Before I wrote my story on this platform, I started thinking about John. Which is what inspired me to share it. Maybe psychologically, I needed to let it out. Maybe it was something that needed to be told in this day and age, versus when it happened. But something spawned those memories buried deep in my mind. When I would think of him, I would be transported back to when it all happened. How it happened, when it happened, and how much pleasure I received from it.
Maybe it was the warm summer nights here, where I live now. Perhaps it was a scent or a sound, but something would come over me and transport me back to a younger, more sensual time in my life. I sometimes wondered what John would have looked like, had he lived. How he would have lived his life. Where he would have settled. Would he have found happiness? Or would he have been that proverbial closeted gay man who just lived life as best that he could, keeping his secrets to himself?
When I left that house and moved forward with life, I married, settled down, had my children, and lived a very productive life in the newspaper business, never looking back. I never thought much about what had happened in that old house just outside of Indianapolis. Just as every adult does, we let memories slip from our conscious and develop new memories with our families, friends, and co-workers.
It wasn't until that early summer evening that the rush of memories of John came flooding back. Even though it was hard to accept back then, even more abundantly now, I know it happened. And I took the time to write it out to free myself and regale all of you with what happened. And many of you replied believing you had a similar experience (s). And I believe you. Because I lived through it. And oddly enough, even though I never communicated with him, never felt his presence in my new surroundings, or my life, somehow, I always felt John was with me. Or at least those experiences were.
After retiring from the newspaper business, I was solicited by a large conglomerate radio station for part-time work. They offered me a job working behind the scenes for a well-known radio host as an article finder. Basically, my job was to look through daily news stories, prepare talking points for the host, so he could elicit phone calls and debate, and set up his four-hour shows. It was a cakewalk of a job because I could go in early, get the talking pieces set up, a half-hour at a time, mix in a bit of literature, and head home by mid-afternoon, long before the host even went on air.
The work got me out of the house and gave me a few extra dollars. I had aged a bit since entering into the world of news. Even though I loved my wife and we had a wonderful marriage, we had grown older, and more distant since the children had grown and left. Our love life was nowhere near what it had been all those years ago and we both had found new likes and activities far different from the ones we used to enjoy together. I had no issue with it, I believe each couple has those moments where you need to grow and develop more individually, than together. And just like her, I needed a new change. A new direction and some inspiration for my late middle-aged years. Taking the new job was a nice change for me. It got me back out and about and allowed me to be part of something again. To have something to wake up to and something to strive for, besides yard work, golf, and afternoon naps.
It was a longer drive to work into the over-developed Megapolis of downtown, since the wife and I had downsized houses, moving further into the suburbs after we knew the children were gone for good. I didn't mind, the drive gave me time to think, time to listen to other talk shows and see what hot-button topics of the day they felt were relevant. And as time went on and my subconscious opened up more, time to think of John. It wasn't until a hot, humid rainy afternoon drive home that John and I reconnected and started a new chapter of my life.
I was driving home through a blistering heavy rain. This route had been my way home, even before moving further out. It was one of those drives I could do in my sleep and still make it to work on time. I was listening to the radio softly rambling on about the current president while seeing and hearing the swoosh of my wipers sliding across my windshield. The AC was on, but as humid and temperate as it was the windows remained lightly foggy. Every time I opened the windows to get some air, I was met by a blast of hot super-saturated humidity, which made me roll them right back up.
I was fiddling with the temperature controls when I suddenly had an ice-cold blast of air come across my body. It was something I hadn't felt in years. It wasn't from the air-conditioning kicking in, it was something different. I didn't think much about it at first, but then the hair on my arms stood up. That was the same cold blast of air, I used to feel in my old house when John's spirit arrived. I was instantly transported back and I knew something was with me.
"John, is that you?" I asked aloud, as my heart raced in my chest.
"John?"
I didn't receive an answer. I didn't get a sign, but somehow, I knew he was there. As my body snapped into rigidity, with excitement and fear, I just held firm to driving and continued thinking. As I got further down the road and began settling down, believing I had overplayed a blast of cool air, I felt a touch. The feeling of someone's hand came to rest on the side of my head just above my ear. I could feel the warmth of the hand and I believed he was with me.
"John," I spoke out as I looked towards the passenger seat.
"Is that you?" I asked.
