by Z. Allora
However, in the last thirty-two years, most of his original playmates found their mates and moved on with their lives. Most kept in touch, but it wasn’t the same. They were free to leave and travel because they had what they needed to survive—their mate.
He’d been left behind again. This time, he was stuck sucking cock with mostly newbie zombies with little hope of anything other than receiving a mouthful of cum. The saddest thing was, he had started to hate the salty taste.
Pushing that thought out of his mind, he pulled on his lacy white hand socks. They wouldn’t keep his hands warm, but they looked great with his French manicure. And his nails would give him something to look at while he jerked a stranger off into his mouth.
God, when had blowjobs gotten boring and mechanical?
Cassidy didn’t even want to think about how many blowjobs he had given. He added them up once and at three to five a day over thirty-two years that meant he’d given between 40,000 to 50,000, not counting the one he’d given his first boyfriend. The original sin had gotten him expelled from his home, then the ones right afterward he’d needed to give for a meal or a place to stay. There should be some sort of maximum, but he needed to find his mate and essence every day to survive.
Maybe he could back off and only go with one man a night. That’s what most zombies did. Though they weren’t as desperate as he was to find their mate.
He flicked the bathroom light off and nabbed his laptop. After saving the story he had been working on for volume three of The Mating Book, he shut Scrivener down.
Touching the two hefty volumes on his coffee table, he felt pride in completing them. In those books were the tales of the happy endings of zombies who found their mate, or in some cases, mates—plural. He’d started writing to give the unmated zombies hope, but now each happily ever after only highlighted his own despair.
He couldn’t escape the gnawing fears. What if not all zombies had a mate? Maybe his mate had died. How long could he continue to hope for the impossible?
Pushing away the panic and abject sadness that threatened his mood, he zipped into his dark gray boots with attached kneepads.
Sashaying to the full-length mirror, he smiled. Beau called this outfit the Highland Angel of Blowjobs. Straightening his winter-white kilt, the female side of his mind nodded her approval.
He had long ago embraced being gender fluid. Interesting how some people felt the need to weigh in on the label that fit him the best. He rarely shared his gender identity, because several of the zombies he’d confided in accused him of being a gender fuck.
Cassidy didn’t bend the gender conformity lines to mess with how people saw gender, though he saw the allure. Fuck the binary!
No, his place on the gender fluid grid meant he moved back and forth between the genders. Sometimes an activity confirmed for him which gender box he’d check. Other times clothing made him shift to the other gender. But to Cassidy, it was normal to flow between them.
Cassidy slipped into the white angel wings he’d had for years. He fixed the straps over his bare chest, having forgone the bodysuit and fake boobs. They didn’t work with his wings, and he didn’t need boobs to feel feminine.
He’d come to terms with having male and female dynamics residing side-by-side within him. Since he hadn’t done an official coming out as gender fluid, he’d never dealt with the whole pronoun thing, even internally. It was nice when others addressed Cassidy as “Ms.” when he presented as female, but that’s as far as it went.
However, if he were honest, announcing he identified as gender fluid would open too many doors that might best be kept closed. How many gay men were up for the challenges of— It didn’t matter, so he kept everything simple.
Who was he kidding? Most of the other zombies were so focused on finding a mate or having a mate, they barely remembered his name. Fine by him. He had learned it was best not to get too close. It hurt less when they moved on with their mate.
Once his friends got mated, the happy pair always left Club Zombie, reminding him he remained alone. He didn’t let himself get attached to nonzombies, because what was the point? Skating on the edges had become simply easier.
He placed a white flower crown on his head and fluffed out his wings. Eh, the crown of flowers seemed too much, so he took the headpiece off.
Turning in the mirror, he felt liberated. Drag Nights gave him an opportunity to allow his feminine side out in full sight of everyone. Sometimes doing something in the open became the perfect place to hide.
He adjusted the kneepads, pasted on his overcompensating happy smile, locked his door, and headed to the glory hole room. The wall would be safer on his wings.
Some nights Cassidy could make himself believe he was only one cock away from his mate, and it drove him to suck until his jaw hurt. Though tonight wasn’t one of those nights.
He knelt on a soft cushion inside a walled area that had glory holes cut into the walls. The glory hole room had been designed to entice the patrons into a sexy adventure while giving the unmated zombies the essence they needed.
Jesus, why hadn’t this guy come already? Cassidy kept going through the motions of blowing the third guy of the night.
Suck, lick, stroke, suck, lick, stroke, suck, suck, suck… whatever.
Giving head had become like playing lotto. Even as you scraped the ticket, you knew the chance of a win was just about nil, but you kept scratching. Out of habit, he kept sucking.
There had been a time he loved giving head. Even if he didn’t know the man, to have someone entrust him with their satisfaction had always given him a rush. He loved knowing he could bring them ecstasy. Now every time felt like a chore he didn’t want to do.
Jackson and Casey were at the hole next to him. They sucked on the same dick. Through his peripheral vision, he admired how they worked as a team. With them this activity appeared to be more of a French kiss around a cock that happened to be pushing between their lips and sometimes into their mouths.
