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Sebastian
I’m going to hell.
If there was a single doubt remaining in my mind about where I’m going when I shuffle off this mortal coil, I think we can go ahead and put them to rest once and for all. I knew it the moment she arrived and I laid eyes on her for the first time in four or five years.
“There is a time for everything and a season for every activity under the heavens,” Father Morrow, the chaplain for our firehouse, drones on. “A time to be born and a time to die. A time to plant and a time to uproot…”
I shift on my feet, trying to subtly camouflage the growing bulge in my pants. With Bree standing so close, her shoulder brushing my arm, I'm keenly aware of the heat flowing from her body. Of the light floral scent drifting from her hair and perfume from her body. She turns a cerulean blue to me, and my gaze is drawn to those red, full lips of hers, glistening in the dull light of the overcast afternoon. As I imagine what they’d feel like on my mouth and my cock, I have to shift on my feet again, trying to tame my raging hard-on.
All of five foot two inches with strawberry blonde hair that falls just below her shoulders, and a lithe, slender but deliciously curvy body that just looks like it was built for sin. Like it was built for me and all the things I want to do to it. I grit my teeth, trying to banish those thoughts. It’s wrong. I know it’s wrong in every conceivable way. But it seems like the harder I try to push them away, the tighter they cling to me. Bree has become a woman far more beautiful than I ever could have imagined she’d become all those years ago.
“Mr. Bullock, I was told you wanted to say a few words.”
Father Morrow’s words snap me back to reality and pull me into the moment. I take a minute and listen to the tick-tick-tick of the rain on the canvas canopy above, sheltering us from the on-again-off-again rain of the day. Thankful for the distraction the priest has given me, I tear my eyes away from her then clear my throat and take a step forward, my eyes fixed on the polished oak casket before me. Raindrops bead on the surface, sliding down the sides of the box tears.
The eyes of the crowd of mourners turn to me, waiting to hear what I have to say. I’ve given a lot of thought to my eulogy. I’ve thought about it for the last five years if we’re being honest—ever since Eddie told me he had cancer. An occupational hazard, I suppose. It was an aggressive cancer, but he fought it hard. Nobody knew he had it until the very end when he couldn’t hide the effect the treatments were having on him any longer.
Eddie was a fighter—a stubborn bastard, really—and lasted a couple of years longer than his doctors said he would. You’d think with all that extra time I had, I would have been able to come up with something, adequate, if not exactly eloquent to say about the man who’d been my best friend for the last thirty years. But I’ve got nothing.
The silence drags on and the weight of the gaze of the mourners presses down on me. I hear a couple of people sniffling and a few others clearing their throats as they wait for me to speak. I cut a glance to my right again and see familiar blue eyes looking back at me. Feeling my cock growing stiffer in my slacks once more, I tear my gaze away and focus on the casket again.
“I’ve struggled to come up with the right words—I've struggled to find them for a very long time,” I start. “But what are the right words for a man who’s been my best friend for my entire life? What are the right words for somebody who’s been as generous and steadfast as Eddie Mason? How do you summarize the life of service he’s lived?”
As my gaze drifts around the crowd, I see some people nodding their heads. I’m making a concerted effort to keep my eyes forward instead of looking behind me. I can feel her eyes on me all the same though. I can feel them burning into my skin.
“We met when we were kids, and our friendship was the one thing in my life that brought me joy. It was Eddie who talked me into joining the fire academy with him and we’ve spent the last twenty years running into burning buildings together,” I go on. “And I think I can speak for Eddie when I say he wouldn’t want us to mourn his passing but to celebrate his life. He was a man who lived his life to the fullest. He lived every minute of it. And because of that, he wouldn’t want any of us to spend a single minute mourning his loss. He’d want us to feel the joy of having known him.”
I speak for another five minutes or so then invite others to speak and share their stories about their time with Eddie. He was a man who touched the lives of many. A man who brought joy and laughter. A man who, like I said, lived life to the hilt. Seeing the faces of all those gathered around his casket makes me wonder how people will remember me. Not that it matters much, I suppose. I’ll be dead and the opinions of others will cease to be a concern.
I listen to the stories being told, the whole time trying to resist the urge to look behind me. To look into those cerulean blue eyes and admire the flush in her pale cheeks. I fight the urge to look at those plump, luscious lips and imagine what they’d feel like on my mouth and on my cock. Fight the urge to imagine what that soft, curvy body would feel like, naked and pressed up against my own, my rod buried deep inside that sweet, young little pussy. My thoughts stir the flames of desire in me and make my cock stiffen.
The service finally comes to an end and the crowd begins to filter away. Bree turns and heads for the parking lot, glancing behind her as if she expects me to follow. I do of course. But not until after taking a minute to admire the way her dress hugs her heart-shaped ass. I fall into step beside her, and we walk in silence. We pass a couple of cops from the local precinct I've seen at a few calls. We’re usually friendly but I wouldn’t call them my friends.
As we walk by, I can’t help but notice they’re both looking at Bree’s ass too. And when I see them smile and nod approvingly, I feel my blood begin to boil. The one on the right—Perkins is his name—tips me a suggestive wink that only fans the flames already burning inside of me. I let Bree continue on as I peel off and step over to the two cops. They both give me a smirk and it’s all I can do to keep from punching them square in the face.
“That little girl sure grew up nice, didn’t she?” Perkins asks.
“Real nice,” said the other cop, whose name is Stone. “You going to get a piece of that or what, Bullock?”
“Yeah, because if you’re not, then I’m going to take a run at that,” Perkins states.
My jaw is clenched so tight, I feel like I could bite through metal. Just hearing the way these two pieces of shit are talking about her fills me with a rage that’s starting to burn out of control. So far, I’ve managed to contain it. The more these two smirk and speak about Bree like she’s nothing more than something to be used for their own personal enjoyment, the more difficult it gets.
“So? You going to fuck her?” Stone presses. “Or do we get a shot at her?”
Perkins opens his mouth to add his two cents, but before he can utter a single syllable, I step closer to him, using every inch of my six foot four inch frame to loom over him, my nose scant inches from his. He flinches and takes a step back but seems to realize he’s just lost face with me and cuts his eyes to his partner, swallowing hard as he squares his shoulders and tries to put on a tough face. I narrow my eyes and grit my teeth as I lean so close, I can practically smell the stink of his fear.
“You go anywhere near her—either one of you—and they’re going to have to start feeding you through a fucking straw. Do you understand me?”
“Come on,” Perkins says nervously. “It was just a joke. Relax, man.”
“You heard me,” I growl, my voice low. “You’re not to look at her. You’re not to go near her. You’re not even to think about her. Do you fucking understand me?”
“Yeah. Sure. Whatever you say, man. Just be cool, for fuck’s sake,” Perkins says.
I cut my eyes to Stone who raises his hands. "I hear you, man. She's off-limits. I get it."
