Read Online Dead Gorgeous (Gay Halloween Paranormal Short Story) by Daniel deLoite - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Daniel deLoite
Ads: Link
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
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
Similar Books
