Dead Gorgeous (Gay Halloween Paranormal Short Story)

by deLoite, Daniel

  DEAD GORGEOUS

  A short story for Halloween

  By

  Daniel deLoite

  Copyright © 2012 by Daniel deLoite

  This book is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are either fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and should not be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, actual events, locations, or organizations is entirely coincidental. Any characters depicted are over 18 years of age.

  Copyright Notice

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  I had absolutely no wish to go to the bloody Halloween party with Max. What the fuck did he think he was doing mixing with those weirdo Goths who hung around outside the empty church at the end of the road every night? The sooner a developer bought the place and turned it into flats, the better as far as I was concerned. They gave me the creeps with their white faces and black eyes, their chains and clanking boots, not to mention the Kensington Gore they painted around their lips to make believe they drank blood. Didn’t they have real lives?

  Parties are not my thing at the best of times. I prefer to be alone, or with my boyfriend – when I have one. Things hadn’t been going too well in the romance department when Max called me up out of the blue and asked me to go along. “Hey, Rick! I’m having a party tonight. Come and join us will you?”

  My relationship with Max had ended six months previously but we remained on good terms. If he hadn’t tried to keep me in the dark about his fuck with the pizza delivery boy the night I got stuck in the elevator at Tufnell Park underground station, I think we may well have made a go of it. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not a prude and I don’t place much importance on monogamy in a relationship. If the London Transport engineers had freed me from my suspended prison thirty minutes sooner, if I’d got home and caught Max up to the balls in the owner of the scooter that I would have seen parked on the path outside, I would no doubt have dropped my pants and fucked the guy’s face at the same time. But Max chose to lie. And that I can’t accept.

  “What sort of a party?” I asked, unable to think of a suitable excuse fast enough.

  “Jesus, Rick. What are you on, man? Like, what is tonight?”

  I stared out of the window. “Dark?”

  Max spluttered. “You need to get out more, you know that? It’s fucking Halloween.”

  “Ah, then it would be dark at this time.” I glanced at my watch. Almost eight.

  “So, are you coming?”

  I should have said no, but perhaps the darkening nights and falling temperatures had begun to turn solitude into a feeling of isolation. And believe me, it is possible to be very isolated in a big city. “Okay, then. But just for an hour or so. I have things to do.”

  “You don’t have anything to do tonight or you’d have told me as soon as I asked. I’ll drop by and collect you in about half an hour. And please, try to be ready, man.”

  He sighed as he hung up before I could reply, no doubt to stop me from dreaming up a last minute objection.

  I heard Max pull up in the street below my kitchen window, the silencer on his ageing sports car still as full of holes as ever. I grabbed my leather jacket and skipped down the stairs. When I pulled the front door open I leaped back in shock. Max stood on the doorstep, his face ghost-white and his eye teeth had grown several inches.

  “Trick or treat?” His fangs dislodged as he laughed, and he caught them with a swift movement, trapping them against his black leather coat.

  “Fuck off!” I tried not appear flustered and pushed him out of the doorway.

  “Charming.”

  “Yes, you look it.” I locked the door and zipped the key safely in my breast pocket. “You’re driving, I assume?”

  “No need, man. We’re only going to the end of the street.”

  “We’re only going…” My words dried up as the implication of what he’d said dawned on me. “Oh, no! Not bloody likely.”

  Max threw an arm round my shoulders and started walking. “I couldn’t refuse, could I? My flat is quite small and they’ve got a whole fucking church to themselves.”

  I tried to resist but he was stronger than me and the force moved me forwards with him. “You mean they’ve actually broken inside now? But that’s criminal.”

  He laughed. “Don’t be such a wimp. It’ll be really cool, partying in a church on Halloween. You need to let your hair down and enjoy yourself. You’re too—”

  “Honest? Law abiding?”

  “Boring.” He laughed again and dragged me along. “How do you fancy a fuck on the altar?”

  “You’re perverse.”

  “I know.”

  “And anyway, how do you know there is still an altar in there? And the place has been deconsecrated, so there.” I stuck my tongue out at him; his childishness deserved it.

  “So what? You don’t think I care about all that religious crap do you? An altar’s an altar, a piece of furniture like a sideboard or a sofa, consecrated or not it means the same thing to me.”

  “You have no respect for other people’s beliefs. Come to think of it, you have no respect, full stop.” I shook his arm off my shoulders and stood firm. We’d reached the big, iron gate that led into the grounds of the church. “You go if you want to. I’ve changed my mind.”

  “Fuck, man. You’re beginning to piss me off.” He forced an arm through mine and pulled me off balance. “Anyone would think you were scared.”

  I steadied myself on the wall as he swung the creaking gate open. Much of the grounds had been sold off years before and now the church stood close to its boundaries, rising up in front of me like a rock face, the narrow windows like openings to primeval caves and bottomless crevasses. The colours of the stained glass glowed in short, fast bursts and I realised that the light came from the illicit partying inside. I listened carefully and could just make out a faint throb of music coming from within. I shivered, and jiggled my arms to hide it. Never would I admit to Max that I feared anything, but I did feel a bit spooked by the idea of going in there – more for the type of person I would find than anything to do with spirituality. I stepped forward, thinking I must remember to ask Max how he’d got involved with this bunch of whackos in the first place. “I’m here now. Might as well take a look.”

