Paranormal Lovers Box Set

Chapter 3-2

Calvin’s house was beautiful. White walls with curved terracotta tiles created the look of a Spanish villa. There was a large wooden front door with metal brackets, and on the inside, the house was spacious and uncluttered. There was no hint of anything Spanish in the décor. All the furniture was modern and beautifully designed in black, white, and grey, with splashes of red here and there for dramatic effect.

“It’s very impressive,” said Paul.

Calvin led him through to the kitchen where the colour scheme continued but for the addition of stainless steel and frosted glass.

“I’m glad you like it,” said Calvin. “Can I get you a drink? A beer? Wine?”

“I’ll have a white wine if you’ve got one. It doesn’t go down so quickly and easily as beer.”

Calvin went to the large double-doored fridge and took out a chilled bottle of Chardonnay.

“How’s this?” he asked, holding up the bottle.

Paul shrugged. “It’s cold, so I’ll drink it.”

Calvin got two glasses from a cupboard. “A true connoisseur.”

Paul laughed. “What can I say? I am what I am.”

After pouring the drinks, Calvin led Paul to a wooden deck that overlooked a beautiful back yard, lush with foliage. To his right, a spa pool bubbled away in an area made more private by the addition of some reed matting.

“It’s like a resort,” said Paul. “It’s amazing.”

Calvin smiled and took a seat. “It’s all come together over time.”

They talked for another half an hour, then Calvin prepared some seafood on a small barbecue in the left-hand corner of the deck. He brought out bowls containing a garden salad, a potato salad, and something that looked a little like a Caesar salad. There were warm bread rolls and butter, and pineapple rings, which he grilled lightly on the barbecue.

“You don’t do things by halves,” said Paul. “And it all looks so delicious. Did you make all these salads yourself?”

“Naturally,” said Calvin with a wink.

After dinner, after Paul had helped clear the table, Calvin poured more wine and they returned to the deck where a light evening breeze was blowing.

“Calvin, can I ask you something?”

His host sat back in his chair and rested his right foot on his knee. “Shoot.”

“This might sound strange, but is this a date?”

Calvin shifted in his chair. A crease appeared between his brows as he considered his answer. “What do you think?”

Paul shrugged. “I’m just going along with it.” He paused. “I guess what I really want to know is what are your intentions? Are we dating? Or are we just mates hanging out? If you were gay, I’d be thinking this was a date. Our second date. But you said you were heterosexual, so I’m a bit lost.”

Calvin stood and lifted Paul out of his chair. He kissed him on the lips.

A flash of electricity pulsed through Paul.

“Then it’s a date,” said Calvin, smiling.

Paul’s heart beat a little faster. He wrapped his arms around Calvin’s torso. As they started to kiss, those same strange sensations he’d experienced at the park the previous night returned, only tonight they seemed a little less strange. Calvin’s erection pressed into the plump mound where his own erection should have been, but all he could think about was how Calvin’s c**k would feel inside him.

Calvin took Paul’s hand and led him into the house, down a corridor to a large bedroom. Without a word, Calvin undressed him, and when Paul was standing naked before him, Calvin got down on his knees, took Paul’s c**k into his mouth and began sucking. Only it felt strange, as though Calvin’s mouth was on something smaller, though just as sensitive. Paul began tweaking his n*****s, and when he closed his eyes, he could feel his fingers playing with n*****s much larger than his own. He could also feel breasts, which he cupped and kneaded while Calvin remained busy between his legs.

Only when Calvin backed him up to the bed and lowered him onto the mattress, only when he took Paul’s legs and lifted them to expose his lightly haired arsehole, and only when Calvin lightly flicked his tongue over the puckered skin of his anus, did he feel that he, Paul, was being touched, and not some phantom female.

Calvin stood and undressed. He went to one of the bedside tables and retrieved a small plastic bottle of lubricant. As he walked back to the bed, he smeared some over his erection, then wiped the excess on Paul’s arsehole.

“You ready, baby?” he asked.

Paul, his fingers still busy at his n*****s, nodded.

As Calvin slowly penetrated him, Paul felt lightheaded. When Calvin began to thrust into him, he felt the room start to spin. He closed his eyes and the sensation seemed to ease enough for him to be able to open them again, only when he did, he wasn’t looking at Calvin. Not exactly. He was looking at a man whose appearance was completely different to Calvin’s, even though he knew, without a doubt, it still was Calvin. The man was more muscular, more rugged, but just as handsome. His hair was lighter with dustings of grey at the temple, and he bore a pencil-thin grey moustache.

