Paranormal Lovers Box Set

by Wayne Mansfield

  They continued kissing. This time, however, when they began to grind their hips together, Paul’s erection slipped back and forth against Calvin’s. There wasn’t any pressure where Miranda’s breasts had been. All he could feel was his chest pressed against Calvin’s. His body against Calvin’s. And his cock slick with Calvin’s pre-cum.

  “So far, so good?” asked Calvin.

  “So far it’s wonderful,” replied Paul.

  Calvin slid down the mattress so he could take Paul’s cock into his mouth.

  “You’re so good at that,” moaned Paul.

  He wasn’t just saying it. Calvin was only one of three people who had ever made him cum by sucking his cock. Though he didn’t want to shoot in Calvin’s mouth. At least, not yet. He wanted more of Calvin. He wanted to experience Calvin in totality, as he’d never been able to experience him before.

  Calvin hoisted Paul’s legs into the air and buried his face in Paul’s arse. Every time Calvin’s tongue flickered against the corrugations of his anus, he shuddered, his fingers gripping the covers of the bed more tightly. And when Calvin began probing his arsehole with the tip of his tongue, Paul could barely control himself.

  “Fuck me,” he moaned. “Fuck me, Calvin.”

  He watched as Calvin smeared his own pre-cum along the length of his shaft, then collected some in the palm of his hand to wipe on Paul’s arsehole.

  “Ready, darling?” whispered Calvin.

  “Yes.”

  There was a small flash of pain, completely normal. Nothing paranormal about it. Then nothing but sweet ecstasy as Calvin eased his thick cock into Paul’s tight hole.

  “How’s that?”

  Paul reached towards Calvin, who, once fully inside Paul, leaned into his embrace.

  They kissed again, their tongues slipping over each other as Paul ran his hands over Calvin’s back. And when Calvin began thrusting, Paul lifted his hips ever so slightly from the mattress to meet each upward thrust of Calvin’s hips. No longer deterred by the effects of Miranda taking over, Paul was able to feel every sensation a hundred per cent. He could participate fully in the act of their lovemaking, undistracted.

  Without having to worry about what Miranda was doing to him, he heard every breath Calvin took, and enjoyed the aromas of sweat, pheromones, and sex. Each individual item added to the complete experience, enriching it and drawing him ever closer to orgasm.

  “Are you really there?” asked Calvin.

  “Yes,” said Paul. “It’s all me.”

  “Good, because I’m about to cum.”

  Calvin got up on his knees and grabbed Paul’s ankles. He hoisted Paul’s legs into the air while his hips began slamming against the back of Paul’s thighs.

  Paul wrapped his fingers around his cock and began to stroke it. His eyes were riveted to Calvin’s, staring down at him. He saw the concentration on Calvin’s face, and when his lover grimaced, he moved his hand more quickly on his cock.

  There were no words, but the second Calvin let out an almighty moan, his face a mask of ecstasy, Paul closed his eyes, let his head fall back onto the pillow and shot his load. Warm waves of pure elation swept through his body, making him shudder and jerk. Each time his anus clenched tight, he could feel the thick girth of his lover’s cock as it emptied the last few drops of seed into him.

  When Calvin collapsed on the mattress beside him, he kissed Paul on the lips and said, “It’s so much better without Miranda.”

  * * * *

  Two days later, Paul was on the phone to Linda.

  “I did it,” he said.

  “Did what?” asked Linda. “Cracked the riddle of the Sphinx?”

  Paul smiled. “Ha ha. Very funny. No, I went to see your psychic, Alison.”

  “She’s not my psychic,” corrected Linda. “Anyway, how did you go?”

  “Wonderful. She’s very good.”

  “I told you,” said Linda matter-of-factly, as if there couldn’t have been any doubt.

  “She took me back to a past life. I was called Miranda and lived in a big house in England.”

  “Miranda? That doesn’t suit you.”

  “Just as well since I’m a guy,” said Paul before recounting the experience of his visit to Alison.

