After the Funeral

I hold him around his upper arms, use my legs to hang on round his thighs, and he's lying face-down with me on top of him like a limpet. Lizard, maybe, with my bent legs. My cheek rubs up and down his shoulder blade. It's like I need as much of myself in contact with him as possible. He grounds me most of the time, anyway; this is just more visible.

His pert wee arse is under my sticky cock, which is smearing across his suit trousers. The sight of cum on his best clothes is always a turn-on, and also a blatant hint that it's time to rip him out of them. So I reach my hands under to try to undo his belt and all, without getting too distracted by his cock.

It's not actually possible to get his trousers open with me lying on top of him, or at least that's my excuse for being totally distracted by said cock. Holding my palm over that bulge in the wool fabric, other hand over the tattoo on his bicep, face and all the rest of me laying over the man, I feel just about connected to life on Earth.

We both lie still for a few minutes. I can't explain why, and he's just letting me do what I need to do. As I lie on my fella's body, his warmth seeps into me, slowly but surely melting my heart. Maybe I doze off a bit; I don't know.

The hoary words from the funeral run through my mind. Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted. Not by my extended family or the Church, for sure. Or maybe, I get beatified by their homophobia? Blessed are you when men revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on My account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven.

Yeah, right. Can't see the Church admitting its revulsion was wrong, myself. But it would be funny if a God told them. Me, him... sure I've done loads of sinful casual sex before, and lots of fun it was, but me and Dan, all close and loving, that can't be sinful. It's so right, with him.

Anyone calling my kind, gentle man an evil sinner can fuck right off. Original Sin can get to the fuck it came from and fuck off some more.

My cock twitches, waking up slightly.

"You want me?" he asks.

"Mm?" We do do it that way round, sometimes, all gentle and sentimental, so it's not a daft question. I do enjoy feeling his heat all round my cock, along with knowing that he's got over his hang-ups. I'm the only guy in years he's trusted to fuck him.

But no, if I need to feel connected to him, to the world, feel something, anything, there's only one thing for it.

"Soon," I tell him, "but not now. Need you."

He translates, "You need me to fuck your brains out?"

It's not just hyperbole. I overthink everything. I used to drink, to force my brain to quieten down a wee while, and use drugs; now I've mostly got better coping mechanisms. Mostly. Sex is a great one.

"Yeah," I exhale, all quiet.

"Uh-huh. Right, mate, let's get you naked and proper gagging for it."

He yanks my trousers off by the cuffs, lifting my legs in the air. They flop down, me being too tired to control them. Dan nods. "Good start, but, briefs already wedged under your balls? Not a stylish look." He fixes that, tugging them down my legs, then a flick so they land on the floor somewhere.

So now I'm bottomless, showing off my balls and my legs, while still wearing my dark purple shirt, black silk tie, and black waistcoat. I was elegant, all clothed. Now?

Dan growls, "Nice." He's not often all possessive. It gets me hard when he is. He grips my thighs, then pushes my knees up to my chest.

Oh, thank fuck. He knows what I need. My arsehole is all open to him in this position; he can plough it as deep as humanly possible. That satisfied look, like he owns me -- that's one I used to see on Diane, too. It was just as hot on her. But Dan's all man, got more strength to hold my legs up. A bigger angle, because he's taller as well as more powerful. God, I still miss her, so much, but Dan can give me a good fucking that even my dynamo wee woman with her biggest ever strap-on could never match.

There had better be a fucking Heaven, because it's a crying shame they've never got to meet.

Speaking of heaven, Dan's still holding my bent legs out of the way with one hand, as he throws lube at my hole with the other. He's ignoring my exhausted cock. Fine by me. I'm an empty vessel just needing to be filled.

Wanting, needing, whatever.

He folds himself up, to shove his face into my groin. He still doesn't bother with my cock, that's out of action for the duration. I'm practically forty, after all. But his mouth under the flapping thing, scrunching his lips all over my balls and under them, like a dog seeking every nuance of another dog's scented messaging, that's great. Even getting a hair from my balls stuck in his teeth so it pulls a moment, it's good because it makes me feel. Feeling means I'm alive.

Speaking of feeling...

I manage a word, in a quavering voice. "Please?"