I felt the hand slide down the side of my face, past my ear, and along my neckline. The sensation had me draw in a long deep breath. I didn't know what to say. I just sat in silence feeling his hand on my neck, knowing he was there with me.
Just a few miles down the road, I felt him leave. I can't say for sure how I knew he was gone, but suddenly that warm hand was missing, the radio was back at full volume, and my ears were picking up the sounds of the wipers, rain, and the other traffic that had been lost, when he arrived.
My heart was racing, I was wondering if he was calling me home. Like was I about to die? Was it a warning of some type? As if he was protecting me from an ensuing accident. Did all of my thoughts of him and writing our story summon him back into my life? Had he been with me all the time and I just never allowed myself to feel him. A million thoughts went through my head as I continued on my way home. I slowed my vehicle down, entered into the slow lane, and drove home more cautiously than I had in years.
When I got home, my wife could tell I was shaken. She asked if I was okay. I played my nervousness off as being caused by the drive home with the traffic and bad rain. I was a nervous wreck. I couldn't sit still. I've been told before that when you see a spirit from your life; a passed family member, or a pet, your time is coming to an end. Now I didn't see John, but I felt him.
I didn't eat much dinner that evening and the wife and I sat in silence at the table. When we were done, I told her I had work to do and resigned myself to my study where I sat at my old wooden desk. I sat there in silence, slowly rocking back and forth on my old squeaky wooden brown chair staring at all the pictures on the wall I had accumulated during my career. I went to bed that night very uneasy. I wasn't sure why he, or whoever it was, had returned to visit me in my car driving home from work. Was it a sign? Was it a premonition of things to come? Did I just imagine it? Did something in that moment bring me back to my time with him, so long ago, and somehow believed he was there?
For the next few days, I was on edge. I didn't know if I should tell Margaret (my wife) or just keep this ghostly visit to myself. I didn't think she'd ever believe me and would have probably had me committed. I decided to keep it to myself, finding things to do - outside of work - to keep myself occupied. It was about three days later when all my questions would be answered.
I was in bed on a Thursday night finishing up a novel I had started months ago. The room was silent, as I lay quietly reading by the ambient light of my reading lamp. My wife who was never bothered by my late-night reads, was deep in sleep. I felt as if I was starting to drift off, because I must have read the same line in the story three times, feeling a haze coming over me, unlike anything I had felt in a long time. Suddenly a slow-moving arc of cool air passed over my face and hands. It's as if something was calling out to me. Without a word, I sat silent just feeling the presence of John with me.
I felt the cool air subside from my body and drift off as reality snapped back in. Without knowing why, I understood that I needed to rise and head to a different area of my house. I slid off the blankets and quietly got out of bed. I walked out of my room, shutting the door behind me. I walked down the hall and down the stairs to the main level of the house. I saw the light of my study on, the door partially opened.
I walked into the room, finding no one there, but feeling the cold dry air inside. I closed the door behind me, locked it, and walked over to my desk. It was as if someone was guiding me by the hand. I walked around to the rear of my desk, where the chair slid out as if someone was pulling it out from underneath the desk. I placed my ass cheeks up against the desk table and was looking towards the chair and the wall behind it. I felt John's hand on my face again. His touch brought warmth and comfort to an aging man who once enjoyed his sexual appetite.
I felt the hand lift from my face and felt pressure on my shoulders as if he was guiding me down onto my knees. The lights dimmed to a soft ember glow as I started to kneel in front of the chair. I saw the chair edge slightly downwards and then back as if someone had sat down on it.
I looked up at the empty chair, knowing he was there, and said; "John, I haven't done this since we were last together. Please be patient with me."
I felt his hands come to rest on top of my head and lean my face down forward. I felt his dick at the tip of my lips. I opened my mouth and felt the long hard shaft enter deep into my mouth, across my tongue, and lightly strike the back of my throat.
My dick got hard instantly and I was transformed back to a time, when I was sucking his cock and getting fucked by him, back in that small house, in rural Indianapolis.
I bobbed my head up and down, giving him a long slow blow job, as my hands rested on his thighs. I couldn't see him, but I could feel the skin on his legs, his hard cock in my mouth, and his hands on my head. As nerve-wracking as I was, it was enlightened by the feeling of sucking dick again. My mouth began to be filled with saliva as his dick slid in and out of it. As my fears subsided and I reclaimed a passion and desire I once had, I was elated to be giving head again.
