Dead Sexy: Second Endings 1

by Lulu M. Sylvian

  “So do I get to pass go?” He shifted me under him and kneed my legs apart.

  “I’m sure you’re headed in the right direction.” I wrapped my legs over his hips in invitation.

  He slid into me smoothly. This time making love was gentle, caring. I felt he needed the succor and comfort of my arms, while earlier, he needed the distraction of the wild monkey sex acts.

  When Peter didn’t show up for a few days, I tried not to panic. He had taken himself over to the movie set, I kept telling myself. I had no idea. I preferred to think that rather than any of the alternatives my brain could come up with.

  When I saw him again, I peppered his face with kisses. I tried to get my hands into his shirt. My fingers seeking the soft ticklish flesh above his hip bone. He laughed and held me.

  “You’re in a frisky mood,” he chuckled.

  “I missed you.” I kissed his grinning face.

  “I don’t think you ever missed the last guy this much.”

  “Who David? No, then again, I don’t think I was addicted to him. I’m positively addicted to you, and I am desperate for a fix.”

  Peter obliged my physical needs. I was well satiated when he finished. “Will you be here when I wake up?” I purred into his chest as I lay draped across him.

  “Hmmm,” he hummed. It was neither positive nor negative.

  “At least come see me at work?”

  “I can do that.” His voice was a tired rumble.

  I fell asleep as his blanket. I woke up alone, as usual.

  I counted the minutes of our time together. Peter hung out with me for three nights and two days before he disappeared again.

  Hi, I sighed happily when I heard him in my head. Where have you been off to?

  Nowhere. His answer was more of a grunt than actual words.

  Surfing the dream plane? It seemed as good of a theory as any I had for where ever it was he went.

  Something like that. Irritation radiated from his essence. I didn’t need to see him to feel his agitation.

  Are you okay? You aren’t happy. Can I help?

  Just let me be.

  Easier said than done ghost man. I didn’t want to let him be. I wanted to soothe his pain and hold him close. I wanted him home with me.

  Do you just want to hang out? I’m almost done here. I wasn’t really but nobody would mind if I ditched out of work a little bit early.

  Whatever.

  Will you come over tonight?

  Can you just drop it, Gil? And poof he was gone.

  “No, I can’t just drop it, I thought you were my boyfriend. I haven’t seen you in a few days, and I miss you. Sorry I was happy to have you around for a few miserable seconds,” I rage whispered under my breath.

  When Peter didn’t show up for a few days again I let myself become distracted by work. I put all my focus into what I was doing as I did it. Same for my workouts. I focused all my intentions on my actions. It took some work, and it really only kept my mind from worrying for a few minutes at a time.

  I constantly reminded myself to refocus. My brain kept switching, but I tried to force it to behave.

  By forcing myself to focus, I actually was able to complete a few assignments on time. Of course, it all fell apart as soon as I got home, I couldn’t focus on anything. I couldn’t work on the story. I had a hard time even watching TV.

  I went on an abysmal double date with Holly. I was twitchy and distracted. By the time it was over I couldn’t get home fast enough, only to fidget and continue to be distracted. Nothing could hold my attention for more than a few minutes at a time.

  Each time Peter came home to me I was ecstatic, and each time he left I became more depressed. I learned quickly, that if I wanted him to stick around I didn’t ask where he had been. Clearly, it was very personal and very emotional for him. I suspected he was haunting the movie set. He would come back bristling and angry, or happy and carefree. Of course, I preferred happy and carefree Peter over brooding Peter. Happy Peter was more fun in bed.

  I tried to dream of him. I wanted to dream about him if I couldn’t actually have him around. It never worked. I would start consciously dreaming about him, but inevitably he would fade away and the dream would continue along some random tangent. A few times the dreams managed to morph into Johnny Urban, but only for a few moments before I would lose any connections to Peter at all.