Even more surprising was the view Paul caught of his own body. It wasn’t the body of a male, but of a female. He had large breasts, and when he lifted his head from the pillow, he saw a smooth body, hairless, even his pubic mound. There was no c**k or balls, but a v****a shaved as smooth as the rest of his body. A tickling at his shoulders alerted him to the fact he now had long, wavy blonde hair, which cascaded over his shoulders like a golden shawl.

Calvin, muscular, rugged Calvin, was smiling down at him as he continued thrusting into Paul’s v****a. If Calvin, the real Calvin, was seeing what Paul was seeing, he certainly wasn’t showing it.

Paul, his head still raised off the pillow, craned his neck and noticed the décor of the room had transformed. It was now a dark, smoky room with pale moonlight filtering in through a dirty window. Behind Calvin, there was an open fireplace containing a dwindling blaze. On the other side of the bed stood a small, wooden table with an oil lamp, and the only chair was upholstered in faded and worn tapestry. From across the room, an old clock ticked. At first glance, he appeared to be somewhere in the late nineteenth, early twentieth century. But he could have been mistaken.

“What’s wrong, my love?” asked Calvin. “You’re unusually distracted tonight.”

“Sorry, my darling,” said Paul, his voice soft and feminine. He touched his throat. “It feels so good. Please don’t stop.”

He could hardly believe the voice was his own, or rather that it was coming out of his mouth.

Calvin leaned down and kissed him. His moustache tickled Paul, at first, then it felt a little scratchy. And Calvin’s kisses were rougher and hungrier than any that had come previously. His passion and desire were almost overwhelming, yet at the same time, completely exhilarating.

Paul wrapped his slender, silky smooth legs around Calvin’s torso, allowing him to go deeper into him. Immediately, Calvin began pounding him. Paul cupped Calvin’s muscular buttocks with his hands. Each time Calvin thrust in, Paul pulled down, wanting his lover to be as deep inside him as he could be.

The sound of their grunting and moaning filled the room. As a woman, Paul was much more vocal than he ever was as a man. He screamed and shouted, begging Calvin, “f**k me harder, my darling.”

“I’m getting close,” said Calvin.

Paul wrapped his arms around Calvin’s torso, holding him tightly against his body. Calvin’s head was right by his ear. Bursts of hot air broke against the exposed flesh. Suddenly, Paul was aware of his own imminent orgasm, building and building until he thought he would explode from the pressure. Calvin’s hips were really slamming into him now. His lover’s grunts, coarse and animalistic, were loud in his ear.

When Calvin arched back, holding himself deep inside, fireworks went off inside Paul, again and again. Great waves of pure ecstasy swept across his body, making him gasp and shudder. He dragged his nails across Calvin’s flesh, likely leaving lines of crimson in their wake.

Calvin pulled out and rolled onto his side.

“Happy?” he asked, his deep voice reverberating in Paul’s ear.

“Yes,” said Paul, settling into the somehow-familiar curve of Calvin’s body behind him.

He enjoyed it when they spooned. It made Paul feel as though they were one and the same entity. As if they were so close that nothing could separate them. He felt protected and nurtured. And when Calvin cupped one of his breasts and gently squeezed it, he also felt desired.

* * * *

The sound of chartered accountant, Calvin, snoring on the other side of the bed woke Paul later that evening. He rolled over and dragged a pillow over his head, but it was no good. He couldn’t get comfortable enough to fall back asleep.

“Calvin,” he said, his voice masculine and familiar once again. “Calvin. Wake up.”

Judging by the frequency and volume of those snores, it seemed unlikely even a magnitude eight earthquake was going to rouse Calvin from his dreams.

Reluctantly, Paul climbed out of bed and got dressed in the semi-light filtering in from the hallway. He crept from the room and pulled the bedroom door closed behind him. He tiptoed to the kitchen and hunted about for some paper, which he found next to the telephone, and wrote Calvin a short “thank you” note. Then, after realising they’d left the back door wide open, he closed and locked it, let himself out through the front door, and walked to his car.

Driving home, he replayed what had happened while he and Calvin had been having s*x over and over in his mind. Even now it seemed like he’d experienced some bizarre, lucid dream, yet on another level, it had felt just as real as anything else in his life at that moment. The whole thing had left him with a sense of having known Calvin for longer than a few days, as if they had a history together. Perhaps, finally, he understood why Calvin had initially asked him if they’d ever met.

It was just after three o’clock in the morning when Paul arrived home. He was too tired to think about what had happened any longer. He left a trail of clothes from the front door to the bed, and after crawling beneath the covers, he fell into such a deep sleep even dreams couldn’t find him.