Pozzed By a Dead Man

[Toon]

Don't mess around with the occult. Seriously. I know. I know... It's all nonsense and unscientific. I am with you on that  for the most part. I was an athiest who laughed when members of my family tried to get me to ACCEPT JESUS and REPENT. I was also amused by those chubby women who called themselves "wiccans" and would burn candles at midnight or whatever the fuck they did. I also rolled my eyes at devil-worshipping dudes who wore black eyeliner and had had stupid pentagram tattoos and listened to crappy metal bands. Those people just had boring lives and wanted some daily drama. I didn't actively mock them because most folks need a hobby and I was of the "live and let live" school of thought. It's great fodder for horror movies but ultimately harmless. 

That's what I used to think back I had the luxury to be above everything. Now that I'm too sick too hold down a job, I'm quite a bit more humble. I did something 'supernatural' that ruined me forever.

First, a little background:

I graduated college in 1993. During my last year, I lived in what most people called "the student slums". I had a two room basement apartment in a big red house on a street right off campus. It was affordable and fairly nice except for an abundance of spiders. Spiders give me nightmares even though they're mostly harmless. Right across from my door was the other basement apartment. The only thing I knew about its tenant was it was a guy my age and that he listened to old ragtime music. I'd glimpse him from time to time at the mailboxes or in the hallway, but I was (and still am) cursed with a crippling shyness that prevented me from saying "hi" or even looking at his face. He was tall, pale, bony and had black curly hair that went down to the middle of his neck in the back. Imagine a blurry, young Jeff Goldblum and that's the image I had in my head. I kind of deduced that he was gay as well. He had a lot of effeminate male friends over to visit, and he just gave off a 'vibe' that I picked up on because I was gay as well. I was gay in name only though because I could never imagine doing anything with another man. But it was more the social interraction that terrified me. I've never been able to initiate conversation or even eye contact. Small talk with a stranger scared me more than any spider. His name was David H --------.  I only knew that from reading the plastic lable on his mailbox.

Looking back, it's amazing that I even managed to graduate (with very good grades) and soon find the job of my dreams. Working as an adult, around other adults slowly gave me some basic social skills. Hell, I even had a few 'friends'. I didn't go out much. I'd come home, play Nintendo, and go to bed watching gay porn videos from Falcon. Those were the days! I was young, healthy and slowly becoming a normal person. After a year or two, I discovered the internet. I got a computer from Best Buy and had a dial-up connection. Back then, it was so basic. You mainly had to go to "bulletin boards" to interact with people. Not surprisingly. I was able to "talk" with people with a keyboard much better than I could in person. I didn't go to my little city's only gay board out of pure embarrassment, but I went to a couple of hetero places that were "naughty". I found out their names from the stripper/hooker who kived in my building. One place was for swingers and one dealt exclusively with orgies. There's where I met Lacy Beth. She had a wonderfully foul mouth and a huge personality. She sometimes chatted with me when the room was dead or she was just bored. Because of my age and general naivete, she referred to me as her son. We talked about everything under the sun -- including her deep involvement in the occult. When I told her I was a confirmed skeptic, she was almost offended. It's like she thought I didn't believe in her as a person. As I stumbled to explain she told me she could prove it to me. Proof is an excellent concept for people like me. That's when she told me a certain ritual she did to contact her dead grandmother and it worked the very first time. She had stopped cussing now, so I knew she was being serious. I asked a bunch of questions...here are the main ones:

"Is it scary?" No. We talk all the time and she's the same as I remember her.

"Does it only work on the dead or can you contact living people too?" It works with the living, but in a very different way. It's much better with the deceased...as long as you know where they're buried.

Well I was definitely intrigued. It took a bit of pleading, but she eventually told me how to do it. The skepticism crept back into me because it was so simple. She sensed this abd told me to try it that night if I didn't believe it. I promised I would. And then she warned me to be very careful. She had a few specific warnings though: "Don't use it to contact someone you don't know or if you don't know where their final resting place is." and "Don't use it while high on anything or with bad intent." I asked what would happen if I did either of those two things and her response was simply "You'll be fucked". After a bit more chat we said our goodnights and I logged off.  

I didn't try it that night, First of all, I couldn't think of a dead person I'd known. I'd never even been to a single funeral. All of my grandparents had died before I knew them. I figured I'd have to use it  to reach a living person. But who? It ocurred to me to find one of those hung Falcon stars, but I didn't "know" them so that'd be breaking a rule. Hmmmm.

I woke up the next morning knowing exactly who I wanted to find. You guessed it -- my former college neighbor, David. Despite not really knowing him, we'd practically shared a living space and I certainly wouldn't consider him a stranger. I mean...you know?....

