2. Living in a Graveyard

Bjorn stepped gingerly from the shower, the steaming water searing his back unexpectedly. He wiped his hand across the mirror, turned for a glance and recoiled in painful horror. Crimson, swollen, animalistic scratches ran the length of his spine. He didn’t remember Chelsea latching on, but that girl needed to cut her nails. Or claws. Definitely more like claws.

The bedroom door squeaked as he peeked in. She was still sleeping soundly but the blankets had slipped to just above her waist. A woman’s back had always aroused him and this teenager had a marvelous, sculpted form, as if she was a student athlete. 

Student? Good grief man, she’s a child. But hey, she’s legal. Still though, he wondered how his two volunteer gardeners would take the news that this 49-year-old man was having a tryst with a teenager. He’d find out on Monday morning.

Bjorn was about to get dressed when he glanced over at Chelsea again. She was asleep, but she had started this arrangement for some kinky loving. Why not begin Sunday with a good dig into a beautiful young female?

He tiptoed to the bed, pulling the duvet down just enough to reveal her ass. Damn, she’s fine. He gently climbed onto the bed, pulling in a deep breath to manage his lust. His throbbing, pulsing, morning wood was thick and ready and craving a feeding. He noticed too that she had quite a bit of hair on her lower back, reaching down between her sculpted young cheeks. He loved the hairy girls, but the bush on this youngster was like nothing he’d ever seen. 

A bit of spit to wet himself down and he slowly slid inside her. He rocked lightly in and out until her wetness had spread enough for him to take the plunge. He pushed hard, forcing every swollen inch inside her. She groaned sleepily then popped her eyes open. A fleeting moment of disorientation was dispelled when he leaned down, lips brushing her ear, "good morning, beautiful."

She drew in a deep breath, then smirked, pushing her prone ass into the air so he could go even deeper. She arched her back, mouth opening in a gasp of pleasure, feeling his swollen balls pressed against her thighs. He stayed deep, swaying forward and back, never letting any of himself leave her body. 

It didn’t take long. First thing in the morning, it usually doesn’t, but the explosion drained him completely. She whimpered as each pulse blasted inside her, feeling her body fill with his juices. Both panting, neither wanted to let the other be the first to let go. This was a great match, a symbiotic relationship of sexual energy.

 *****

Being Sunday, the cemetery was full of dog walkers. Bjorn, a former restaurant chef, made her a scrumptious breakfast of blueberry scones, scrambled eggs and bacon, complete with a strawberry fruitshake and a steaming mug of Ugandan coffee. She’d wanted a tour of the cemetery today, since she’d be living here and all.

“Tell me more about this arrangement you made with my asshole father.” She looked at him intently, as if “no” wasn’t an option.

“I’m sure the details will come out soon enough,” he replied elusively. “How do you feel about living in a cemetery for a while?”

“What do you mean, for a while?” She wiggled her head and spoke like a stereotypical teen. He really did have a young one and he just got a glimpse of her immaturity. Great.

“Like I said, details in due time. Now answer my question.”

“I don’t know…I kinda think the idea is neat,” She said, pulling her legs up into her chair and resting her chin on her knees. “How many people can say they live in a cemetery?”

Bjorn chuckled. “True. I never thought I’d live here either.”

“Why do you?”

Bjorn shrugged, but she noticed him look down at the floor. “B, why do you live here?” She asked gently. B? He already had a pet name?

“Look,” he said, glancing up at her. “I don’t want to talk about my past too much. Let’s just say my wife didn’t like the idea of living alongside dead people. So she left.”

She’d been with enough men to know that wasn’t the full story, but she also didn’t want to pry. She’d had some fun flirting with this guy, and he actually seemed genuine. Why fuck that up so early? They were just getting to know each other, but she filed away the need to ask questions when the time was right. 

“Show me your cemetery, Mr. Caretaker. I want to know what you do here.” 

He smiled, appreciating her youthful exuberance. He was on the doorstep of 50 and felt every year of his age. He needed someone with a bubbly, childish excitement for life. Maybe it would help keep him young. 

“I don’t bury people or anything like that,” Bjorn said with a smile, giving her knee a playful smack. “I’m a museum conservator so most of my job is historic preservation. I repair the gravestones, catalogue historical records and make sure the place is kept running.”

Her eyes sparkled. “What a cool job. Seriously, man. No one else has such a cool job.” Again, there was that playful immaturity. 

“Let’s take a tour. I’ll clean up breakfast and we’ll go walk around. You can get started if you like. In this section right off the porch are some really unique headstones. Most of the people buried here were artists and writers. I’ll come find you in a bit.”

He found her fifteen minutes later sitting at the gravestone in the shape of a stone picnic table. She was tracing the lettering with her fingers.

She looked up as he sat on the opposite side from her. “Who were they?”

Bjorn was impressed at how interested she was. “They were two gay men, partners for nearly 60 years when such love was socially forbidden. They decided in death to create a place where people could sit and talk. It’s quite lovely, really.”

“Hmmm…” she said wistfully.

“Let me show you around. I want you to see some of the family vaults.”

“I’ve been to one of them before…”

“Here?” he said, sounding alarmed.

“Yup…”