My man lifts his head, eyes me all silent. He knows what I mean. It's the only thing I ever ask for, really.

"OK. I've got you."

And thank fuck, he does. That plastic-coated tip of his cock slips into my slicked-up hole with no friction whatsoever.

Only a couple inches, though. He's concerned, worried I'm not in my right mind. I'm getting righter, with him inside me, even more of his skin heating mine. I shiver, suddenly.

"Ade?"

"I'm fine. Just fuck me."

He's unsure, but thinking about it, he reckons that even when I'm not fine, I'm usually somewhat better once he's had me.

He slides himself further inside my flesh. Like I'm his glove puppet. Just call me Sooty. He's gloriously firm in my arse, like a support for my floppy body. And mind. My pillar of sanity, rock of sense, the underpinning of my life. My buttress of butt-sex. That one makes me snigger, which makes the cautious bastard stop moving.

I yowl, distressed by the standstill.

"Yeah?'

"Yeah. Aye, come on, love. Seriously. Take me."

He knows I can take as much as he'll give me. And could have another few blokes after, not that we're mentally up for that tonight. No, tonight it's just me and my bedrock. He says I'm as much a rock for him, which is as maybe, supporting his education and all, but right now he's my granite and I'm right metamorphous, shaping myself around him.

He's still holding my shins to my chest.

"Don't hold back. Do it."

He gives the wee nod, I nod back. One last moment to savour his cock all gentle inside me, warm and smooth.

Then he demonstrates what he does all those crunches for down in the gym, and the fucker fucks me fucking senseless.

Nothing like a man sledge-hammering your arse to make you forget any woes you might have ever had.

Or any wants. Freed from desire, mind and senses purified... I'm purified, sanctified...

Dan's run out of steam and jizz. He's breathing heavily, trying not to fall asleep post-climax so he can still look after me. His cock softens in my hole as he reaches to undo my tie and start on the shirt buttons.

Full purification of the soul requires confession. He's my saviour, after all. "I love you, Daniel."

"Good! I still love you, too." He says the words ten, a hundred times more often than I do. I'm a bastard; such words don't come easy to me.

Dan opens up my shirt. I ought to be a ritual sacrifice, now, I suppose. I let people do knife play, back in the day. My man just runs a finger around my tiny scrap of chest hair and over my nipples. "Feeling a bit better, love? Bit more connected to the land of the living, again?"

"Aye. I will fuck in the presence of the Lord in the land of the living."

"Right. Is that a quote, or should I worry you're starting your own cult? Orphan boys do that, sometimes."

I'm glad he's said it, that I'm an orphan now. I shake my head. "You never learnt the Psalms, neither? Psalm 114. Or is it 116? Or both. They get a tad repetitive when the good bits are nicked for funeral services... No, they don't usually say 'fuck', but it's no' a bad translation. Everything we do, is embracing life, and God is always watching."

"If you say so. But here I thought I was the dirty exhibitionist out of the two of us."

"Sweetheart, you'll never ever get to be a filthier bastard than me!" He loves being watched, as well as other people watching me when I'm getting fucked. Me, I just don't give a shit. Unless they're queuing up for me. What was I saying? Ah. "But yeah, God must be a voyeur, right? Always all-seeing, and if he designed us, or even just kick-started evolution like any sensible Christian believes, then being omniscient, he knew what he'd end up seeing... Dirty twisted bastard."

Dan laughs. "I'll let you worry about your religion. Not my monkey, matey! But, if it's fine for him to watch guys having sex, then that means it's good and godly if we go down the Camberwell sauna tomorrow night, right? You can clean body and soul at the same time!"

"It's a good thought. But I'm a wee bit peopled out from all this week. Next week, you're on." Go me, using my words. Way too many fucking people. And family. Even worse.

"As long as you're hanging onto the land of the living."

"Aye. Cos I love you."

He squints, thinking that's a non sequitur.

"Whoever does not love, abides in death. Remember?"

He nods, flings away my shirt, and holds me close. As usual in his arms, I drift off to sleep, however much I've thought I wouldn't. Even without any more to drink.

*

We pass a few hours with Michelle and family the next day, before Dan drives us to the airport. Niall still doesn't approve of gays on principle, and he's boring as fuck as well as actual religious, but he's OK to us. Verging on friendly, even, just not quite there. I think he's fighting in his own mind.