My computer at work was way faster than my own. I used it to find David. The internet had grown fast since I first started poking around online. You could go to this place called "Yahoo" and search for people. David's last name was pretty unusual and I even knew his middle name thanks to a screw up with the mail. There was a letter for him in my mailbox. It was from his bank in a little town near my own. I could take it to him and finally get a look at his face, but instead I just opened it. He'd bounced a check. 

Anyway, it took 20 seconds of searching this Yahoo thing  to find him. The first link went to an obituary. No! He had died the year before at the age of 27 and was buried in the same dinky town his tight-ass bank was in. I'd been there as a kid. Maybe a county fair or some tractor pull my dad was always dragging me to. I think we'd even been by the cemetary. According to the obit, he'd moved to Germany nad worked for a bank there for about a year. And then moved back home for awhile before dying. They played Scott Joplin music at the funeral. Ragtime.

The next link led me to a photo of his grave stone. It was one of those flat.gray granite boxes with a grand piano illustration carved on the top surface. There was an option to leave a virtual flower there or write a message, but I did neither. How did he die? Well, of course I had a pretty good guess. The virus had spread all over the country by then and even the straight "sexy swingers" in the chatrooms were afraid of it. Maybe it was a car accident, though. I had no way of knowing even though I knew. I just knew. The rest of the day was a blur as I was lost in my thoughts. I decided to get drunk that night. 

I played Nintendo all evening while drinking beer after beer after beer. My stereo was tuned to public radio because that seemed like the only station that might possibly play Scott Joplin. It didn't. I popped a few Xanax before bed. My doctor had prescribed them for anxiety and I could take one every eight hours "as needed", but I usually saved them up for night when I would take two and fall right to sleep.  That night I took three on top of all the beer. It was Friday anyway and I could sleep until noon the next day if I wanted to. I wanted to. Well, sleep didn't come as swiftly as I expected. I rolled over on my back and stared at the ceiling. I was as awake as if I'd downed a triple espresso instead of a controlled substance. Well...I could try the ritual now. I felt shadowing fingers across my brain trying to massage that thought to life. OK. It was a short, simple thing that might even help me to sleep. So I did it. I tried it to contact David in his piano grave way down in the Southern part of my home state. I had a brief mental flash of Lacy Beth's horrified face begging me to stop. But I wasn't breaking any of the rules. Not really. Bending them maybe, but not breaking.

And then I was done. I'll share the ritual with you at the very end of this story, There will be some plenty of blank space and words of caution before you see it. Just read my tale and decide for yourself if it's what you want to do. Don't pass it along please.

That night was strange in more than one way. First off, I lived in a pretty crummy neighborhood with Section 8 apartments on both sides. There was usually a lot of yelling and loud music with lots of glass-shaking bass. Not then. And no honking or sirens either. My bedroom was quiet as a tomb. Well, it was quiet except for what sounded like little drummers near the floor. I slid out of bed to turn on the bathroom light so the room wouldn't be totally dark. I felt my eyes close involuntarily. I started to half-dream about piano music until I heard the little drummers again. Seriously? What the fuck WAS that? I woke up a little and saw a small band of spiders in the sliver of light from my bathroom. They were the same arachnids from my old apartment building in college expept a little bigger and fuzzier. And when they walked, they made little marching noises. Like drums. I'd call the landlord to spray tomorrow. I rolled over and let the beer and tranquilizers pull me into sleep. No dreams.

The next morning I hopped out of bed at 6 am. Why so early? Well, I'd forgotten to turn off my alarm clock for the weekend, and there was a lot of sun creeping in from the next room where I'd also  forgotten to close the blinds. I was wide awake. I guess I could go do laundry. This was the best time for that chore because the laundry room in the basement was always deserted. I looked around for spiders but didn't see any. I grabbed my pill bottle full of quarters, detergent, my full laundry basket and took the elevator down. Ding. Again, it was empty. I loaded two machines  with just socks, unders and t-shirts. My work clothes had to be drycleaned, and the jeans I'd worry about some other time. Usually I'd stay there until the cycle was over, but I hadn't brought a book or a magazine or my portable CD player. I just decided to say "fuck it' and go back upstairs for a quick nap. I was suddenly exhausted. ..almost as if a tranquilizer dart had been fired into the back of my head. I barely made it to the bed.

I lied on my back in just a pair of shorts and a holey t-shirt. I settled into my too-soft mattress and drifted off just as it started to rain. I was snoozing for a bit when I heard two things: thunder and the little drummers. Oh God. I still had my eyes closed when I decided I'd go down to the landlord's apartment and request an exterminator in person. I opened my eyes and saw David. THE David. He was standing at the foot of my bed in a black suit that didn't seem to fit his tall, too thin frame. His tie was red and there was a flower in his lapel that looked fresh if not slightly "alien". I couldn't make out his face because he was standing in front of the illuminated windows.

"David?", I asked in my waking-up voice.

"Yesss." He answered. "I remember yoooo". His voice was strained as if he wasn't getting enough air.