Cassidy envied them. Even though they hadn’t found their third mate, they had each other and could still orgasm, which Cassidy hadn’t done in almost twenty-eight endless years. Living forever didn’t feel like such a prize when you couldn’t come.
Even beyond physical satisfaction, he craved the closeness of a companion. He longed for someone to share secrets with, talk to, do things with—hell, someone to cuddle with while watching anime.
Jackson jerked the guy off into Casey’s mouth, and then they shared a kiss. Casey shook his head and deflated into Jackson’s arms. Not their mate.
The guy’s balls Cassidy had been sucking finally tightened. Looked like his chance was coming.
Please.
Suck.
Please.
Stroke. Stroke. Suck.
Please let this one be the one.
Swallow.
Nope, not his mate. He grabbed a tissue and wiped his mouth.
The fucking bastard just pulled his dick through the hole and vanished. Not that Cassidy expected a thank-you knock on the wall or anything.
Cassidy tried to avoid thinking about the incredible feeling of losing himself to an intense pleasure that brought with it blessed relief. That unmatched feeling that everything would be right in the world for a little while.
He shoved the pure fucking hell of giving some stranger what he couldn’t have out of his mind and went to the sink to gargle.
Jackson and Corey were finishing their mouthwash routine at the small sink.
Corey wiped under his eyes before turning around to smile big at Cassidy. “Hey, sexy. Love the bad-assed angel thing you got going on, Ms. Cassidy.”
Cassidy ignored the rightness of the address and fluttered his eyelashes. “Why, thank you, Corey.”
Jackson handed him a Dixie cup of mouthwash.
“Thanks, Jackson.”
“Why do they have to eat asparagus before they get to the club?” Jackson whispered.
Corey wrinkled his nose. “And come.
”
Cassidy gurgled, spit, and rinsed his mouth with water. “Yeah, would a little pineapple juice kill them?”
“I told Lafayette we’re going to start pushing pineapple juice at the bar.” Corey led the escape from the groans and moans of men fucking the glory hole wall.
Goddamn it! There were nights when Cassidy wanted to stop all this bullshit. He hated depending on servicing men for the essence he needed. If he stopped—
He trailed after Jackson and Casey down the hall to the bar.
Casey asked, “What do you want to drink?”
Smirking, Cassidy said, “Well, I hear the pineapple juice is good.”
Once he finished off the juice, he needed to psych himself up. The cocks weren’t going to suck themselves. What did he expect? For Prince Charming to fall out of the sky and land in his lap?
He couldn’t handle heading in the back, so he stepped outside for a breath of air. Leaning against the side of the building, he stared at the sky. Was his mate looking at the same stars?
“Darn it!” Someone stood next to a car in a cute cheerleader outfit, readjusting askew ponytails while peering at their reflection in the windows of a car.
Who was that?
After a loud sigh, they spun in a circle. The skirt flipped up, showing panties.
Cassidy swallowed hard. Adorable, sexy, and coming to Club Zombie—that seemed next to impossible. He slipped back inside and waited for them to enter.
3
Falling Head Over Heels
As Erick stood in line at the door, butterflies acting like they were bouncy baby goats made his stomach clench, twist, and flip. Dammit, he could do this.
“Well, hello there, little lady,” the bouncer purred and barely glanced at Erick’s ID. “No need for your money, honey.”
“Um, thank you.” Erick didn’t know if he should be flattered or worried. He slipped the bills back into his pocketbook and glided inside with hopefully a little grace.
In the entryway a floor-to-ceiling mirror to one side of the door revealed his reflection. Oh my! The mirror showed everything Erick wanted to be in his head, at least some of the time. He studied his reflection… her reflection. And while the pronoun gave him a tiny buzz of happy, he decided he wasn’t quite at ease identifying with it just yet.
The sloppy ponytails highlighted that Erick wasn’t any good at this, but the smoky eye makeup proved trying counted. He—she… he spun around once more. For the first time in forever, he identified the emotion coursing through him as happy.
A tall, willowy creature in thigh-high boots and a supershort miniskirt entered through a side door, strutting to the mirror to check her hair. “Hello, darling,” said a deep voice with a thick, honey-Southern accent.
Struck speechless, Erick stared. His makeup… no, she was presenting as female, therefore feminine pronouns were to be used unless she corrected him. “Um, hi. Your makeup is stunningly flawless.”
“Thank you, sugar. You look lovely in your team uniform. I bet the boys will love having you give them a cheer. I’m sure you’ll help them… score.” She turned to her even taller, larger companion, who loomed behind her, appearing rather tough and more than a little scary in all black leather.
She tickled him under the chin. “Come on, Lafayette. Let’s go play. I love Drag Night!”
“I know, Beau. I know.” The man kissed Beau’s fingers and led her to the door. He gave Erick a wink as he opened the door, allowing his companion to sweep through. They vanished into the main room.
Excitement made Erick’s head buzz. His heart beat so fast, he wasn’t sure whether he was having a heart attack or a panic attack, but courage came from somewhere, forcing the doors open.
