Gloomy Sunday

Chapter 1

He had arrived in New Orleans on the eve of the first full moon of the year. It seemed inconsequential to him at the time but soon it would be so relevant to the rest of his life. He had spent the last 24 hours on a binge in the French Quarter with his golf companions. They'd been to every bar from Decatur to Bourbon Street and back. They'd seen just about everything while wandering through the mass of staggering bodies, it seemed the party raged nonstop whether it was Mardi Gras or a steamy Sunday afternoon. They'd heard every kind of music imaginable; the pounding techno in the neo dance clubs, the unmistakable sound of Dixie Land at Preservation Hall; modern interpretive Jazz that brought Miles Davis and John Coltrane to mind, as well as the persistent, infectious tempo of Cajun Zydeco. But what caught him most was the blues he heard drifting from a small corner pub. It wasn't the rocking blues he knew like BB King or the raw southern delta blues of Robert Johnson, it was something more haunting. He caught the sound of it intermittently, at moments it was drowned out by the noise of the filled streets or the blasting of another band just 5 feet away. He walked closer and the sounds around him began to fade as he focused on the strains of music, he still couldn't make out the words but the melody was written in an eerie minor key and rang in his ear like a woman's cry. He entered the doorway where he was certain the song had been coming from and found a small, dark, dirty pub with a huge, bald bartender and an old man perched on a barstool that looked as decrepit as him. He glanced around, there was no music playing, no band or even a jukebox and yet he was sure this was where it had been coming from.

Seven long hours later he was still inebriated from the night before and felt the intense need to get away from the stench of stale beer, urine and vomit that seemed to permeate the French Quarter. Heading up Chartres he caught the trolley heading towards the Garden District. The ride took him through the Uptown area and along the oak tree shaded St. Charles Avenue where many of the grand homes built in the 1890s are meticulously maintained. It was like walking back in time when he stepped off the trolley at Jackson Avenue. He strolled along taking in the different architectural styles that defined this region of Louisiana.

New Orleans was also known for its cemeteries or Cities of the Dead as they are called, that are unlike any burial grounds in the world. Since New Orleans is actually below sea level, the graves have to be above ground so they don't wash out. The trolley guide had mentioned there was one on Washington Street so he pulled out the guide book he'd picked up and walked the few blocks up Magazine to the Lafayette Cemetery Number 1. According to the book this was one of the oldest in the city and boasted paranormal activity that he highly doubted existed. As he explored he was struck by the artistic and creative above ground tombs and vaults, the artistry and statuary was surreal and he found himself stopping at several of the graves to take in the intricate details and read what engravings were still legible.

It was then that he heard the faint sounds of a siren's call. The hum drifted along with the breeze sending him snippets of the same haunting melody he'd heard coming from that dark pub. He looked around trying to find the source as the strains became louder. He walked to the next aisle, his eyes sweeping, ears straining; he knew it was a woman's voice but he couldn't quite make out the words. He crossed over to the next aisle, the voice now clearer and the lyrics decipherable.

Sunday is gloomy, my hours are slumberless,

Dearest the shadows I live with are numberless.

Her voice was wrought with emotion, a sob just at the edge as she continued.

Little white flowers will never awaken you

Not where the black coach of sorrow has taken you

Angels have no thoughts of ever returning you

Wouldn't they be angry if I thought of joining you?

Gloomy Sunday

His gut tightened as the dark words passed her lips. He stopped and wondered if he should just leave her alone in her mourning but the pain he heard in her voice urged him forward another aisle.

Gloomy is Sunday, with shadows I spend it all

My heart and I have decided to end it all

Now the voice sounded as if it was coming from behind him and yet there had been no one there just a moment before.

Soon there'll be candles and prayers that are said I know

Let them not weep let them know that I'm glad to go

Death is no dream, for in death I'm caressin' you

With the last breath of my soul I'll be blessin' you

Gloomy Sunday

He caught a glimpse of a woman stepping behind one of the vaults and rushed in that direction.