  “So how has it helped you? No more attacks of the body snatcher?”

  One thing he loved about Linda was her way with words. “Nope. All gone. As Alison said, she was just trying to get a message to her lover, Charlie.”

  “Who is actually Calvin?”

  “Yes. Hey, they even have the first initial.”

  “Woo-oo. Spooky. That has to mean something.”

  If she hadn’t said it in such a sarcastic tone, Paul might have agreed with her.

  “Anyway, I’d better call Rick and tell him what’s happened. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Bye.”

  Rick was equally as disinterested as Linda in the outcome of his visit to the psychic and kept lassoing the conversation back to him.

  “It’s a full-length nighty with marabou trim in white. A friend of mine, Archie—you know, the Greek one whose drag name is Anna Phylaxis?—well, he took me to this shop that specialises in larger-sized women. And I got a pair of stunning white glitter platform heels to go with it.”

  Paul sat on the other end of the line, listening to Rick’s list of latest acquisitions as patiently as he could.

  “Why do you buy so much of this stuff, Rick?” he asked at the end of his patience. “I mean, you must have twice as much women’s nightwear as you do regular men’s clothes.”

  “I wear it,” said Rick defensively. “I wear it when I have a gentleman caller. I wear it around the house on the weekend and I wear it to bed.”

  “Okay, Okay. Fair enough, but what has any of that got to do with my story?”

  “Your story? Oh yes, the ghost and stuff.”

  Paul rolled his eyes. “Not a ghost.” He sighed, exasperated. “Okay, well I’ve given you the gist of it. I’d better go. Calvin’s due here any moment.”

  “When are you guys going to move in with each other already?”

  “We haven’t discussed it yet, but I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Toodle-loo.”

  The second Paul hung up, Calvin was knocking on the front door.

  Paul greeted his lover with a big kiss. “Your timing is amazing.”

  Calvin threw his briefcase on the couch. “Why’s that, handsome?”

  “Well, I’ve just got off the phone to Linda and then Rick, but Rick asked me something and I didn’t know the answer. I was wondering if you could help me out.”

  Calvin shrugged. “Who’s Rick? The cross-dresser?”

  Paul nodded. “But it’s not about that. Do you want a coffee?”

  “Yes, please,” said Calvin, following him into the kitchen. “So what was his question?”

  “You take milk and one sugar right?”

  Calvin rolled his eyes. “You know I do. Now what was his question?”

  Paul chuckled to himself and decided against teasing his boyfriend any further. “Well, he asked when we’re going to move in together.”

  Calvin walked over to where Paul was making the coffee. He was smirking. “What did you tell him?”

  Calvin kissed him on the lips, at first quickly, then more passionately.

  “I didn’t answer him at all. He was annoying me so much I said goodbye and hung up. Besides, I didn’t know what to tell him.”

  They kissed again. Paul’s cock grew harder inside his trousers.

  “I think,” said Calvin, sneaking in one more kiss, “this is something we should discuss right away. What do you think?”

  Paul couldn’t help grinning. “I think we need to discuss who’s going to move into whose house. You could always move in here and rent your place.”

  Calvin took him by the hand and led him towards the bedroom. “Or you could move into my place and rent this place.”

  “Or we could sell both houses and b
uy a place together.”

  “I still like the idea of you moving in with me and renting this place.”

  “Oh, really?” said Paul, gently elbowing Calvin in the ribs as they arrived in the bedroom.

  “Ouch,” cried Calvin, then he laughed. “Pity we got rid of Miranda. She could have looked after one of the houses for us.”

  Both of them burst out laughing.

  THE END

  Ryan

  Chapter 1

  Dane pushed open the front door and stepped into the foyer of his magnificent home. After taking three steps across the black and white tiles, he stopped and looked slowly about—at the table with the vase that usually housed an outlandishly large floral display, at the paintings on the wall and the antique hatstand in the corner behind the door. Things he’d seen a hundred times, a thousand times, and yet now seemed only a little familiar.