  “Thank fuck for that. Now, just don’t be a wallflower. Mix, make friends. I’m not gonna hold your hand.” Max immediately took hold of my hand and pulled me along a slippery path that led around the church to a side entrance. He banged on the door as if to break it down. “Open up! It’s Max.”

  The door opened a slit and a bleary eye looked out at us. “Who’s that?” said a voice thick with alcohol.

  “Max, I fucking told you.”

  “Not you. Him with you.”

  “My friend, Rick.” The door didn’t open any further and the person holding it seemed to talk to himself – or herself. “Me and Rick have been friends since forever.” I could hear the frustration rising in Max’s voice. “He’s cool. Open up.” />
  After a moment, the door swung back and we stepped inside.

  Max knew me too well. After half an hour he’d found his place on the dance floor – a clear area near the old baptismal font that had been turned into a bar for the evening – and he partied with anyone and everyone. I’d picked up a can of lager and found my way up the steps to the organ loft, trying to escape the infernal racket of the so-called music. I leaned on the balustrade and looked down into what was left of the church. Many of the pews had gone, whether to a good home or at the hands of vandals I couldn’t tell, and mounds of rubbish had been swept into shapes resembling giant molehills on the cracked floor. My eyesight couldn’t penetrate the gloom to the far corners, and the strobe lighting that flashed somewhere beneath me tormented my vision. No sooner did I think I’d worked out the carvings and statues than the frantic light would pummel my senses and something completely different would be staring back at me. What the fuck? I shook my head and looked at the can of lager. Not even Special Brew.

  As the music changed track, I thought I heard a sound behind me. I turned on my heel, my eyes automatically searching the floor in expectation of a rat. They say that wherever you are in London you’re never more than six feet from one of the effing creatures. Anyway, it was far too dark down on the floor to see, even if there had been a family of vermin. When I raised my eyes the organ caught my attention. Everything in the church had a look of decay and dilapidation, dust had gathered everywhere - the Goths downstairs didn’t seem at all bothered by it but I did think it must really fuck with their black clothes. But the organ stood there untarnished, its pipes as bright as the day they’d been fitted, the glorious carvings oozing with the rich warmth of tropical hardwoods as if they’d been waxed and polished only that morning. I breathed in and the smell could not have been more remote from the staleness I’d expected, all beeswax and honey and vinegar.

  By now my eyes had become better accustomed to the dim light, my back to the nave and the incessant strobing. Yet, as the swatch of light flashed on behind me, the face of an angel appeared and disappeared, appeared and disappeared. I stepped closer and put out my hand to feel it, like a blind man acquainting himself with a stranger. The angel stood too high for me to reach and I was glad to find the organist’s stool nearby. I dragged it across the floor and climbed up, grabbing hold of the angel’s arm with my free hand to steady myself. My own body cast an intermittent shadow now, and I traced the intricate carving that gave life to this creature of Heaven. I never could tell the gender of angels and often joked that when you’d seen one, you’d seen them all, yet something about this androgynous face attracted me. I felt the square jaw, the full lips, cheeks so gently formed they felt soft despite being made of wood. High cheek bones and a subtly prominent brow reminded me of the chiselled features so often seen on male models and I smiled to myself. Dare I? My hand made its way downwards, running through the folds of the robe.

  “Do you like angels?” The voice seemed to come from the wooden lips and I flinched, grabbing the rich folds of the rigid garment to prevent myself falling from the stool. I peered at the face, trying to make it out. “Do you like angels, Rick?” The lips didn’t move. What the fuck? Of course they didn’t move, it was a fucking statue!

  The sound I’d heard before, the rustling that made me think of rats, came louder now from behind. I turned, still clinging to the angel’s robe with one hand, can of lager in the other.

  “Hello, Rick.” Even in the gloom I could see the source of the voice. The strobe had no effect on the face, its luminescence cold and constant, as if not really there.

  My senses told me this was the same face as the carved angel, but how? I held up the can of lager, turned my eyes on it even though I could barely see it, and threw it to the floor. “Jesus.”

  “Not quite.” The voice had an ethereal quality that rose above the clatter and fizz of the discarded can, light but smothering the rhythmic sounds below. It sounded male and female all at the same time.

  A tremble ran through my body and when I opened my mouth to speak my teeth chattered. The apparition moved toward me and I heard the rustle again. Fear pinned me to the spot, even as I felt hands on my crotch and heard the zip of my flies being pulled down. My entire body stiffened instantly.

  Cold fingers encircled my cock and, as they freed it from its denim prison a shiver alerted my senses and I found the courage to look down. At once I wanted to flee but the exquisite, unearthly pleasure sapped all my strength. Even if I could have turned and run, I knew I would not.