He'd clearly really like Dan, if my wee fella weren't a fornicator, sodomising me regularly. I can see the painful twists in the guy's thoughts, unable to recognise us as the affront to human dignity the Church tells him we are.

He's not a bad fella, Niall; does his share with changing nappies and cleaning the house, which counts for a lot. Makes Michelle happy, which means even more. He happily lets us play with his wee kids, and agrees to come with them to see London -- he's never been to England. He said none of his family had, until Chelle coughed and reminded him his sister had had to travel once, to Liverpool. Michelle says he's still close to his sister despite her abortion, so thinks in time he'll get used to us.

I suspect Chelle will be a good influence on him. And on the wee ones. Young Aoife won't accept being a second-class citizen just because she's a girl, I'm sure. Not with me and Dan to back her up.

The roads have greatly improved since I lived here last, so we hit Belfast with time to spare. An hour to grab a wee cup of tea and a bite. There's a group trying to raise money for some queer charity, trying to be perky and extract coins out of morose shoppers in the drizzle. I make Dan stop.

I go give the astounded young queers all my emergency cash that I got out when we landed. It's probably near five hundred pounds, still.

"Are you sure, love?" Dan wants to check I'm of sound mind.

"Aye. Some things, you just need to do." I quote, with a few changes:

"If I were not expecting the fallen to rise again, it would have been superfluous and foolish to pray for the dead.

But if I do this with a view to the splendid reward that awaits those who had gone to rest in godliness, it was a holy and pious thought.

Thus I make atonement for the dead, that they might be absolved from their sin."

I tell the charity workers to record it in the names of both my parents.

Let their sins be absolved. Mine, I'll worry about should I ever reach the Pearly Gates. Maybe Diane could put in a word?

"Done? Come on, pet, let's get our flight."

It's way too crowded for blow jobs on the plane, nor even hand jobs, but we flirt with the camp young air steward. He's trying to exceed all the gay stereotypes, so it would be plain cruel not to, even though neither of us plan to ever actually call him. It outrages the old biddy in front of us, which is the important thing.

"You OK, love?" Dan asks for the hundredth time of the day.

"Aye. We're doing well, Michelle and the weans are doing well, and the old bigots are dying off. It's all good. Just looking forward to getting home."

"Huh." He's not wholly convinced. He'll probably get Will and other friends round daily, to check up on me. Again. Fair enough. He's curious. "That quote you recited about your donation -- sounded Biblical. Is it a Catholic thing? I thought you weren't, any more?"

I didn't take Communion at the funeral, nor go up for a blessing. I know people noticed. Just as well Ma's dead, or she'd be on the phone first thing in the morning. Silver linings.

I shrug. "You can't quit. Only lapse. Maybe there is a God, just pissed off with his messengers over the centuries? I mean, 'Love your neighbour'? 'Give to the poor', 'Judge not...?' -- there's some good ideas in there, y'know! In between the druggies like Habakkuk and Job, and the bonkers parts of Revelation, and all the twisting of stories to force them to fit prophecies from hundreds of years earlier." I sigh. It's not an easy yes-or-no answer. "I do pray, sometimes. Repent, even, of some things. Just not about anything to do with my sex life."

I add, quite loudly, so the granny in front can hear, "Cos that has only ever involved fully consenting adults! Not like -- how many convicted priests is it, now?"

Dan shrugs. "No idea. Anyhow, is that enough donation to a collection plate for this month?"

"It'll have to be. I might set up a Direct Debit, later. Check it's not for anything too daft, won't you?"

He nods. "Sure thing, boss man. Wahey! We've touched down. Let's get you home."

As we walk past the tutting lady, we give up on trying to hold hands, but Dan hisses into my ear.

"Soon as we're inside the flat, I want you, naked, legs spread, and don't even think about calling anyone God but me, all right?"

This is a theology I can live with. He was, is, my neighbour, and I love him. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, for he is with me, and his thick rod, his firm staff, they comfort me still... I can feel the delightful soreness from that comfort, yet.

I'll never tell the boy, but he's my 'Personal Jesus', too. I'll take my guidance for life from Depeche Mode over the Church, any day.

The old order has passed away.