Date: Sun, 17 Apr 2005 05:48:52 +0000
From: M Williams <kollegekid54321@hotmail.com>
Subject: Living with a Past - Chapter 4

- 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.