...T. L. never imagined his first time would be like this. Born in 1929, one would conclude that if he’d wanted to fuck a man, he would’ve nailed one before eighty-some years had passed. He’d allowed fear and denial to dominate any random feeling of sexual attraction for the opposite sex. However, his first time was well worth the wait. That he accomplished the feat without Jon being in a paranormal dream state made the experience all the more significant.

All too soon, and almost without warning or fanfare, T. L. exploded deep inside Jon’s tight ass. Bliss.

Pure bliss. Again and again, he ripped streams of cum. The sounds Jon made told T. L. that he enjoyed it, too. Good, because T. L. intended to have this demon hunter a second time…alone. T. L. pulled back and his dick flopped out, swinging in the cool air. He chuckled. The little things pleased him. For so long, he couldn’t feel breezes or warmth. As he grew more powerful with age and practice, increasingly the sensations of being human had returned to him. Now he could go hours without going all ethereal.

If he concentrated hard enough, he could even manifest clothing. But not now. He caused both men’s minds to cloud as he shed the spandex-like material of the costume he wore. It bothered him and he needed to be free.

T. L. didn’t tarry to declare words of love and devotion. He left Jon in the capable hands of the cleaning man and flew back to the house to find the others had already performed wonders there. Too bad his nephew, Ward, wasn’t alive to see all T. L. had changed. Would it make him happy to see the old place come to life again? T. L. had been responsible for the tragedy of what had happened to Ward.

Passing through the foyer, he made a sweep through the den and put his favorite record on the player. One of the women almost ran over him in her enthusiasm to vacuum the rug. She shivered when she came near, pretending not to notice his invisible presence. He’d learned to mask his existence when he concentrated and get real the same way. Like when he’d fucked Jon.

He’d fucked a man and he’d liked it!

For years he’d wanted to know what he’d been missing. Where were the other two demon hunters? T. L. swore he heard suspiciously carnal sounds upstairs. His curiosity got the better of him. T. L. flashed upstairs to look and discovered the other two men in the shower…together. The legendary out-of-control libidos of the hunters hadn’t been exaggerated. He watched Carlos Mendez rim Brian Noone’s rosy pucker with the tip of his tongue. And it wasn’t the first time he’d seen this act performed. Not these two, but his nephew, who’d brought home someone to fuck every other day or so for almost twenty years.

At first it had driven T. L. insane with rage to see the unnatural acts of lust and perversion performed in front of him. Time had changed his outlook about men having sex with other men. He began to look forward to watching. Before he’d worked up the nerve and ability to act on his desire and ask his nephew to bring someone home for him, Ward took his own life.

And it was T. L.’s fault. He’d spent his entire life and most of his death worrying about manners and morality as dictated by earlier generations. What a fool he’d been.