  He continued turning, completing the circle, and as he caught his reflection in the ornate silver mirror where his Aunt Beatrice used to check herself before leaving the house, he stopped and stared into the glass. He hardly recognised himself. He appeared pale, transparent, and soon he disappeared completely to be replaced by scenes of the car accident that had claimed Aunt Beatrice’s life. There was rain. Something, a dog, running out in front of the car. The car skidding. The screeching of tyres, screeching that tore through his mind and rattled his bones. Hands, his hands, frantically gripping the steering wheel, and his foot, pressed down hard on the brake. Somewhere in the distance, screaming. His Aunt Beatrice before her head connected with the dashboard, silencing her forever.

  He shook his head, trying to shake away the guilt, and found himself gazing, once again, at his own image, the one face he couldn’t bear to look at. He wouldn’t look at. Averting his eyes, he walked across the foyer and disappeared into the heart of the house.

  The house was U-shaped with a half-Olympic-sized swimming pool nestled between the two prongs of the U. It also featured twin garages, a tropical garden with various large stone heads scattered throughout, and a gazebo with white net curtains, and cushions. There was an outdoor setting by the pool, which sat eight people, and a row of four, stark white sun lounges.

  Inside, there were no less than fourteen spacious rooms. A considerable number in a single-storey home. There was a formal lounge room, a dining area and a living room forming what his Aunt Beatrice had liked to call the “west wing.” In the middle of the house was the kitchen, with walk-in pantry, a sunroom—where his aunt had been fond of having her breakfast—and two bedrooms, one which Dane had earmarked for conversion into a home gym one of these days. Along the “east wing” were three more bedrooms, two with their own en suite bathrooms, the main bathroom, and the laundry, right at the end. The wall opposite the rooms was ceiling to floor glass, affording the occupant an uninterrupted view of the swimming pool and a good deal of the vast back garden.

  As Dane wandered through each room in turn, memories of days gone by were everywhere. Memories of Christmas lunches spent at the immense dining table, which almost filled the room. Lazy afternoons by the pool while Aunt Beatrice watched from the sunroom, sipping her iced tea and fanning herself with an antique Chinese fan. When he arrived at the main bedroom, Aunt Beatrice’s room, he grew even more glum. He entered slowly, his eyes on the brass bed with its nest of white pillows edged in lace and the lace-covered quilt where his aunt had slept not fourteen days ago. He walked across the rug to the antique wardrobe and opened it, the rail inside crowded with her dresses and coats. Atop the wardrobe, piled high in large, colourful boxes, were her hats.

  And he’d seen every one of them.

  In his twentieth year, he’d become her companion and carer. He’d been at university at the time, studying journalism with a major in electronic media. At the top of his class and hungry to begin a career, he also helped out at the local community newspaper whenever he could. Initially, his position with Aunt Beatrice was to be temporary, until they could find someone permanently, but things didn’t work out that way and he dropped out of university for good. He’d had no regrets. He was still able to write the occasional human interest story, and she paid him handsomely as well as allowing him to live with her rent-free. When he’d insisted he pay something, his aunt had puffed out her chest, a horrified expression materialising on her face.

  “Charge you rent?” she’d gasped. “Family?” She shook her head. “Whoever heard of such a thing?”

  He’d shrugged. “I just thought it was the proper thing to do.”

  His aunt had studied him for a moment. “You, your grandmother—or what’s left of her—and I are all that remains of this family. If I don’t have you to look after me, what do I have? Some stranger skulking around my home, looking in my drawers, and stealing God-knows-what.”

  She’d got him there.

  His mother had been born many years after Beatrice, a surprise rather than an accident. When his parents had died in a small plane crash travelling in the outback of Australia, naturally he’d been devastated. With his father’s parents and his mother’s father deceased, and his mother’s mother in a home for dementia patients, Beatrice was, as she’d stated, all the family he had.