The rain picked up and made the natural light in the room shift and yet I atill could not see his face. It couldn't be a dream. Any time I'd had a dream where I knew it was a dream I'd try to start flying or something and wake up immediately.  I got off the bed. I was aware of gravity, temperature and everything mortal. I was for sure not dreaming.

I inched towards the light switch.

"Can I look at you...in the light?", I asked.

"Yess", he answered.

I flipped the switch and there he was. I'll try to describe what I saw there. I was looking at a slender young man who could have just come from a Shakespeare audition. He was bizarrely handsome even though his skin was extra, extra white with tinges of green and blue around his neck and forehead. There was a small red slit in his neck and he was barefoot. His feet were long and bony and the nails were too long. 

"I never got a chance to look at  you before", I admitted.

"You were too afraid to let anyone love you." He swallowed some air and I watched his blue-ish adam's apple slide up and down.

A loud clap of thunder.

"Can I hug you? I always wanted to." 

"Do it."

I walked over and wrapped my arms around him tight. He smelled like chemicals, like a science lab. But I didn't care once his long arms embraced me too. It was so perfect for a few seconds until his suit started to slide off. It was cut all the way up the back thanks to the mortician who dressed him. I wanted to feel embarrassed for him, but I was too busy looking at his naked body. They didn't even try to put underwear on him I guess. I couldn't help but notice his penis. It was long, skinny and the same weird color as the rest of him.  I dared to touch it. It wasn't as cold as I would have guessed. Just as I looked up to see the expression on his face and his eyes, but never saw them becuase he used the strength he had to throw me back on the bed. 

More thunder.

David's breathing sounded even more strained than before, but he managed to squat on my chest. He pushed the pointy head of his long dick past my lips and let it sit on my tongue. I didn't figure a dead man's penis could get hard but I was wrong. It grew heavier and bigger in my mouth. How? I tried so hard to please him with my untested skills. I reached and grabbed his skinny ass to pull him forward and farther down my throat. He was breathing hard and gulping for more air. I let him set the pace, but I kind of wanted to stop sucking because of the chemical taste of his dickhead. He didn't have mind-reading abilities because he continued face-fucking me...for a really long time. Finally he pulled away and waved his arrow-shaped wet dick over my face. He lowered himself down and put his whole weight on top of me. We kissed with what felt like passion to me. I was in love...and didn't mind the rotting taste of his mouth. My dreams were coming true and didn't want to spoil anything. 

Lightning. Louder thunder.

He stayed on top of me and pushed his naked hips down harder to part my legs. Then that pointy dick found my anus. I helped things along by adjusting myself so that my legs were practically in the air. He guided himself into me. I'd always heard that sex hurts for a gay bottom, but it didn't feel too bad at first. It was nice and intimate but grew increasingly uncomfortable -- especially when he went in deeper and bucked harder. I wanted to slow things but didn't have any options available to me. I had to take it. He thrusted and thrusted as he gasped for air, and I felt completely violated. He suddenly stopped mid-thrust and sucked in all the air from the room. There was no oxygen left for me as he orgasmed inside my body.

I needed a break from this supernatural fuck scene so I nudely hopped out of bed and went to the kitchen for a smoke. I felt a tiny rivulet of fluid leaking down the back of my left leg. Blood? Dead Man's Cum? I didn't check -- just wiped it away with a paper towel and threw it in the trash without looking. I went back into the bedroom and David was gone. I'd forgotten all about my wet laundry downstairs, and just went to sleep. 

David came back and the scene was repeated every night for a week. The last night he wanted me to eat his ass and I did. It was by far nastier than you're imagining. It was then  and there that I told him to leave and never come back. That was the end...or so I thought. I got super sick later that month. After that cleared up, I got sores on the inside of my mouth and had pretty severe night sweats. The doctor confirmed that I had the HIV virus and outlined some treatment options. I have mostly tried to not think about it and pretend I'm fine. Now I'm sick all the time and can't work. I'm fucked.

And now I'll share the ritual even though it led to my destruction. Please don't try it.

 

WARNING!

 

GO BACK! 

 

DANGEROUS INSTRUCTIONS:

 

 

Do this at night...as close to 3 am as possible. Don't be under the influence of anything.  Lie in bed or on the floor or anywhere you can fully stretch out. If you're lying North to South. it's even better. Close your eyes. Now think about the person you're trying to reach. Imagine their face and mentally picture where they are buried. Move your eyeballs back and forth, left to right under closed eyelids. Do it hard enough to hurt. Once your eye sockets are fatigued, stop. Go to sleep and picture your contact. It usually works within hours. 

 

 

 

[bigkevsuk]

don't know how you guys come up with these ideas, but its a real talent just love reading keep up the great work and thanks thats another load ive shot

[lynn1964]

SUPERB!

[Beefypervpigphx]

WOW

[Guest MeatSeeker]

So nasty yet so hot... wish this were a series lol