Chris

“Could we like maybe? I would really like to kiss you.” I knew he was being honest as he moved towards me.

It was tempting, yes. “And I would like to kiss you too, but not tonight.” It didn’t feel right.

“I don’t get it.” And his look showed he was serious.

“And you probably wouldn’t understand if I spent the rest of the night trying to explain it to you.” And he just looked at me.

“You think I’m stupid?” He asked. He was testing me.

“I never said that. You could be my son; we’re from two different generations. And.”

“And what?” he questioned. “I saw those pictures, who is he?” And he waited.

Ok? I thought. You want to open that shit-suit case I carry; fine? “It’s not who he is, but who he was. He was my best friend, my little brother, and my husband for almost eight years.”

“You were married to a guy?” And he shook his head.

“We lived like that and as you saw; you look a little like him. I don’t know if I can.” And I reached back for the bottle this time.

“So you’re gay?” He asked and with a tilted head he kind of smiled, like knowing.

“What’s with the labels? I never said that. If gay is going to bed every night and waking up next to the one that holds your heart in the palm of their hand; what is that? If you call it gay, then every married couple is gay.” I needed to pull myself together. The fuckin Scotch.

“You loved him?” He asked.

“I love lots of things. I love my car, love certain kinds of ice cream, and the smell of Yellow Roses.” I enjoyed the look and smile on his face.

“The way we were, dumbass; there has to be something higher than just love.” I knew he was struggling with that and thinking he was too dumb to understand.

“He’s the one you built the house with? It wasn’t for resale, was it?” He had me there.

“If we don’t go to bed, one, or both of us, is going to wake up drowned.”

“I’m willing to risk it.” And he dunked down again in the middle.

Chris came back up slicking his hair and ran his hands over his face again. “I get it.” He said moving to the other side and sitting on the edge looking at me from six feet away.

‘OK. Fuck me. I mean fuck me into next year.’ He sat there with his heavy cock taunting me hanging down between big balls, eyes seeing mine, and he knew.

“You said you weren’t a ‘hookup’ kind of guy; I’m not either. Don’t ask me why I sat down next to you because I have no fuckin idea. I see something with you and if you want to go slow we can beat off till then.” And he smiled at mine.

“Do you know how many species mate for life, Chris? I do. They take a partner and if something happens to one the other suffers the loss for the rest of their life. It’s just the way it is.” And I looked at his dumbfounded face with his flaccid cock.

“So? You’re gonna tell me you plan to spend the rest of your life alone? Is that what he would have done?” I thought about that and was sure he would have.

“That is a real twisted way to think; just saying. You have so much left to experience and even more to give. It seems like a big waste of life.” I knew then there was a reason I motioned to the stool next to me.

I stood not sure I could, “You are in the guest room, there are clothes in the drawers and closet that I’m sure will fit. I’m going to bed.” It took a second.

I saw him stand and catch me. “I’m good, Jr.” And I pulled away.

He helped me to bed, I seriously needed it. I dreamt. I had an a-rang tang, or I was one. We have all found ourselves wishing for longer arms from time to time. My head hurt and I wondered if what I remembered happened, or if it was a dream?

I smelled pork. I was dead and in heaven, they have pork here. I was ok with that. But I wasn’t dead. I know that smell. I drink my fair share every night as I write; my head fuckin hurt, that’s new.

I brushed my skank mouth, put my robe on, and walked to the kitchen. I was obviously dead. He had found the drawers and donned zebra-stripped briefs. And let’s not forget the apron.

“You must really like pig. I’ll do the eggs in a minute, it’s like I knew where everything was.” He showed surprise in his look and voice.

I sat at the bar watching him clean stuff as he cooked, the apron only covering his front leaving his ass to my eyes. I thought about the underwear drawer and wished he’d chosen a thong.

He had already started the coffee machine and warmed the cream; a perfect fuckin cup along with a view. He never asked how I liked my eggs, put butter and cinnamon-sugar on my English muffin, and took the apron off before turning to serve me.

I had been eating alone for so long I was kind of self-conches eating with him next to me. He had showered and I could smell the cologne I knew was on the dresser and the briefs that held his sweetest parts.

“Why you still wearing that ring, Ry?” It was a simple question with a meaning I wasn’t sure he’d understand.

There had only been one other person who ever called me that and it caused me to stop eating. “What?” He asked looking back at me.

“How long have you been playing the drums?” I asked.

“What?” he questioned never expecting that and it took us in another direction.

“How long have you been playing the

drums? I didn’t stutter.” I needed to know.

“Since before I can remember. My Mom tells the story every chance she gets. Guess when I was little I would line up toys and tap them to hear the sound; didn’t play with them; just played with the sound they made.” And I took another bite.