"Excuse me, Ma'am? Are you alright?" he asked "Ma'am I don't mean to intrude but are you ok? Can I be of assistance?"

He heard a quiet sob muffled by a hand and the swish of fabric as he stepped behind the tomb where he had seen her briefly, only to find nothing. The melody began again, the gut wrenching emotion of the lyrics and the sadness in her voice sending the hair on the back of his neck on end. Now the sound seemed to be coming from everywhere, with dozens of voices echoing repeatedly like an endless loop of Row, Row, Row Your Boat. Louder and louder, layer upon layer until he covered his ears in an attempt to drown out the echoes. His heart began to pound as the music reverberated through his body; a blinding sharp pain ripping through his head forcing him to one knee before ceasing in an instant.

He stood slowly gasping harshly, shaking his head to clear the fog. When he opened his eyes she was standing at the far end of the row of vaults. She was dressed in a knee length black dress with layers of crinoline filling out the skirt. Her long coal black hair coiffed perfectly beneath a pill box hat with mesh veil, and a string of pearls around her neck; she looked like she just stepped off the cover of a 1940's magazine. Her face was like pure porcelain china and her lips a dark blood red that seemed severe against the fairness of her skin. Her eyes were large, almost doe like and the most amazing color green; they were brimming with tears and yet she smiled at him as if she knew him.

He cleared his throat and asked quietly if she was ok. She nodded but dabbed at the tears falling down her cheeks with a black silk handkerchief. He took a step closer but she remained still and whispered

"Joseph." How did she know his name? Was this one of the many women he'd spent the last evening dancing with? Everything was such a blur but he was certain that he would never forget a woman as beautiful as she, regardless of how drunk he was. His eyes swept across her gorgeous face and petite frame; he scoured his memory for a name to match her image but came up empty.

"Do I know you?" he asked quietly. She nodded with a slight Mona Lisa smile.

"I'm sorry; I can't remember your name. I've been drunk for 24 hours and I'm afraid my memory is a bit patchy." He combed his hand through his hair; he felt like an ass. "So, um, are you ok? Can I do something to help you?"

She stepped toward him and like a magnet he walked towards her. She stopped a few feet away and extended her left hand, palm down; he reached for it and brought her knuckles to his lips like in the old movies. He'd never done that before and couldn't figure out why he had now, except that somehow he knew that was what was expected. He stood and looked into her eyes but didn't release her hand; she smiled and opened her lips slightly. Suddenly he began to hear static like on an old transistor radio with the squeals as the dial moved to find something on the air. He would swear it was coming from her; he took a step closer as the static gave way to the sounds of an old phonograph playing the same song he'd been hearing all day. Her lips began to move along with the lyrics; this sound he was sure was coming from her mouth and he was spellbound as he saw the physical manifestation of that sad melody reenacted upon her lovely face. She slowly turned and holding his hand she led the way to the cemetery gates still singing softly and then out onto Washington. They walked down a few blocks and stopped in front of a grand home that was the quintessential Garden District manor house.

Chapter 2

The gate squeaked in disapproval as she swung it wide for their entrance, he heard each foot fall as she climbed the stairs to the fortified wraparound porch, the click of her heels as she strode for the door, the swish of the taffeta of her dress, he seemed to be engulfed in sound as he followed her up the few steps. She turned to him as she reached the door, a sly smile warming her face as the door opened with a slight moan.

The light that came through the opened door cast a shadow across the room he entered; dust particles filled the air so thick he waved his hand in front of his face to clear the passage for him to breathe. Without hesitation she began to climb the staircase slowly unzipping her dress down the side of her body before slipping it down her hips and dropped in a heap on the first landing. She wore a full black silk slip that embraced the curves of her body as she continued to scale the flight of stairs. She stopped briefly on the second landing, pushing the straps of her slip down her arms and into another pile. Her smile was enchanting, no longer just a slight stretch of her lips but a lusty smoky smile that made his cock stiffen and his heart hammer. She now stood before him in a black silk bra, panties and garter belt that held her thigh high stockings; her heels continued to clip as she ascended the remaining treads; his eyes locked upon her derriere. He continued to struggle to remember her name, scanning his mind for anything that might give him a clue but everything was smudged with alcohol.