Stepping forward, he took in the club. The space could probably hold half a football field. He stood at the railing and studied the room below. Along either side, sleek black-lacquered bars lined the room, with stools mostly filled by patrons. Lush fabrics in jewel tones covered the chairs, love seats, and fainting couches that were scattered around the area. Low, brass-spiraled coffee tables mixed with iron-scrolled bistro tables to make the seats into conversational klatches. Scarves shimmered from the ceiling in the same rich shades of indigos, purples, and mauves. The dim lighting added to the lush ambience ready for secret encounters. All the room needed was sand to make him believe he’d stepped into an oasis mirage.
Many people were in drag, but a number of men were in black leather and gave off an air of alpha macho-ness that always turned Erick off. He could appreciate the appeal, just nowhere near him.
He navigated three of the six steps. Then movement across the room caught his attention.
That couldn’t be! There was no possible way.
Ethan was dead, but the guy could have been his brother’s double.
The man stood and spun away. Erick took another step down.
But right next to the guy was… Cutter Morgan? His brother’s best friend, who was also supposed to be dead. They died in the same car crash.
Impossible! There had to be a mistake. No, that was Cut. How could that be—
Everything spun. Erick took another step. His kitten heel slipped on the stair, and he lost his grip on the railing. He plunged down the remaining two steps in slow motion.
At the last moment, someone in wings caught Erick. Gravity still had its way, so he hit the ground, but he was buffered by the lean body that embraced him. The impact of meeting the floor had been mitigated by the angel’s body.
Erick peered into the face of the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. If Amazon offered this person with longish dark hair, deep sparkling brown eyes, long lashes, and a kissable mouth, Erick would have put them on his wish list marked with the highest priority, and he’d pay for express delivery.
Though it wasn’t just the angel’s androgynous stunning looks that drew Erick in. There was something about the angel’s energy. He didn’t know how to describe his feelings or why the angel felt familiar when he’d never experienced this kind of pull before, but he longed to absorb more.
God. How stupid, but at the moment, he wouldn’t have been surprised to find out a real angel embraced him. He had never been so content in all his life.
“Are you okay?” The vision’s voice merged with Erick and filled empty places.
“Um, yeah. Thanks.” Did that mean Erick should let go?
“You sure? I don’t think you hit your head, but you might have.”
His brother! “I think I saw a ghost—” The ludicrous words fell out of his mouth.
“I’m not a ghost. I got this, Cassidy.”
“Ethan?” Erick struggled to his feet with the winged stranger’s help. His brother stood in front of him. A living, breathing, real-life Ethan. How was this possible? “You’re alive… but your car exploded. They said you were dead. We buried you. I thought you were—”
Erick covered his mouth to hold in a sob. He hated he couldn’t grab his brother and hug him, but the McGrath family stoicism they were raised with kicked in. God help either of them if they showed emotion.
Ethan glanced at Cutter, who stood right next to him. Some things hadn’t changed. His brother shook his head. “Err, yeah. Um… we should go talk.”
“You think?” Anger warred with happiness. His brother was alive! Or Erick had gone insane. Screw the McGrath way, he yanked Ethan into a death grip and burst into tears. Why had Ethan let him believe he had died?
Ethan hugged him so quick Erick questioned if it happened, and then started leading him out the side door. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
Erick kept staring at his brother and then at Cutter, who hadn’t said a word. They were both alive. And who were these other two guys who were following behind them?
Had his parents lied? Why did Ethan let him believe he was dead? Erick had to be dreaming. Questions knocked around his brain as they trudged along the sloping concrete corridor. “Where are we going?”
“To talk.” Ethan wrung his ha
nds and contemplated him.
“Why did you let me think you were dead? I—”
“It killed me….” His voice broke and he gave Erick a sad smile that was replaced by a grimace. “And I don’t know why you’re dressed in that.”
“It’s Drag Night.” Erick didn’t know why he justified his outfit. Was he protecting himself or his now not-dead brother?
Ethan scoffed. “Well, you look stupid.”
The words cut worse than anything their father had ever said to him. Maybe because they were coming from Ethan, but the words ripped holes in Erick’s soul.
Erick couldn’t swallow past the lump in his throat.
His brother couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “You shouldn’t be so comfortable being dressed like a freak—”
“It’s Drag Night, and he’s in a costume, Storm,” Cut injected, as if he were sparing Erick.
A deep need to scream welled inside Erick. He wasn’t playing dress-up. This was what raged inside him, and he was exhausted trying to keep this part on lockdown. But as usual, Erick clamped his mouth shut, denying his truth.
Why did he do that? Was he trying to protect Ethan or himself? How the hell was Ethan alive?
“You can change in a few minutes,” Ethan promised.
Erick clenched his teeth as he pounded each step he hiked, wishing he could crush all the fear and humiliation those carelessly thrown-out words created.
After several flights of stairs, they turned down another hallway. The corridor looked like the hallway of an elegant house, or maybe a mansion. Erick noted the thick red carpets, chandeliers, and the eclectic mix of paintings gracing the walls, because focusing on nonsense was easier than dealing with the fact his dead brother walked next to him.
Ethan knocked on the door.
A man shrugging into a white coat opened the door. “Hello, I’m Dr. Mayer. It’s good to meet you. Erick, is it?”