  Chapter 2

  For several days, Dane lazed around the house. The few times he’d attempted to go outside, the sunlight had hurt his eyes, and shortly afterwards, he’d suffered a headache. While he thought this development was rather strange, he didn’t pay it much thought. He’d survived a disastrous car accident, not to mention the surgeon’s knife. Naturally, it was going to take some time to make a full recovery.

  He fell into a routine of staying up until the early hours of the morning and waking up around noon. He’d read or watch television until the evening, then wander into the twilight to explore the gardens. He especially enjoyed sitting in the gazebo, watching the cool early-evening breezes blowing through the net curtains, gracefully lifting then releasing them so they wafted down like gossamer, brushing against his skin as they fell.

  From a cushioned seat by the entrance to the gazebo, he’d lean out and watch the birds swooping down in the dull light, picking off insects mid-flight. Then, as the sun slipped ever-further over the horizon, he’d listen to them as they settled in the branches that crisscrossed high overhead, chirping and cheeping about their day before, one by one, they fell silent.

  Only then, when the noise of the day had disappeared, and only the occasional unseen dog barked a lonely bark, did Dane wander back inside the house for the night.

  One morning, he went into the formal lounge and was disgusted when he walked into a spider’s web. He picked the silky strands from his face and hair, spitting some from his lips, and noticed how dull and unclean everything looked. When he took the corner of one of the curtains and shook it, a cloud of fine dust exploded into the air. And it didn’t matter along which surface he ran his finger, his fingertip came away with a thin brown line across it. He realised it must have been two weeks since he’d last dusted and vacuumed. In his grief, he’d neglected the household chores. It wasn’t that he didn’t have the time. Time was something he now had in abundance. It was lethargy, a general feeling of apathy. After nearly twenty years of cleaning the house, he simply didn’t want to anymore. And why should he? His aunt had been wealthy and her small fortune was now his. He’d hire someone. Why not? Surely it was his turn to be pampered.

  He placed an advertisement. Online. But in the few minutes it took to write and post it, he could feel another headache coming on, at the front of his head, where he’d struck it in the accident. His spleen had been ruptured and his face, neck, and upper torso cut up and bruised by the shattering glass, but only his head ached. Maybe he’d left the hospital too soon. Or possibly his headaches were something like aftershocks, echoes of the horrific crash that would gradually go away.

  In the living room, he turned on the television. He wasn’t interested in watching it, but the background noise made him feel less alone. He lay on th
e couch as a commercial ended and a late-night news programme recommenced. More bombings. More death. More violence. Hardly news anymore. It was all so tiring. He closed his eyes and listened to the voice of a reporter somewhere in the Middle East. It didn’t take long for her voice to become a droning sound that faded slowly into silence.

  * * * *

  When Dane awoke, he got the sense he was no longer alone. He could see sunlight through a chink in the heavy velvet curtains. The television was dead. For a moment, he lay on the couch, adjusting the cushion beneath his head. With his eyes closed, he listened for a sound that would confirm his feeling of someone else being in the house. But not a footstep nor a creak could he hear. Nevertheless, the feeling persisted, increasing and growing almost palpable until it finally forced him from the couch.

  “Hello,” he called, stepping carefully towards the doorway.

  Silence.

  But it wasn’t the usual silence he knew so well. There was something in the stillness of the house, disturbing it, interrupting it.

  He walked through the dining area and past the kitchen.

  “Hello.”

  He stepped into the hallway that would take him to the “east wing,” but something compelled him to stop, to turn around. He could feel himself being drawn to the front door, by what force he couldn’t say.

  “Hello,” he called, his brow wrinkling as he neared the door.

  He opened it to a handsome man in his late-thirties, not much younger than himself. The man was stocky, muscular, and had dark hair and a thick beard and moustache.

  “Hello?” said Dane.

  “Hi,” said the man, smiling, his teeth bright white against the dark moustache and beard. “It’s me, Ryan.”

  Dane was at a loss. Ryan? Who was Ryan? He’d announced himself as though Dane should know who he was.

  “Your housekeeper. Butler. You advertised online.”

  Dane frowned, desperately trying to remember if he’d received any responses, let alone replied to any.