  Stooped to take my cock in its mouth, the back of the creature’s head the only thing visible outside a white cloak that seemed possessed of a life of its own, it reached round with one hand and gripped my buttock. I gave in to the pressure and let myself be thrust forward. My cock had never found such a perfect sheath – soft and gentle as gossamer wings, moist as the most woeful tears, and cool like the soothing embrace of an exquisite lotion lovingly massaged into sunburned skin. Fuck!

  I lost all awareness of the music and the lighting that no doubt continued unabated below. Max could have been on his hands and knees, man buttered to oblivion in the messiest bukkake party this side of the Thames and I couldn’t have given a toss. I began to thrust faster, forcing myself deeper into a mouth that seemed ever more willing. When the creature’s hands joined across my buttocks I released my forgotten grip of the angel’s robe, sure that I would not be allowed to fall. My arm twinged as I brought it round in front of me and I flexed the fingers. As soon as the feeling had returned I bent gently over and put my hands behind the bobbing head, running my fingers through the short, thick hair that covered an ice-cold scalp.

  Normally an accomplished cock sucker could bring me off in around three minutes, yet despite this being by far the best I had ever encountered I knew my climax would take yet more time, as if the saliva contained a desensitiser.

  I ran my hands down the icy slope of the neck, towards the shoulder blades. Muscles as hard as marble knotted under my fingers as my flesh made contact with the lining of the cloak; though I knew I had to be mistaken the material trembled at my touch. Somehow it seemed vital, like a beating heart. I reached further, as far as I could without dislodging my cock, and found that the cloak was attached to the flesh between the shoulder blades. The joint felt supple and sticky, like neoprene, and everything seemed to flutter as I ran my fingers over it.

  I felt my cock ooze, that tell-tale sparkle in my urethra, the tightening of my balls. Now, I could come at any moment. As my sap rose and my legs weakened, my head reeled and strange visions formed all around me. The pressure built. My cock twitched and the creature responded by taking me deeper and faster. All my strength headed towards my groin, a complex weave of nerves caught on a thread and pulled together. Angels and demons, moons and stars, bacchanalian delights I had never even imagined swam around me as if I gazed into a magical zoetrope.

  I snatched at the cloak as the first comet of spunk seared from me, doing my best not to fall. As my fingers dug in, the cloak divided into two parts and sprang to life, flapping and filling my head with the noise of a thousand birds scattered by gunshot. My ears hummed from the sudden change in pressure, my arms jerked wildly right and left as I clung on, I seemed to fly through the air, and my cock fired a volley of seed.

  When the creature had drained me it fell still and I slumped on its back, stroking the cloak of feathers. Or were they wings? Fuck! That lager had been spiked for sure. But I didn’t care. I nuzzled into the soft down that I found beneath the surface, a scent rising that reminded me of quarry dust and wood shavings and incense. My eyes grew heavy and I could feel myself drifting off.

  And then I realised. The creature lay too still. I had killed it. Shit!

  I disentangled myself, stumbling on the stool as I struggled to get up. I jumped down and shook the creature by the shoulders. It raised its head and smiled at me.

  “I take it you do like angels,” it said, winking.
>
  Relief that I hadn’t killed it soon gave way to a strange kind of curiosity tinged with fear. “Are you…an…angel?”

  “I’m surprised you have to ask, after what you’ve just experienced.”

  “Jesus.”

  “As I said, not quite.”

  “You’re male?”

  “Let me prove it.” He got to his feet and pushed me to my knees. “It’s what you were thinking about when I found you, isn’t it? Like the Scotsman and his kilt?” He lifted his robe.

  My eyes widened so much the eyeballs could have fallen out. Before me, erect and very proud, stood the finest cock I had ever seen, below which hung balls that a mule would have been proud of. The shaft had to be ten inches long and eight around, the nob adding another three or four inches to the length and as bulbous and juicy as a prize Sicilian onion. I cupped the balls in my left hand and felt their weight. With my right hand I guided the biblical phallus into my mouth. I almost got lockjaw, but no way was I leaving without blowing him off – whoever he was. He was gorgeous.

  I couldn’t deep throat him, but I tried and choked as tears streamed down my cheeks. I kept up the rhythm, swirling my eager tongue around his velvet nob each time I pulled back. He made no sounds, but his wings fluttered with each stroke, and as I sped up so did the thrusting of his hips and the shaking of his feathers. I steadied. I wanted to make this last.

  I looked up and he was staring down at me. I could see perfectly, as if he radiated his own light. His face was identical to the carving I’d traced with my fingers, sweet and gentle and androgynous. His smooth body bore not a single hair but had the muscular build of the athletes of ancient Greece. I grasped his knees and ran my hands up his thighs – solid and steady as rock. He smiled as I cupped his balls again and I knew then that I gazed into the face of an angel from Heaven.

  “Suck me, harder,” he said. “I want to fuck your face and drown you with my cum, you slut.”