As he climbed the stairs the air became clearer, the faded wallpaper began to pop with color, the aged wooden banisters becoming polished and gleaming but he didn't notice the change; all he could see was her. He threw his jacket and tie down with her dress, his shirt and shoes with her slip and as he came to the final landing he was breathless. She had her back to the door while she turned the crank on an old Victrola; he look around to take in his environment, the room was filled with huge antique furniture, burgundy silk draped around the canopied bed filled with countless pillows. He turned his attention back to her when she put the needle to the old vinyl disc; once again that same haunting melody sliced through the air.

She turned to him and again lifted her lips in a slight smile; she must have seen the confusion in his eyes because she answered the unasked question

"Eva" her voice was like velvet with a delicate southern drawl. "Come to me, Joseph"

He moved slowly at first trying to control the urge to run to her; his cock punching at the front of his trousers. 'If this is a dream please don't wake me up' he thought to himself. As he stepped to her she raised her arms, wound them around his shoulders and pulled him into her. His face was buried in her hair as they embraced and he was engulfed by the scent of Magnolias and lemons. He pulled back from her slightly, raising his hands to cup her cheeks before touching his lips to hers lightly; she pressed into him her tongue sliding into his mouth as she took the aggressive stance. As her taste flooded his mind he felt a surge shoot through him; an onslaught of emotions blinded him and he was overwhelmed by the feeling that this was what he had been searching for his whole life... this beautiful woman and her love was his destiny. He kissed her again; his passion was molten lava coursing through his veins, their kiss now urgent and demanding. She worked at his belt while he kissed along her chin and nuzzled her neck. He grappled with the hooks on her bra until the material pulled free and slid down her arms; his trousers and boxers fell to his ankles and he stepped out of them as her lace panties joined the pile. He gazed at her and was struck again by her beauty; the skin that covered her entire body was the same beautiful flawless creamy porcelain of her face. When she whispered his name he fell to his knees before her pressing his face against her silken belly, tears filled his eyes as he inhaled her scent, she was beyond perfect, and emotions he couldn't explain wracked his body. She sang along softly with the gut wrenching song that seemed to be playing endlessly while her hands combed through his hair and along his shoulders.

He stood quickly and swept her into his arms, kissing her deeply, reveling in the feeling of her cool smooth skin against his before carrying her to the huge ornate bed in the center of the room. He laid her down gently and while still standing brushed his hands across her flesh; starting with her face he traced along her entire body, memorizing each rise and dip, the swell of her breasts, the softness of her tummy. Her breathing became deeper, a slight moan with each exhale as he continued to worship her body; his mouth suckled at her wrist after first kissing each finger tip; his lips followed the trail of his fingers and he didn't miss the sweet sounds coming from her as his tongue swirled around one taut nipple. He climbed atop the bed as he worked his way down her legs. He kissed the arch of her foot and then a playful nibble at her toes, before sliding his hands up her inner thighs and spreading her trembling legs. He kissed her calf and then the other knee, then another kiss on the opposite thigh before engulfing the crease of her thigh with his mouth which elicited an emphatic and breathy "Ohhh" from her.

When at last he was resting there between her thighs he found her mound to be as beautiful as the rest of her; it was covered with short black curls, not the usual "landing strip" or clean shaven look most women sport these days, but natural, neat and trimmed. Her lips were full and fleshy, her clit proudly protruding from its hood and he couldn't wait another second to taste her. He kissed against her lips softly putting pressure against her hard jewel; then slowly moving his head as if he were kissing her other lips instead. She moaned when he opened his mouth, his breath hot against her before gliding his tongue along the length of her cleft, then again, parting her and taking that first taste of her arousal. Her hands knotted through his hair, sighing and moaning with delight as he teased her for what seemed like hours; nibbling up one side of her pussy and then down the next; alternately flicking and swirling then sucking her diamond clit; dipping his tongue deep inside of her, flexing it and swishing it around. He sucked her clit into his mouth while gently piercing her with his middle finger; God, she was wet and so tight. Her hips began to buck as he massaged the magic spot inside and continued his oral assault on her jewel. She gasped his name loudly when her muscles clinched around his finger; her body writhed in time with the spasms rocking her pussy. Her sweet honey was dripping around his fingers and he didn't want to waste a drop so his tongue replaced his finger and he lapped at her, savoring her taste. She sighed and whimpered as her body trembled and her thighs closed around his head while he continued to nuzzle her sex determined to make her orgasm last as long as possible.

