake observed sadly, that his path to the door remained unobstructed should he need to make a quick exit.

  “The woman who owns the place, Lucille, she sort of adopted me. I’m an orphan, you see. And she knew I was gay from the start so...”

  He spread his hands helplessly as he fumbled for the explanation which in the past had come to him so often by rote. Given his budding feelings for the Greek boy, he suddenly found the words terribly difficult to find.

  “Someone in her family was gay as well. I don’t know who. She never told me. I was already in mortuary school when we met. My lover...” Jake had to consciously refrain from choking on the words when Devin’s smiling face swam into his mind. “He died without any family but me and neither of us had much money. The funeral was here at Gentle Rest because back then she was already doing it.”

  Doing what?” Mario’s voice was a soft croak.

  “Donating. When AIDS first hit, there were a lot of funeral homes who were afraid, a lot of families who didn’t want to be bothered with a funeral for their faggot brothers or their pervert sons. They’d die alone and their bodies would get dumped at the morgue unclaimed. Not even buried because it was too expensive for the county. Just cremated and put into a common grave. Nobody wanted them. No one remembered.”

  A glimmer of comprehension seemed to dawn in the back of Mario’s eyes—or at least, Jake prayed he was interpreting things correctly.

  “These are not men who died of AIDS,” Mario hazarded, still confused and frightened but intrigued nonetheless. “These men are not wasted away. They are all...beautiful.”

  Jake nod
ded miserably. He had no idea how this man would take what he would say next but he desperately hoped he would understand.

  “In time, the fear of the disease went away mostly. But the prejudice and the hatred is still around. This is a big city. Gay guys whose families have abandoned them come here to be safe and, sometimes, well...they die. Alone. I would see them when they came in and I would think about Devin, about how we never really had a chance, and I’d wonder...”

  His voice trailed off. Mario’s hesitant expression made him wonder if he’s gone too far, said too much, but there was interest there. The dark-skinned boy was uncertain of what he would hear, but if Jake was reading him correctly, he was interested in what the mortician had to say. “I’d always wonder how many of them were like Devin. He was gone, and I had no illusions about that.” Jake’s voice took on a tinge of bitter regret. “But these guys...if I’d met them when they were alive...what were they like? Could I have...” His voice lowered to a whisper. “Could I have loved one of them?”

  Uncomfortable with how much he’d bared his soul, Jake rose from the couch and winced when Mario flinched back in his chair. Trying to ignore the reaction, he took one of the photos from the wall behind the couch. He held it out.

  “Here. Take it. It won’t bite. Tell me what you see.”

  Gingerly, as if somehow the death depicted in the photograph might rub off onto his hands, Mario took it, holding the frame with his fingers by the edges.

  “Tell me,” Jake encouraged softly.

  “He is dead,” Mario said tonelessly, sparing the picture the briefest glance.