  I would have been happy with a mundane dream, it didn’t need to be erotic. It just needed to be Pete. I longed for the days when his presence calmed my dreams. I wanted to go back to when his presence meant a happy surprise and not an indication of an impending miserable absence. I was having a hard time enjoying him when he was around. We bickered over stupid things. I was keenly aware that I would be feeling the pain of his absence soon every time he was with me.

  My focus never fully returned. I tried to work on the book only to find myself staring at a blank white page with thin blue lines. If I tried to write, my mind would drift and I would think about how Peter’s fingers felt as they caressed my cheek, or how warm his skin would be when I curled into his arms. I would be distracted by memories of how his breath felt on my neck or the sound of his laugh. If I remembered I was writing, I would discover I was still in front of a blank page. Usually, I forgot I was trying to write at all.

  Work was painfully quiet, even with headphones and music. I missed the feeling of his voice in my head. Real sounds were harsh in my ears. I longed for the soothing tones of his voice.

  Missing him felt like a gaping hole through my middle. Each day he was gone, it grew like a black-hole consuming everything that got caught in its gravity well. I felt like I would fall into it, sucked in past its event horizon and crushed into a singularity of pain. But, no, I always traveled along the edge. Too strong to be completely consumed by it, but not strong enough to escape its pull.

  Every time I saw Peter, I wanted to hold on to him. Things were changing between us. I wasn’t sure if it actually changing on their own or if my paranoia was the driving force. I was in my favorite place, under him. I loved how his arms would block me in as he held himself up on his elbows. I wanted to keep him here, like this. His face so close to mine. It was strong and beautiful. I caressed his cheeks and traced his jawline. He was always clean shaven, sometimes he would have a mild scratch of whiskers.

  He turned and grabbed my fingers with his teeth.

  A giggle turned into a sigh as he started sucking on the fingers. It pulled sensations in other parts of my body. I closed my eyes and reveled in the feel of him. His weight, his skin. In the dream plane, he was smooth warm skin and hard muscles. I wished with everything I had that I could have this in my conscious reality. But as they say, if wishes were horses then beggars would ride. This beggar wanted to ride when she was awake.

  Peter started biting me on the chin. A scrape of teeth. I raised my chin up, he shifted his bites to my exposed neck. A low growl escaped his throat. It was a low animalistic sexy sound. And he wondered why I wanted to make him into some were-beast. He was already a sexy animal, I wanted to amplify that for everyone who didn’t get to experience this with him.

  As he kissed down my neck, he shifted his arms away from encircling my head. One hand palmed a breast. The other breast was sucked into his hot, wet mouth. He must have sucked my air out with that action. I gasped. He could suck on that all night as far I was concerned. It felt so good. No, good wasn’t strong enough of a word. He had skills that I appreciated greatly. The man could bring me to near orgasm simply by licking and playing with my breasts and nipples. Of course, my other body parts protested the neglect and lack of attention. I ran a leg up his and lifted my hips trying to rub against his erection.

  He shifted his lower body out of my reach. I would have pouted if he wasn’t distracting my upper half with his tongue. My lower half was protesting on its own, rubbing against his strong thigh, it wanted some of that tongue action.

  I didn’t realize how much I liked that tongue acti
on until Peter and I started doing this. I mean, I appreciated the licks and sucks I had received in the past but Peter worshiped me with his tongue. My body would sing when he did his magic. Frequently, those sounds came out of my mouth. At least here I could scream and whimper and moan as my body reacted to his, without having to worry about the neighbors hearing.

  I wound up tighter than a watch. I needed something to suck on. I pulled his hand away from my breast and sucked on his fingers. It wasn’t enough. I pushed him off and rolled him over. He laughed knowing what to expect when I got like this. It didn’t stop him from hissing, as I pulled him into my mouth. I was far from gentle or artistic with my fellatio skills. I pulled as much of him in as I could before I gagged, then I pulled on him like I was drinking from a large straw. I didn’t start moving in a rhythmic up and down motion until I felt fingers slide along the folds to my core. My lower body was finally getting the attention it desired.

