Chapter 6

Cooper Graham. He is straightened and risen before me, wholly and every inch starkers and buck naked and without a slight stitch on. He has slumped and lobbed his clothes down to the floor, after I have worked out the same that is, and as he eyes and gazes direct at me, I feel the hots and salaciousness steel and gee up in my flesh and veins, enticing me to inspect in-depth his unclothed body, to leer and gawp and letch after his shapely and well-formed and curvaceous self. I am on the tenderhooks; I am in suspense; I am winded and driven and steered out of breath.

The candles are glowing and glistening lustrously and lambently. I am in love with their blaze and brilliance and sparkle; that velvety, radiant and stunning flashiness of theirs. As well, I am in intensely and deeply in love with the way that Cooper is making love to me. Steadily; by degrees; and taking his time and leisure. He lounges and sprawls there on top of me, necking and snogging me with his gentle, warm, and touchy-feely lips while caressing and patting and nuzzling me at the same time. I love him. So very much indeed.

I pinch and gnaw and nibble my lips with my unsoiled and squeaky-clean teeth as Cooper bangs and slaps and belts and clouts in and out of me. He is champion and first-class and top-notch at this. Yeah. My sphere is but a field and domain of enjoyment and bliss and lots more of contentment and satisfaction. While he whips and breaks and hits his penis into and outside of my most dear cunt all the more harder and faster and quicker, I reach with my wonky and tottering hands for his enormous, bulky, baby soft butts behind and grip and grasp and clasp as solid and jelled as I can to myself. Yeah. I am absolutely and verily enjoying and taking pleasure in this.

To be honest with you—on the other hand—at times I do wish that I am dead. Every inch and consummately dead. Dead like those two boys, Cooper and Vaughn, whose deaths I am responsible for. I didn't mean to do it. I just did it unwillingly and forcedly. That is what always happens when I break the rules. That is how things always end up whenever I become a little bit stupid and stubborn and yielding and careless. Awful and dire.

Cooper died on Valentine's Day two years ago. He died before my very own eyes and those of everyone a round, helpless and remediless. His death was so galling and frightful.

Vaughn died in his car, having driven me home from the party that we had just attended. He gave up the ghost right in his seat, with I myself keeping a hand on his once-warm-but-now-suddenly-cold-cheek, and it was after we had kissed vehemently and intensely.

In all my life, it is these two boys whom I have ever dated and fell in love with. There are no other. And there will be other, it seems. Cooper and Vaughn. I still love them more than anything else. More than my own breath and existence itself. Yeah ... more than all that indeed.

I sigh to myself as I think about all this, seated down on my enormous bed, my feet tucked and crossed over each other, my hands wielding a sharply knife which I would soon use to root out my life. It has been enough already. Twenty years of living hell so far. A twicefold decades of torture and torment and endless actual nightmares and agony and anguish. I will put an end to everything now—without delay.