james.goodman12
Forum Newcomer
- Joined
- May 26, 2017
- Messages
- 5
- Location
- USA
Tom had always been interested in hearts. At the young age of 17, he had a free spirit surpassed by none, especially when it came to his “obsessions.” He enjoyed long walks along the riverbank, miles and miles away from any form of civilization. Once far enough away, he would strip off his clothes and let the breeze fondle his naked body; then, he liked to run his hands up and down his chest, feeling his heart work in his rib cage. Sometimes, he liked to bring a stethoscope with him. Just the other day, these “sessions” had gone so far, he had orgasmed right there outside! Thankfully, he had been naked at the time.
Today, Tom is wearing nothing but dark blue adidas running shorts. At first sight, Tom is extremely skinny, a trait made even more apparent by his height. His body was indeed thin, but in an athletic way; his arm and leg muscles bulge out with even step, and his abs are very visible through his frame. He also possesses a handsome face, with piercing blue eyes and brown hair, clean cut but in a messy way. Today, Tom has a mission.
He walks with a purpose. For miles, he can only see brush, flat plains interrupted only by the shallow but fast-moving river to his right. Tom struts with a unique step, his shadow moving alongside him. It is windy outside, but warm. He pushes some brush to the side and comes to the sandy clearing beside the river. He glances around. Of course there is nobody in sight. Nobody comes out this far. He reaches his hand into his pocket, his eyes squinting and brows furrowed at the brightness reflecting off the sand and water. He pulls out a small pill bottle, labelled with long letters that he didn’t care to read. His friend online, Alex, told him that these “poppers” would help speed up his heart for him to enjoy. Tom sits down in the sand, mere feet from the riverbank, and takes his hand into the bottle, pulling out two capsules. He throws his head back, and they go down his throat. He sits for a few minutes, waiting. His cheeks suddenly feel flushed, and the sounds around him become muffled. He reaches his hand down over his bare chest. The wind makes his skin come up in goosebumps, making his skin feel textured to the touch. His heart is racing! He feels it as it pounds out of his chest, faster, faster, faster still. His cock becomes erect, leaving a small circular stain on his shorts. He stands up and throws them off, hurling them to the side into the brush. The sudden motion makes him feel dizzy; suddenly, his vision becomes a blur; he stumbles around a bit, and then collapses on the ground. He waits for his heart to slow, which takes about twenty minutes; at the apex of the tachycardia, he could feel his pump descend into arrhythmia once or twice, then slow back to normal. He sits on the bank, naked and panting. He looks down at his bare, exhausted body. A sheen of sweat glistens on his torso. He runs his finger through his hair; it is slick and tamped down on his head, dripping down onto his forehead. He lays back onto the sand, his arms stretched above his head, exposing his smelly armpits. He feels truly ecstatic. A smile curls up on his face. He falls asleep, for about thirty minutes, sprawled naked on the sand. When he wakes up, he feels the water tickling his toes; he had slid down a few feet while asleep. He sits up slowly and looks around. He sees his shorts hung on a branch, on the opposite side of the creek! His skin crawls, and realizes that he has to swim across to get there. The water is freezing.
Tom looks down at the pill bottle, still in the sand. He reaches down and picks it up, studying the label. He shrugs, and pops the lid. Thinking it will warm him up for the swim across, he pops five pills into his body, then, dives into the water. About halfway across the river, his naked body starts to twitch, slowly at first, then faster. Every stroke seems harder to make. He floats on his back for a second, letting the current carry him past the shorts and downstream. He doesn’t seem to care; instead, he cranes his neck to look at his chest. He can see the clear outline of his heart pounding, and it doesn’t look (or sound) healthy. The current pushes his head under, then back up; his heart is pounding so loud, he cannot hear himself think. He feels limp, the water becomes the driving force pounding away at his body. The river rounds a bend, and then tosses Tom to the side into a shallow backwater, about 3 inches in depth. There, his body comes up into the mud. He chokes and gasps, but lays splayed out in the mud, his arms and legs spread-eagled. Mud cakes his hair, his toes, and is smeared across his naked chest and thighs. He finds it hard to catch his breath, even though his mouth and nose are above the water. The roar in his ears, he realizes, isn’t the river, but his heart. Then, with a great heave, his back arches up out of the water. He moans in pain. He realizes that he overdosed on pills, that they are stopping his heart, and there is nothing he can do!
Tom’s brilliant blue eyes roll into the back of his head. His body continues to twitch and fit, violently; water splashes around as his wiry back hits the swamp over and over again. His heart beats faster and faster, as if it were trying to escape his chest; since Tom is so skinny, his heart can be seen clearly through his chest. At least, if would be, if there was anyone there to see it. Tom becomes unconscious after one minute of fitting. After two minutes, the strain and adrenaline that the drugs pumped into his body are too much for the boy; his damaged heart stops beating with a great big quiver. The muscles implode on each other, and blood rushes outward into cavities of his body. Next, his lungs collapse, and air is forced out his airway in one big last heave. Death radiates outward from the heart, into the nervous system, down the spine and through his digestive and endocrine systems. Tom’s muscles all relax, slumping his body deeper into the mud. His cock remains erect, and a mix of urine and semen spurts up into the air, coming back down to spatter all over his tight stomach. His bowels release a small amount from his butt, and it clouds the water below him. The electrical impulses in his brain continue for well over five minutes, but then, even those fade away. Tom is dead. His skin grows cold first; mist rises from Tom’s body.