  I focused more on the fingers on my body than what I was doing. Peter took this as his cue to reposition me. I was back on my back, and his tongue was doing its magic. He brought me to orgasm so delectably, and he could keep me reacting at that level until it was torture to continue.

  After I felt like I had soared into the stratosphere, crashed, and burned on re-entry, he wrapped his arms over my head and looked down at me again.

  His kisses tasted like sex, and his tongue was as magical in my mouth. I tried to wrap a leg over his hip, but I was limp, noodle legged. I barely had it in me to return thrusts when he plunged into me. The sensations his body delivered inspired me to participate, and I found muscles to move with. We moved together, synchronized thrust and counter-thrust. I started spasming around him again, then he released his orgasm.

  Peter rolled onto his back, pulling me with him. I always ended up on top this way. I guess he didn’t want to crush me. Of course, I didn’t mind it at all when he would momentarily collapse and I could feel all of his relaxed weight on me. I rested my head against his chest and panted, well satiated and happy.

  I didn’t want to move, fortunately, I didn’t need to. Peter pulled a blanket up to cover me.

  “Sleep,” he directed.

  “Stay,” I requested.

  16

  Peter wasn’t there when I woke up. I knew he wouldn’t be. He had been spending noticeably less time with me. I missed him. The gaping black-hole in my middle wasn’t as big and intimidating as it had been a few times previously, but it was still there. He had been going off to other places ever since I met him, but there was something different now when he would come back to me, and it wasn’t his quixotic mood swings.

  He had pretty much stopped helping me with the story. I was on my own with it. I started seriously exploring the were-tiger aspect I had wanted to bring in the entire time. It added an extra dimension to Johnny Urban’s character. It also gave me a whole lot more to work with. Johnny Urban, were-tiger, vigilante, pop-star, action hero, was a pretty interesting character. I could do so much with him. I could go back and rework how to deal with the fractured vertebra, and the whole recovery at home thing. That was Peter’s need, I wasn’t sure if that’s what Johnny Urban needed.

  Even if this were-tiger thing didn’t work out for the Johnny Urban story, it gave me some interesting storylines I could bring into something else. I could easily utilize it for the graphic novels I had been wanting to do. I wasn’t sure if it would mesh with the psychic alien comic I wanted to do. I didn’t have to incorporate that into this existing idea. I could develop that as its own thing without Peter’s help. In the meantime, I started exploring making Johnny Urban more exciting: action hero in the movies, and secret real-life super-hero, were-tiger. I know it's not what Peter wanted.

  I also thought about changing Michelle Cole up a bit too. She was a little too sweet and pansy-assed. I mean I liked her, but she had no balls. She was there simply to love and support Johnny no matter what he did. That’s what Peter had wanted: a sweet, loving, bit of a doormat woman. But Peter didn’t seem to care anymore. The most character she really showed was when she first met Johnny and chewed out those Latino boys for yelling rude things at her. After reviewing the material I had written on her, I wouldn’t be surprised if she was a virgin on their wedding night—hadn’t written that scene yet. No, Michelle Cole needed a revamp. She needed some agency.

  My ideas weren’t meshing with words, I had them, and they tripped over my fingers as I tried to type. I put down the computer and picked up a notebook to see if writing longhand would help. It just made things worse. My writing started to look more and more like hieroglyphics before I realized I was trying to draw the words and not merely write them.

  My doodles became distracted as I noticed I sketched out a pornographic sex scene. I recognized the actions as a reflection of what Peter and I had accomplished, but the figures weren’t us. Well, the man was Peter, maybe a little broader through the chest and shoulders, but the woman was curvy with hips and boobs. I wouldn’t have any problems illustrating an adult graphic novel, with all the sexy details. I’m sure that had something to do with my job, I constantly drew bodies. Bodies standing still, bodies in motion. Why not draw bodies having sex? I parked that idea in the back of my head.