He was shaking as he crawled up her body, her arms wrapped around him as their lips met. They kissed deeply and rolled to their sides, his shaft burning against her hip, arms intertwine, hands exploring. She pushed him back against the mountain of silk and sat up straddling his waist; her delicate hands drew lines across his chest and down his arms; then traveled up her thighs, along her belly and up to her coal black hair. She tugged gently at the knot and it came billowing down her shoulders, back, and across her breasts, the color stark against her china doll skin. The scent of magnolia engulfed him and then lemon as she leaned into him for a sweet kiss, the lengths of her hair falling like a shade of pure silk around their faces. Her green eyes sparkled though her pupils were dilated and he found himself sinking into them, unable to look away as she began to nibble gently on his bottom lip. His hands cupped her full breasts massaging gently as the peaks wrinkled and hardened beneath his palm.

"Joseph" she whispered with a flick of her tongue that shot a bolt of lightning through his system; in a kaleidoscope of blinding light he saw the future of his life, this was who he had been looking for, she was the woman he would make his wife, who would bear his children, spoil his grandchildren and he felt a surge of emotions so intense they took his breath away. His passion overwhelmed him, his heart and body felt his love for her that would begin now and grow over their years together.

"Eva!" he gasped before he kissed her fiercely. A groan of satisfaction bellowed from him as she lifted her hips and slid her taut, sodden sex down the length of him. Her hands were pressed against his chest, her nails gently scoring his flesh as she started to rise and fall upon him. He felt drugged as he laid there watching the raven haired beauty spring up and down feverishly on his cock, his hands clasped her breasts as they bounced against her chest. Their eyes never wavered; each seemed to be memorizing everything about this time together. The scratched vinyl LP continued to play the ghostly melody adding to his daze, the tones mixing with the sighs and whispers of his beautiful Eva. Harder and faster she rode him, his hips thrusting to meet hers, his large strong hands pulling at her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh as she began to whimper and moan. He was so close to cumming and he didn't want to stop but nor did he want to fly off too soon... he wanted this to last forever, wanted to give her more pleasure then she'd ever known so he tried to lift her from his staff but she worked harder, focused on the momentum she had started.

"Eva, wait... I'm too close, Eva... wait." It was too late. His hips propelled up as the convulsions pushed him deeper and deeper into her, his seed filled her as her own body climaxed in response, her sinewy sex clutching and releasing, milking him for every drop.

She lay down upon his chest, their bodies' slick with a light sheen of sweat. Neither could breathe and their hearts pounded in unison to a crazy beat. He held her there, his arms wrapped around her, just resting as he softened inside of her. She looked up and smiled at him before saying

"Joseph, do you believe in fate?"

That was an odd question after having just had nearly anonymous sex and yet he thought about it before responding, knowing something deep and mystical was happening.

"I'm not sure." He answered honestly "I think that we exercise free will as human beings, we make choices and those choices ultimately influence the natural direction of one's life. But is fate a predetermined destiny or is it simply a result of decisions we've made and experiences we've had? I don't know." He started to apologize for his blathering, wanting to kick himself in the ass for another typical overly analytical diatribe. He was flustered but she just smiled and leaned in for another kiss while gently releasing his now soft member from the warm haven of her sex. She left the bed and after winding the Victrola again she retired to the bath; he could hear the water filling the tub and her sultry voice filtering through the open door as he drifted off to sleep.