“When I was two she’d lay out pots and pans and I’d play with wooden spoons. They got me a five-piece when I turned four. Why?”

“Want another coffee?” I asked.

“I’ll get it,” and he stood.

I watched him pour the perfect amount of coffee, cream, and milk into my cup. He put it in the microwave and tested it for heat with his lips. This beautiful boy turned and set it in front of me, “Just the way you like it.” And our eyes met.

We finished breakfast, sat in silence for a while, and then I asked him. This couldn’t be a coincidence. “Wanna play a game?” I asked.

“What do I get if I win?” And he smiled with dimples.

“A kiss,” I told him. Thought that would be enough.

“I’m game. What if I don’t win?” He asked back.

“Then you’ll get dressed and leave. Do you trust me?” I asked after a long pause.

“I have no reason not to.” He was all in.

“I’m gonna blindfold you; got a problem with that?”

“I’m really not into kinky, but I’ll make an exception for you.” Don’t you dare pull those eyes on me boy?

I took the tie from my robe and wrapped it around his head making sure he couldn’t see. “I’m gonna turn you around and move you. You ok with that?” And he nodded.

I turned him and walked us around the house. “Where are you right now?” I asked.

“The living room.” He was right.

“Where’s the front door?” I asked and he pointed.

“Ok, that’s one for you.” And I started turning him again and walking, then sat him down.

“Where are you sitting?”

“Still in the living room in my chair, dumbass, and this is one of five pistols,” As he pulled it from the right cushion.

“Where are the other two?” I asked taking it from his hand. That was a lucky guess.

His head kind of turned, “There’s four more.”

“There are only two. Where are they?” I didn’t need to ask.

He pointed at the couch, “Center cushion.” Then pointed at my chair.

Then he pointed at me, “And the fourth and fifth are under your robe.”

“You win, Christian.” And I sat in his lap removing the blinder taking his face in my hands and kissed him lightly on the lips.

“You vowed you’d never be caught off guard again.” And he opened my robe.

He was right. My holster was like a vest, went over my shoulders, and buckled in the front. A nine on each side and six clips. He was right.

“Jr??? Do you remember what happened?” This wasn’t like a test, but.

“I’ve had dreams; you were in them.” And I touched his chest with a finger.

“That’s my birthmark.” He told me.

I’d noticed it right away when he took off his tee last night. It was a scar. “Do you remember getting that birthmark?” I asked still looking at him. This cannot be.

“I think I got it when you got those.” And he pointed to three spots on my body that held marks like his.

I kissed him again and stood pulling my robe together. “Get dressed; let’s go for a ride. I’m gonna take a shower.” And I walked down the hall.

“I could use another shower.” He said walking in behind me.

“You haven’t changed a thing, Ryan.” As he looked around.

“What do you remember?” I asked turning him so I could wash his backside.

He leaned as my hands found his front and his head fell to my shoulder. “I don’t know if I remember or if it’s a dream.”

“And?” I asked. I didn’t need this but I asked.

“You saved me, didn’t you?” He asked.

“Yes. We saved each other, but, No. I tried, but no.” He touched my birthmarks.

The first one fucked up my left shoulder really bad. The second caused me to lose part of the lung on the same side. The third hit me low just above my right hip. I managed to pull my phone calling 911; and crawled to Bobby.

One-shot to the chest and he was coughing blood. The guy who shot us ran off. “Hold on, Bobby. Hold on.”

“I’ll see you on the other side, Ry.” And his eyes closed for the last time.

Now Christian was more than a coincidence. I believe in reincarnation, souls that were always meant to be together. That is what we had always been, living and dying over and over again. Sometimes the stars would align, and others they wouldn’t.

What I was seeing was more and more of Bobby, and less of the kid who sat next to me yesterday. What does this mean? I don’t ever remember it being like this; we were born who we were, we weren’t body snatchers.

“Where are they?” I asked backing away.

“Point to them,” I told him.

“This one shattered your shoulder. This one took your lung. And this one luckily missed your dick.” And he smiled.

“I think we’re clean now,” And I turned.

His hands found my shoulders and I stopped. “You’re not clean yet.” And he started washing me.

It had been half a lifetime ago, him washing me, just his hands. How I had missed this, the human washcloth that cleaned me every day. He washed my crotch and ran his hand up and down my ass.

He pushed the button for the rain head, water cuming from above, and he started kissing my back. This was a daily routine for us, Coffee and breakfast, shower, then we’d start our day.

His hands found my part and he touched it. The warm lips on my back and his hands on my front. “OK. Let’s get dressed.” And I pulled away before I got hard.

From your Author:

I am not an Author that makes you cum every time a chapter is read. I write for substance, a journey in your mind that is entertaining, one that lets you forget about everything for a few minutes. I hope this has side-tracted you. RJC.