  I lost time doodling out thumbnails. After a few hours, I had sketched an outline I could now translate into words.

  I couldn’t see how I could tell Trina about me and Peter. I knew I should, she was my best friend. She would provide counsel regarding a new relationship. But this one was so different. I could never introduce her to my latest lover. No matter how much I thought she might like him, there was no way to introduce them. It was physically impossible.

  I remembered the crow and how I needed to tell her, but I couldn’t. To be honest, I felt like an idiot. I had let myself fall for him. A doomed relationship from the very first kiss, yet I was hip deep in it. Even though I knew better. And now the relationship was changing so much, I was afraid if I did tell her I would jinx everything and it would be over.

  Now Peter had this movie about him being made, and I didn’t see him as much. He wasn’t talking in my head every day. I missed the sound of his voice. Times like now I hated him for being dead. I realize if he had never died in the first place I wouldn’t have met him, wouldn’t have gotten into this crazy situation. If he was still alive, he would be living his life, still taking drugs, maybe getting a divorce from Michelle. I would still be with David, slowly becoming more and more unhappy, blissfully unaware that he was two-timing me with that blond, who not only took my man but was also after my job. Or, we would have finally broken up. We really had been heading that way, now that I look back at it all.

  I sighed, not meeting Peter would mean no novel in the works, no realization that I had stories in me that wanted out, that I could tap into another aspect of my creativity. As much as I was pissed at him for taking off, I had a very singular experience in that I got to know him and find out about him in a way that just couldn’t happen as an obsessed fan looking someone up on the internet.

  I wish he hadn’t died and he had been able to continue making movies. Maybe if he had been able to get away from his wife he would have been able to seek recovery from the drugs. Maybe he had needed more time to realize how appreciated he had been by those around him.

  I didn’t want to regret anything about Peter Keith, and that included not having full disclosure with Trina. Yet, I was not able to tell her. I could tell her anything and everything about him except for that one incredibly important fact. He was my lover on the dream plane, and my body recognized that on the conscious plane.

  “You are awfully gloomy today, what’s up?” She asked as we strolled through the new open-air mall. We made our way through the newly developed shopping center that was built to resemble a high-end shopping district in an affluent area. The difference between this tree-lined street and a real fancy neighborhood beyond the obvious planned aspect of this one was the parking garage located at the end of
the “street.” The shopping along this side of the mall was limited to extremely expensive and exclusive dress shops where the only things above a size twelve were the numbers on the price tags.

  Window shopping was even mildly depressing. The sizes were so incredibly skewed. We did wander into a few of the shops, and skinny hipped, no boobed me would fit a large or an extra-large in the sizes they carried. I really wondered who the hell their clientele were. Even if it were possible for me to fit in anything these stores carried, I couldn’t afford it.

  Sophie sat tucked into her stroller and we headed to the far end of the block for lunch. I was not a slave to impending deadlines today, so I took a long lunch.

  “Life seems heavy these days.” I sighed.

  “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “I think Peter is on his way out. He’s not been around so much lately, and I hate to admit it, I really miss having him around.” I admitted part of it. I did miss him, now if I could figure out how to get my brain and mouth to cooperate to tell the rest of it.

  “Any thoughts as to why?”

  I pulled the large heavy door open, and she pushed Sophie into the foyer of the restaurant.

  “They are making a movie about him.” I began as we followed the hostess to a table. “This place is too pretentious, they’ll mess up the food,” I said looking around. They had white table cloths. I questioned our logic in bringing Sophie here when I saw there were a few other people who had toddlers in tow.

  I continued to tell her what I knew about the production of the movie, including how cute I thought Liam James was.

  “I suspect that’s where he’s been lately. It makes sense. I mean they are already in production, which means faster results. I didn’t even get half of that story written, and I haven’t really been working on writing lately, besides who knows if it will ever be published. I don’t even know how to go about getting that done.” I confessed.