The shadows grow long. Five hours after initial cardiac arrest, rigor mortis begins to set in, and then fades away by the next day. Nobody ever discovered Tom; he was left rotting in the river until all that was left was a well-built skeleton, eventually buried by the mud. His shorts eventually wash up under a bridge, miles downstream; they are never discovered either. The pills remain in the bottle, where Tom started out, waiting to claim their next victim.
Today, Tom is wearing nothing but dark blue adidas running shorts. At first sight, Tom is extremely skinny, a trait made even more apparent by his height. His body was indeed thin, but in an athletic way; his arm and leg muscles bulge out with even step, and his abs are very visible through his frame. He also possesses a handsome face, with piercing blue eyes and brown hair, clean cut but in a messy way. Today, Tom has a mission.
He walks with a purpose. For miles, he can only see brush, flat plains interrupted only by the shallow but fast-moving river to his right. Tom struts with a unique step, his shadow moving alongside him. It is windy outside, but warm. He pushes some brush to the side and comes to the sandy clearing beside the river. He glances around. Of course there is nobody in sight. Nobody comes out this far. He reaches his hand into his pocket, his eyes squinting and brows furrowed at the brightness reflecting off the sand and water. He pulls out a small pill bottle, labelled with long letters that he didn’t care to read. His friend online, Alex, told him that these “poppers” would help speed up his heart for him to enjoy. Tom sits down in the sand, mere feet from the riverbank, and takes his hand into the bottle, pulling out two capsules. He throws his head back, and they go down his throat. He sits for a few minutes, waiting. His cheeks suddenly feel flushed, and the sounds around him become muffled. He reaches his hand down over his bare chest. The wind makes his skin come up in goosebumps, making his skin feel textured to the touch. His heart is racing! He feels it as it pounds out of his chest, faster, faster, faster still. His cock becomes erect, leaving a small circular stain on his shorts. He stands up and throws them off, hurling them to the side into the brush. The sudden motion makes him feel dizzy; suddenly, his vision becomes a blur; he stumbles around a bit, and then collapses on the ground. He waits for his heart to slow, which takes about twenty minutes; at the apex of the tachycardia, he could feel his pump descend into arrhythmia once or twice, then slow back to normal. He sits on the bank, naked and panting. He looks down at his bare, exhausted body. A sheen of sweat glistens on his torso. He runs his finger through his hair; it is slick and tamped down on his head, dripping down onto his forehead. He lays back onto the sand, his arms stretched above his head, exposing his smelly armpits. He feels truly ecstatic. A smile curls up on his face. He falls asleep, for about thirty minutes, sprawled naked on the sand. When he wakes up, he feels the water tickling his toes; he had slid down a few feet while asleep. He sits up slowly and looks around. He sees his shorts hung on a branch, on the opposite side of the creek! His skin crawls, and realizes that he has to swim across to get there. The water is freezing.
Tom looks down at the pill bottle, still in the sand. He reaches down and picks it up, studying the label. He shrugs, and pops the lid. Thinking it will warm him up for the swim across, he pops five pills into his body, then, dives into the water. About halfway across the river, his naked body starts to twitch, slowly at first, then faster. Every stroke seems harder to make. He floats on his back for a second, letting the current carry him past the shorts and downstream. He doesn’t seem to care; instead, he cranes his neck to look at his chest. He can see the clear outline of his heart pounding, and it doesn’t look (or sound) healthy. The current pushes his head under, then back up; his heart is pounding so loud, he cannot hear himself think. He feels limp, the water becomes the driving force pounding away at his body. The river rounds a bend, and then tosses Tom to the side into a shallow backwater, about 3 inches in depth. There, his body comes up into the mud. He chokes and gasps, but lays splayed out in the mud, his arms and legs spread-eagled. Mud cakes his hair, his toes, and is smeared across his naked chest and thighs. He finds it hard to catch his breath, even though his mouth and nose are above the water. The roar in his ears, he realizes, isn’t the river, but his heart. Then, with a great heave, his back arches up out of the water. He moans in pain. He realizes that he overdosed on pills, that they are stopping his heart, and there is nothing he can do!
Tom’s brilliant blue eyes roll into the back of his head. His body continues to twitch and fit, violently; water splashes around as his wiry back hits the swamp over and over again. His heart beats faster and faster, as if it were trying to escape his chest; since Tom is so skinny, his heart can be seen clearly through his chest. At least, if would be, if there was anyone there to see it. Tom becomes unconscious after one minute of fitting. After two minutes, the strain and adrenaline that the drugs pumped into his body are too much for the boy; his damaged heart stops beating with a great big quiver. The muscles implode on each other, and blood rushes outward into cavities of his body. Next, his lungs collapse, and air is forced out his airway in one big last heave. Death radiates outward from the heart, into the nervous system, down the spine and through his digestive and endocrine systems. Tom’s muscles all relax, slumping his body deeper into the mud. His cock remains erect, and a mix of urine and semen spurts up into the air, coming back down to spatter all over his tight stomach. His bowels release a small amount from his butt, and it clouds the water below him. The electrical impulses in his brain continue for well over five minutes, but then, even those fade away. Tom is dead. His skin grows cold first; mist rises from Tom’s body.
The shadows grow long. Five hours after initial cardiac arrest, rigor mortis begins to set in, and then fades away by the next day. Nobody ever discovered Tom; he was left rotting in the river until all that was left was a well-built skeleton, eventually buried by the mud. His shorts eventually wash up under a bridge, miles downstream; they are never discovered either. The pills remain in the bottle, where Tom started out, waiting to claim their next victim.
